The Man Who Hated Ned O'Leary (Dig Two Graves 2)

But the wolves hadn’t been Lars’s doom. Cole had. “Or maybe they smelled one of their own,” Cole whispered, approaching Carol, who’d retreated to the back of her stall, pacing and snorting in distress.

Ned’s eyes met Cole’s. “Could be. Could be. They don’t get to claim him. I did.”

“Ned, I was talking about myself. Please, stop acting as if you have a screw loose. You’re just a man in a costume!” Cole snapped, stepping into Carol’s stall to calm her.

Ned’s gaze softened as it trailed after Cole. “I was talking about you too.”

Cole petted his mare, burying his burning cheeks in her neck as soon as she allowed it. Her flesh was ice cold, and he ended up hugging her neck, worried for what the future might bring if all the horses passed as a consequence of the terrible decisions made by their people. “You don’t get to claim me.”

“You’re safe now that I marked you,” Ned said, and his rasp became deeper, solid as a caress. He wouldn’t leave the topic alone. Of course.

“Ned, they’re wolves. They don’t care who folk fuck. If they’re hungry, and they find you vulnerable, they will eat you regardless whether you’re bedding Black Susie from the Dahlia or the king of England.” Cole bit down on his lips, wincing when he moved too fast, and his insides twitched.

Ned stalled, but then his mouth stretched into a smile. “Am I bigger than you’re used to?”

The bastard had the guts to sound proud of himself, but he didn’t try to get any closer, as if Cole were a wild animal Ned wanted to calm.

“I’m not used to this at all,” Cole uttered, slowly stretching as the cramp passed.

Ned stared at him like a halfwit. “Oh. Oh, Cole…”

“We’re not discussing this,” Cole hissed.

Ned bent to pet Dog, who’d followed him into the barn, and he mumbled, “he doesn’t understand, but he will.”

This madness had to stop. “You know I can hear you, right?”

Ned looked up, eyes wide like a deer’s that had been surprised by hunters. “What?”

No.

“You’re talking out loud,” Cole said and patted Carol’s side before covering her with another blanket in hope it would counter the effect of spending a night in this cold. At this point, hope was the only thing he had.

Ned’s gaze wandered from Cole’s face, to the horse, to the door, confused as if he’d been told a pack of rabid racoons had managed to take down Galahad. “No, I don’t.”

Cole rubbed his face and stepped over the bloodstained floor to reach him. “And last night, you said something about me wanting you there.”

“I don’t remember. You did.” Ned slid his hand to the small of Cole’s back and stepped closer.

Slapping away intruding fingers was second nature to Cole. He didn’t like casual touch. It felt too intimate and unavoidably led to places where he did not want to be with anyone. “You think I’m lying to you? What would have been the point?”

“I don’t know. Confusing me?” Ned bit his lips and let his hands flop while his green gaze drilled for answers Cole wasn’t willing to provide.

“What for? Do you hear yourself?” Cole asked and spun around, facing the three dead lumps of meat resting in the snow outside. The flannel underthings he wore without any additional layers were getting uncomfortably cold, but the horse needed to be butchered before its scent attracted more predators.

Ned followed him like a dog who’d been given a bone once and would now always expect another one. “I don’t know! I don’t understand you. We make love, you call it fucking, but then we do it again, and I don’t even know what this is anymore.”

Make love.

It sounded so bittersweet. Like pleasure wrapped in a costume of something more, something it could never be. “We’re not married. I kept you in chains only yesterday. What are you even talking about?” Cole asked, challenging Ned by staring straight into his eyes.

Ned hugged himself but wouldn’t back down. “You shot Lars for me. You didn’t kill me, even though you said you will once you know the truth.”

All at once Cole wanted an oversized coat of his own, one big enough to hide in from questions that were too purposeful, too precise to answer in one’s underwear. Near-naked. “And it’s because of you that he’s dead. You provoked me. And then he saw us and—and now he’s dead in the ground,” Cole rasped, gesturing toward the grave while his heart trembled.

Ned stepped closer and, as if he were reading Cole’s mind, took off his coat, offering it to him. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not,” Cole said right before his teeth clattered. “Get to work, and butcher the horse.”

Ned’s shoulders sagged. “That’s a lot of meat. Makes sense. With so much snowfall, you won’t be leaving for a while.” It didn’t sound like a question, but definitely wasn’t a straightforward statement either.