Page 25

Chapter

Twenty-Four

F loyd was not at work nor at his house.

Ronan called a wolf named Dale Burgess, who said the alpha leader had informed the pack he was leaving town due to a family emergency. He’d also told some of the more alpha of the wolves that his own flesh and blood had sold him out to the witches and he might never recover from the betrayal.

It was all bullshit, of course. Everyone knew it, though no one would come out and say it. He was running scared now that he knew Ronan was all right. The worrisome thing was where he might be running.

And to whom.

“I keep trying to call my sister, but she won’t answer. That’s not a good sign.” Ronan had just finished haphazardly repairing my front door with a sheet of plywood and the construction materials Mom had collected over the years and stored in the garden room. It wasn’t pretty, but it would keep the wind and rain out until he could replace it.

“Do you think she knows what he did?”

“Probably. Rory’s the smartest of us all. I’m sure she has her own contacts in the pack.” He held up the rusted hammer he’d been using. “You need to replace this.” He set it in Mom’s old red toolbox and clicked the lock shut.

“You can pick up a new one when you replace the door.” I slathered peanut butter and jelly on slices of fresh sourdough bread. “Maybe Aurora’s in class?”

“Maybe. But it worries me that she didn’t even try to call. We talk every week.”

“You think he’s got her with him.” I finished making the sandwiches and hunted in the drawer for a knife to cut them.

“It’s my fear, yes. If he plans to use her to ferret me out of hiding, it’s going to work. I’d do anything for that kid, Betty.”

I knew he would. It was one more thing I loved about him.

“Lunch is served. Or is it dinner? What time even is it?” I set the food on the table along with a bag of chips and some iced mint tea.

“Just after three. Closer to dinner than lunch—at least for you. For me, it’s practically breakfast.” He rolled his shoulders back and worked his head from side to side. “I’ve got to get back to the pub. It’s driving me up the wall that I’m not there.”

“Karen’s got it under control. Even Gladys is helping. You’ve already called Edie twice under the thinnest of pretenses. Asking if she had enough betta food for Angel? Really?”

“He might’ve run out. Besides, I needed to know if they’d done a water change.”

“Edie loves that fish. You know she wouldn’t allow anything to happen to him.” I pointed at his plate. “Quit worrying so much. Sit down and eat your, uh, brunch.”

Ronan shook his head at me. “You sent your tenants to the store to pick up groceries, and we’re eating PB&Js? At least have Cecil bring in some vegetables from the garden room. I’m deeply concerned about your nutrition.”

“It’s weird how you say thank you for making me a sandwich, Betty . I’ve never heard it pronounced quite like that.”

“Thank you for making me a sandwich, Betty. I honestly wasn’t complaining. I love PB&Js. It’s only that you seem to have an unhealthy obsession with them.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I eat tacos, too. And enchiladas that roast the inside of my mouth.”

“Low blow, Lennox. I tried hard to impress you with those enchiladas.”

“I honestly wasn’t complaining. I love enchiladas. It’s only that my tastebuds took two full days to recover. Seems you have an unhealthy obsession with peppers.” I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Touché.” He laughed and went to the sink to wash his hands.

“There are green salads in the fridge. I just forgot to set them on the table.”

“I’ll grab ’em.” He dried his hands and went to the fridge.

“The Brittons were nice enough to offer to pick up some stuff for us. I didn’t want to overwhelm them so I only got staples. The bread is fresh, the peanut butter is natural, and there’s fruit in the jelly. Even the kettle chips are oil, salt, and potatoes. That counts.”

“Does it?” He handed me my salad, two forks, and a bottle of vinaigrette.

“Yes. Please take note that I cut our sandwiches on the diagonal so we’d feel extra fancy,” I said.

“That’s exactly what I feel.” Ronan picked up his sandwich and lifted his pinky. “Fancy.”

“Good to know it’s working.” I sat across from him and poked at my sandwich. “My instincts tell me your sister’s too smart to allow herself to be put in a situation like that unless she felt she could turn it to her advantage. Don’t sell Aurora short. The fact that she hasn’t called you makes me think she might be concerned that Floyd’s tracking her calls and she’s trying to protect you.”

“I’m supposed to be protecting her, not the other way around.”

“You’ve got a real hangup about that,” I said. “Therapy is a viable option. I know a great psychiatrist. She’s a witch but sees all kinds of paranormals. ”

He shoved the other half of his sandwich into his mouth then went to work on the salad.

“Something to revisit once this is all over, perhaps.” I took a bite of my sandwich. It was delicious. Ronan had no taste—except in women. He had great taste in that category.

“What if I called her using my burner phone?” I asked. “She could use the number to call you, too.”

“No. He might be spying on her, and I don’t want to drag you into this.”

“It’s a burner phone. Also, at the risk of activating your overprotective nature, I’ll remind you that I’m already in this, Pallás. Up to my ears.”

He growled, the wolf expressing the frustration Ronan didn’t have words for.

We ate in silence, each of us deep in thought.

“Williams,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“My last name. Legally, it’s Williams. I changed it when I was eighteen.”

