Page 23

“ Nailed it.”

If I’d been driving Ida’s LTD, I wouldn’t have made the turn.

As it was, I nearly rolled the Mini. Ronan made a hissing sound when his hip hit the console.

“You okay?”

He gave me a grimace and a thumbs-up.

I parked, switched off the radio, and turned off the car. “I’ve got this.”

He ignored me and got out of the car. Limped around the front, one hand on the hood. “Gods, I’m sorry to bring this to your front door.”

“Stay back,” I replied. “For once, let me handle things.”

He stopped, back bowed, thigh resting against the driver’s side headlamp. “Betty? I can’t … shift,” he whispered, his mouth downturned, anguish in every line of his exhausted face. “I did it before, but now… Something is wrong—really wrong.”

I peered over my shoulder and whispered back, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. ”

His gaze moved from me to Floyd and back again. His affirmative head tilt was slight. He didn’t return to the car, but he didn’t move any closer, either.

The SUV idled at the curb. It wouldn’t come any closer. Mason and Floyd were assholes, but they weren’t fools; they knew what happened to unwelcome visitors to the Siete Saguaros Mobile Home Park.

If they came onto my land without permission, they’d suffer the same fate Margaux had. No matter how strong they were, it wouldn’t be enough to take on the park’s magic. They’d found that out the last time they were here.

“You have my wolf, witch,” Floyd said, with a snarl. “Hand him over to his pack.”

“You want him? You’re going to have to come through me.”

He growled then said, “You think that’s a challenge? You’re nothing. Not a wolf, barely a real witch. Hell, are you even a woman?”

The skitter of rocks told me Ronan was moving behind me, but he said nothing.

“Set a single foot on my land, Floyd Pallás, and you’ll regret it. And this time when I have you down, I won’t let you go.” I looked at Mason, who’d exited the car and was standing by the tailgate. “No matter how much your second begs for your life.”

I planted my feet in a huge dirt patch in the sparse gravel then bent at the waist and scooped a handful of soil into my right hand.

“The Pallás wolf pack is unwelcome on this land. Any wolf who tries to enter my property—unless expressly invited—takes their life in their hands.”

I strode to the edge of the parking lot and tossed the soil high above my head, smiling at Floyd as it rained down on me. Every grain hit my flesh with a pleasing sting of heat, sheathing my body in a cloud of steaming vapor.

“Get out.”

I plunged my magic into the soil with a request, and it answered with a peal of thunder and a rolling thwump of power that made the Mini jump off the ground and rocked the pack SUV up on two tires for a brief moment.

I beckoned Mason with a curling finger. “Come closer. See what happens next.”

The superior grin he’d worn only seconds before slid off his face. He raced to the front of the SUV, threw open the driver’s side door, and sped off, Alpha Floyd glaring at me the entire time.

“I just pushed the edges of the protection spell to the curb. It won’t affect humans walking past, except to encourage them to take another direction, so that’s— Ronan ?” I raced around the front of the car and found him face down on the ground. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. I dropped back when you started doing your thing.”

“ Dropped back ? You fell.”

“No, it’s— I’m okay. Just sore. Weak.” He sat up, with my help, and rubbed his temples. “Feeling kind of befuddled.”

“That’s what the Mara blade does.”

Though the effects should’ve worn off by now. I didn’t tell him that, though. It would only add to his confusion.

“We’re protected here, but I’d feel better if we were inside,” I said, helping him to his feet with the aid of the Mini’s front fender. “You’ve seen what happens when people try to enter the property, but that doesn’t mean a bullet couldn’t get through.”

“It doesn’t?”

“It could slow one down but not necessarily stop it outright. And there are magical weapons I can’t account for— Hey .” He swayed, and I caught him against me.

“You handled him,” he said. “Protected me.”

“I told you I could.”

“Betty, I’m sorry. Should’ve called you before.” He laid his head on my shoulder, and together we managed a stumbling, circuitous route to the garden room. It was closer than my house and would keep me near the herbs I’d need.

“Yes, you should have.”

“I swore to trust you, but I didn’t show it. I’m shorry,” he slurred .

“I’m starting to see you might also have been a bit confused.”

