A Witch's Scorn- Book I

IV

Much to Emory's surprise Fallon stayed in his room the entire time she showered. She was quite grateful seeing as though every encounter they'd had thus far went from zero to a million in a matter of seconds.

She decided to wash her hair and body with his products which were all natural and coconut-scented. She knew her curly mane would be all over her head, but she had a feeling he wouldn't mind.

Once she was cleaned, she stepped from the shower and grabbed a clean fluffy white towel that hung on a rack near the shower. Before leaving the bathroom she analyzed herself in the mirror.

Her wet hair had already begun to dry and frizz up showcasing her elven features. Her tawny skin tone made the color of her hair look luxurious against her face.

Setting her towel aside she looked over her body. Her neck exhibited her new mark. She already felt different because of it—because of him. She was never the type of person that liked too much attention, but for some reason she felt proud at the fact that soon everyone would know she belonged to Fallon.

She wrapped the towel back around her and entered his bedroom once again. He lay atop the comforters with his eyes closed. Fortunately for her he now wore a pair of briefs. The thin underwear didn't hide the fact that little him was very present, but at least he was covered.

Feeling a bit apprehensive, Emory tightened the towel around her body and crawled onto the bed beside Fallon where he instantly pulled her into his arms.

"Your scent is addicting," he groaned, burrowing his face into her hair.

Oddly enough, this felt natural. Like they'd done this before. Like she'd spent her entire life being held in his arms every night.

She couldn't help but cuddle closer into him, her head on his chest. "Should we talk?" Emory whispered. She was unsure on how mates actually learned things about one another. Do they talk or do they just constantly dry hump or what?

Fallon immediately responded, "We can do anything you want."

Emory knew that statement went far beyond just talking, but she actually wanted to know more about him. She only knew of werewolves from what Alexa had told her, which was not much.

"Did you know I was your mate immediately?" she drew invisible circles across his muscular chest with a manicured claw.

"As soon as I entered the room, I knew," he answered honestly.

"What do you expect as a mate from me?"

"Your soul. Your mind." One of his hands trailed gently up and down her bare arm. "Your body."

Her body uncontrollably tensed. Not in discomfort, but in anticipation of what he'd said. She continued, "How did you become Alpha at such a young age?" Sasha had told her earlier that Fallon had just turned twenty-eight years old. Emory knew from Alexa that Alphas were typically much older; in their early forties at the youngest.

Fallon chose his words wisely, attempting to not share too much information with her so soon. "My parents were murdered during an attack a few years ago which forced me to take leadership in place of my father." It had been the worst day of Fallon's life. He had spent his twenty-third birthday fighting for his life all while losing those he loved to death. Maverick's damning words had rang in Fallon's mind every single day for five years as he remembered the tragic events of that day.

He'd always hoped that he'd never find his mate because of what the prophecy placed upon his family entailed, but once he spotted Emory, he knew he couldn't let her get away. He'd just have to find a way to protect her or die trying.