Page 21 of Bloodween

“Varek. Your wolf.” I tilted my head, giving him my best curious expression. “You’ve seen all of me. It’s only fair I get to see all of you.”

His hands tightened on my hips for a moment. “You sure? It might not be a pretty sight.”

“I’ve seen werewolves before, Dorian. I’m not afraid. I’m sure.” I slid off his lap, giving him space. “Show me.”

He stood, rolling his shoulders. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

the betrayal

"I WOULD SAY I’M SORRY, BUT IT WOULDN’T CHANGE A THING."

The shift was faster than I expected. One second he was all smooth brown skin and muscle; the next, bones cracked and reshaped, fur rippling out in a wave of brown and black. When it ended, a massive wolf stood where Dorian had been.

Bigger than I’d imagined, easily twice the size of any wolf. All muscle, all restrained power. Those glowing eyes studied me, waiting for the scream, the fear, the typical human reaction.

His tail swayed once, cautious.

“Come here,” I said gently, patting the bed. “Let me see you properly.”

He hesitated, head tilting as if confirming I wasn’t afraid.

“I said come here,” I repeated, slower. “You’re not going to break anything.”

The floor creaked under his weight. When he reached the bed, I pushed the covers aside as I moved to the edge. Maybe I should’ve been nervous. Varek clearly lacked control, but I wasn’t.

He lowered himself until his face was level with mine. I reached out, fingers sinking into fur that was soft, thick, and warmer than skin.

“Beautiful,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

His ears twitched, a quiet rumble rolling through his chest.

“That better be you saying thank you for the compliment.”

He huffed, exhaling against my thigh, close enough to raise goosebumps.

The moment stretched. My adrenaline faded. The silence settled—no words, no movement, just his breathing and me listening.

I’d seen werewolves before, but never this close. It was comforting. Something tight in me loosened causing the elixir to do what it did best—stir restlessly in my veins.

I kept combing through his fur, tracing the curve of his shoulder. He adjusted once, a slow circle, then laid beside me, head level with my knees, his body pressed against the mattress and grounding me there. My fingers followed the rhythm of his breathing until it synced with mine.

My hand slid down his neck. His pulse thudded fast beneath my palm, hot and powerful. Blood pumping.

Blood that witches like me craved.

Not because we needed it, but because it fed us the kind of power most would never experience.

But I wasn’t most.

I would experience it.

I hadn’t come this far not to.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the doubts from steadily crashing through me, insistent and cold.

What if the ritual didn’t take? What if a connection built in hours, not months, wasn’t enough? What if the Crimson Elixor rejected his blood because our intimacy was too new—too shallow?

Stop.