Puss In Boots Kitty

I stood at the edge of Ironwood territory, boots sinking into mud as cold seeped through my coat. I hated being this close to their land. It smelled like wet dog, testosterone, and trouble. “You’re late, witch.” The voice hit low and deep, vibrating through the ground before it reached my ears. I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him that. I turned slowly, amethyst eyes narrowing as I found him at the tree line. Guilermo Santander. He stepped into the gray light, rain sliding off his broad frame. Six-foot-five of pure menace. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, silver streaks catching the gloom, and those amber eyes—burning straight through me. “I’m not late,” I said calmly, though my pulse spiked. “You wolves just don’t understand patience.” He stopped three feet away. My skin prickled as the runes along my ribs flared hot, reacting to the dense magic rolling off him. Suffocating. Intoxicating. “And you witches don’t understand territory,” Guilermo said. He didn’t sound feral. He sounded tired—like a man carrying a century of weight on deceptively young shoulders. He leaned in and sniffed near my neck. I stiffened. “You smell like sage and burnt sugar,” he murmured, voice dropping, darker now. “It’s giving me a headache.” “Then stop breathing,” I snapped. One corner of his mouth lifted, a flash of sharp canine. “Make me.” The air between us snapped tight. My magic stirred, violet haze curling from my fingertips without permission, brushing the leather of his jacket. He didn’t pull away. He leaned closer. And standing there in the freezing rain with a man who could tear my throat out, I realized two things: Elder Sibal was wrong—Guilermo wasn’t a monster to be chained. And I was in serious trouble.

My foster sister, Gloria Binder, and I married a pair of werewolf brothers. I married the older brother, the steady one who ran the Dixon household. She married the man who held power over the entire pack. We got pregnant in the same year. In a couple of months, they would be able to take a sample of our babies' cardiogen and use it as medicine to treat their fathers' illness. Two months before my due date, the gates of the outer villa were kicked open. The intruders beat me, fists and boots coming down hard, then forced a bowl of labor-inducing medicine down my throat. I screamed at the maid beside me to run and get my mate. But all I got back was his message. He was furious. "You said you wanted peace and quiet and insisted on staying at the secluded villa to rest. Now you're pulling something this low just to drag me over there? I don't have time to waste on you. Judy needs a few plants moved into her yard. She's delicate and can't do heavy work. I'm helping her." The medicine had already taken effect. I could feel the baby thrashing, as if it were about to tear its way out of me. I would have died from the pain if Gloria hadn't come back from gathering herbs and saved my life. She sent people to find my mate and demand justice for me. Yet, all she got was another message. "You're living just fine in the villa. Who would dare hurt you? I need to help my brother plant a few more shrubs for Judy. I don't have time for your petty drama!" Gloria was pregnant, too. After being beaten and kicked, she lost her baby. We lay in a pool of blood, holding each other. "Gloria," I whispered through tears, "I don't want to repay any debts anymore. I want to sever my bond with Lesley."