Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace 5)

“How do you know I’m not?”

“I’m a werewolf. We can smell these things.” His hand slipped down my stomach and then cupped me. “Shall we get down to the business at hand?”

“I think we should.”

From that moment on, there was little in the way of sound beyond those that spoke of exploration and rising pleasure. When satisfaction came, it was glorious.

He kissed me gently, then slipped to one side and gathered me close. When sleep claimed me for a second time, the visions of that wailing, grief-stricken woman were little more than a distant tremor.

One that whispered of trouble yet to come.

After cooking me breakfast the following morning, Aiden dropped me home and then continued on to the ranger station. The café was closed on Mondays, but that didn’t always mean we got the day off—especially when the previous day’s trade had all but wiped us out of cakes and salad prep. Once I’d dumped my stuff into my bedroom and shoved a load of washing into the machine, I headed into the kitchen to rectify all that. For the next five hours I made a variety of cakes, cheesecakes, and slices, and was finally on the last leg of veg cutting when Belle came home. She tossed her handbag onto the serving counter and then walked around to flick on the kettle. “You want a coffee?”

“Yes, thanks.” I swept the sliced onions into the container, then shoved on the lid. “How was the show?”

“Brilliant. I might go down and see it again before its run ends.”

She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. She was a typical Sarr witch in coloring, with ebony skin, long black hair, and eyes as bright as polished silver. She was also just over six feet tall with an Amazonian build, which made her almost the polar opposite of me. I was five inches shorter with a body that tended to curviness. I also had pale skin, freckles across my nose, and the crimson hair of a royal witch.

“I notice,” she added, voice dry, “that you didn’t ask how the trip home was.”

I grinned. “I don’t need to. I can feel the disgruntled vibes from here.”

She snorted. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d just shut up for five minutes. But no, he felt the need to talk all the way home.”

“Maybe it was nerves. You are a pretty impressive specimen of womanhood, after all, and he did fancy you even when you were a scrawny teenager.”

“And still does.” She shook her head, her smile somewhat wry. “No matter how many times I state he and I will never happen, it appears to have made absolutely no dent in his determination to take me out.”

My eyebrows rose. “Implying he did actually ask you out?”

“Yeah.” She pushed away from the wall as the kettle began to whistle. “He has some tickets for the opening night of Evita and was wondering if I wanted to go.”

I couldn’t help grinning. That was a very clever ploy on Monty’s part, given Belle’s love of the theatre and red-carpet events—not that she’d ever been to many of the latter.

“What did you tell him?”

“What do you think?” She reappeared, two coffees in hand. “How often am I able to go to a fancy opening night? There will, however, be ground rules.”

My grin grew. “And do you seriously expect him to obey them? Especially when you’re all made up and looking gorgeous on the red carpet?”

A reluctant smile touched her lips. “Well, no, but the threat of literally freezing him on the spot will at least curtail the most overt of his seduction attempts. The rest I can basically ignore.”

I washed my hands and then accepted my coffee with a nod of thanks. “And what if he averts your threat by buying a stronger anti-telepathy band?”

The bands were something we’d been made aware of when two RWA witches had come into the reservation to help track down a vampire hell-bent on revenge. Monty had also been wearing one when he’d first arrived, but had subsequently learned that while it did stop casual intrusion, a determined effort by a strong enough telepath could still get through.

Belle had since released the restrictions she’d placed on his thoughts, but only because he now knew the truth of why we’d run and had sworn not to mention our presence to anyone up in Canberra—particularly anyone who knew either my parents or the bastard I’d been forced to marry. I wasn’t entirely sure Monty believed my father—who was one of the government’s most sought-after advisors—was capable of such treachery, but that didn’t really bother me. The longer I could keep my presence here secret, the better—even if I knew in the end it wouldn’t matter. My father and Clayton would eventually arrive here, forcing the confrontation I’d been running from since I was sixteen years old.

“I doubt he’ll go to the trouble of buying another band,” Belle said. “Especially after I broke through the first one relatively quickly. Besides, he may just surprise us and be the model of decorum.”

I almost choked on a mouthful of coffee. “This is Monty we’re talking about. You know, the man who paired a Kermit the Frog tie with an Armani suit at our Year Ten formal, and who then spent most of the evening trying to convince you to dance with him.”

A smile tugged her lips. “I know, but hey, stranger things have happened, especially in this reservation.”

Stranger things might have, but I doubted even this reservation could work that particular miracle. “How is he, besides chatty?”

“Good. He can certainly scoot around on his crutches easily enough, although he’s not going to be able to drive the Mustang for a few weeks yet.”