Page 43 of The Wolfing Hour
“I thought you and the witches got it all out.” I set my phone aside and folded the soft cloth.
“The wolves used a fine-powdered version of the stuff, so odds are there’s still some in there.” He drummed his fingers on the table and stared out the kitchen window. “We had breakfast after our run.”
“You ran? I know that’s a thing you do to promote pack solidarity, but Gladys nearly died.”
“We went at her pace, but yes, we did run. Gladys’s wolf needed to feel strong, and a run is one way to do it. A food kill is another, though neither of us were interested in that.” He drummed his fingers faster. “The solidarity thing is complicated, since technically, I’m not pack.”
“Your wolf believes you are.”
He nodded absently. “Some wolves, rats, and other shifters joined us on the run to pay their respects.”
“But Gladys didn’t die.”
“It wasn’t that kind of respect.” He tore his gaze away from the window and set his hands in his lap. “They were pledging allegiance—to me.”
“You haven’t challenged Floyd for the pack yet,” I said.
“Only because I can’t find him to issue one.”
“So, why are they pledging allegiance now?”
I went across the room to the junk drawer, dropped the soft cloth inside, and shut it with my hip. I felt jangly and oddly disconnected from reality. My nerves were working overtime this morning.
“Alpha Vincent informed me that her rats could see the writing on the wall.”
“Her rats see everything. The woman’s got spies all over the place.”
“Yeah, I know. She reminded me of that.”
Of course she had. Lydia Vincent was no fool. “Ah, she’s trying to make a deal for an alliance now, before everyone wants your attention.”
“Probably. She didn’t ask for anything, but I’m sure it’s coming.” He went back to drumming the table with his fingertips.
“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you, I talked to Rory last night—she’s fine, I’ll lead with that.”
His relief was palpable. “Good. I listened to her messages this morning but haven’t had a chance to get back to her. She said she felt something when Gladys was hurt.”
“Yes,” I said. “She also said something else.”
“What?”
“That she’d make a great cuñada.” I smiled.
“What’s that?”
“Sister-in-law,” I said.
He stilled. A shock of auburn hair fell across his forehead. He pushed it back. It ignored his effort and fell again. “Is that, uh, something you’d be interested in having? A sister-in-law, I mean?”
Gods, he was cute when he was nervous. “Sure, but I don’t want just any cuñada. I’ll only accept Rory. Nothing but the best for me, Williams.”
Those green hazel eyes of his glimmered with interest. “I’ve always wanted an octogenarian necromancer sister-in-law, so this might just work out.”
“It might just,” I said, dragging my teeth over my lower lip to keep myself from grinning like a lovesick fool.
He stood. “I need to shower and get some sleep. Join me?”
“I already took a shower.” I pointed to my face. I was wearing makeup and had brushed my hair.
