“Oh, you’re welcome.”
His head inclined at her coffee.
“You want coffee? I draw the line at pouring coffee into a bowl. You’ll have to shift, Rocky, if you want a mug of joe.” She sat on her bright yellow chair that she’d brought out, set her mug on the cracked concrete patio, and dug into her breakfast.
Sitting with the wolf, a sense of calm floated around her and hugged her like a warm bubble. Soon enough, the furry beast had polished off his eggs and bacon, licking the plate clean. He trotted to the window and picked up the empty carton and put it onto his plate.
“You’re leaving?”
He nodded.
“Okay then. Have a good day, Rocky.”
His shoulder tilted up, and he turned to go, but instead he crossed the patio. Her throat closed up. Was she going to be one of the dumb ones on the crime shows? The voiceover would announce, “Emma Davis didn’t think anything strange of the derelict shifter sleeping in her backyard. Oh, no. She fed him breakfast before he feasted on her flesh.”
But then the wolf pushed against her hand, sending it down his muzzle, over the side of his face.
“You’re really soft. But I don’t pet on the first date.”
The wolf sat down on his haunches and let out a chuff that reminded Emma a heck of a lot of a laugh.
He took off running for the tree line. He didn’t turn back and look at her, but she couldn’t stop looking at him. His fur was the softest thing she’d ever touched.
8
Everything in Flint flashed and fired. His heart might explode, his lungs didn’t know how to pull in air, and he had two seconds before he tripped over his own paws if he didn’t get away from her.
The list of things that ran through his head was long and frustrating. He wanted to shift and scream at her. You don’t let a male wolf into your home if you don’t know who the hell he is. You don’t touch a male wolf if you don’t . . . You don’t cook him breakfast. How the hell had the witch survived as long as she had? But he had to keep himself from stopping in the middle of her little yard and turning to look at her. He made it until the underbrush before he quietly crept around to turn back. She sat on the cracked patio slab staring at the spot where he’d run into the woods. Right, well, no dating. Dating brought feelings—too dangerous. He didn’t have any plans to use his magic, but what if he rolled over and fried his girlfriend because he didn’t have control of his power?
He plopped down to watch Emma. His wolf enjoyed the control, and right now there wasn’t a damn thing that could possibly make him leave until she went back inside. And little Emma seemed more than content to stay right where she was.
A standoff where half of the players didn’t know they were playing. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and texted someone. Who? He wanted to know. Was it a boyfriend? Why should it matter? He wasn’t going to date her, so it didn’t—that was the answer. He also wasn’t going to fuck her. He stuck to hook-ups when in the city now. The way her power had spread to him yesterday, they would probably blow up the whole county.
A half hour later, the wind picked up and she pulled her robe closed. A couple times when she moved around, it had flapped open, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring at her shapely legs. She yanked the chair inside and pulled the slider closed. But then she stood there studying the edge of the woods. Flint didn’t move, not a hair. When she left the slider, he turned and headed through the woods, behind all the homes, and back to Main Street. It was late enough for those going to church to already be there but early enough that those who should have been going to a service of some kind but hadn’t were still asleep.
He padded along the street and ducked into the firehouse. Off until Tuesday, he headed there anyway for the spare clothes in his locker. And a shower. And to use the phone, because his was at his sister’s.
He shifted at the back door and slipped inside. The trucks were in the garage, so he didn’t have to worry about running into the other crew.
The water slid over him, but it didn’t bring any relief to the tension in his shoulders. Dressed, he used the firehouse phone to call Eloise.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. I suppose you want your phone?” His sister’s tone said everything. She hissed at him—pissed, and he was in deep shit. Deep, deep shit. He was going to owe her a thousand hours of babysitting. Not that he minded.
“That would be great.”
“Also, I’m guessing you don’t want to explain why you sprayed all of Mom’s azaleas?”
“Not really.”
“I’m not coming into town today.”
“That’s fine. I don’t work until Tuesday. Can you drop it off at my place?”
“Why should I, Flint?”
“Because I’m your favorite younger brother.”
“You’re my only younger brother.”
“True, but secretly, I’m your favorite brother.”
“Tad bought me a car.”
“But I make you laugh.” This hurt his chest because it used to be true. Before everything spiraled out of control. He was her favorite brother. And no, Tad didn’t buy her a car to buy her love. He bought all of his siblings things they needed. Vivianne had needed a car, too; hers was falling apart, they had a new cub, and they were both teachers up on the hill, and his older brother had bought her one, too. Tad owned a world-class pharmaceutical company.
“Good old Flint made me laugh.” In other words, the wolf, not the witch, made her laugh. None of his sisters had any issues with this. They got together twice a week to have their mom teach them spells, or whatever.
“Can you drop off my phone or not? Because I’m not coming back out to the property until good old Lara Stack-Larsen is off on vacation.”
“Flint.”
“Eloise.” He tossed the same tone back at her.
“Fine, I have to go grocery shopping later today. I’m meeting Vivianne, and I can drop it off at the fire station.”
“Can you drop it at my place? Like I said, I’m off until Tuesday.”
