I spent about an hour illustrating on my tablet, even sketching some character profiles with the inspiration lying in bed next to me. But after a while, I closed the tablet and put it aside, unable to get those images out of my mind.

The witch signs—curves and glyphs and hash marks—archaic in origin but familiar in some of the books Mom used to read. Only one I recognized was the scimitar-looking glyph, which represented murder. Not death or killing or revenge or harm to your enemies. It was a very straightforward symbol that meant only murder. I couldn’t imagine what this symbol, among the others, was doing burned into his skin with dark magic. For there was no question that we were dealing with black magic.

Heaving out what must’ve been my hundredth sigh, I propped my head in my hand on my elbow and looked at my sleeping werewolf. “Who did you piss off so badly?”

I brushed at the wayward lock of hair that always liked to fall in his eyes, sliding my fingers over his forehead to tuck it aside. He snatched my wrist and his eyes popped open, then I was under him.

“Mateo, it’s me, it’s me!”

But there was no fire behind his eyes. No signs of his wolf running the show.

“Evie,” he whispered, holding his weight off me. “What are you doing here?” He looked bewildered, his chest heaving, pressing down against mine.

“In my own bed? I was trying to sleep, but having trouble.” I wiggled my body but was pinned tight beneath him. “A little stressful night.”

He blinked in confusion, glancing around the room. He released my wrist and settled on his side, one of his heavy legs still draped over both of mine.

“What am I doing here?”

“You don’t remember?”

His brow furrowed, those deep brown eyes moving over my face. “I remember going to Bayou Sauvage. Walking through the woods and stepping into the circle of candles.” He swallowed hard, staring beyond me at the wall, trying to recall what had happened.

“Nothing else?”

He shook his head and glanced back at me with a mixture of horror and relief. “Did I shift? How long have I been here?”

Part of me was relieved he hadn’t remembered the episode. But another was scared as hell. I’d read in my nighttime study of werewolves that they rarely lost complete memory when they shifted. Only when the man was suppressed so deep that the wolf had full and autonomous reign. Something about the curse and me trying to crack it open had pushed Mateo to the back and dragged his wolf to the very forefront.

“I’m sorry.” I sat up, the covers sliding to my waist. “I couldn’t break the curse.” It took a hell of a lot for me to admit that. “This hex… It’s got traits of something.” I licked my lips, finding it hard to say it aloud. “Of black magic.”

Mateo’s intense gaze swept over my face and my hair, skimming past my shoulders to the top of my breasts, down my pajama top and then back up.

“Are you sure?”

I half-laughed. “I wish I wasn’t.”

He scooted back to the headboard and pushed both his hands into his hair, combing through it in frustration. His abs tightened and flexed with the action, drawing my gaze to the perfect eight-pack he was sporting under all that bronzed skin.

“Black magic?” he asked, as if he’d never heard of such a thing. “But why? I haven’t done anything to anyone.”

My heart clenched because I knew that was true. For all his strength and the fierceness of his wolf, Mateo was gentle. Kind and creative. Beautiful and benevolent to a fault. I couldn’t imagine him doing someone harm intentionally. Not ever.

“Apparently, someone thinks you have.” I placed a hand on his jean-clad knee. “But don’t worry. We’re going to figure it out. It’s not something we’ve seen before, but we’ve got a ton of resources. One of whom is our mother.”

“And she’ll help?” His vulnerable gaze, almost boyish, melted something inside me.

I nodded with a smile. “I know she will.”

He inhaled a lungful of air and blew it out softly, surveying my room. There wasn’t a whole lot to see. A dark wood dresser, a desk filled with a Mac desktop computer and a printer/scanner , my open closet bearing a wall-to-wall shelving unit with my categorized comics, a chair in the corner with some dirty clothes haphazardly draped on it, but his gaze landed on the nightstand on my side. I hitched in a breath when he leaned over and reached across me, but was relieved when he took one of the books stacked there.

He flipped open the hardback cover and arched a brow at me. “The Beast of Gevaudan?”

I shrugged a shoulder, drawing his attention there. “Research.”

“I see.” His dark eyes caressed down my hair to my shoulders before he dropped the book on the other side of him and reached out, smoothing a strand between his fingers. “I’ve never seen your hair down before.”

Suddenly self-conscious, I squirmed a little. “It’s just easier to wear it up.”

“So soft.” He fanned his hand from the base of my skull and let the strands drift out of his fingers. “So pretty.”