“Confused and dumb. Why didn’t I call? I know who you are. You’re strong and amazing and sexy and pretty, and I wanna sleep with you so much, though only if you want that, and I?—”

“I accept your apology.” I huffed as he rested more of his weight on me. My tote bag fell to my elbow, and I pulled the strap higher on my shoulder.

“Do you love me, Betty bonita?” he asked, in a sleepy voice. “Because I think you do.”

“How do I know that? We haven’t even had sex yet.” I nudged the door with my foot and helped Ronan to the chaise.

“You’re such a corn dog,” he said, his eyelids slipping shut.

“Horn dog, Pallás. Get it right.” I pulled his legs up onto the chaise and arranged his arms. “Why are you so limp?”

“Rephrase that,” he murmured.

“Fair. Why are you so relaxed now? Back at Felicia’s I could’ve bounced a quarter off your ass you were so uptight.”

“Dunno. Guess it’s ‘cause I feel… safe.”

Why did the idea that he felt safe with me make my heart swell? I should still be pissed about him not calling, but I was finding it harder and harder to stay angry.

Ronan opened one eye. “What day is it?”

“Monday. And before you ask, it’s ten p.m. Your pub is open, and you’re going to need to give Karen a fat bonus when this is all over.”

I pulled a box of charm supplies off the lower shelf of my workstation and pawed through the glass pieces. When I found the right ones, I plugged in my soldering iron and extracted a spool of solder. Then I picked up a palm-sized, recently sharpened harvesting sickle.

“Yeah. Calvin said everyone was helping. I thought they’d just close up the place.”

“That’s not how small-town people do things, Ronan. We help each other.” I cut a measure of lavender from my favorite plant, along with a little lemon balm, St. John’s wort, and gotu kola. From the supply I’d purchased, I took pinches of turmeric and cinnamon, which were two things I didn’t grow.

This wasn’t a charm to take the place of my magic—it wasn’t meant as a stand-in for a weak soil connection. This was charm magic the way an earth witch was supposed to use it. As a complement to my elemental power.

I set the leaves, crushed and powdered herbs on one glass charm, arranging them like a card spread, freshest herb to least. Before I pressed the other glass against it, sealing the spell, I held up my arm, where the soil I’d kept there, waiting for my command, trembled against my flesh.

“Go,” I said.

A patch, no larger than a dime, fell onto the herbs, dusting over them like a sort of earthy glitter. The mingled scents—spicy, fruity—wafted up to my nose in a magical rush. I sealed the spell, soldering carefully to ensure nothing seeped out.

When it was finished, I set it aside to fully cool. It wouldn’t take long and should counteract the effects of the blade.

“Betty, are you still here?” Ronan rolled onto his side, again hissing in pain. Whatever was going on with his hip was not good.

“Right here. Working on a charm to help you.”

“When my mom and Abel left, I was all alone,” he murmured.

They hadn’t exactly left. His stepfather Abel had been murdered, and his mother had died of cancer.

“I’m not leaving, Ronan.”

“Good. Don’t threaten that anymore.”

“To be fair, it wasn’t a threat when I said it. Now that I’ve started to better understand the situation, I’m more inclined to forgive you.”

He stared unblinking at the ceiling. A few seconds ticked by. I was about to ask him if he was all right when he spoke again.

“I’m glad Rory is far away from all this.”

“Yeah.” Not that it mattered. No matter how far away Ronan’s sister was, Floyd was going to find a way to use her against him.

Although I believed I’d made the right decision when I’d allowed the bastard to live, I ninety-nine percent wished I could go back in time and shove his head underground for a minute longer.

I picked up the now cool charm and fastened it around his neck, taking care to set the charm itself against his chest.

“What’s this?”

“The charm I told you about.” I frowned. Was he getting worse? “It should help mitigate the confusion. Give your wolf enough of a foothold to really heal you. Now let me get a look at that hip. I’ve got a poultice that should give you some relief.”

“That’s okay.” He fake-smiled. “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“ Do not fight me on this. I am a woman on the edge.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He unfastened the snap on his jeans, and I tugged them down past his hips. Pain rode roughshod over the planes of his handsome face as I stripped them down his legs.

