The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Page count: 13

Hermione staggered as Dean crashed into her, momentum knocking them both off balance. Her hands flew up, gripping his biceps as the world tilted—but it wasn't enough. Her foot slipped, the ground rushed up—

She gasped.

Dean moved faster than she could blink.

He twisted mid-fall, taking the impact himself and landing flat on his back with a grunt, Hermione landing squarely on top of him. Her breath hitched at the sound he made—pain threaded through it—but he didn't stop. Didn't hesitate. His mouth was still on hers, devouring her like the fall hadn't even happened.

Hermione scrambled upright without breaking the kiss, sliding higher along the length of him so they weren't bent at awkward angles. Her legs bracketed his hips, knees sinking into the grass on either side of him. A quiet sound—shockingly needy—escaped her as his hands dragged up her sides, one finding the back of her neck beneath her hair, the other skimming under the hem of her shirt to her warm skin.

She felt that touch everywhere.

Without thinking, her fingers threaded into his hair, tugging sharply. Dean groaned into her mouth, hips shifting beneath her just enough to make her breath stutter. Everything became heat and want and the rough rasp of his breath against hers.

Then—something in her snapped.

Hermione caught his wrists and wrenched them away from her, pinning his hands to the ground on either side of his head. Dean's chest rose sharply beneath her, his eyes blazing up at her as though she'd just lit him on fire.

His pupils were blown. His breathing wrecked.

He looked at her like she was the most dangerous thing he'd ever faced.

"Hermione! Dean!"

Hermione jolted as though doused in ice water. She scrambled off Dean so quickly she nearly tripped over her own feet. By the time Sam rounded the corner, she was on her feet, staring very intently at a nearby scrap of engine as though it contained the secrets of the universe.

Dean was still on the ground.

Flattened. Winded. Possibly questioning his life choices.

Sam raised a slow eyebrow. "Okay... what's going on here?"

Hermione cleared her throat, forcing her voice to be steady. "Dean was teaching me self-defence."

...which was technically true, she reminded herself desperately.

Sam's eyes flicked over her—rumpled shirt, flushed cheeks, wild hair—and then to Dean, who looked like he'd been hit by a truck and enjoyed it.

"She any good?" Sam asked dryly, offering Dean a hand up.

Dean took it, brushing dirt off his jeans with a little too much force. His gaze snapped to Hermione like gravity itself had chosen her.

His voice was rough when he answered. "Yeah. She's... good."

Hermione felt her stomach flip at the way he said it. She immediately looked away.

"Well," she said quickly, smoothing her hair even though it did absolutely nothing, "I need to find Ricky. My report's nearly finished, and he has to take it to London."

She didn't wait for a response. She couldn't. Not with the way Dean was looking at her—heat simmering beneath restraint, his jaw tight, his pulse hammering in his throat.

She turned and disappeared back into the maze of cars, heart slamming.

Sam watched her go before turning back to Dean, crossing his arms.