Page 44 of His Whispered Witch

“There’s no wolf!” she shouted.

“There won’t be when we’re done with him.”

“Hey, we’re not killing anyone based on my visions,” Cat said. “You’re the one who taught me that. They’re only possibility.”

Penn spun to her, feeling her frustration rise. “It’s just a possibility?”

Cat paused but then shook her head, white and grim-faced. Penn didn’t think so.

“Annie was talking about the land with the metal gate!” Niamh said.

Penn closed her eyes. Did Annie tell her mother everything?

“I went to help a client with hisdonkeyson that ranch. Yes, I was asking about werewolves, but that was because of you! You’re the one who told me how dangerous they are!”

Penn had run from him, yet the moment he was challenged, she started lying through her teeth to the women who had taken her in to protect him.

The old women met each other’s eyes, and one of them nodded. “Get the crossbow.”

“Maybe don’t do that,” Cat said, but the twins dashed out of the room.

Cat sighed, her eyes on Penn. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell you, so you didn’t know.”

A faint smile crossed Cat’s face. “Well, yeah, but that’s kind of supposed to be my thing.”

“No, even I know it doesn’t work like that. You don’t just see what you need whenever you need it.”

All amusement leaked out of Cat’s expression. “No. That is definitely not how it works.”

“I have to go,” Penn whispered as the old women clattered to their room of torture.

“I think you do,” Cat said.

“You really saw that, some connection between us.”

Cat shook her head, and Penn’s heart crashed before she added, “Connection is too weak a word. It’s the same magic. Somehow, it’s living in him too. I don’t know how.”

At the door, Penn turned. “Ask the twins how shifters came to be.”

She ran before she heard a response.

11

“Well, this is fun,” Asher said to the donkey currently chomping on his sleeve where he sat in the middle of the pasture with his latest cookbook on the art of Chinese cooking, in which he’d found a recipe for making soy sauce from scratch. Unfortunately, the process wasn’t terribly labor-intensive. It just took a ridiculous amount of time to ferment, but some of the other sauces and curries seemed pretty complicated.

After Penn had left, there had been a good half hour of lost time. He hadn’t shifted, but he hadn’t exactly been there.

When he’d rescued the croquembouche from ecstatic woodland creatures on a sugar high while trying to remember why he’d thrown it out the window, he realized he really shouldn’t be alone.

Sadly, he’d made sure that he was as alone as possible, except for a stupid herd of donkeys, so he’d come out to hang out with them. The pasture was dusty and smelled of dung and hair, and the four animals were heehawing like crazy, which was not exactly a melodious accompaniment to his culinary explorations, but in another hour, he felt human enough to let goof the paperclip he hadn’t realized he’d been clutching the entire time.

She’d called on his magic. He examined that moment again and again, and there was no other explanation. She’d reached for him, and his wolf had responded, pouring power into her like it was the most natural thing to do in the world. He was more curious than ever about the spell that created shifters. Were the witches so desperate that they’d hidden some of their magic in mundane humans along with a predator for protection? Were they so certain of their demise?

It didn’t matter now. One of their descendants called on his reserves, and he had given and given, something only possible between mates. He’d wondered after she spoke to his wolf, but her magic could explain that. Nothing else explained this.

Determinedly, he turned the page and learned about ginger, its origins in Southeast Asia, and how to peel it with a spoon.

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