“ What did they do to you? ”

A ragged-edged wound the length of my forearm lay over the blades of his hip bones and upper portion of thigh. It was open and weeping but not bleeding. His wolf had been working hard to heal him, but the blade had gone too deep.

He let out a hissing whimper when I prodded the skin around it, and I jerked my hand back, not wanting to hurt him anymore than necessary.

“Ronan, how many wounds like this do you have?”

Lines creased his forehead. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and rasped, “At least seven. Maybe more.”

There were those who believed that morality was morality and that no situation, no matter how extreme, should ever alter the line between right and wrong.

For the most part, I agreed. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t celebrating the sudden and cruel deaths of Gordon Lu, Carolina Foster, Aldrich Redding, and especially Desmond Mace.

“Have to admit, I’d hoped to be naked with you in a much different way by now,” Ronan whispered. “And I’d kind of hoped you wouldn’t cry at the sight of my stunningly beautiful, masculine physique.”

I’d stripped the rest of his clothes off and dropped them into a pile by the chaise. His temperature was high enough to kill a human. Wounds covered his body. Seven deep ones and twenty-two shallow cuts, jabs, and slices. I counted each one, teeth gritted, hands shaking, furious tears pouring down my face.

“Don’t cry, Betty,” Ronan said. “Your makeup will run.”

“I haven’t worn any in almost a week, which should tell you exactly my state of mind.” I swiped my hand across my eyes.

“It’s just something my mom used to say. ‘Don’t make me cry, love, my makeup will run,’” he said, in a light Irish brogue. One side of his mouth quirked up. “Her accent came out when she was emotional.”

“I wish I could’ve met her.”

“She would’ve liked you. She liked strong women.”

“That’s nice to hear,” I replied. “Mine would’ve liked you, too. She had a thing for men with a strong sense of honor—and a wicked sense of humor.”

“Honor, huh?” His eyelids slipped shut. “Your charm’s helping me think more clearly. Wish I’d had this days ago.” His lids fluttered open before being dragged shut again. “If I’d been in my right mind, I would’ve called you, Betty. I would’ve come here as soon as I could.”

I stroked my fingers over his cheek, and he let out a hitching sigh.

“I’m tempted to give Calvin, Jenny, and Felicia a piece of my mind for not realizing how bad your confusion was and contacting me, but I know you well enough by now to assume you forbade them from doing so in some deceptive and cruelly effective way.”

“You think so little of my honorable instincts?” His tone was gentle, teasing .

“Not at all. You thought you were protecting me.” I moved from the wound on his hip to one on his abdomen. It was a shallow slash that should’ve healed even without him shifting. “Like Mom, I value a man—and wolf—with a sense of honor. Especially one that matches my own.”

“I convinced them Floyd would murder you,” he said. “I was very persuasive.”

“Let me guess. You told them Mason Hartman was lurking around, ready to strike me down at the first sign of your presence in my life?”

“Something like that,” he said. “They believed me.”

“No doubt. As you said, you’re very persuasive.”

My fingers glanced over the laceration, and he flinched. The soil on my skin heated in response.

“Sorry.” He cracked an eyelid open. “Stupid cut like that shouldn’t hurt this much. Pisses me off that it does.”

“Pisses me off, too.” I reached for his hand, examining each finger, suppressing my rage at the tremors he couldn’t hide. “I’m going to help you, but first I need to do something. You’ll be okay here for now. Cecil and Fennel Jr. are lurking in the back of the room. They’ll watch over you.” I raised my voice. “Right?”

I got a nervous chitter and a soft meow in reply.

“Fennel Jr.?” Ronan asked.

“More like Fennelina Jr., I guess. I’ll explain later.”

The click of tiny feet on the tile floor grew louder, and Cecil appeared at my side with the small black furball.

Ronan peered down at the two. “Aww, she’s cute. Three paws?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t seem to slow her down much, though.”

“What’s her name?” He shifted on the chaise, wincing at the movement.

“We haven’t named her.”

Worrying white lines of pain appeared around his mouth and eyes. “You should call her ah tree .”

“Autry? Kind of like Audrey? Cute, but why? ”

His eyelids closed again. The pain was exhausting him. “A trí is three in Irish Gaelic. Mom used it now and then—she said it reminded her of her grandmother counting off stitches when knitting in front of the fireplace. A hoan, a dó, a trí.”