“Th-thank you.”

I was still sitting up, but he scooped an arm around my waist and tugged me down and underneath him, taking up that position hovering over me again. “You’re stressed?”

“A little.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

He grunted. “I think it is.” His fingers continued their exploration of my hair, combing his fingers through, the sensation zinging from my scalp all the way down to the Netherlands. He leaned closer. “This isn’t how I imagined I’d get in your bedroom whenever I finally got here.”

“Oh?” Breathless. Heart hammering. “You’ve imagined being in my bedroom?”

He swept my hair away from my neck, his fingers trailing over my pulse. “A lot. Specifically, your bed.” He dipped his head and swept a kiss over my collarbone, lips nipping a sweet trail.

My brain checked out, and my body began humming with want, my blood roaring in my veins. More. I needed more.

“You said you couldn’t sleep?” A languorous lap of his tongue to the hollow of my throat.

“Uh. Yeah.” A riveting conversationalist, I was tonight.

“I know a way to help you sleep.”

Whoa, boy. Though my body was screaming yes, I wasn’t ready to have sex. Not after tonight’s sad debacle. I was still jittery from it all. But my body was protesting my brain, putting up a blockade with signs and chants like, We want sex! Sex is good! Sex, yes, sex! All super creative chants, by the way.

Jeesh. I couldn’t even form coherent thoughts with his hot mouth working up the column of my throat.

“I’m not sure if—”

His mouth was on mine, coaxing with a teasing brush of his sensuous mouth before he licked inside. He’d wedged himself between my legs, and I let them fall open like the starting gate to a horserace. He settled right where my lady parts wanted him. A carnal groan rumbled from his chest to mine, tightening my nipples beneath my super-thin tank with its cute cats and dogs inside raindrops pouring down.

Mateo curled two fingers in the tank of my shirt, sliding it down my shoulder, kissing the flesh he exposed along the upper slope of my breast.

“I just want to make you feel good.” He lifted up over me, still sliding the material lower until cool air hit my naked breast, tightening my nipple into a bud. Still, he looked only into my eyes. “Nothing more,” he promised. “Let me make you feel good, Evie.”

The way he asked it, like a sweet plea, there was no way I could say no. And who didn’t want a hot werewolf to make a girl feel good? I wasn’t an idiot, so I nodded dumbly. His gaze slid to my exposed chest. He hissed in a breath. I thought I’d seen the look of lust on this man before, but it was nothing to what I saw now. He dipped his head and circled the nub with his warm tongue. Arching on a gasp, I pressed up into his mouth, clutching one fist in his hair and clawing my nails into his bicep with the other.

“Oh, God, Mateo.”

His large hand swept under my tank, splaying across the flat of my stomach, roaming to one side then the other, caressing the skin there right above my sleep shorts. Back and forth, his fingers dipped barely under the waistband, all the time his lips nipped and sucked my nipple, forcing my hips to rock up against his hard, jean-encased cock.

Then his mouth lifted away, the cold air against my wet breast tightening the tip even further. I moaned in frustration until he eased his head down my stomach, opened his mouth, and bit the end of my tank between his teeth. Holding my gaze, he slid it up, exposing my stomach, ribs, both my breasts.

He was so fucking sexy the throb between my legs warned me I wouldn’t last a millisecond once he touched my clit. I wanted him too badly. He felt too good.

I rocked my pelvis up again, right at the same time he curled his fingers underneath my shorts and panties and pulled them down. Actually, I was pretty sure he timed it, watching my body, knowing when I’d lift up to rub against his erection. He knew exactly when the perfect time would be to pull them down my thighs. He lay half over me, his weight on his left forearm as he dipped his head to the breast he hadn’t touched yet. His tongue flicked the tip at the same time his middle finger brushed between my folds and circled my clit.

“Mateo.”

“Does it feel good, baby?” he breathed against my sensitive skin.

“Fucking fantastic.”

He groaned when he slipped his finger farther down, finding me ultra slick. Like embarrassingly so. Still, all I could do was moan and pump my hips like a greedy porn star. A porn star in puppy dog and kitty cat pajamas.

“There you go,” he whispered against my nipple, voice husky, lips brushing, tongue tasting. “Take what you need.”

His words just spurned me on. I brushed his hair out of his face so I could watch him working my breast. He pulled his hand from between my legs.

“No, no, no,” I begged, clenching my nails into his scalp and his bare shoulder where I held on.