Page 8 of Shift of Morals
“Evie,” his voice rumbled, caressing my skin.
I schooled my face, controlled my heartbeat into a steady, calm rhythm, and lifted a brow. “Stalking your wedding florist, Caelan? You can leave me a bad review if the flowers disappoint you. No need to show up at my house unannounced.”
He fell into step beside me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t plan to poison the bouquets.”
My lips twitched. “Only the boutonnieres.”
“But not Rowan’s?” he drawled.
The Shifter Lord knew I had a soft spot for the Pacific Northwest Lord. “He’d sense it beforehand, but no. Never Rowan. Not many people possess similar magic to mine. The Lord is deeply tied to the flora and fauna of his land, and the earth needs as much care as we can give it.”
Caelan grunted in agreement. “And never Ben,” he added softly.
His gaze rested on my face like a brand.
I stopped at the door to my greenhouse, hand resting on the knob. The best path was ignoring that loaded question. “Why are you here, Lord?”
His low growl sent the hair on the back of my neck standing up. “Caelan,” he snarled.
“You are the Shifter Lord of Texas and the Borderlands and newly engaged. I am an unmated woman.” I turned my head to stare at him. “As such, it is inappropriate to use your given name.” A tight smile, and I returned my attention to unlocking the door. “You should know this,” I said as I breezed in.
Caelan followed, allowing the door to click shut behind him. Motion-activated lights buzzed and flicked on, casting the greenhouse in a warm, inviting glow.
Caelan blinked and sucked in a breath. “Evie,” he whispered in awe.
Yep. I knew how he felt. My greenhouse was insanely decked out, both with technology and with flora. Dozens of structures hung from the ceiling, filled with baskets holding twining vines blooming with brightly colored flowers on one side of the greenhouse. On the other was an entire wall of baskets filled with newly budded strawberries. The back side of the wall held baskets of Dutchman’s pipe, most teeming with Pipevine swallowtail butterflies. That setup took a while to perfect and ended up requiring a specific spell I had to refresh each season. I didn’t want many insects in my greenhouse, but I was growing a ton of butterfly host plants and didn’t want them to go to waste when I could invite the butterflies in to help their population.
I had them growing outside too, but Texas was hot as hell during the summer, and our part of the state was in drought more often than not. I might be a Floromancer, but I tried not tocompete with Mother Nature. Here in the greenhouse, though, I was the mistress.
Six long planting benches stretched the greenhouse’s entirety and went along all the walls, including the back. I used the middle two for planting, and the rest were storage for currently growing plants, seed starting, and miscellaneous other projects. I grew many things for my shop, but I also had things for my own use. Fruits and vegetables, cut flower varieties, plus blueberries and raspberries.
“This is something,” Caelan murmured.
“Thank you. It took a while to complete, but the project was worth it.” What I didn’t add was Rowan had given me some great notes to help me keep the temperature controlled without skyrocketing my light bill, and he’d given me some apple tree starters. I was still on the fence about whether they’d grow or not, but Rowan had assured me he’d given them a boost.
Apple trees normally needed a sustained period of cold before fruiting, but Rowan said they could skip it this year, and he’d return next year and give them what they needed to produce.
So I planted them, keeping them close to the coolest part of the greenhouse, and they were still alive and had even sprouted a few new leaves.
“Seymour is still ornery as usual,” Caelan murmured. “Two weeks ago, he gave me a bite that required Ben’s expertise.”
I chewed on my lip to keep from laughing. Seymour was the bespelled Red Dragon flytrap I’d given him. He was meant to be a little ornery, but not deadly. My spell must have gone a bit awry, or Seymour had taken on a mind of his own.
“If he’s biting you, he must feel threatened.”
Caelan’s withering look almost made me laugh out loud. “That thing is a menace,” he muttered.
I pulled a few pots forward and reached for the flat of creeping thyme seedlings on the bottom shelf. These would leave the greenhouse in a couple more weeks to grow in my landscaping bed. I reached once more for the cascading petunia hybrids I created. Once they bloomed, they would provide a stunning riot of color outside the shop and my front door.
“You can give Seymour back if he’s that much trouble.”
He blinked. “No. He’s fine.”
I eyed him and spotted a telltale white bandage peeking from the underside of his forearm at the edge of his partially rolled-up sleeve. “Is that what he did?”
Caelan shoved his sleeve down. “It’s a minor scratch.”
I snorted. “You’re a shifter. Wearing a bandage. The wound seems more than minor.”
