“Bailey,” I say and move in, needing to touch her, feeling like she’ll melt into me once I finally pull her close.
All those times she looked at me like she wanted nothing more than to curl up and rest her head on my chest. All those times I caught her staring at me like I was her dream man. I want that now.
“Don’t,” she warns, her voice quivering, but I advance and reach for her face with both hands. The second my fingertips connect with her jaw, a painful jolt like nothing I’ve ever felt sends me flying backwards, landing on my ass on the grass in front of the steps to the Blackwood house. I’ve been blown back at least ten fucking feet.
What the fuck?
Those meddling fucking witches!
The burn in my hands is intense, but quickly fades.
Staring at my hands, I’m shocked. I look at her and she’s dumbfounded, too. And now she looks relieved as she sinks to the floor of the porch and starts laughing. It doesn’t look like a calculated and evil laugh, more like shock and relief. But laughter quickly turns to tears from her.
She’s bawling, face buried in her hands.
Anger blended with disbelief floods my system and I’m pissed. Fucking Danica, telling me I’ll regret laying a hand on my mate.
Bailey gets to her feet, about to say something, but I’m beyond pissed so I’m rushing her, intent on throwing her over my shoulder to take her home. She cowers, but it doesn’t matter because the second my shoulder connects with her midsection so I can lift her up and over my shoulder without technically laying hands on her, I’m blown back, this time landing on theroad flat on my stomach, twenty feet further from where I landed the first time.
“That bitch!” I shout, rubbing my burned shoulder.
I throw my shirt off while stepping out of my shoes and socks in double-time, grab the fly of my jeans, and shift.
Bailey stands there with her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide, a horrible fear scent coming from her, filling the air around me and making me feel both angry and nauseous.
As wolf, I rush her, intent on finding out if that spell or potion applies to my two-legged form and the second my nose touches her chin, the pain is even worse this time. I yelp as my wolf is blown back, the yelp sounding like a pup got his tail stepped on.
I shift back to two feet and I’m growling.
My nose still feels like it’s on fucking fire.
I’m growling and Bailey is cowering now on the porch, hands over her mouth, eyes wide.
“Fuck!” I shout before I shift and shift back to halt the pain.
Graydon and Carrie are with her now and Graydon demands, “What the fuck?”
People next door and across the street are on their porches and in their driveways.
While getting dressed, I clip, “That Young witch told me not to touch Bailey for three days! Didn’t tell me if I did, I’d get fuckin’ electrocuted!”
Bailey hurries into the house, out of my sight. And that won’t do, so I storm after her, surprised when I can get through the doorframe. Because this feels like it did in that basement – like there’s a shield between me and her.
She’s running up the stairs, so I follow, hearing Graydon cuss behind me.
She tries to slam her door, but as soon as she’s clear of it, my palm slapping it makes it fly open. She whirls to face me, red-faced.
“No! Leave!”
“Not without you!”
I advance.
She backs up into her closed closet door and I cage her in, a hand on either side of her.
I take several deep breaths in an effort to calm myself down, barely taking in the space, the frilly girlie décor, the jam-packed bookshelves, the flowers on the bedspread and on the wallpaper. Stuffed animals in a hammock suspended from the ceiling. I haven’t been in this room in at least a decade. I don’t remember why I was here the last time, but I do take something in. My eyes zoom in on the photo of me on Bailey Blackwood’s dresser. Me and her, my arm around her. It’s in a silver frame and it’s the only one displayed on the dresser. She’s got a bunch of other framed photos on top of her bookshelf, but the one on her dresser is us. And beside it, a stuffed wolf that rings a vague bell.
“What the fuck is that?” I point to it. “That’s how you feel about me, right?”