Page 82 of The Wolfing Hour
Chapter Fifteen
If a sculptor created a likeness of Ronan’s profile at that moment, the only possible title for the piece, the only one that made sense, would’ve been:Livid.
“I don’t need to rest, Ronan. I’m fine.”
“Fine?” His teeth clenched. I wasn’t even a wolf, and I could hear him grinding his molars from across the room. “We have differing definitions offine. According to your partners, you were out cold for two hours, Betty.”
“Maybe I just needed the sleep?”
His brows dropped. “Not the time to be a smart ass.”
Although it was nice that he cared, I couldn’t help thinking his annoyance wasn’t totally directed at me. He hadn’t had any luck picking up Rory’s scent around town last night, and when he’d finally dragged himself home, he’d walked in on Margaux, the boys, and me crying in each other’s arms.
“It was a spell,” I said. “A strong one, granted, but this is what I do. I’m a witch. For me, this is normal.”
He did that vigorous nodding thing people did when they were trying not to scream. “You werehuggingMargaux Ramirez. Tell me, exactly what is normal about that?”
He had a point. “Okay, you win.” I took his hands in mine. “I’ll rest if you do.”
“I can’t. Rory?—”
“How about just long enough for me to tell you about the spell?” I smiled in what I assumed was an encouraging manner. “And eat some breakfast.”
He pressed his lips closed and breathed through his nostrils. “A half hour,” he said finally.
“An hour,” I countered.
“Forty-five minutes.” He stopped grinding his teeth, took my hand, and pulled me into the kitchen. “I’ll make omelets. You brew the coffee.”
“Deal.”
It didn’t take long to tell him about the spell, but we’d been hungrier than either of us realized and bolted down our food—one omelet for me, two for him—so, when I got to the part where Demon Betty showed up, I was staring at the mug bottom of my second mug of coffee.
“How did you get her under control?” he asked.
I wanted to laugh, but he’d have taken it wrong. “One does notget Demon Betty under control, Ronan. She does what she wants.”
“But you did it.”
“To be honest, I think it might’ve been the earth witch part of me that did it—or at least she helped.” I frowned, shook my head to clear it. “No, that’s not right. I’m making it sound as if my witch is separate from me. The easiest way I can put it is I told Demon Betty I needed her to get out of the way so I could complete the spell.” That wasn’t the whole story, but I didn’t feellike delving into the rest. I still felt sick about the screams I’d heard in that room after she left my consciousness.
“And thatworked? She left?”
“It was self-preservation. She doesn’t want to die any more than I do.”
He looked doubtful but didn’t share what he was thinking and didn’t pursue the subject, for which I was grateful. Demon Betty was one of my least favorite topics of conversation—right behind pubic lice and Floyd Pallás, numbers two and one respectively.
“You said the spell was powerful, and that Margaux lost control at one point. How’d you get it back?” Ronan asked.
“It was something Margaux said about having to lean into the pain if I wanted the spell to work. She said the only way out is through.”
He set his fork on his plate and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “So, she reminded you of the purpose of the spell?”
“Yes.” I stared into my mug, wishing I had another sip of coffee so I’d have an excuse to avoid his gaze for the next part. “There was more to it than that.”
He made a rolling gesture with his hand.Go on.
“It was … you.”
