Page 16 of The Wolfing Hour
I adjusted the curtains to fully darken the room then padded out of the bedroom and into the bathroom to dress. My Blondie concert T-shirt and jeans from earlier were clean. I’d taken a shower this morning, so I hadn’t actually needed another one.
And yet, I most definitely had.
One glance into the empty shower, and Ronan’s strong hands were slip-sliding up and down my damp inner thighs all over again. I sighed, picturing the way he’d lifted my limp body into his arms, thrust into me, and rocked us from one orgasm straight into the next.
Damn it, the man trulyhadimprinted his body onto mine. I could only hope I’d done the same sort of beautiful damage to him. When I thought about how much time I’d wasted dancingaround my attraction for him when we could’ve been doing this, I felt a little dumb.
“I love every inch of you, inside and out.”
His words kept me company as I combed the tangles out of my damp hair. I applied makeup in the bathroom mirror, shaping my dark brows, layering on more mascara than the winner of a teen beauty contest, and lining my lips with a red pencil.
It was the sixties hour on KLXX, and “Bad Moon Rising” by Credence Clearwater Revival played softly, so as not to disturb the sleeping wolf.
I hummed the chorus as I selected a bold shade of lipstick, Gucci’s Goldie Red, and smoothed the color over my lips. It had been a gift from Ida on our most recent trip to the mall, a luxury purchase I hadn’t been able to justify. I peered closer in the mirror to ensure the lip line wasn’t visible and that I didn’t have any on my teeth.
The mirror steamed up, which wasn’t possible, since I hadn’t been running any water and the room had long aired out from my steamy shower with Ronan. There was only one explanation.
I awaited the chill signifying my grandfather’s presence. Whenever I missed his calls, he had a habit of showing up at the most inconvenient times in the most intrusive ways.
I capped the lipstick, tossed it into the drawer with the rest of my makeup, and fluffed out my hair.
“Look, I’m not avoiding you. My ringer is off because I was on a case last night and?—”
A face appeared in the mirror.
It wasn’t Sexton’s.
The visage was flat gray, the shade of the walls of a psychiatric hospital in an old movie. Black hair hung in loose waves around the face, the lips were like charcoal aftera barbecue, and the eyes were heavy-lidded, slightly almond shaped, the irises a shade of black so bottomless it hurt my eyes.
It was me.
But also not.
“Kin to the grave demon, child of the wretched one.” Its voice was like a serpent’s tongue prodding my ear. “Your time is here.”
“Who are you?” I asked, but she—I—was gone.
When I stopped shaking, I stepped into my boots with the heels and went to look for the guys.
I needed answers, and there was only one place I could think of that had them.
Whispering Willow Cemetery in La Paloma.
Grandpa Sexton’s graveyard.
Chapter
Four
Chapter Four
Itracked down Cecil first.
“He’s in the back room with Kiv,” Gela Melliza said when I called. “They’re working on a recipe for iced faery cakes together. We can’t serve the cakes to customers, but they’re having fun.”
Faeries Kiv and Gela Melliza ran The Desert Rose Café in Smokethorn. It was less of a café than a coffeehouse—the menu consisted of various teas and coffees and a select variety of sandwiches and pastries.
“Fairy cakes. Aren’t they just cupcakes?” I perched on the stool in front of my workstation in the garden room and picked up a wilted rose petal left over from a menstruation pain relief tincture I’d been working on for a client. “Why can’t you serve them to your customers?”
