Chapter 30

The gentle pitter-patterand trickling of water coming from the master bath roused me from the soundest sleep I’d had since fleeing the manor. The gentle click of the rings as the curtain was pulled back and replaced and the shift in the rhythm of the water as it now struck flesh woke me further. I lurched upright to press my hand into the depression in the bed beside me.

Still warm.

I brought my fingers to my nose, the heady scent of Arthur Greenwood making my eyes flutter. He’d stayed the night. With me.

A grin threatened to split my face as I flopped back onto the pillow, hands sliding down to grasp the covers and draw them over my naked—

Clothed body. I was still in last night’s sundress, the tiny mauve tulips seeming to wave up at me from their sage-green background. Lifting the sheets, I found my overlong knitted socks around my ankles, and when I slid my hand below my hips, I felt the silk of my underwear.

Brow wrinkling in confusion, I shut my eyes and tuned into my other senses. Particularly, the way I felt. My mouth was a little bruised, but in the best way; my neck and skin where Arthur’s beard had grazed felt a little tingly, as if I’d exfoliated a little too roughly in the shower; that spot on my shoulder where he’d bit down pulsed with a dull ache; my breasts and ribs and backside felt a little tender from where he’d crushed against me, or from where his fingers had gripped me; and lower down…

He hadn’t touched me.

Thistle thorns, I cursed silently as my mind whirled. Good going, Meadow Hawthorne. What did you do last night to—

“Good morning,” came a low rumble. Arthur leaned against the doorway, a towel slung low on his hips.

My cheeks ignited at the sight of all that naked skin, of those muscles I’d shamelessly groped, that neck I’d nipped, that beard I’d rubbed my cheek against, those lips I’d claimed as my own again and again.

Embarrassment of my own ravenous ferality sank in, and I pulled the covers over my head. It was no Vanishing Spell, but it hid me from sight. At least eye contact.

“What— Misty!” Arthur laughed, and I felt his knee indent the mattress next to my hip.

He peeled the comforter and satin sheet down, chuckling softly until he revealed my whole face. And a cloud of statically-charged brown hair. He dipped his head and kissed me softly, one hand braced on the bed, the other cupping my cheek. His mouth was so gentle, and yet I felt that kiss thunder down into my toes.

The passion from last night stirred, and as I lifted from the pillow to deepen the kiss, he pulled back with a ragged breath, running his thumb over my lips. “By the spirits, how I want to crawl back in there with you and finish what we started.”

The blush returned to my cheeks, lighter than before. “Why… Why didn’t we…?”

He sat back on the bed with a grin, smoothing the static wisps of brown hair away from my face. “Because you fainted.”

“I what?” Thistle thorns, I was going to die right here, right now of mortification.

“The moment that belt snapped, you fell back on the bed like you’d been shot. When I examined you, I found you unconscious, but fine otherwise. Then… you started snoring.”

“Stop it,” I groaned, hiding my face with my hands.

He caught my wrists before I could suffocate myself, bringing them close to kiss my knuckles. His beard tickled the backs of my hands.

“You were exhausted, Misty. And… overwhelmed. In more ways than one.” He winked, quickly turning serious. “But, forgive me if this was wrong, but I didn’t want to leave. Couldn’t. So I tucked you into bed and stayed the night. Beside you.”

I drew my legs to my chest and rested my forehead against my knees, still wanting to melt away from the embarrassment of it all. “That was sweet of you,” I mumbled into the comforter.

“Maybe you’ll let me do it again tonight?”

I felt myself dissolving into pudding at the eager hopefulness in his voice and lifted my head from my knees. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I want that.”

As he leaned forward to kiss me again, I held up a hand, melding it over his shoulder to stop him.

“But you need to call me Meadow, not Misty,” I said. Swallowing, I sought a louder, more confident voice. “My name is Meadow.”

Something flickered in his hazel eyes, not judgment. Maybe understanding. He nodded solemnly. “Meadow.”

My real name on his tongue sent a hot shiver down my spine. I fought through the lusty haze beginning to muddy my thoughts. Thistle thorns, being this close to him, this vulnerable with him, was intoxicating.

“I-I have questions,” I forced out. He simply nodded in understanding. Undoubtedly, so did he. “One about this.” My fingers on his shoulder grazed the chain around his neck. The chain that held the Celtic pendant.

I’d been so mesmerized by him last night that I hadn’t even noticed he’d been wearing it, but memory confirmed he’d never taken it off. He did so now, fiddling with the clasp until the pendant and the chain pooled in one large palm.

“This is a Celtic shield,” he explained. “It’s a protection amulet, coded to me. If you’re willing, I’d like you to wear it. To have a piece of me with you?”

Gathering my hair into a bun on the top of my head was answer enough for him, and he leaned forward to secure it around my neck. It hung low, nestling between my breasts, the heat of the metal—his heat—soaking into my heart.

“But that’s not the whole story,” I said. It wasn’t a question. He hadn’t told me why he was wearing it, nor what that zap of blue light between us had done to it.

