Page 20 of Kin of the Wolf

“Yes, you.”

“Huh. A question about these garments, if you don’t mind.” He held up a sweater. “They don’t have tags. I assume it’s not because they were handwoven, like my fine cashmere sweater from the Alps.”

“No, they’re not handwoven.”

As if. He’d seen my budgeting envelopes. There wasn’t money in any of them for clothes spun by artisans in exotic mountain homes.

Duncan held up the sweater, turning it left and right. “Were any of these items not to fit, where would I take them to exchange them?”

“Goodwill.”

“That is a store?”

“Yeah. They sell quality stuff at a bargain because it’s been worn before.”

“Worn before?” he mouthed, as if the concept were foreign to him.

“Yup. I call it experienced clothing. It’s been places and seen things.”

His mouth dangled open. For a guy who scrounged rusty bike frames off lake bottoms, he seemed shocked by the idea of thrifting.

“For obvious reasons, werewolves shouldn’t have expensive clothing. You won’t cry if this stuff disappears. Besides, my kids grew up wearing secondhand stuff, and they’re fine. Neither of them is in therapy.” I paused, less certain that was true now that they didn’t live with me. “Not for that anyway,” I amended.

“I see. Yes, quite practical.” Duncan lowered the sweater.

“More so than a blanket.” I’d finished with the decorations andpointed to his van. “I’ll get the case and meet you there. Unless you already snagged it when you were in my apartment?”

Even if I’d decided to trust him around the artifact, the question might have been a test. How much did he want to investigate it further?

“I didn’t presume to snag it, no. Especially given its last known storage location.”

Yeah, he’d balked at touching my tube of hormone cream. I’d actually moved the case from that dresser drawer back to the heat duct. The fewer people who knew its location the better.

“Good.” I patted his shoulder, then strode to my apartment.

Inside, I used my trusty oven mitt to retrieve the case. As usual, the magic tingled unpleasantly against my hand, even with the insulation.

To fortify myself, and tide my empty stomach over until dinner, I grabbed a couple of squares of chocolate. Before leaving, I peeked in the fridge to see what Duncan had left.

“Wow.”

There were six cartons of eggs, a stack of packages of bacon, sliced salami, traditional link sausages, five pounds of ground beef, and two ready-bake pizzas laden with pepperoni, sausage, and Canadian bacon. There wasn’t a sign of a vegetable, save for a tub of sauerkraut that had been there for weeks, maybe months, hunkering in the back behind my Greek yogurt.

“Austin really is going to love him,” I muttered.

My boys weren’t werewolves, but they did share the largely carnivorous traits of my kind.

When I returned to the van, the sliding door was open, a light on in the back. The Roadtrek had solar panels that I’d noticed tilted southward on Seattle’s rare sunny winter days, but my senses tingled a bit as I approached. The source of illumination was a glowing pendant dangling from the ceiling, not a light fixture.

“Are you ready for me?” I asked, leaning in.

At first I didn’t see Duncan, but he was in the front, knees on the passenger seat and butt toward me as he dug into the boxes under the dashboard.

“I’malwaysready for you, my lady,” he said, his voice muffled.

“I should have assumed that.”

“Given my healthy stamina and vigor, most assuredly.”

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