Page 29 of Enspelled

“Diana’s sister,” I say, my mouth dry from his attention.

Looks like I’m not the only one having dangerous thoughts.

He blinks and his eyes refocus on mine. “The more powerful Calla sister?”

I nod.

“Just fucking great,” he mutters as he swings back around. “I’ll be back.”

Waiting until I hear his footsteps descending the porch, I head for the stairs so I can borrow some clothes from Erin Sue.

I’m almost positive she’s a similar size to me, maybe slightly smaller. But that’s not the thing I’m most relieved about. It’s that I’ve never seen her wearing anything pink, yellow, or frilly.

* * *

Whatever Keane went to find from his truck, he doesn’t find it until after I’ve borrowed a pair of navy sweatpants and a gray, slightly too tight t-shirt from Erin Sue’s closet, and I’m in the kitchen frying up some eggs to go along with the bacon I’ve already set aside.

Although Keane doesn’t say a word as he steps back inside the house, I feel his presence at my back. “We should probably talk about what we’re going to do about Georgia,” I say, for fear he’ll bring up what happened on the couch.

A chair leg scrapes against the hardwood floor. “What did she want?”

I hesitate.

Maybe Georgia Calla is just as dangerous a topic to bring up as our snuggle-fest on the couch. “Uh…”

Is it too late to change the subject?

“Briar, what aren’t you telling me?” Keane’s tone brooks no argument.

Yep, too late. Far too late.

Sighing, I scoop the scrambled eggs onto our plates. After switching the stove off, I turn to take in Keane, sitting in a dining chair, arms folded across his chest and his gaze fixed on me.

I’m a little disappointed he found another shirt—again black—to wear.

His gaze dips, and his expression turns inscrutable. “You look strange in normal clothes.”

My eyes narrow. “I was wearing normal clothes before.”

“No,” he says distinctly. “You weren’t.”

I thump a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him with a clatter. “The nightgown wasn’t that bad.”

He doesn’t say a word.

“There’s nothing wrong with frills and bows,” I say, unclear why I’m wasting time defending a nightgown I’ve always hated.

He says yet more nothing, so I put my plate down in front of the opposite chair and go back for orange juice. “She wants to use me to destroy wolves everywhere.”

It’s a little easier admitting it with my head in the refrigerator. I don’t know why, but it is.

“And how does she intend to do that?” Keane asks, sounding like he’s taking my admission a lot better than I thought he would.

A little of my tension eases, because he’s not threatening to kill me or pressing those all-too-familiar claws against my throat.

I snag the bottle of juice with a silent sigh of relief. Once I’ve closed the refrigerator, I bring it and two glasses to the kitchen table. “She thinks it’s a spell,” I admit, sinking into my seat.

Keane takes the glasses and juice from me. I watch as he fills them before nudging one glass toward me and dragging the other closer to his plate. “What do you think?”

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