He shook his head, leaning forward to plant a quick yet unforgettable kiss against my lips before standing. “You’re right. But it’ll have to wait until tonight, sweetheart.” He moved to where he’d draped his jeans over the back of the bedroom chair and shimmied them underneath the towel and over his hips. Buckling his belt, he explained, “I need to check on Cody, and my motorcycle’s still stashed in the woods. You ladies might have handled that feral fairy, but that doesn’t mean the magic hunters have finally left town.”

Crossing the bedroom to my closet, he pointed to the red flannel shirt inside. “Can I borrow this?”

“Mm-hmm.”

The hanger clacked as he tugged the shirt loose and swept it on, rolling his shoulders to adjust the fit. “Why do you even have this?”

Because I couldn’t let you go, either. “It’s, um, my nightshirt.”

Arthur gave me a knowing look that had me flushing all the way down to my fingertips.

“Probably the same reason you’ve got pine-scented soap in your shower?” he asked lowly, lifting an eyebrow. His smoldering hazel gaze quickly turned teasing.

I hurled a pillow at him, finally leaving the bed myself. “Alright, Mr. Cocky Pants, aren’t you going to be late to check on Cody?”

With that blinding speed of his, he crossed the room and crushed me against him for another kiss. I felt the heat and water of the shower still lingering on his skin permeate mine, and just when I was going to lose myself in the touch and smell of him, he pulled back.

“Worth it,” he whispered against my lips. Then he was headed out the bedroom door.

“Tease,” I shouted after him, chasing him to the stairs.

He merely laughed and gave Sawyer a nod, who was poised on the newel post at the bottom of the banister like a gargoyle sentry. The tabby tomcat lifting a warning paw, reminding the lumberjack shifter exactly what had happened the last time he’d come onto Sweet Cider Farm land.

“Uh-uh.” Arthur shook his head. “I was invited this time.”

Sawyer kept him in his sights as Arthur headed outside to retrieve his leather jacket.

“Be nice,” I whispered to the cat.

“So he can think he can swagger in here anytime he likes? I don’t think so. This is my house too.”

“Arthur?” I asked, heading outside. “Did you, um, want something to eat before you…?”

The leather creaked as it settled over his broad shoulders. “Are you offering to make me breakfast, Meadow?”

The warm yet teasing tone brought an image to my mind, of the two of us in the cramped kitchen together, of morning sunlight streaming in through the window and catching on the bowl full of all the shiny bits and bobs the pixies had collected for me, of him at the stove shifting scrambled eggs and bacon around in a cast iron skillet as I slathered freshly toasted bread with apple butter, carefree smiles on our faces. Even Sawyer’s. Living, not just surviving.

“I wouldn’t take her up on it,” Lewellyn said, shattering the fantasy as he strolled into view from the eastern side of the house. From the way the pixies were chiming, he must’ve vaulted the fence by their birdhouse. “The food she deems fit for shifters is nothing more than half-frozen mixed vegetables with raw beef and congealed oatmeal. Like the worst deconstructed boudin you’ve ever had.”

“And you ate every bit of it,” I retorted, sulkily returning to reality.

Lewellyn gave me a wink and stopped at the bottom of the steps. With no collar around his neck, he could enter the house whenever he liked. But he seemed to be waiting. And patiently too.

He’s allowing Arthur to leave first, I realized. Not challenging his space.

That was a mark of respect reserved for someone stronger, of someone in a position of authority. Like an alpha. What had Lewellyn called him? A Coalition enforcer?

“Lewellyn,” Arthur greeted, adjusting his jacket collar. “How’s the throat?”

The older shifter snorted. “You couldn’t have broken the skin even if you’d wanted to, Arthur.”

“No, but I could’ve snapped your neck.”

“Maybe. How’s the jaw?”

“You call that a punch?” he replied breezily. “Excuse me.”

Arthur turned to me, hands molding against my hips. He didn’t kiss me this time, just looked deep into my ivy-green eyes as he held me close. “I’ll be back for you tonight, sweetheart,” he promised.

“Please,” I whispered.

He gave me a gentle squeeze then trotted down the steps, nodding to Lewellyn. He’d only gone a few strides before he spun around, continuing to walk backwards. “I’m cooking tonight,” he said. “You like salmon?”

Laughing with happiness, I could only nod.

He grinned, whirled around, and broke out into a jog for the forest and his motorcycle. I watched until the trees swallowed him, my heart chasing after him.

“Did you see that big stupid smile on his face?” Lewellyn mused, leaning against the railing. “I think he’s in love.”

I think I am too.

The wolf shifter chuckled, and I was suddenly aware I was still in yesterday’s clothes and how cold it truly was out here, now that I didn’t have my lumberjack shifter to warm me. Hugging my arms around me, I headed back inside, throwing over my shoulder to Lewellyn, “I’m making pancakes for breakfast. Want some? Or are you happy with deconstructed boudin?”