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The Lavender Witch

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Chapter 2: Mysterious Stranger

“Do you want another drink, love?” Evander asks, stepping from behind me, his hand resting on my ass, taking a squeeze as he faces me.

I blush, glancing down at my empty cup. “Sure. I’ll take another vodka cran. I’m going to run to the bathroom, too.”

“Alright, I’ll see you in a bit with a vodka cran in tow,” he replies as he kisses my cheek before walking to the bar. I smile, brushing my hair behind my ear as I head to the club’s bathroom.

I bite my lip as I walk in front of the mirror, stifling excited giggles. He’s been all over me all night. Unashamed of who’s watching and what they might think.

I fluff up my curly merlot hair that reaches just below my shoulder blades, the color being one of my witch symbols. Every warlock or witch has a symbol that signifies they possess magic. Mine are my naturally purple hair, bright lavender eyes, and silver markings of the moon cycle wrapped around my left wrist, almost like a tattoo. It stands out prominently against my tan skin.

My eyes are my best feature, though, by far. I have wide eyes with a cat-like point and thick lashes to accentuate my naturally bright irises. My nose is small and buttoned, and my lips are sugar pink and plump.

I step back from the mirror to readjust the straps on my outfit, making sure none of my nipples are slipping out of the plunging neckline of my dress; one of the downsides of having huge tits.

I look at my side profile, hiking up the skirt portion a bit more to accentuate my bubble butt, letting the bottoms spill out. I have a fantastic hourglass figure with luscious thighs, wide hips, a toned waist, and large breasts. No wonder Evander can’t get enough of me.

I look down at my feet and notice one of the laces of my sneakers is untied. I rarely wear heels since I’m five foot seven, and I hate it when my feet are sore, but I hate having to retie them constantly. I bend over, quickly fixing the laces before leaning into the mirror once more, wiping a bit of makeup that got onto my stud nose ring before turning to head out of the bathroom.

I make my way back to the dance floor, snaking through the crowd to get back to where Evander is probably waiting for me.

I bite my lip, looking around, but I can’t find him.

I glance back at the bar, and my heart sinks, bile rising to my throat.

He’s swapping saliva with a gorgeous brunette at the bar. And she’s holding a vodka cranberry.

Tears well in my eyes as my lower lip trembles. Why would he do this? Why did I let myself think things were changing between us?

Why aren’t I good enough for him?

I turn around and rush out of the building, wiping tears from my eyes as quickly as possible so nobody sees how upset I am.

I take desperate gasps of fresh air once I make my way out of the claustrophobia of that sweaty, crowded den.

There are still many people crowded on the street outside the bar, likely waiting in line for other ones or just mingling. This is the area of pack territory dedicated to nightlife.

I rush away from it all, heading towards the outskirts, desperate for a moment alone.

The tears flow down my cheeks freely now that I’m far away from the crowd, away from their prying eyes and judgment. They’d know exactly why I’m crying. It’s the worst-kept secret in River Run that I’m hopelessly in love with Evander, and he’s only using me as a side piece until he finds his real mate. It doesn’t matter what he tells me or how many times he swears I mean more to him than that. I know the truth, just as they all do.

But by tomorrow, I’ll be singing a different tune and convincing myself that this was only a fluke, just like all those other times.

Why do I do that?

Georgie thinks it’s because I don’t feel worthy of love. I don’t feel like I could find anyone else because I don’t believe I’m good enough to be treated well.

And in this moment, in this horrible, wretchedly vulnerable moment... I fear she might be right.

I collapse to my knees once I’m far enough into the woods, the scent of pine overwhelming my senses as I bury my head in my hands and let myself cry. I can’t do it at home because that’s his area, and I’ll be damned if I let him see what effect he has on me.

But maybe he needs to see? Perhaps then he’d change?

Or he wouldn’t. What men have ever looked at me and chosen to value me for more than my physicality? Why would he feel any differently?

My own father abandoned me, along with my mother. Then all those warlocks would only take me under their wing if I did “favors” for them, not because of my ability. I outshined every other warlock and witch in my class, skipping two grades and even outshining my teachers, yet instead of being voted “most likely to succeed” in my class yearbook, I was “class pageant queen.”

All the boys in school only ever wanted to fuck me, never to date me. Then there were those gross men who capitalized on the fact that I had just turned eighteen.

Now Evander.

“Are you lost?” I hear from behind me.

