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Wicked really couldn’t enjoy the ride home; instead, she kept reliving the kiss and wondering exactly what was going to happen once they got back to her place. Should she ask him in? Did she want him to come in? Should she send him on his way? Did she want him to go on his way? Would he even listen to what she wanted or take what he wanted like he did with their first kiss? She had so many questions and so little time because they were about a half a mile from her place.
The first time she had met Thorne, there had been an instant attraction, at least on her part. That attraction had grown, and she’d done everything she could to slow the growth or just plain erase the attraction altogether. She knew a way, but she wasn’t down with putting a spell on herself.
They had just stopped in front of her house, and all the questions she had asked herself remained unanswered, so she simply sat there, on his bike, waiting. She glanced up at the low-hung moon in the darkened sky. It was a harvest moon, which meant time to tie up loose ends, pay attention to things undone, and to see the future with a clean conscience and a clean slate. But tonight, there was a red haze, which alarmed her. Every time in life she had seen a red haze over the moon, it meant something wicked was heading her way.
“Nice moon.” Thorne dismounted his bike and mirrored her gaze at the sky above.
Wicked slid off the bike with only a nod. Most nonwitches didn’t know how important moons and their phases could affect a witch’s magic, for the good and the bad. The moon could also alert witches to events about to take place. Looking away from the night sky, she peeked at Thorne, who still stared up, and she wondered if she should trust him.
“What is it, Wicked?” Thorne asked, his eyes searching hers. “What has you afraid?”
Looking away from him, she glanced around, and then grabbed his hand and led him around to the back of her house, down the hill to a narrow creek that ran past the back of her property. Stopping, she turned toward him, then put her index finger to her lips.
Thorne instantly went on alert, his body completely still, but his eyes scanned the area. Pointing toward the ground, a spear of glittery sparks shot out of her fingertip as she moved her hand in a complete arc over their heads and then down to the other side of the ground. A thin shimmer enveloped them.
Once she was done and they were cocooned, she looked up at him and had an overwhelming feeling that she could trust him, completely, and she wanted to. She wanted someone to confide in, to talk to other than a cat, and she wanted someone who she belonged to. Yes. She wanted to belong to someone. Here goes everything.
“My name is Wicked.” Not once did she take her eyes from him as she spoke. “I have no last name that I know of. Do you have any idea what it’s like to never have had a last name? When I signed the lease, I used magic to mask that fact. I don’t know when I was born. I don’t know who my parents are or were. I know nothing other than growing up alone. I got my name from a cranky old nun at the orphanage I grew up in. The only thing I own is my tattoo machine, Lenny. Yes, it has a name. The only constant in my life is my work and my cat, Bruce, who is a pain in my ass and who I want to kill at least once a day. He’s also my familiar.”
“Why did they call you Wicked?” Out of everything she just said, that was his question?
Wicked cleared her throat and looked past him. “We had a certain time to eat, and you ate no matter what was on the plate. Well, one particular night it was liver. I sat at that table for seven hours because I wouldn’t touch it. Eventually one of the nuns took pity on me, tossed the liver and told the other nun that I had eaten it.”
“How old were you?” Thorne asked, his voice low, but she heard the anger radiating in his chest as the words were spoken.
“Not sure, but young. Maybe four or five.” Wicked shrugged. “Anyway, the cranky nun knew Sister Sara was lying for me and took to calling me Wicked. I guess she felt I was responsible for the nun’s lie. I’ve never changed it because I never want to forget any part of my life from that point until now. Having no idea what your real name is, where you’re from, where you belong is a terrible feeling. So even though that was a dark time in my life, I’ll always remember it.”
“Did you have no one?” Thorne asked, taking her hand in his, and she let him.
“Yes, I had Bruce.” She gave him a sad smile. “A few of the nuns were nice, but I knew I was different. And the first time Bruce talked to me I knew for sure. Well, after I freaked out, I knew something about me was different. He explained things to me slowly and here I am, and that’s my story. I’m a witch who learned her craft from a cat.”
He stared at her for the longest time without saying a word. His hand tightened around hers, and then he pulled her to him and held her. “I’m sorry, Wicked.” His low voice rushed over her.
Wicked pulled away from him. “Don’t be sorry for me.” She shook her head. “And never pity me. I survived, and I’m stronger for it.”
“There’s nothing to pity.” He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face to his. “Why did you tell me this?”
“I don’t know.” She lied; she did know. She wanted to be accepted by him with the truth out and plain to see. To her, it was a big deal; to others, maybe it wasn’t. No one adopted her, no one loved her—but a talking cat. And at times, she even wondered about his true feelings. Did her familiar only deal with her because she was his witch? Not all witches had familiars, but some like herself couldn’t be without. She didn’t know the ins and outs of the whole familiar thing, but she knew when Bruce was gone.
