Jethro POV
"Get your hands off her."
My voice cut through the damp forest air like a snapped bone.
The witch did not run. She just stood there by the edge of the clearing, her fingers lingering a fraction of a second too long on Nina's wrist. Nina blinked, her bright eyes shifting from the stranger to me. She looked entirely too innocent, entirely too soft for a world that wanted to tear her apart.
Between them, the small kitten curled near baby Toby's basket hissed, its tiny black fur standing on end.
"Jethro," Nina said, her voice a soft, soothing balm that usually worked to calm the static under my skin. Not today. "Do not be jealous. She is a friend. She raised my cats. Do not you remember Pumpkin?"
I did not care about the orange cat. I cared about the way the witch's scent smel