“Ah hayn, ah doh, ah tree,” I repeated.

“Yeah. Like that.” His breathing roughened, and he coughed, wincing as the reflex pulled at his wounds.

“Cecil?” With his nod of permission, I lifted the gnome to the chaise and knelt to speak in his ear. “Watch me from inside the garden room. Don’t let me go too long, okay?”

He nodded, the purple hat scattering pollen on my fingers.

“Go too long?” Ronan mumbled.

“I need to grab something, is all.” I patted Autry’s tiny head with one finger. “Can you find Fennel and bring him here? He’s probably patrolling the park.” I shook my finger at her. “Don’t leave the grounds for any reason—even if Fennel does. Come back for Cecil if you’re tempted. He’ll know what to do.”

Cecil chattered at the kitten, who meowed back at him, flicked her tail, and bounded through the open doorway.

I gave Ronan a final longing look and walked out.

Cecil turned on the garden room radio, and KLXX played through the small speaker. A refreshing change from his usual choice of speed metal rage songs.

The softly strummed opening of “Seasons in the Sun” by Terry Jacks accompanied me to Red’s grave. Ordinarily, I loved that wistful, joyful song and sang along with it. Tonight, it didn’t have the same effect. It felt too much like a goodbye, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Ronan Pallás. Not by a long shot.

Red’s sprout had quadrupled in size since I’d seen it last. Saguaros were notoriously slow growers, and yet he’d aged years in mere hours.

I’d removed my shoes in the garden room, so when I called to the soil, I felt the heat of its reply through the soles of my bare feet. My clothes made a rustling sound, like leaves in a summer wind as they landed on the ground beside me.

Gracias, Madre Tierra. I sent the words into the earth with intention and magic.

The soil formed a deep, jagged opening large enough for me to step into, and Red’s roots reached for me like arms, drawing my body beneath the surface.

When the hole closed around me, I didn’t lose myself. I kept my focus, sharing my need with the soil. Sharing my worry and sorrow.

When I was ready, I emerged from the same fissure, grounded and alive with power. Fennel stood sentinel beside the garden room door, eyes like sunlit emeralds, a sure sign he was using magic.

I didn’t stop to ask if Ronan was all right. Fennel wouldn’t have called on his magic without a good reason—unlike Cecil, who’d call on his for a discount code on a case of Four Loko—but by the time I could’ve asked, I was already inside the room standing above Ronan.

He rolled back and forth on the chaise, puffing shallow breaths that made his ribcage look like a sharp cliff over the valley of his abdomen. The heat emanating from him steamed the windows.

I took his hand in mine, and he opened his eyes. The sclera had a yellowish cast, and his hair was sopping, yet he wasn’t perspiring. The scent of lavender wafted to my nose. Cecil had likely soaked a rag in a water-diluted tincture of the herb mixed with aloe vera and applied it to his scalp to cool his temperature. It’s what I should’ve done. For his part, Fennel appeared to be using magic to keep the room icy cold. It felt like the doorway to Sexton’s house.

I shivered.

“Goddess, you’re beautiful in your element.” His voice was less than a whisper, barely audible. “Your skin glitters like the stars in a desert sky. I wanted to make love to you more than anything. Wanted it to be perfect for you, but I…” He trailed off before picking up his line of thought again. “…shouldn’t have waited.”

I didn’t reply. I felt as if I were under a spell, and though it was one of my own making, I was afraid to break it .

I took his other hand and spoke the word I’d used over Bronwyn. “Despierta.”

When I’d used it with her, I’d been speaking to her. Now, I was speaking to the magic beneath the Siete Saguaros, the magic thrumming through my veins, the magic in the soil coating my skin.

“Despierta,” I breathed. It wasn’t a power word, a curse, or a spell. It was a call to action.

“Betty?”

“This is going to hurt, Ronan. I’m sorry.”

The soil on my skin jumped to his, grinding into his wounds. He screamed as the grains moved like millions of tiny robots seeking to rewrite the code in his cells. His wolf howled, and fur bristled all over his body.