“Okay.” I picked up a piece of crust and ate it. “Why are you telling me this again?”

“You called me Pallás.” He took a drink of his tea, carefully set down the glass, and locked gazes with me.

“You don’t like when I call you that.” Not a question.

“I didn’t mind before, because that’s how you know me. Things are different now. Ronan Pallás is a role I play. Ronan Williams is who I truly am.”

I couldn’t seem to help the smile that rolled across my lips. “And you want to be your true self with me.”

He smiled, too. “Always.”

We’d just made love. I’d stroked, kissed, and nibbled my way up and down his strong, beautiful body. And yet, this conversation—this moment—felt far more intimate than anything we’d done between my sheets. “Thank you for trusting me … Williams. ”

“You’re welcome, Lennox. Thank you for being someone I know I can trust.”

We finished our meal and washed up the dishes together. There wasn’t much to clean, but Ronan used the excuse of drying the tea glasses to push me up against the counter and kiss me breathless. Not that I fought him too hard.

Or at all.

Margaux, Maya, and Bronwyn returned in the evening. They called first to make sure the protection spell would still allow them in unharmed. Smart of them, especially considering that, in the past, I’d added in an extra measure of meanness to the spell just for Margaux.

“There weren’t any wolves watching us at my house,” she said. “I expected something, but I haven’t seen a single one.”

“Same here. There was no one at my house or at Wicked,” Bronwyn said. She seemed especially spooked. “I haven’t heard from anyone except customers asking when I’d be open again.”

“Nothing from Mason?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Our— Desmond’s —house is empty,” Maya said. “Of people, I mean. As far as I can tell, his stuff is still there. Looks like someone ransacked the place, though.”

“Floyd wanted that cursed book,” I said. “He was there with Mason when I went back.”

Maya looked relieved. “That’s probably what it was, then. I don’t feel good staying there. Thank goodness I don’t have to.”

“No, you don’t.” Bronwyn patted her friend’s hand. “There weren’t any hex bags around the place. In fact, there wasn’t any vestigial magic at all. Thanks for that, Betty. You did a phenomenal job, and I appreciate it.”

“Cecil took care of most of it. Fennel, too.”

Bronwyn gave me a tired smile. “You really can’t take a compliment, can you? ”

“No, she can’t,” Ronan called from the bedroom where he was micromanaging Karen via my cell phone.

“Quiet down in there,” I said.

The witches and I took a seat around the kitchen table.

“Have you heard anything from Alpha Vincent?” I asked Maya.

“She’s pretty unhappy with the ex-mayor, but that’s about it.” She sat up in her seat. “I’m going to join the rat pack. Bronwyn wants me to visit my sister before I make any major decisions—and she’s right—but I like the alpha leader, and the pack’s been welcoming. It feels good to be with my kind again.”

“I only want you to be sure,” Bronwyn said.

Margaux nodded and let out a brusque little sigh. “It’s a good idea not to rush into anything after a major life event. I heard that on a podcast the other day.”

I was half listening to them. Floyd was up to something, and Mason knew what it was.

Was it time to call in my last favor?

I wasn’t sure.

“Please be careful,” I told the witches an hour later at the door. “Stick together as much as you can. There’s strength in numbers.”

It was chilly, one of the last cold nights before summer, so Ronan and I lit the fireplace. We sat on the sofa with glasses of wine and music playing in the background. Ronan’s choice, this time, which meant we were listening to a classic rock mix on my tablet. There was an overlap in our tastes, though I leaned more toward Zeppelin and he toward Metallica.

“So, Cecil and Fennel only scorched the mailboxes?”

“Along with some grass and a few Pallás wolves.” I took a sip of wine. “They’ve already cleaned everything up and apologized to the soil.”

“That must’ve made Cecil happy. He seems to like fire.” He leaned against the sofa cushions and pulled me into him. I laid my head on his shoulder.

“I’m not sure it’s the fire as much as the destruction.” I wiped a bead of condensation off my glass with my thumb. “I’m letting him destroy the Weret-hekau Maleficium so that should satisfy him for a while.”

“Destroy it? Is that safe?”

“Safer than keeping it around. Floyd’s going to be pissed.” I smiled and took another sip. It was a sweet white I’d picked up when I stopped at the liquor store for Cecil’s Four Loko.

“Yeah,” he said and set his drained glass on the coffee table.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What was your plan?”

“Plan?”

“When I picked you up at Felicia Juarez’s house, you said you’d had a plan in place, and it all went to shit when Floyd and the coven moved against you. What was it?”

“I wasn’t lying before. Calling it a plan is a stretch.” He hugged me closer. “It’s more like some actions I’ve been taking to positively affect a future possible outcome. A calculated gamble.”

Ronan reached for his glass, and I picked up the bottle and refilled it.

“I’ve been working with a few of the disgruntled alphas in the pack, reaching out, listening to their ideas, complaints. Helping out where I could. That sort of thing.” He clinked his glass against mine and took a drink.

“Getting them to see you as a leader. Smart.”

“I learned from the best. It’s what Mom did after she obliterated the leadership in our hometown. It worked well, I believe, because she was sincere. People can tell.”

