dead on her feet, her brain shutting down as she
tugged the blanket off the bed.
And kept on pulling, feeling a little like a magician
pulling an endless handkerchief from his sleeve when the sheet never seemed to
end. Silk. Of course. She bundled it in her arms and walked to the couch.
Then pulled up short.
A whole football team could sit side-by-side on the damn
thing. With a sigh, she curled up in a corner feeling very small and alone.
It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Merrick put his hand on the knob to his room then hesitated,
uncertain what to expect. He knew what he wanted to find, but the truth was usually
something altogether different.
It took him longer than he expected to get ahold of both the
wolves and the local witch council. The witches sounded surprised when he asked
for a track and trace, but had insisted on sending over a Familiaran instead of
just complying with his request. As for the wolves, he’d ordered a meeting
first thing after dawn. For Dame Judith, that wouldn’t be before nine in the
morning.
He opened the room to darkness, and involuntarily sucked in
a deep breath in hopes of catching her scent. He’d left her hat in his office
and found himself missing her smell. His eyes adjusted almost immediately and came
to rest on the bed.
Only to find it empty.
He tensed, ready to turn around and tear apart the house
when he heard her soft breathing. Keeping his tread light, he followed the
sound.
And found her curled up at the far side of the couch, nearly
hidden by the mound of blankets she’d pilfered from the bed. Her hair was still
wet from the bath, and he smelled his soaps on her.
It was a start.
The proprietary feeling should’ve worried him, but all he
felt was smug.
Then he frowned to see that she had the same old clothes on
from the day before. Probably her only clothes now that the ones she wore
earlier tonight had been destroyed. He’d have some outfits delivered for her
tomorrow. Women liked that sort of thing.
When he gazed down at her, there was nothing striking about
her appearance, nothing that should make her stand out to him. Yet she did. Taken
separately, her features were plain, but something about the way they were put
together, something about her shone through, making it impossible for
him to look away.
By shifter standards, she was delicate, barely reaching 5’
6” if he had to guess, weighing no more than hundred and a quarter. That may be
average for a human female her age, but to a shifter, she was tiny. Though
curvy, she was missing the twenty pounds of padding that would make her
eye-catching. Her breasts wouldn’t be more than a handful, but his palms
tingled as he imagined how they would react when he touched them. Shifter women
had either a rawboned or an overly voluptuous appearance. There was no in
between.
He wasn’t aware how long he stood there staring when his muscles
tightened along his spine. The throbbing in his back had kicked up again ever
since the fight, telling him to get some rest, but it rankled to see her on the
couch, all alone and so forlorn. His heart ached as he looked at her.
They agreed to separate beds, but he hated it.
He wanted her in his bed, her scent on his sheets.
He bent to scoop her up when something shiny caught his eye.
The little knife she’d waved around earlier was clutched in
her fist. He carefully uncurled her fingers and admired the workmanship of the
blade. It was heavier than it appeared. And from the way his hands warmed from
just holding the pommel, it was part silver.
He tucked the knife under the pillow on the bed. Then
ignoring the growing ache in his back, he scooped her up in his arms.
He anticipated a fight.
The last thing he expected was for her to curl herself
around him, lay her hand over his heart and relax so trustingly against him. He
wasn’t sure how long he stood there before he mentally shook himself and laid
her across his bed.
He immediately missed her warmth.
He wanted
tugged the blanket off the bed.
And kept on pulling, feeling a little like a magician
pulling an endless handkerchief from his sleeve when the sheet never seemed to
end. Silk. Of course. She bundled it in her arms and walked to the couch.
Then pulled up short.
A whole football team could sit side-by-side on the damn
thing. With a sigh, she curled up in a corner feeling very small and alone.
It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Merrick put his hand on the knob to his room then hesitated,
uncertain what to expect. He knew what he wanted to find, but the truth was usually
something altogether different.
It took him longer than he expected to get ahold of both the
wolves and the local witch council. The witches sounded surprised when he asked
for a track and trace, but had insisted on sending over a Familiaran instead of
just complying with his request. As for the wolves, he’d ordered a meeting
first thing after dawn. For Dame Judith, that wouldn’t be before nine in the
morning.
He opened the room to darkness, and involuntarily sucked in
a deep breath in hopes of catching her scent. He’d left her hat in his office
and found himself missing her smell. His eyes adjusted almost immediately and came
to rest on the bed.
Only to find it empty.
He tensed, ready to turn around and tear apart the house
when he heard her soft breathing. Keeping his tread light, he followed the
sound.
And found her curled up at the far side of the couch, nearly
hidden by the mound of blankets she’d pilfered from the bed. Her hair was still
wet from the bath, and he smelled his soaps on her.
It was a start.
The proprietary feeling should’ve worried him, but all he
felt was smug.
Then he frowned to see that she had the same old clothes on
from the day before. Probably her only clothes now that the ones she wore
earlier tonight had been destroyed. He’d have some outfits delivered for her
tomorrow. Women liked that sort of thing.
When he gazed down at her, there was nothing striking about
her appearance, nothing that should make her stand out to him. Yet she did. Taken
separately, her features were plain, but something about the way they were put
together, something about her shone through, making it impossible for
him to look away.
By shifter standards, she was delicate, barely reaching 5’
6” if he had to guess, weighing no more than hundred and a quarter. That may be
average for a human female her age, but to a shifter, she was tiny. Though
curvy, she was missing the twenty pounds of padding that would make her
eye-catching. Her breasts wouldn’t be more than a handful, but his palms
tingled as he imagined how they would react when he touched them. Shifter women
had either a rawboned or an overly voluptuous appearance. There was no in
between.
He wasn’t aware how long he stood there staring when his muscles
tightened along his spine. The throbbing in his back had kicked up again ever
since the fight, telling him to get some rest, but it rankled to see her on the
couch, all alone and so forlorn. His heart ached as he looked at her.
They agreed to separate beds, but he hated it.
He wanted her in his bed, her scent on his sheets.
He bent to scoop her up when something shiny caught his eye.
The little knife she’d waved around earlier was clutched in
her fist. He carefully uncurled her fingers and admired the workmanship of the
blade. It was heavier than it appeared. And from the way his hands warmed from
just holding the pommel, it was part silver.
He tucked the knife under the pillow on the bed. Then
ignoring the growing ache in his back, he scooped her up in his arms.
He anticipated a fight.
The last thing he expected was for her to curl herself
around him, lay her hand over his heart and relax so trustingly against him. He
wasn’t sure how long he stood there before he mentally shook himself and laid
her across his bed.
He immediately missed her warmth.
He wanted
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