Page 14 of The Wolfing Hour

“I didn’t give you the whole story,” I said.

To his credit, he didn’t make a smart-ass retort, like “obviously.”

I’d half expected it, though that was more because it was something I would’ve said rather than something he would. I should probably work on my attitude, but I’m thirty-five and entrenched in my ways. Plus, I don’t want to.

“I’m listening, if you want to tell me,” he said. “No pressure.”

His word choice was interesting, because I felt like I was going to burst with anxiety and fear. “I didn’t banish Bloody Mary with a spell. I banished her with my presence. Ronan, she was afraid of me. Ofme.”

His drooping eyelids opened wide. “Whoa.”

“She said my full name.” I ducked my head, letting my brown-black hair fall over my face like a curtain. “She also referred to me as ‘Kin to the grave demon, child of dot-dot-dot,’ and then she apologized a few times and was wrenched back into the computer, which then melted.”

“Wrenched by whom? Or what?”

“No clue.” I shook my hair aside, peered at him.

Ronan didn’t look sickened, afraid, or disgusted—the three emotions I’d anticipated, along with a hearty, “Well, it’s been fun, Betty, but this is a little too much demon stuff for me.”

He looked interested. Perplexed, even. “What do you think she was going to say—the dot-dot-dot part? Child of whom?”

“Don’t know.” I cleared my throat. “You’re not weirded out by this?”

“No,” he said, following it with a quick, “I bet it’s about your father. It could also be about your mother, though. She was a powerful elemental witch, after all.”

“Yeah.” I stared at him as if he were a handful of stars that had spontaneously configured into a heart-shaped constellation in the sky. “I love you, you know.”

“I know. I love you, too.” He reached for me, drew me against his strong, warm body. “What? Did you think this would be a dealbreaker for me?”

“I’m a part-demon witch apparently scary enough to freak out Bloody Mary. Yeah. I thought you might take issue with that.”

“At leastyourbirth father didn’t try to murder you.”

“The day is young.”

He squeezed me tight and planted a kiss on my head. “I already knew you were fierce, Betty. That’s not news. Nothing you’ve told me changes who you are. Not in any way that counts.”

I burrowed into him. Breathed in his scent, which was a mix of the pub, the outdoors, and my house. “Did you go for a run today? You smell like sunshine.”

“What does sunshine smell like?”

“Like growing things, good health, warmth.”

“That answered nothing, bonita.”

“I know, but it’s the best I can do.”

He smoothed his hand up my spine to my nape then squeezed a handful of hair, tipping my head gently back. It walked the edge of pain—a distracting sort of sting I needed right now.

That he’d known I’d needed it told me he was paying attention, and there were few things sexier than a man who paid attention to a woman’s needs—in bed and out of it.

“You smell likemine.” He softly growled the words into my ear. His wolf was close. This was the outdoor scent I’d detected.

“What does that smell like?” I asked.

“Let’s just say, I nose it when I smells it,” he said, burying his face into my neck.

“Goddess, that was a terrible pun. Just awful.” I ran my fingers down his chest to the hem of his T-shirt, grabbed a fistfulof fabric, and raked it up so I could start working on the top button of his jeans.