I hugged his neck and pressed my face against his throat, my tears washing away the trail of dusty mud I’d created.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

The human screamed and the wolf howled until his voice was a painful scrape of sound. I cried until I was empty. When he finally stopped, I fell away from his body and onto my knees on the cold tile floor.

I was completely clean. Every grain of soil had transferred from my body to his. It was more magic than I’d given Bronwyn, more even than I’d given Red, because he’d given Ronan his magic, too. Lightheaded and weak, I slumped onto my belly then tumbled onto my back and stared up through the glass ceiling at the star-kissed, dark desert sky. Fairy lights glimmered. The herbs growing closest to me perfumed the air with lavender, rosemary, and mint.

It was then that I took notice of the music.

AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” was playing on the radio.

A laugh burbled out of me. “Dirty, yes, but definitely not cheap.”

I turned my head to see if Ronan was hearing this. A vapor cloud hovered over him, shrouding him in fog. He was caught between forms, more man than wolf but nothing anyone would consider human. I wanted to call out to him, ask if he was all right but couldn’t work up the energy.

My teeth chattered. I was cold, but it was a removed feeling, like the way my arm felt when I accidentally slept on it. My eyes were closed, and I didn’t remember when I’d shut them. Exhaustion came at me like a bully, slugging me into sleep.

Warmth .

Soothing heat wrapped around me, loosening my stiff, sore muscles. I blinked awake. It took me a moment to realize I was staring at the morning sky through the ceiling of the garden room. The radio was still on, and “It’s a Beautiful Morning” by the Rascals was playing. It had to be after ten, since that was a sixties song and KLXX usually only played seventies hits in the early mornings.

Something heavy—check that, some one heavy—was curled up on the floor beside me. Ronan’s wolf. I’d seen him before, though never so close. His yellow, red, gray, and black fur was so soft and warm I couldn’t help burrowing into it. I glanced up, and gleaming golden eyes stared directly into mine. Drool pooled on the tile beside my face. I wasn’t sure if it was mine or his.

“Ronan.”

He rolled over and snuffled my neck. Although I knew it was him, there was nothing quite like a three-hundred-pound wolf with teeth like blades near your throat for bringing one back to cold reality.

“Did I hurt him badly? Is that why you showed up?” I asked the wolf.

He lifted his head and shook out his fur, spraying me with drool.

His drool on the floor then.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Can Ronan come back, please?”

He moved his head slowly from side to side. No .

“He needs to stay in wolf form to heal?”

Nod.

“Did the wounds close? Let me see your hip.” I sat up, and the wolf growled, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. If having his muzzle at my throat had scared me, realizing I was completely naked and vulnerable beside him had me next-level terrified.

But Ronan’s wolf wasn’t growling at me. He’d turned his attention to the door, where Fennel and the kitten were seated, watching us.

“Don’t growl at the kitties,” I said. “That’s Fennel, my partner, and little Autry is our friend. Your human even named her, so he won’t be happy if you try to eat her.”

The wolf grumble-growled and sank back down, his head on his forepaws. I took the opportunity to look him over, surprised that the wound on his hip was still visible. It had closed, but it wasn’t gone. The lesser ones had healed without a trace, but that big one was probably going to leave a scar, even on his wolf.

Not that it would detract from the man in any way. Scars were super sexy in my book. Probably because I was naturally attracted to survivors.

I looked at Fennel. “How was he last night after I passed out?”

His meowed reply was long and drawn out.

“That bad, huh?” I held onto the chaise and pulled myself to my feet. Fennel smacked a stack of clothes—the ones I’d left outside by Red—with his tail. I stepped over Ronan and threw on my jeans and top.

The wolf sat up. He favored the hip a little, but I had the idea it didn’t hurt him. He probably wasn’t used to having persistent wounds on his body and was trying not to do anything to impede healing. A good sign that the human was close.

Of course that was the speculation of a tired, magic-depleted witch. Goddess, I needed a cup of coffee. Probably another dirt dive into Red’s roots, too.

Abuela would be scandalized to hear me refer to what we earth elementals did as “dirt diving.” Mom would’ve laughed.

A pang of homesickness hit me. I wanted to share my breakthrough with the soil with them, assure them I wasn’t going anywhere, that I’d found my stopping place like Mom had.

I peered down at the wolf.

And my stopping person.