Page 66 of His Whispered Witch

“Help with what?”

“With the wolf.”

The truck door clicked open, and Asher rolled up and over the railing, landing five feet down on the grass as he called, “Hey, I’m over here. You’re good.”

She looked around sleepily with the lizard on her shoulder. He looked around, too, trying to see what she could see. From where he parked, the light from the barn was blocked, so there was a vague dark outline of a building to her left and the spill of a porch light with a strange man sitting on it to her right.

“That’s my cousin.” He bit his tongue before he said the word alpha.

It looked like he brought her to a cabin deep in the woods to meet a huge, intimidating man. It didn’t just look like that. It was that. That’s exactly what he did.

“You good?” he asked as he ran a hand down her arm, unable to keep from touching her.

She nodded absently but didn’t take a step as she petted Oz’s soft spikes. “I forgot this feeling.”

“What feeling?”

“Starting over.”

He winced.

She went on, “Where even the air doesn’t smell right, and everything is new, and you don’t know anybody, and you don’t have anything. I seriously thought I was never going to have to do this again.”

“I’m sorry.”

Finally, she met his eyes. “It’s not your fault!”

He bit his lip, trying to keep any emotion off his face.

She burst out laughing.

“It is literally my fault,” he said.

“What the hell did you do?” Malcolm asked from the porch, and she froze.

“I should mention if you want to have a private conversation, we have to flee to the next county.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Penn said, her eyes never leaving his. “It’s their fault. Their ignorance and their fear.”

“Who?” Malcolm asked more urgently.

Asher took a deep breath, wishing that he could have slipped in unnoticed, but this reckoning was always going to come the moment he turned the truck toward home.

“Malcolm, meet Penelope.” He cringed. Was Penn a nickname just for him? “Who sometimes is called Penn?”

She held out a hand, but Malcolm was still on the porch, so soon she was striding across the lawn with one hand outstretched awkwardly. Asher followed her until they reached the porch, where she stood five feet down from Malcolm and finally dropped her hand.

Malcolm hadn’t even gotten up, which felt a little insulting, until Asher remembered how tall he was and appreciated the consideration.

He led her around to the stairs and up before they could finally shake hands. Malcolm was still hunched down on the bench as if he could hide a third of himself somewhere.

“Nice to meet you, Penelope. Penn?”

“Penn is good.”

“There’s a story here,” Malcolm said, his eyes bouncing between the two of them.

“She’s helping me,” Asher said and bit his lip on the bitterness that welled up. It’s not that he didn’t want her help or deeply appreciate her care. She was just so much more to him.

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