Wolf Moon Rising (Beaux Rêve Coven 3)

Sigurd darted out of range then grinned. A toothy, wolfy grin.

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have anything to cover yourself with?”

“Is my nudity bothering you?” he asked, his hands on his hips, knowing his cock jutted obscenely.

She raised a hand and waved it at his groin. “That’s…distracting!”

He laughed. “That’s how you describe it?”

She stomped a foot. “Stop laughing. You’re making it bounce.”

“It’s hard. And it can do more than bounce, witch.”

“You’re impossible…and crude.”

“For your information, this,” he grabbed his cock and shook it, “is your fault.”

“Mine?” Her eyebrows winged high.

His humor dried up. “Get in the boat.”

She huffed and stepped inside, making a show of rearranging her skirts, her gaze never meeting his.

He climbed in, lifted the pole, and pushed off the bank.

“Can you move back? It’s in my face.”

He ignored her complaint and sank the pole in the deep silt to move the boat into the canal. Once in the center, he sat and took up the paddles.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose we can forget this incident ever happened…?”

He gave her a baleful glare.

Her lips firmed. “Then I don’t suppose you’ll keep this to yourself…?”

Shaking his head, he snorted.

Her fingers worried the edges of the fringed cloak.

For the rest of the journey, they remained silent. The physical exertion of rowing helped to calm his blood. Eventually, his dick relaxed. As he pulled up to the dock, he noted lights on inside her cottage. They illuminated the figures lined along the porch.

“Oh, flowers,” she muttered, saying the word as harshly as any curse he would have substituted.

“Shit just hit the fan,” he drawled, seeing Ethan among those waiting.

“Flowers, flowers, flowers.”

Her fear was palpable—and disconcerting. She had to know that even though she’d broken the rules, Ethan would never harm her. Sigurd would never allow it. “Everything will be alright, Aoife. All you have to do is tell the truth.”

Her shoulders slumped. “That, I can’t do.”

He arched a brow. “Then flowers it is.”

After Sigurd dressed, the men accompanied Aoife to Bryn’s bed & breakfast. They gathered around her sister witch’s large dining room table. All the witches had been summoned along with their guardians, all looking as though they’d been pulled from their beds. The witches and Ethan sat while the rest of the demons surrounded the table, standing still like soldiers.

Ethan sat in the head chair, frowning. His deep-set, green troll-eyes glowed.

Aoife tried to make herself very small, wishing she could disappear. She didn’t like being the recipient of their frowns. And she dreaded the coming conversation. Lying wasn’t her strong suit, and she was sure Ethan would see through every false word. She worried about what to do and glanced at her sisters, whose expressions reflected concern.