I pick up my head to look, but my vision is black.

“What the?” I ask, rubbing my eyes desperately, my heart racing. What’s going on?

“Don’t panic!” The voice, clearly male, states. “It’s only a spell. I’ll remove it as soon as I leave.”

“No! You’re going to remove it now!” I command, stumbling to my feet as I whip my head around, trying to orient myself to the voice.

I feel hands on my hips, and my breath hitches in my throat. His hands are warm, butterflies erupting in my stomach as my whole body tingles with excitement.

“What is your name?” He asks.

I know I shouldn’t tell him. “Adelaide.”

“Adelaide,” he repeats. “I’ve been searching for you.”

“What?” I ask, arching my eyebrow. “Searching for me? What do you mean?”

I wave my hand in front of my eyes, attempting to lift whatever spell he placed on me, but I can’t. I can’t even detect a warlock signature.

“I’m not a warlock, dear,” he says, seemingly reading my thoughts.

“Then how are you doing this?”

“Long story,” he answers.

“Well, why were you looking for me?” I ask, feeling extremely vulnerable now that I know I can’t lift whatever curse he’s put on me.

“You’re my mate,” he tells me. “I saw it in a dream—your name, your face, where I’d find you, and when. I almost didn’t believe it’d be true, but here you are. Exactly as the Moon Goddess foretold.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I’m a witch if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I did notice, darling,” he answers, his voice so buttery and soft as he whispers in my ear.

“Then why won’t you let me see you if you are my mate?” I ask.

“I can’t,” he answers. “Again, a long story.”

“Shorten it,” I demand. “How am I supposed to know you’re not some creepy old man trying to kidnap me?”

He grabs my hand and places it on his chest, covered only in what feels like a tight cotton shirt, and guides it down the rugged plains of his muscles. “Do I feel like an old man to you?”

I gulp.

“As I said,” he replies, this time much more sternly. “I can’t show you; as much as I would like to.”

“Then what’s your name?” I ask. “Can’t you tell me that?”

“No,” he replies quickly.

“Are you kidding me?” I scoff. “Listen, buddy, I don’t know what drugs you took before getting that dream, but I’m clearly not your mate. Give me back my eyesight now so I can go home.”

“Go home to what?” He asks as I feel his hand cup my face, his thumb swiping across my jaw. “To whoever it is who was making you cry when I found you?”

I bite my lip, trembling in his arms, as he places his large hand on the small of my back. He must be substantially taller than me cause I can feel his presence looming.

I manage to stutter in response, “How do you know it was a who?”

Before he can answer, a twig snaps in the distance, and I hear, “Addy!”

His hands are off me in an instant, and I hear a whirring sound. “I will come to see you again,” is all he says before my vision returns, and I look around, but the mysterious stranger is gone.

Come to see me again? How? Where?

Do I want him to?

“Addy! Oh, my Goddess, I thought you were kidnaped!” Evander cries as he rushes toward me. “Good thing I know your scent well enough to track you.”

I roll my eyes. “I wish you hadn’t.”

“What?” He asks. “What do you mean? Why did you leave without telling any of us? That’s really dangerous, Addy. You’ve been drinking, and you don’t know what cou-”

I interrupt him, shouting, “Stop pretending like you give a fuck about me!”

He stands motionless, his eyes wide.

“I saw you sticking your tongue down her throat, Evander!” I yell, hoping to knock some sense into his thick skull.

He sighs, hanging his head. “It was a momentary lapse in judgment, okay?”

“Yeah, you seem to have a lot of those when it comes to me. So, what? She didn’t want to leave with you, so you came looking for the next best thing, and that’s when you realized I was gone?”

“Addy, you know that’s not-”

“Save it!” I snap. “I want to go home. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Yes, you do,” he insists, coming closer to me, but his smell isn’t the same as it once was. Not as alluring.

My mysterious “mate” smelled of patchouli and a masculine musk I can’t quite describe. Sweet and deliciously sensual at the same time. Hardy and addictive.

I turn away from Evander, probably the first time I have in a long time, especially when he’s this close. I stand my ground. “No, I don’t. I want to go home. Please, can we just go home?”

He looks shocked, but he quickly shakes it off and replies, “Yeah. We can talk about it once you’ve slept on it. Deal?”

“Okay, deal,” I reply, hoping it’ll get him off my back.

It seems I may have bigger things to worry about now.

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