Page 10 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

Literally. A wake of the birds resided between La Paloma and the town of East Pluto, and they could be downright vicious.

And as if the whole damn thing wasn’t complicated enough, Ronan, also a Pallás wolf, had gone against a direct order when he’dhired me to find Sy. A direct order from his alpha leader, who also happened to be his father.

The men were far from close, Ronan having only met him in person a few years ago, but it was still a weird situation, and I’d ended up smack in the center of it.

As if on cue, my cell phone buzzed in my back pocket. I’d set it to silent earlier and hadn’t bothered to turn the ringer back on. If it was important, the caller could text me about it like a functioning human being.

WhenRonan Palláscame up on the screen, I declined the call and sent it to voicemail. I was in no mood to talk. After hisgoodnighttext last night, I’d tried to call, and he’d sentmeto voicemail.

I’d made excuses for him—he was probably behind the bar and it was too loud to talk, he’d gotten busy serving drinks, he was breaking up another ogre fight—but he could’ve texted me back to let me know he’d call as soon as he could, and he hadn’t.

He’d chosen to ignore me.

I texted him the middle finger icon and shut down my cell.

Childish, I know. But, if the man couldn’t see with his own eyes what a godsdamn catch I was, I wasn’t going to clean his glasses for him. I was too secure in my worth to play games with the likes of that wolf, no matter how good he looked in a pair of gray sweatpants.

I thought back to the way those sweats stretched beautifully over his groin and thighs, and had a moment of weakness, but I didn’t turn my phone back on. Instead, I set it on the charger and stripped down, threw my wet clothes into my dryer, and went to find the only clean clothing I had left besides my funeral dress and pajamas—my bathing suit.

The fire had taken everything from me, important things like my plants, family photos, and my emergency stash of cash, but it had also taken things I hadn’t thought about until I’d needed them. Makeup, toiletries, lingerie, jeans, old concert T-shirts, and my laptop. Magic books I’d collected. Thankfully, Ida hadborrowed some of my most expensive ones before the fire, so they were safe.

That was something.

The fire, and my subsequent kidnapping, had taken something else from me, too. Peace of mind.

No one ever thinks something like that will happen to them. I’d been lulled into a false sense of security due to the protection spell I regularly cast on the Siete Saguaros, but the spell was meant to protect people, not things. If hit hard enough, it would stop defending our homes and focus tightly on defending our lives.

My kidnapper had been a curse talker, and as a result, he’d spelled me with his voice to leave the safety of the park. There was nothing the protection spell could do to stop something like that. Before, anyway. Cecil, Fennel, and I were working on an addition to the spell that would guard against that happening again.

I upended my hamper over the washing machine, figuring that as long as I was drying my clothes, I might as well start the washing, too. It was nice to have my own set instead of hauling my stuff to Ida’s. The stackable washer/dryer duo had been one of my first purchases for the cottage after moving in. That, and a mage spell that repelled fire. Cecil had cast one, too, but it never hurt to play it safe. I’d learned that the hard way.

My bathing suit was one of the more fashionable items I owned. It was a pinup-girl style one piece halter—black with red hibiscus flowers. I’d ordered it right before the fire and made Ronan pay for it. Ida had surprised me with a red silk camellia hair clip for Galentine’s Day that would look stunning with it.

Then I remembered that it, too, had been lost in the fire.

Damn. The losses kept sneaking up on me.

I’d killed the man responsible—not because he’d burned my house down or kidnapped me, but in self-defense. Another thing I was coming to terms with.

Once my laundry was going, I stomped back to the garden room in my bathing suit to have it out with Cecil.

“What is your actual problem, gnome?”

Cecil, who was back at his workstation, turned slowly to face me. The little stinker was completely dry, of course. Fae magic.

“Meow.” Fennel leapt onto the chaise lounge beside a frothy pot of lavender and squared off with us both.

“See, this is where our lack of a single common language fails us. You’re angry, and I don’t know why,” I said to Cecil, “and the only one who can explain why is Fennel. The problem is, I don’t speak cat. I can pick up broad ideas, but the fine details sometimes get lost. We really need to figure something out.”

He wadded up the piece of paper he’d been standing on and threw it. It bounced off my forehead and landed on the floor. “Real mature.”

I picked up the paper and smoothed it over my knee. There were drawings on it, pretty good illustrations, actually, in a series of boxes. Sort of like a comic strip. Cecil and Fennel in their beds. A woman in a black pointed hat, who was obviously me, scooping up Fennel and walking out. Cecil staring after us, a tear trickling down his cheek.

Oh.

I’d hurt his feelings by not asking him to accompany us this morning.

I sighed. “Cecil, I’m sorry. I should’ve asked if you wanted to come.”

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