Page 49 of Beyond the Cottage

“My boss is going to be highly motivated to help you, and he’ll want to move on this quickly. You can bring your samples and give him a demonstration.”

She’d said something to that effect in the lab, but Ansel hadn’t believed her. He still didn’t. Going to her home and spending a few extra days with her? Too good to be true.

“I’m a criminal,” he said, “not an idiot. I don’t pretend to know what’s motivating your offer, but I don’t believe it’s to my benefit.”

“Of course it isn’t, but this isn’t about you. I’d doanythingto get the repellent in the hands of real people. Do you have any idea how important that is?”

“I invented it, Gretta. And I was in the cottage, too.”

“So we’re working toward the same end. If I can put aside our fucked up history for the greater good, why can’t you?”

He supposed fundamentally they did share a goal. While they’d chosen different paths to fighting malevolent magic, they’d both dedicated their lives to it.

Was her offer sincere?

Not a chance.He’d learned long ago to mistrust good fortune. Most likely, she intended to lead him straight to a prison cell, or worse.

Ansel stood. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. I’m going to bed.”

“Ansel,” she called when he reached the door. He turned, and she nervously toyed with the braids on her belt. “Just think about it?”

He’d dream about it, but that was all.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He nodded at the book in her lap. “Send my best to Lady Lovecock.”

Her snort of laughter followed him as he left.

For the first time in ages, Ansel smiled.

Chapter 18

Gretta woke from a dream she couldn’t remember with her skin flushed and her thighs shivering. Her body throbbed, a stiff breeze away from going over. Groaning, she rolled to her back.

When had she last climaxed? In Antrelle, she’d been too preoccupied for self-gratification. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d dredged up the motivation to find a bed partner.

Under the circumstances, falling asleep reading Ansel’s smut might not have been the best idea. She considered dipping a hand down her pants to take care of it but resisted. With her luck, that would be the moment Ansel invented some excuse to burst in uninvited.

It also felt sordid to do that inhisbed, betweenhissheets, in the very spot where he read his dirty books. She could only imagine what the touch-starved recluse did to himself there.

Desperate for distraction, she stared out the window. Dawn would come in an hour or so. The rain and wind had quieted, and birds twittered outside.

The storm was over. Gretta would soon meet the swamp witch.

Despite how long she’d waited for that, nervousness tinged her eagerness. The crone had duped Ansel into believing they were friends, but Gretta wasn’t so easily fooled. In all her years hunting, she hadn’t found a single witch without captives or corpses on her property, often both. The one in the swamp must be better at hiding it.

Was meeting her while wearing an aggression inhibitor stupid? Gretta planned to douse herself in spell repellent, but that wouldn’t do anything against a meat cleaver or pistol. Could she count on Ansel to keep the witch in line? Would he intervene if she attacked Gretta?

Only one way to find out. Whatever her reservations, there was no chance in hell she’d turn down this opportunity. Even if the witch was another dead end where Nat was concerned, so many questions had plagued Gretta for years, and now she’d get to ask them. She may not be able to carry out her usual methods of justice, but she could always come back to finish the job.

Still overheated, she kicked off the bedding. The friction intensified the craving between her legs.

She’d never be able to focus like this. There was nothing for it but to take the edge off. Keeping a wary eye on the door, she unbuttoned her pants and pushed them past her knees. Thighs spread, she slipped two fingers into her drawers and got three strokes in when a muffled groan came from the hall.

Scrambling for her pants, she sat, listening.

No other sound came. Gretta waited a while longer, and as she was about to settle in to finish what she’d started, a sharp cry came from the hall. Palming her dagger, she leapt to her feet and crept to the door.

Another moan came, this one quieter. She unlocked the door and peeked out.

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