Witch and the hothead 22
Ba bump, ba bump, ba bump…
The sound of my heart is almost deafening, and on top of that, I can feel Paul's heartbeat racing—making everything so much worse.
The vampire in front of us stands completely still. If I hadn't seen him move, I would've thought he was a statue. My grip tightens around my wand. If he takes one more step, I'm Apparating us out of here. I'm not taking any risks.
Those blood-red eyes are unnatural, and the sight of them turns my stomach. I know what they mean. He's fed recently—too recently.
Paul's body is tense, vibrating with barely contained energy. I know he'd never hurt me, not even if he phased this close, but this has to be killing him. His mortal enemy, mere feet away. If he loses control, the vampire won't stand a chance. My mind races through the possible outcomes, making me dizzy.
Since the war, I haven't been in a situation this tense. My body's survival instincts kick in, and I can hear Moody's voice in the back of my head: "Constant vigilance." I force myself to focus, to calm my racing heart.
The vampire shifts. His rigid stance eases slightly, and he turns his head, scanning the clearing. I don't dare relax, but at least now I know—he can't see us. He takes a step back. Then another. Suddenly, faster than my eyes can register, he spins around and vanishes.
I let out a shaky breath. If Paul weren't holding me so tightly, I might collapse. We stay frozen, not making a sound for what feels like an eternity. The trembling in Paul's body subsides—a good sign. I know he's listening, making sure the vampire is truly gone.
I glance up at him. His jaw is clenched, sharp angles more pronounced, and his eyes remain locked on the clearing ahead. His nostrils flare slightly as he scents the air.
"Is it gone?" I whisper.
His golden-rimmed eyes snap to mine, and I realize the wolf is still close to the surface. I place a gentle hand on his arm, soothing him. He exhales deeply, closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, they're back to that beautiful hazel—Paul's eyes.
Without warning, he pulls me close. I let out a startled squeak as he lifts me effortlessly. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist, arms around his neck. His grip tightens, pressing me to him, and he buries his face in my neck.
I rest my cheek against his shoulder, pressing small kisses along his skin, trying to calm him, to distract him. His answering growl tells me I've succeeded.
Maybe a little too well.
In a blur, Paul lowers us to the ground, his movements lightning-fast yet impossibly gentle. My back meets the cold earth, but his warmth against me makes it almost pleasant. My legs are still wrapped around him, keeping him close.
"Promise me," he growls, nipping at the sensitive spot where he left his love bite—where I know he'll mark me one day. "Next time a bloodsucker comes this close to you, I can kill it."
A whimper escapes me, my brain short-circuiting from adrenaline, his scent, his touch. He grips my hair firmly, tilting my head further.
"Promise me, little witch," he repeats.
I nod, unable to form words.
Paul hums in satisfaction, his lips trailing up my neck, along my jaw, before finally claiming my mouth in a passionate kiss. I moan into him, threading my fingers through his short hair, pulling him closer.
All I can feel, taste, and think about is Paul.
I try to move against him, but his weight pins me down, making it impossible. He groans when he feels my attempt.
"Fuck, baby," he breathes against my lips. "I want to claim you right here, but we have to go. We can't stay here."
I whine, and he chuckles.
"Our first time is not going to be on the cold ground of Forks," he teases, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. There's warmth in his gaze, a softness that makes me smile despite myself.
Merlin, my younger self would curse me for being this pathetic and needy. This imprinting thing has turned me into one of those brainless ninnies.
He presses one last kiss against my lips before jumping up, making me laugh as I remain wrapped around him like a monkey. His answering grin is wolfish, and I giggle.
"Hide your face in my neck and hold on tight," he says. But before I can react, he takes off running. I gasp, quickly burying my face against his neck and tightening my grip as he moves swiftly through the forest.
It feels uncomfortably similar to flying on a broom, but since I know we're still on solid ground, I don't panic. When I feel him slow down, I dare to lift my head and watch as the trees part. Moments later, he stops outside the car.
He gently sets me down, then opens the door and growls.
"The leech was here. That must be why he went into the forest—it reeks." His nose wrinkles in disgust. "Open the other door to air it out. My wolf doesn't like the mixture of your scent and the leech's. It makes him think you're in danger again."
I nod quickly, hurrying around to open the passenger side door.
Grabbing my notebook, I jot down details about the vampire we encountered—just in case we have the misfortune of running into it again.
Paul hops in, adjusts the seat, and tells me to get in, muttering under his breath that the smell isn't going to get much better. I smile, saying nothing as he continues grumbling about the stench.
"Lunch?" I ask, hoping to distract him from his bad mood.
