out.”
“Not quite,” he admitted. “Somehow I don’t see eau de chemical as your signature cologne. But it doesn’t smell a thing like rotten meat to a werewolf nose.” He grabbed an oven mitt from a hook on the wall and walked over to the oven.
“Thank God for that.” I took another drink. The wine and the company began working their magic, helping me back away from the despair that was threatening to overwhelm me every time I thought about Bryan. Some hard decisions needed to be made, but not right this minute.
“I can’t believe the demonstrators did that! Are you going to press assault charges?” Tom pulled the pan from the oven and set it on top of the stove, then reached in to retrieve a foil-wrapped loaf of bread. That, he placed on the counter. Closing the oven door with his hip he started rummaging in the utensil drawer for a spatula and bread knife.
“I decided against it. They want publicity. If I prosecute, there’ll be another trial, and another chance for them to raise hell.”
“Makes sense, I suppose. But I hate to see them getting away with it.”
“Oh, they won’t get away with it; at least not completely. I’m betting they’ll be facing charges of disturbing the peace and disobeying a police officer at least, and maybe inciting a riot on top of that.”
“Good!” The word and his expression were fierce. He unwrapped the garlic bread and began slicing it with vigor. He slid a couple of pieces on each plate before serving the lasagna. “Can you get the glasses and silverware? I figured we’d eat in the living room.”
“Good plan.”
It wasn’t until we were halfway into the living room that I realized I hadn’t seen Blank since I’d been home. Since candles and the cat hadn’t proven to be the best mix a couple of weeks ago, I had to ask. “Where’s the cat?”
“In the upstairs bathroom, stoned out of his mind on catnip.”
It made me smile. “You really did think of everything.”
“We aim to please, ma’am.” He winked at me.
I sighed. It was so nice to just relax and let someone else cut the bread and serve the lasagna. All I had to do was numbly fill my empty stomach. I told him about Henri’s death, and the dream where I’d watched another man get killed.
He’d closed his eyes because, even though he hadn’t met Henri, he’d heard me talk about him so often of late, it felt like losing a distant family member…a favorite uncle or grandfather. “I’m so sorry, Katie. I know how much he’d come to mean to you.”
“I saw his wife in my mind…or thought I did. She asked me to hunt down his killer.”
“I’m sorry, Kate. I was drifting. What did you say?”
“His wife, or someone, asked me to track down his killer. But with everything else going on—”
“Sweetie, you’ve already got such a full plate, I can’t imagine how you’d have time to find out anything about his death in…where did he live? Haiti?”
I nodded and proceeded to stuff a hunk of bread in my mouth so I wouldn’t say anything else stupid. We finished the meal mostly in silence, even though I wanted to ask about the pack meeting. But the fact that he hadn’t volunteered anything wasn’t a good sign.
Finally, when we’d eaten all we could manage, he led me gently, as one by one he blew out each of the candles in the kitchen, then the living room. Slowly he put out each light up the stairs until the only light remaining came from a pillar candle that rested on the wall of my loft bedroom. Its soft glow cast flickering shadows over the bedroom. I turned to face him, enjoying the play of light and shadow over the perfect planes of his face. There was an intensity to his gaze—not just lust, although it was certainly there. But it was so much more. Seeing that expression on his face made my knees weak. All the playfulness was just…gone, washed away in a wave of emotion and need.
He kissed me then, slowly and gently. The feel of his lips on mine, the warmth of
“Not quite,” he admitted. “Somehow I don’t see eau de chemical as your signature cologne. But it doesn’t smell a thing like rotten meat to a werewolf nose.” He grabbed an oven mitt from a hook on the wall and walked over to the oven.
“Thank God for that.” I took another drink. The wine and the company began working their magic, helping me back away from the despair that was threatening to overwhelm me every time I thought about Bryan. Some hard decisions needed to be made, but not right this minute.
“I can’t believe the demonstrators did that! Are you going to press assault charges?” Tom pulled the pan from the oven and set it on top of the stove, then reached in to retrieve a foil-wrapped loaf of bread. That, he placed on the counter. Closing the oven door with his hip he started rummaging in the utensil drawer for a spatula and bread knife.
“I decided against it. They want publicity. If I prosecute, there’ll be another trial, and another chance for them to raise hell.”
“Makes sense, I suppose. But I hate to see them getting away with it.”
“Oh, they won’t get away with it; at least not completely. I’m betting they’ll be facing charges of disturbing the peace and disobeying a police officer at least, and maybe inciting a riot on top of that.”
“Good!” The word and his expression were fierce. He unwrapped the garlic bread and began slicing it with vigor. He slid a couple of pieces on each plate before serving the lasagna. “Can you get the glasses and silverware? I figured we’d eat in the living room.”
“Good plan.”
It wasn’t until we were halfway into the living room that I realized I hadn’t seen Blank since I’d been home. Since candles and the cat hadn’t proven to be the best mix a couple of weeks ago, I had to ask. “Where’s the cat?”
“In the upstairs bathroom, stoned out of his mind on catnip.”
It made me smile. “You really did think of everything.”
“We aim to please, ma’am.” He winked at me.
I sighed. It was so nice to just relax and let someone else cut the bread and serve the lasagna. All I had to do was numbly fill my empty stomach. I told him about Henri’s death, and the dream where I’d watched another man get killed.
He’d closed his eyes because, even though he hadn’t met Henri, he’d heard me talk about him so often of late, it felt like losing a distant family member…a favorite uncle or grandfather. “I’m so sorry, Katie. I know how much he’d come to mean to you.”
“I saw his wife in my mind…or thought I did. She asked me to hunt down his killer.”
“I’m sorry, Kate. I was drifting. What did you say?”
“His wife, or someone, asked me to track down his killer. But with everything else going on—”
“Sweetie, you’ve already got such a full plate, I can’t imagine how you’d have time to find out anything about his death in…where did he live? Haiti?”
I nodded and proceeded to stuff a hunk of bread in my mouth so I wouldn’t say anything else stupid. We finished the meal mostly in silence, even though I wanted to ask about the pack meeting. But the fact that he hadn’t volunteered anything wasn’t a good sign.
Finally, when we’d eaten all we could manage, he led me gently, as one by one he blew out each of the candles in the kitchen, then the living room. Slowly he put out each light up the stairs until the only light remaining came from a pillar candle that rested on the wall of my loft bedroom. Its soft glow cast flickering shadows over the bedroom. I turned to face him, enjoying the play of light and shadow over the perfect planes of his face. There was an intensity to his gaze—not just lust, although it was certainly there. But it was so much more. Seeing that expression on his face made my knees weak. All the playfulness was just…gone, washed away in a wave of emotion and need.
He kissed me then, slowly and gently. The feel of his lips on mine, the warmth of
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