Wuthering Frights by H.P. Mallory

that I’d completely hit rock bottom and been crying my eyes out. I looked okay actually. Maybe a little red, but I could explain that away with allergies. 'Course, as a fairy, I didn't get allergies—being a creature of nature and all—but whatever.
    I pulled the door open and greeted Knight with a small smile. He was wearing dark blue jeans and an untucked, long-sleeved, black T-shirt that matched the blackness of his hair. His hair was a little longish, curling around his ears and it gave him a certain unkempt ruggedness that was sexy as all get out. He smiled at me, his full lips spreading into one of the most breathtaking grins I'd ever seen and I felt my entire body deflate on itself. Not only was he beautiful, but he was all around a wonderful person. I felt the exact opposite of a wonderful person—like I was a huge, steaming, stinking dog turd on the bottom of his shoe.
    "Come in," I said in a near whisper, opening the door wide. He walked past me and threw himself into the chair beside the couch, propping his large feet on my coffee table. He looked so comfortable, as if he'd just come home from a long day of busting criminal ass, and planned to forget the day’s events in my armchair. Although he dwarfed my chair, he looked as though he was exactly where he belonged.
    "Long night," he offered and I closed the door, locking it, before taking a seat on the couch.
    "Did you take care of locking him up?" I asked, referring to Horatio.
    "Trey did while I wrote up the paperwork. He was one of Baron's guys. Horatio something or other." After Knight had taken Horatio into custody, he'd let me go home, explaining that he and Trey could take care of things and I looked like I needed to get some z's. Knight knew me well because he obviously assumed I wasn't going to sleep, which was why he was sitting in my living room now.
    "When are the cauldrons coming?" I asked, referring to the shipment in which we disposed of our illegal narcotics busts. Until then, they were kept locked up in the vault. I'd already promised myself to personally see to it that the Yalkemouth was destroyed.
    "This week," he answered, eyeing me curiously. "So, Dulce, are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
    "Wrong?" I asked, feeling taken aback and sounding just as surprised. Was I wearing my emotions on my sleeve again?
    He nodded with a stern expression—like I wasn't going to schmooze myself out of this one. "You look like you've lost ten pounds over the last week and you have bags under your eyes."
    "Well, you're beautiful yourself. Thanks for noticing."
    He shook his head and leaned forward, squeezing my right thigh just above my knee with his large hand. "I'm serious, Dulcie, what's up?"
    I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Then remembering myself, I forced my eyes to meet his and held his gaze. "Nothing's up."
    He shrugged and relaxed back into the chair. "Sam said you've been ignoring her—not returning her phone calls. And Dia called yesterday, wondering where the hell you were? Apparently, you aren't returning anyone's calls? I had to convince Sam that you were fine and talk her out of an intervention."
    "Intervention?" I repeated with a frown, feeling irritation creeping up within me. "That's taking things a little too far." I shook my head as I considered it. "Holy Hades, I've just been ... busy."
    "Doing what?" he demanded and his eyes narrowed on me as he crossed his long legs at the ankles. Relaxing against the chair back, he folded his arms behind his head and looked as if he had all the time in the world to listen to me lie my ass off.
    "A little of everything." I shrugged. "I've got a lot on my mind."
    "That's fair," he said, standing up and approaching me. He dropped down to his knees in front of me and took my hands in his, forcing me to look into his stunningly beautiful blue eyes. "Dulcie, I know you've been through a lot. We've been through a lot. I just want you to know that I'm here for you. If you ever need to talk,