He instantly brightens, nodding.
As we head toward town, we pass the local diner. It looks busy, and I'm just about to comment when Paul suddenly slams on the brakes. I gasp, throwing my hands out to stop myself from flying into the windshield.
Pushing my hair out of my face, I glare at him. "What are y—"
He makes a sharp U-turn, the tires screeching.
"Chief Swan's patrol car was outside the diner. You up for some undercover work and a steak?" he asks, glancing over at me—only to burst out laughing.
I slap his arm. "Stop laughing at me, you git! You could've warned me! You drive like a bloody idiot!" I nearly yell, not finding this funny at all.
His laughter fades, and his brows furrow as he turns his attention back to the road, pulling into the parking lot at a much slower pace.
He kills the engine, looking down at his hands. Guilt instantly twists in my stomach—I shouldn't have yelled at him.
"I'm sorry," I mumble, placing a hand on his arm.
He just shakes his head, then turns his whole body toward me, cupping my face in his hands.
"No, don't apologize. You're right. I forgot for a second that you're not unbreakable like me. I could've hurt you," he murmurs, and I can see the conflict in his eyes. His wolf isn't happy.
I turn my head slightly, pressing a kiss to his palm. His eyes snap to mine.
"I'm glad—not that you drive like a lunatic, but that you don't see me as some weak, breakable thing," I say, smiling.
His shoulders relax, and he chuckles before leaning in to steal a quick kiss.
"Oh no, little witch—weak is the last thing I'd ever call you. But compared to me, you are breakable."
I just laugh, shaking my head as I step out of the car.
Meanwhile, back in La Push
Leah
The sound of the car pulling away makes me groan.
Why did I say yes to this?
I could just leave and not be bothered, but something tells me I should stay—to get to know the quirky little witch who has Paul acting like a damn guard dog. I scoff. Of course, that idiot would imprint on a witch.
He never does anything by the book.
Still, I'm happy for him.
I've known of Paul since we were kids—same kindergarten, same elementary school—but we never talked. Ever since I can remember, people on the rez have gossiped about the Lahote family.
About the deadbeat dad who left and never came back—rumors say he got himself locked up. Who knows if that's true?
His mother was always kind but also always drunk.
At least she loved him.
The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth as I think of my own mother.
Sue Clearwater—the worst mother to walk this earth.
Not even Seth, who loves everyone and always gives people a chance, can stand her.
The way she tries to shove her outdated gender roles down our throats makes Seth uncomfortable—makes him anxious. She's always telling him to "man up," telling me to be more "soft-spoken."
I know for a fact that Seth is gay. He hasn't told me, but I've seen it in his thoughts when we're on patrol together. And I know—just like he does—that our dear mother would never accept it. That's why he avoids her, spends as much time at Embry's as possible.
And me?
I just roam around, killing time, making myself invisible in her presence.
Every time she tries to tell me to be more feminine, be more gentle, to smile more—I feel the urge to phase and rip her to shreds.
A muffled sound from upstairs snaps me out of my thoughts. I strain to listen, but the house falls silent again. I shrug. Hermione said the wizard was here, but I guess he isn't the social type. Suits me just fine.
Still, I have to admit—I'm curious about him. At the bonfire, I could feel his eyes on me, and for once, it didn't put my wolf on edge. That alone made me wonder why. It also made me uncomfortable. Ever since the fiasco with Sam, I've shut down any thoughts of getting close to someone. Deep down, I long for a connection, but the constant reminder of my past is too painful. Opening that door again only to be disappointed—or worse, hurt—isn't worth it.
It's better to keep my distance. That way, I won't get hurt again.
I sigh. These thoughts haunt me daily, and I'm exhausted. I wish I could erase all those memories and start over.
My eyes land on the mess covering the coffee table. I need a distraction. Glancing around, I start sifting through the scattered papers and books. I grab a file and laugh when I realize it's the one the wizarding folks put together about the La Push tribe and the wolves. My laughter turns into a quiet snort when I read that Paul is labeled as "volatile."
Sure, maybe in the presence of a vampire. But otherwise? He's one of the most laid-back people I know. He never rises to Jacob's bait, never gets involved in the fake pack lovey-dovey drama.
Tossing the file back onto the table, I pick up another one. This one's about the leeches. I smirk. The information is clinical but surprisingly accurate. Hermione has a solid start, and I'm guessing Paul has filled her in on the rest.
I grab one of the books—Advanced Potion-Making. I snort. Potions sound like some magical hocus pocus nonsense. Flipping through the pages, I skim over recipes—Strengthening Potion, Pepper-Up. Then, I pause at Amortentia. A love potion? Sounds like complete bullshit.