She had nothing to offer Thorne other than herself, and she wanted to know if that was enough. If it wasn’t, then she needed to walk away from everything she had begun to build here because she knew what her true feelings were for this man, and they were growing stronger. Before anything went further, he would know exactly who Wicked was. “No, that’s a lie. I want you to know exactly who I am. I never let anyone close to me. Trust is hard to come by, but for some reason, I trust you, and you asked me what scared me. Well, there it is. Friendship has been very limited with me.”
“So your fear is friendship?” Thorne’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“Yes,” she replied with a nod. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to see everyone you knew leave with an adopted family and never once was I looked at as a possibility? What was wrong with me? That was and is a question I ask every single day. Why wasn’t I one of the chosen? Most anyone I have ever had a friendship or relationship with, male or female, has failed for one reason or another. Some have hurt, others didn’t. I’ve been used and thrown away like a piece of trash on the ground. I really try not to dwell in the past, but when I know that I could be hurt, I back away. How can I not fear that? Fear not being good enough?”
“I would never throw you away like trash.” His voice trembled low in his throat. “And anyone who did be damned. I’m sorry you’ve been through all that, but that’s the past. I’m your future.”
Goddess, she wanted to believe him, she really did with all her heart. She opened her mouth, but nothing would come out, so she closed it quickly looking away from him to the ground. This was way too good to be true.
“Wicked, friendship is only the start with us,” Thorne replied, tugging her close again. “You are mine. You’ve been mine since the first minute I saw you staring at my vacant building. Do you really think rent is that cheap?” He chuckled when she frowned.
“What? Cheap?” Wicked’s eyes rounded in shock. “Four hundred dollars a month is not cheap.”
“That space goes for eleven hundred, honey.” He chuckled when she sputtered a choked curse.
“And the house?” She was afraid to ask.
“Yeah, about that.” He winked at her. “Two fifty is way underpriced.”
“I asked Bruce, but he said that sounded right to him.” Wicked sighed, shaking her head.
“I warned him that if he said anything, I’d eat him,” Thorne teased with a grin.
“So how much is the real price on the house?” Wicked crossed her arms over her chest.
“That doesn’t matter.” Thorne went to reach for her, but she backed up slightly, not breaking the shimmery shield around them.
“Ah, to me it does.” She threw him a hard glare. “I don’t take charity. How much?”
The stubborn ass wouldn’t answer her, and she hesitated at all the deception, feeling her trust of him slipping away. She didn’t know how she could afford eleven hundred dollars a month for her tattoo shop, and she was afraid to hear how much the house rent really was, but dammit, she always paid her way. Maybe she was being overly dramatic, but this was the way she was. She’d be damned if she changed, even for a man who looked like Thorne, a man whose touch set her on fire. Wicked didn’t even want to think of the kiss.
With a nod, the simmering shield disappeared, and she turned away from him and headed up the hill. “I’ll move out of the house, and if I can’t come up with the rest of the shop money in two weeks, I’ll leave.”
“Whoa!” He followed her. “Wait a minute. You don’t have to move out.”
“Yes, I do.” Wicked sighed as she glanced up at the house that was starting to feel like a home. “Unless you tell me how much the rent really is for the house and I can’t come up with the rest, I will be moving out.”
“This makes no sense.” Thorne’s voice turned angry. “I’m trying to help you out. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
She spun so fast she stumbled. “There’s everything wrong with that.” She pointed at him. “Did you not hear what I just said? What I confided in you?”
“Yes, I did. Every single word, but I don’t understand what that has to do with any of this?” Thorne sighed, shaking his head.
“Then you didn’t hear me at all.” Did no one understand her? Okay, that wasn’t fair. She had never told anyone her past. No one had cared to hear it. Thorne had listened; he just didn’t understand. She continued to march up the hill. She was tired and really needed a minute.
“Dammit, Wicked, I just wanted to help you, that’s all.” Thorne stepped in front of her, stopping her progress to the top of the hill.
“You didn’t even know me.” Wicked tilted her head to look up at him. “So why did you want to help me? I’ve had help like that, but there was always a catch. I don’t like owing anyone anything, Thorne. I’m sorry if you don’t understand that, but that’s how I’m made.”
“I told you that the first time I saw you, I knew you were mine.” His voice was low, but she could hear the undercurrent of anger. “I take care of what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours, Thorne.” She slowly shook her head as she stepped around him before casting a shield so he couldn’t stop her again. She realized her earlier thoughts were wrong. She could trust no one, not even a sexy Shifter.