“They can, but they often choose the leader who can do something for them. You’re working both angles.”

“Trying to.”

“So, when did Mason Hartman tip his hand to you—or Floyd’s hand, rather?” I asked, ready for resistance. He seemed unwilling to discuss Mason, and maybe I shouldn’t have kept pushing, but it was eating at me.

“Never said he did. ”

“You didn’t have to say it. He’s the one who saved you from the witches. Indirectly, it seems.”

“So it seems.”

“If you think I’m going to let you get secretive again, you better think again.”

He sighed. “Yes, I’m pretty sure it was Mason who helped me. I don’t exactly know why except for what you told me about him wanting me to challenge Floyd properly. Whatever angle Mason’s working, he hasn’t tipped his hand to me. To belabor your metaphor, he’s playing his cards close to the vest.”

“Everyone in this convoluted situation is,” I said. “Even our supposed allies. It’s exhausting.”

“Yeah.”

He buried his face in my throat and kissed the sensitive spot beneath my ear. I leaned into him, accidentally splashing wine on his shirt. One of the two in his size I’d asked the Brittons to pick up from DiscMart, along with a pack of underwear and two pairs of sweatpants.

“I’ll throw it in the washer later. For now, you’ll just have to stink of booze.”

He looked down at his damp, black T-shirt and up at me. He tried to look censuring, but the smile gave it away. “I work at a bar. Trust me, I’ve smelled worse.”

“You always smell good to me.” I sat up, holding my glass aloft, and kissed him.

He cradled my head in his free hand for a moment after the kiss and stared at me like I’d appeared magically before him. I’d gone my entire life without ever having a man look at me like that. I hadn’t thought such a thing was possible outside romantic movies.

“ Ronan .”

“Come here.” He pulled me onto his lap, easing me against him, my thighs tight around his hips.

“Be careful,” I said. “That wound hasn’t completely healed. ”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore. Probably as healed as it’s going to get.” He ran his hands up my thighs. “Hope you dig guys with scars.”

“Yes, I do, and funny you should mention it. I was thinking about that very thing just last night in the garden room.”

“Is that right?” He stroked up my back, urging me closer, little by little, until my lips were against his. I luxuriated in the feel of his mouth and tongue on mine. Reveled in the heat of his body everywhere it touched mine. “Interested in a foreplay massage?”

I laughed, remembering our conversation about women not liking it when men inserted their “man parts” into a massage unless we were forewarned.

“Will you be bringing your penis into this massage?”

“Guaranteed. Consider yourself warned.” He massaged the dimples on either side of my lower spine, and I shivered in anticipation.

“In that case, yes. I would like a massage. A nice, long one."

“Excellent phrasing, Lennox.”

“Mmm.” I raked my nails down his chest and tugged at the drawstring of his sweats. “I thought so, Willi?—"

My burner phone rang.

Ronan and I froze. We looked at each other. Only four people had that number, and I couldn’t imagine a good reason any of them would use it. I could, however, imagine a few bad ones.

I climbed off his lap and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Betty? It’s Aurora Pallás. Is Ronan there?”

“Sure. Of course. Let me get him.” I held the phone out. “It’s your sister. How’d you get her the number?”

Not that I minded. In fact, I’d suggested it.

“Through a secure email we share.” He took the phone and held it to his ear. “Rory? Everything okay?”

Whatever she said must’ve eased his mind, because his voice calmed and his shoulders dropped .

“She’s okay?”

He mouthed, “She’s not with Floyd.”

Ronan started telling his sister what had happened. It was obvious they had some catching up to do, so I picked up my glass and gestured to my broken door. “I’m going to check on something.”

Ronan nodded, planted a kiss on my forehead. “Be careful.”

I hadn’t planned to take a wine walk, but now that I was outside, it felt like a great idea. I peeked through the walls of the garden room at Cecil and Fennel, who were playing with little Autry. She appeared to be hiding from them under a blanket on the chaise lounge and they appeared to be pretending not to see the black fluffy tail sticking out.

I hung a right and went to Red’s—not grave. Resting place? No, that still sounded like a grave. Roots? Home?

Home sounded right.

The cactus had visibly grown since I’d seen it this morning. Another inch at least. I decided to walk to the other graves—cactus homes—to see if there’d been any effect on them.

Mom had named the cactuses for the colors of the rainbow, and when they’d died, it had been in order—Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet.

Except for Red.

He’d been the first saguaro to grow and the last to die. The day of his death was seared into me like a brand that would never stop burning.

I stopped at Orange, the cactus that had once stood proud and tall outside of Senora Cervantes’s trailer. I bent down to peer at the soil and nearly upended my wine glass.

A sprout, no taller than Cecil’s ear, was poking out of the soil.

Joy burst in me, and I ran to the next cactus, Yellow. He, too, had sprouted. I downed my wine and ran to the next one and the next, until I was standing outside Ida’s trailer staring down at the teensiest sprout yet. Violet .

I let out a whoop of joy so loud it brought Ida to her window. She slid it open. “What are you hollering about?”

I tipped my head up to her, my face shiny with happy tears.

“The guardians. They’re back.”