I toss the book onto the table and push myself up, heading for the kitchen. Food always makes me feel better, and cooking helps take my mind off things.
Rummaging through the fridge, I find a container of leftovers. The moment I pop the lid open, the scent makes me nearly groan—it smells amazing. Without bothering to reheat it, I dig in.
Do these magical folks cook with magic? Because this tastes unreal. The flavors are rich, the meat cooked to perfection. When I finish, I pout, wishing there was more.
I rinse my container and fork in the sink, then glance out the window. The view stretches over the cliffs and the ocean. I love the ocean. It's alive—calm and beautiful on a good day, shimmering under the sun. But on a bad day? Dark, vicious, with towering waves that crash against the shore.
Back in the living room, I plop onto the sofa and turn on the TV. Killing some time won't hurt. I can't even remember the last time I did this—I avoid being home too much to bother.
I almost doze off, but another muffled sound from upstairs snaps me awake. My irritation flares. He hasn't even come down to say hello? That's just rude. My mood sours instantly.
I sit up, eyes flicking to the closed door at the top of the stairs. Should I just march up there and demand he introduce himself? Or let him mope around in his room like a spoiled brat?
Nope. Not my problem. If he wants to be alone, he can stay alone.
I push to my feet and head outside, slamming the door behind me. I'm not going to sit around feeling like an intruder.
The shimmering dome surrounding the property catches my eye—the protective barrier Hermione told me about. It keeps everyone out, including the pack. That makes me hesitate. A whole day without them breathing down my neck? Tempting. Maybe I should just phase and nap under a tree until Hermione and Paul get back.
My gaze shifts to the garage. When I phased back there earlier, I caught unfamiliar scents coming from inside. What the hell are they hiding in there?
Curiosity wins. I walk over, grab the handle, and push the door open. The loud screeching makes me wince. Then, a wave of heavy, herbal scents slams into me. I pause, wrinkling my nose. The smell is intense, layered with something unfamiliar.
Stepping inside, I scan the space. Cauldrons—actual cauldrons—line a large table. The inside of the garage is much bigger than it looks from the outside. Magic, obviously.
I lift the lid on the nearest cauldron and frown. This one smells like a weak herbal tea. I set the lid back down and move to the next. The thick, bubbling liquid inside is heated by a fire underneath, and the stench—earthy and vaguely meaty—makes my stomach turn. Disgusting.
I snap the lid shut and step toward the last cauldron.
Before I even lift the lid, the sharp, acrid scent hits me—like stomach acid, but stronger. I wrinkle my nose. They drink this? Fucking crazy people.
"What do you think you're doing?!"
The sudden voice behind me startles me so badly that my instincts take over—I phase on the spot, exploding into my wolf form.
A loud shout. The clang of metal hitting the floor. Liquid splashing.
Then—silence.
A faint shimmer surrounds me, like the magical barrier around the property. Before I can react, the magic flickers and disappears, and a heavy thump sounds behind me.
I whirl around. The wizard is on the ground, his dark hair covering his face, one arm sprawled in a puddle of the spilled potion.
My heart hammers as I take in the scene. The table is split in half. Cauldrons overturned. A mess of liquid pooling across the floor. Shit. What did I just do?
I step closer and nudge him with my paw—gently at first, then harder. No response. Panic claws at my chest. Did I kill him?
My wolf whines low, uneasy. The pressure in my ribs is suffocating.
I phase back, my shredded shorts and tank top lying in tatters on the floor. Fuck. Wrapping an arm around my chest, I crouch down and brush his hair away from his face.
He's breathing. Thank God.
But he's not waking up. And that—that's not good.
A sharp, acrid smell burns my nose, growing stronger. My gaze drops to the puddle, and my stomach lurches. The flesh of his hand—where it lies in the potion—is corroding.
Without thinking, I hoist him up and bolt for the house. My wolf paces at the back of my mind, anxious and restless.
Fuck, fuck, fuck—what do I do?
I lay him on the couch, frantically searching for something—anything—to help. My mind is spinning.
Water. I need water.
I sprint to the kitchen, soak a towel, and rush back to him. Wiping away the potion, I wince at the damage on his hand. His shirt is drenched too—I have to get it off.
Gripping the fabric, I rip the buttons open, sending them flying across the room. I yank the shirt off and toss it in the sink. His arm looks unharmed, but he's still unconscious. Still not waking up.
I glance down at myself and freeze. Shit. I'm still naked.
I hesitate. I don't want to leave him, but I also can't risk him waking up to this.
