“No. It’s not safe for her to be out here. That…weirdo is chasing after her.”
“Right.” Dodge jerked his chin in the other direction. “I’ll go west, then. See if there’s anything wandering around out here, covered in honeysuckle vines. If I find her, I’ll send her your way.”
And the son of a bitch chuckled before he loped off into the darkness.
Henry scowled and clenched his jaw until his teeth ached. There wasn’t any reason for the other wolf to attempt to tease him about thinking the witch was out and about. He still had his doubts about her. His wolf didn’t, but Henry did.
The last thing he wanted was more magical trouble coming in search of his pack. He wanted to protect Ophelia from whatever danger nipped at her heels, but the safety and security of the pack came first. That had been drilled into his head from his earliest years. Pack above all else. Henry scanned the surrounding streets and circled back toward the house. If Ophelia had wandered into the night, he stood a better chance of tracking her if he started from the house.
His phone buzzed in his pocket but he didn’t bother to check it. It was probably Nola again. She’d taken to texting and calling at all hours in an effort to annoy him into answering. He wasn’t even tempted to find out what was going on with the pack. They’d find a new alpha eventually, and it wouldn’t be him.
Henry frowned as he reached the house and searched for a hint that Ophelia had been moving around recently, though nothing in the yard or on the block pointed at her being the one who distracted him. He studied the house and held his breath; the light was on in her window. Maybe she’d sneaked out and left it on as a distraction. Maybe she met surreptitiously with the coyotes as part of some larger plan. Maybe it was all a trap.
He scowled and bounded onto the porch. He’d confirm she wasn’t in her room, then he’d wake up Evershaw and Deirdre for their help in hunting down the rogue witch.
He made his way up the stairs and around to the side of the house on the second floor where Ophelia slept, and ignored the wolf’s excitement at searching out the female in her den. His wolf side wanted to find her half-dressed and sleepy, safe and content. He’d offer to sleep at the foot of her bed if it helped her rest.
Henry didn’t let himself stop to consider what else might have kept the witch up so late at night, and threw open the door to her room with the full expectation that it would be empty and a new conspiracy would have been confirmed.
Instead, he found Ophelia in a pair of ratty pajama pants, a loose T-shirt, and with her hair unbound, a large wooden construct in her lap and static in the air. She froze, staring at him, and his skin prickled as he inhaled her intoxicating scent. Yarn tangled on the floor and Cricket batted lazily at a snarled mess, his tail lashing as Ophelia was distracted from petting him by Henry’s sudden appearance.
He stared down at her, trying to figure out what the hell she was doing, and sneezed as more magic tickled across his skin and into his brain. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Weaving,” she said, still staring at him in shock. “What are you… Why are you… Is something wrong?”
Cricket got up to rub against his leg, but Henry didn’t let the cat distract him. Ophelia’s hands were still on the yarn that threaded through the wooden lap loom, or whatever the hell it was called, as she stared at him. He hadn’t seen her hair loose in the week or so since they’d first crossed paths; it changed everything about her. She looked younger and more relaxed, like any other girl instead of a witch who’d been hunted by a mad sorcerer. The loose T-shirt had faded until the name of the band was unintelligible, but it looked soft to the touch and just begging to be cuddled in.
He tried to shake off the urge to find out what it would feel like to wrap her up in his arms, particularly since she wasn’t wearing a bra under the T-shirt and her breasts gently tested the fabric. When she adjusted how she sat on the floor, leaning back against the side of the bed, the shirt