Page 113 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

I couldn’t say for sure, but I was indebted to Ida for starting a pot.

A slightly damp wolf padded into the kitchen behind me and sat on the floor near the warm oven. Ida had turned on the heat just enough to keep the biscuits from getting cold.

“Told you not to poke your head around the shower curtain.” I’d finished my shower and weaved my hair into two long, loose braids, the ends of which had made damp spots on my shirt right above my breasts. “It’s opaque for a reason, perv.”

The wolf blinked. A droplet of water dribbled down his muzzle.

I grabbed a dish towel and dabbed it away. “I appreciate the concern for my safety, but you’re going to have to chill. No more breaking down doors.”

He whimpered.

An apology?

“Really wish I had the ability to repair wood.” I placed three fat buttermilk biscuits on a plate and set it on the floor in front of him. “Some earth witches do, you know. They’re born with an affinity for trees, not soil.”

I tossed the dish towel into a basket in the corner and picked up a biscuit for myself.

“Knew a Swedish sculptor like that once upon a time. Aksel was so talented. We dated for a while. Nothing serious. I was just passing through, and he wasn’t the type to want more than that. It was fun but a little hollow.” I waggled my brows at him. “Get it? A little hollow? Like a tree?”

Ronan’s muzzle pulled back to show his teeth. A grimace, not a smile.

“Tough crowd,” I muttered.

He huffed and sat on his haunches.

“Hey, it’s not easy keeping up a one-sided conversation. You’d think I’d be better at it since my partners are largely non-verbal—except for Ida—but even Fennel meows and Cecil chitters. You just stare at me and grumble once in a while.”

Being the smart-ass he was, he grumbled at me then showed me his teeth again.

“Ha ha,” I said flatly. “Sorry the meal’s so carb-heavy. I didn’t expect carnivore company, and I’m fresh out of everything. If Ida hadn’t brought us these, we’d have been gnawing on granola bars.”

He shrugged, dropped his head to the plate, and snarfed down the biscuits.

“Gods bless Ida, am I right?” I buttered my own biscuit and added a healthy dollop of Trini’s jam then poured a mug of coffee. I placed a bowl of water on the floor for him.

We polished off the biscuits, one more for me and seven more for him. He slurped up the water then clenched his teeth gently around the glass bowl and set it in the sink.

“That’s nice. I do love a man who isn’t afraid to get his paws soapy.”

My eyelids were leaden, and I couldn’t stop yawning. Although I’d slept for hours after healing him, I was still exhausted. The floor had been chilly enough to make my joints hurt, and I’d depleted my magic to the point where my sleep had been less a rest and more a shallow coma.

Even the coffee had little effect, and Ida’s joe was like Popeye’s spinach. It usually powered me right up. Today, it barely made a dent in my weariness.

I set my empty cup in the sink and picked up the pot of thyme sprouting in the window. My other pot, which hadn’t sprouted, had burned up in my trailer. I could’ve put this one in the garden room, where it surely would’ve flourished, but I wouldn’t have known if Cecil had hastened it along. I wanted to grow it on my own.

I poked my fingers into the pot. Perfect water level and excellent balance of gritty sand and loamy soil. I sent a little magic into the pot, ensuring the pH level was ideal for the tiny seedlings before setting it into the window. Thyme wasn’t usually hard to grow, but the herb acted like it had a personal vendetta against me. I was determined to win it over.

“Grow, little one. Please.”

The wolf whined.

“It’s okay, I’m not sad. I was just testing out my magic. Making sure I was back in fighting form.”

He snuffled beneath the hem of the oversized T-shirt I wore as a nightgown, pressed his muzzle to my knee, and sighed.

“Want to take a nap?”

He apparently did, because when I drew the bedroom blinds and shut and locked the door, he leapt onto my bed, turned three times, and hunkered down.

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