Clenching my jaw, I dash upstairs. I don't waste time picking a room—I yank open the door to the one that smells like him. The scent washes over me—herbs, sandalwood, and something citrusy.
It calms me. Just a little.
What the fuck?
Shaking it off, I rip open the wardrobe, grab a simple black shirt, and pull it over my head. My wolf purrs. I pause. What is going on?
I shake it off and rush back downstairs.
The second I see him, panic slams back into me. He hasn't moved. His breathing is more laboured.
I pat down his pockets, hands shaking. When I find his phone, I nearly sob in relief—no passcode. I open his contacts.
If I wasn't panicking I would almost smile, there's only one contact saved.
Hermione.
I hit dial and pace in front of the couch, waiting. It goes to voicemail.
"Come on!" I yell, gripping my hair in frustration.
I call again. "Pick up. Pick up. PICK UP."
Finally—
"He—"
"It's Leah!" I cut her off. "You need to get back here NOW! Something's wrong with the wizard—he's unconscious."
She asks what happened. I growl in frustration.
"I don't have time to explain! Just get back here! His breathing is getting worse. Please, just hurry!"
There's a beat of silence. Then I hear her call out to Paul.
"We'll be there soon," she says before the line cuts off.
I shove the papers and books off the coffee table and sit down, my eyes locked on the unconscious wizard. My wolf paces inside me, anxious and restless. The feeling unsettles me.
I don't like seeing anyone hurt—I'm not that heartless—but this? This is different. My wolf is reacting too much, and I don't understand why.
A loud crack outside makes me jolt. Instinct takes over—I spring to my feet, muscles tensing, ready to phase. The rapid sound of footsteps follows, and just as I brace myself, the door slams open.
Paul and Hermione rush inside.
Hermione's eyes go wide when she sees the wizard on the sofa. She hurries over, pulling out her wand. A soft blue mist flows from the tip, settling over his still form. Her brows knit together.
"What is it?" I ask, glancing between her and the wizard.
"Some kind of poison," she mutters. "But how?" She steps closer, lifting his eyelids. His eyes have rolled back, and the sight makes my stomach clench.
"It happened in the garage," I explain, lifting his injured hand to show her the damage. "Some of the potion spilled, and it got on his skin."
She gasps and bolts for the door, Paul hot on her heels.
I stay put, gripping the wizard's clammy hand. His skin feels too cool, yet his forehead burns with fever. My chest tightens.
This is my fault.
Why did I have to go snooping? Why do I have to be cursed with this wolf thing? It has only brought me pain and now I've inflicted it on another.
Minutes later, Hermione returns with Paul in tow. She sinks onto the sofa beside the wizard, eyes scanning him with sharp focus.
"I don't know what he was brewing, but it doesn't seem life-threatening," she says, more to herself than to me. "I think he has antidotes in his bag. Let me find them first—then you're going to explain exactly how this happened." Her voice is firm, edged with authority. She doesn't wait for a response before heading upstairs.
Paul watches her until she disappears, his gaze unreadable. When he finally turns to me, his dark eyes burn with something more than anger—warning.
"I hope for your sake he'll be okay," he says, his voice low, rumbling. "Severus means a lot to Hermione. If you hurt him, you hurt her—and I won't stand for it. You got me?"
I meet his stare for a moment before looking down at the wizard again. I nod.
I honestly don't care about Hermione.
It matters to me, too, that he gets better.
Hermione returns, instructing me to tilt his head back and help her open his mouth. I gently grasp his jaw, pulling it down as she pours four different potions inside. Then, she casts that same blue, misty spell again.
Her shoulders drop, but I can't read her expression.
"What is it?" I ask, my voice laced with worry.
She gives me a small smile. "He's stable now. I gave him a pain-relief potion as well, so he shouldn't be in any discomfort. He just needs rest."
I nod, my focus locked on the unconscious wizard—on Severus. Yet, I make no move to release his hand. In the background, I hear Paul murmuring to his witch, but I don't care about whatever they're saying.
My wolf has calmed now that Hermione assured me he'll be okay. Maybe… No. I don't want to think about it. I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on him again.
His skin looks less pale. Gently, I place my palm against his forehead. The fever has gone down, and I let out a relieved sigh.
His face is relaxed, strong yet worn—like a man who has battled his way through life and emerged on the other side, hardened but wise. There's a ruggedness to him that's strangely attractive. His nose is prominent but suits his features. His lips, surprisingly full. His jaw and chin are sharp, defined. There's something regal about him.
My gaze drifts lower, and I gasp.
Before, I had been too overwhelmed to notice the scars littering his torso. Near his collarbone, a cluster of small, circular marks. My breath catches as realization dawns. Cigarette burns.
