Page 69 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

Tripp’s heart sank as the mountain rumbled.

“But you are, flitter-mouse. You always have been.”

Her twisted smile reeked of sadness. “Not for you.”

“Especially for me,” he assured her. “You’ve never been the problem, Elara Elizabeth Hawthorne. I have.”

A series of ferocious roars cut through the air, chilling Tripp’s blood.

“What the hell is that?” Payton gasped.

“Gargoyles. They want revenge for their leader,” he said grimly.

Elara gripped his forearm as more bellows rent the air. “Revenge? What leader?”

“Archer Roche.”

“What happened to Archer?” they all asked him in stereo.

“I killed him.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Tripp Nightshade.

Murderer.

Though not by choice.

Still, from the time he’d announced he’d killed Archer, a lead weight had settled in Elara’s belly and refused to budge. She hadn’t known the man, but he’d seemed like a quiet, gentle giant. Until she’d gotten a good look at Tripp’s shredded back. The entire time he’d been trying to calm her and teach her to control her energy, he’d been wounded. Suffering on her behalf.

Elara wrung out the washcloth and dabbed at the gash as gently as she could while doing her damnedest not to notice the contoured muscles under her hand. It wasn’t the time to lust over his perfect body when he was in pain.

“Are you all right, Tripp,” she asked softly.

He took his time answering. “Yeah.”

Although she couldn’t say how, she sensed the lie. Perhaps shewasa human lie detector he’d declared her to be.

“You’re not.” She stroked back his thick, dark hair with her free hand, exposing his profile. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” she argued without heat.

Whatever she’d called up to make the supernatural residents crazy had created a short-lived battle between two formidable men, resulting in the loss of life for one. She’d darted past Tripp to confront the gargoyle gang, but they’d transformed back into humans by the time she’d arrived outside.

Hermes misdirected them on Tripp’s behalf, allowing them to escape to her apartment.

Tripp half rolled to meet her gaze. “Listen to me, flitter-mouse. Whatever happened in that alley wasn’t your fault. Inside the building, yes. Outside was something else. Someoneelse. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“But you just did when you claimed to be all right.” She managed to keep the censure from her voice and merely stated what she knew to be true.

“True,” he agreed. With a self-deprecating grin, he said, “My back aches like a bitch, and I’m concerned it hasn’t healed yet.”

“Yet? It’s only been an hour.”

“I heal in minutes, Elara. This new development is concerning.”

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