He jumped into the truck and sped away from the building. Main Street wasn’t too busy. Monday at three, people were still at work, and the high school kids hadn’t made their way down the hill from the school yet.

Flint pulled in front of the Pick-n-Pay. His hand stretched out to the headrest behind her; he parallel-parked like a pro. He came around the truck to help her down just as her feet hit the pavement.

“I would have helped you.” His thumbs hooked into the back pockets of his jeans. His blue flannel button-up shirt hung open over the black Hundsburg Fire Department T-shirt stretched across his chest. His leather jacket was layered on top of that.

“It’s fine.”

Flint offered his hand to help her over a small embankment of snow between the sidewalk and the road. The gray sludge would vanish within days. She took it but dropped it as soon as she stepped onto the dry sidewalk.

“Are you okay?” Flint asked.

Emma nodded, not looking at him. Because she wasn’t okay. The bubble they’d formed over the weekend had vanished. She sucked in her breath.

“You’re not okay.” Flint touched her elbow.

“I . . . I’m just cold. All right?”

“Want my jacket?” Flint started to slip it off. They’d passed the door to the flower shop and were next to the alcove entrance for the apartments above the floral shop.

“It’s only a block.” She did want the jacket. Her goosebumps were starting to equal Mt. Everest. But staring at Flint’s biceps and telling him off for his behavior was not going to happen at the same time. Arm candy didn’t begin to describe the male. He’d been clipped with her boss and friends. And what the heck was going on with his magic?

He sniffed the air and held out his jacket to her.

“Really, it’s only a block. I’m good.” She plowed ahead.

He stopped in front of her. She stepped right around him, and he picked her up and put her back against the little strip of siding next to the buzzers for the apartments. Out of the wind, she relaxed a little. He took off his flannel shirt and wrapped her in both layers. She helped put her arms in the sleeves because she was going to end up wearing a straitjacket if she didn’t.

His shoulders dropped as he buttoned the flannel. And zipped up the jacket too.

“I told you I was fine. I don’t need both. Take the jacket back.” She pursed her lips. “You’ll get cold.”

“Shifter. I’m not going to get cold.”

“But . . .” She didn’t want everyone who saw her to think she’d taken his coat.

He put one hand on the siding above her head and leaned in. “Emma, Hundsburg isn’t like other towns. And I’m not like other guys. We’re shifters, mostly wolves. No one is going to think less of you because I’ve given you my coat and I’m in a T-shirt.” He leaned his head into her neck.

“Sure.” Her voice shook, and his heat overwhelmed her. She tried to swallow.

“Right, well. I’ve never put a claim on a female before,” he whispered at her neck.

“What do you mean, Flint?” She turned her head and searched his dark eyes.

“I don’t walk down Main Street with unrelated females who smell like apples and cinnamon dipped in lust, wrapping them up in my jacket.” He kissed her neck, and a shiver shot down her side to her core. “But now that I do, I want the town to know you’re mine. And that you’re taken care of. Do you understand, Emma?”

She nodded, her chin rubbing his chest. “Wait. Not really. What do you mean?” She bit at the inside of her cheek. They weren’t fated mates. Witches didn’t have fated mates. Not unless they were fated to a shifter. And the shifter knew who their mate was right away. Unless they didn’t. Back in Emma’s barista days at the Witches Brew-Stick, her boss, a bear shifter, had chased his mate around for four months because grinding coffee beans had messed with his scenting ability. She’d even seen stories about it on ShifterChat.

She’d never floated before. And a few of the guys she’d been with were horrible in bed. But Flint put the O in orgasm.

“And then there’s that.” He ran his hand down her front to her crotch.

It was so sudden, she backed up. “What?”

“You’re wet for me, darling. You’re announcing it to the town.” His eyebrows flashed up.

She smacked his chest and ducked under his arm. He let her go but was next to her in a beat.

“You’re crude.” Her magic flicked toward him, but then she pulled it back into herself. The male she’d cuddled with on his sofa for a whole day was gone. “Goddess, stop the alpha shenanigans.”

“Goddess.” He sighed.

Emma stopped. “You heard me. Goddess. You know what I am.” Heck, she wanted to shout it from the top of the hill to the river below. If there was any town where she could say the word “witch” out loud, it had to be here. Or Erie—you couldn’t throw a black cat without hitting a witch in Erie. It made Salem, Massachusetts, look puritanical. But she turned her head, and there was a group of teenagers making their way down the street.

“I get what you are, darling. But do you get what I am?”

“Right now, I’m thinking you’re an asshole.” She glared at him.

He glared at her.

She took a step away from him, toward the cafe, and when he didn’t move, she stepped back to him, arms crossed over her chest. The wind gripped the air around them, spinning bits of forgotten trash melted out of the snow, and brown leaves twirled around them. The two of them locked eyes. Ten minutes or two, Emma had no idea. A car pulled up next to the sidewalk. Emma didn’t glance away from the infuriating male in front of her. The wind circled them, nipping at their calves.

The car honked its horn, two friendly little beeps. Emma and Flint turned. The wind cyclone dropped.

“You doing okay there, Emma?” Nurse Mirabel called out her rolled-down window.

“Yes.” Emma turned back to Flint, then back to Mirabel, who was staring like she didn’t believe Emma’s answer. “Actually, no. Are you heading to work?”

“Ah, yeah.”

“I live over the river, halfway up the hill. Can you drop me off?” Emma made her way across the street to the shiny little car.

“Sure?” Mirabel looked from Emma to Flint.

Emma stripped off Flint’s leather jacket, tossed it at him, and was in the front seat of Mirabel’s car in seconds. She didn’t shed the flannel, because she was cold and not stupid. The door slammed shut before Flint moved. “Thanks.”

Mirabel didn’t move, but she gave a little sniff. “You’re sure?” She wore bright pink scrubs with wolf cubs wearing green and yellow diapers printed over them.

“Never more sure about anything.” Emma pursed her lips.

“Okay.” Mirabel drove the short distance down Main Street, past Flint’s truck and the playground, and turned over the bridge up the hill.

“Why do you ask?” Emma finally asked.

“Why?” Mirabel let out a short laugh. “Flint and I went to school together. Twelve years—fourteen if you count kindergarten and pre-K—and never in all the years I’ve known him have I seen him look at a female the way he looks at you. Not once.”

Emma let out a short huff of a laugh. “What, like I’m his property?”

“Yes, but no.” Mirabel turned the wheel into Emma’s townhouse. “This you?”