A deep growl rumbles in my chest.
Further down, a jagged scar stretches along his side—a stab wound. My frown deepens. Who is this wizard? What has he endured?
On his arm, a faded tattoo catches my eye. A skull and a snake. A gang symbol? A mark of something darker?
I'm so lost in thought that I don't hear the approaching footsteps until Hermione is beside me.
"Come on," she says softly. "Help me prepare dinner and tell me what happened."
Reluctantly, I release his hand and stand, tugging at the hem of the oversized shirt I'm wearing—his shirt. In all the chaos, I'd forgotten that I had nothing else on, but it's big enough to feel like a dress, covering everything that needs to be covered.
Paul sits at the table, his eyes finding mine as I pass. That same dark look lingers, though he seems less tense. I don't want to fight, so I turn to Hermione instead.
"What do you need help with?"
I chop vegetables and assist whenever she asks. Eventually, she glances up at me, her expression neutral but her eyes warm.
"So… tell me what happened."
I recount everything—the garage, my snooping, how he startled me, the chaos that followed. She nods, humming in acknowledgment as she listens.
"Thank you for telling me." She offers a small smile. "I wasn't mad, just worried. You did the right thing calling me."
That reminds me.
"How the hell did you get here so fast?" I ask, glancing at Paul.
He smirks, wiggling his fingers in the air. "Magic."
Hermione snorts, and I smirk, shaking my head as I mutter, "Idiot."
When the food is ready, we sit down, and I take a seat where I can still see Severus. I try to keep up with the conversation, but my mind drifts back to him—back to the wizard lying on the sofa.
Paul's voice snaps me from my thoughts.
"So, Leah."
I blink, my eyes narrowing at his smirk.
"What?" I snap, irritation flaring as my wolf growls in the back of my mind.
His grin widens. "Tell me, is it your bitch whining in your head, worried about the wizard on the couch? Or is it just your human side feeling guilty for hurting him?"
My body stiffens.
I glance at Hermione, then back at Paul as his words finally register. My wolf is so close to the surface that I almost missed his meaning.
Realization slams into me. My eyes widen.
I stand so abruptly that my chair clatters to the floor. Without a second thought, I move back to the sofa, reclaiming my spot on the coffee table.
Reaching for his hand again, I squeeze it gently. "Please wake up," I whisper.
Severus takes a slow, deep breath. His face shifts, brows furrowing, voice low and irritated as he mutters—
"Is a wizard never to be granted even a moment's peace?"
I snort, shaking my head.
God, even half-conscious, he sounds like me—just with that posh British accent.
"Sorry," I tease, "but since you made me blow up your little lab and managed to poison yourself with one of your weird concoctions, I'd say no."
His eyes snap open, locking onto mine, and I exhale sharply.
Dark as the night sky, his gaze glitters like distant stars. It's as if his very soul is reaching out to mine. A strange sensation washes over me—like cool water trickling down my spine on a hot summer day. Like inhaling crisp winter air, that sharp bite reminding you you're alive.
His lips move, but I'm too dazed to catch his words.
"What?" I whisper breathlessly.
He smirks. "I said, if someone hadn't gone snooping around, this wouldn't have happened. But now… I'm glad you did."
I bite my lip, but the laughter bubbles up anyway. His eyes gleam, and to my surprise, he lets out a soft chuckle himself.
I try to smother my laughter, but I can't wipe the grin off my face.
For the first time in what feels like forever, the ghosts of my past don't haunt me. The pain of him—of Sam—is nothing but a distant memory, no longer a weight dragging me down.
For the first time in years—
I feel happy.
.
.
.
.
Hey everyone!
Wow, that was a close call with the vampire! And honestly, what better way to shake off a scary experience than with a bit of snogging, right?
I hope you're loving the Leah and Severus imprint as much as I do. I just think they make such a well-suited pair—whether they bring each other joy or just stay grumpy together, haha!
I saw a comment mentioning that Chapter 21 was bugging—I hope it's fixed now and that you've been able to read it!
LeonaMasha: Sorry to disappoint, but I don't think I'll be adding more vampires beyond the Cullens. I did think about it after your comment, though!
CallaRose4ever: Yep, there's definitely something fishy going on with the tribe, but I don't suspect any other witches or wizards... except maybe Ana, haha! But it could also be something else entirely—maybe a different kind of magic?
Thank you all so much! I know I say this in every chapter, but it really does mean so much to me that you enjoy my fiction and take the time to leave a review. Even if you don't, just the fact that you're reading means so much to me.
Wishing you all a fantastic weekend! 3️