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Xavier chuckled. “You sound so put out.”
“I am,” Hattie told him. “At first, I thought it was just a slow burn when no sex scenes came along. That would have been fine with me. Do you know why I like a good slow burn, boy? Because it makes it a little more satisfying when the characters finally give in and get naked. But if I’m going to be deprived of the sex stuff and have to use my goddamn imagination—which isn’t very good—to know if the hero has some bedroom skills and likes to talk dirty, I’m not going to be a happy woman.”
“Yeah, we got that,” said Wynter, snatching everyone’s attention. “Good morning.”
They returned her greeting, flashing her warm smiles.
Wynter took a seat at the table. “How’s everyone today?”
Delilah regarded her carefully. “For someone who was almost killed yesterday evening, you’re sure in a good mood.”
Well, she’d been thoroughly ravished an hour ago. There really wasn’t a better way to wake up. “Cain has the kind of skills that Hattie likes her book heroes to have.”
“Then he’s a keeper,” the old woman declared.
Wynter was of the same opinion. “Which is why I agreed to his request.”
“What request?” asked Xavier, sitting up straighter, the height of intrigued.
“To be his consort,” Wynter replied.
Delilah’s mouth curved. “Well, well, well, the Ancient’s making an official claim on you.”
“I figured he would.” Xavier took another swig of his coffee. “You two aren’t just sex. A man as possessive of a woman as he is of you does not harbor casual feelings about her.”
Anabel tilted her head at Wynter. “Does this mean you two shared all your secrets with each other?”
“No,” said Wynter. “We’ve both agreed that we’ll do it later on. His opinion is that this is the perfect time for us to make such a commitment; that it’s our way of promising each other that we don’t need to know every little thing in order to fully give this our all.”
“That’s kind of sweet,” said Delilah, carefully placing vials onto a rack. “I wouldn’t have thought he did ‘sweet.’ Or that you’d know how to handle it, Miss Emotionally Awkward.”
Wynter shifted in her seat. “I’m not that bad.”
Delilah snorted. “You totally are. Though not as bad as Anabel.”
The blonde’s brow pinched. “Do you not think you’ve taken enough pot shots at me this morning? What do you even get out of it? Huh? What does that do for you?”
“Jeez, you always take it so personally,” said Delilah. “Seriously, what is up with that?”
“God, I have never met anyone who’s as insensitive as you.”
Delilah flapped a dismissive hand. “Oh, go cuddle a teddy bear and write in your journal or something.”
“See? Insensitive.”
“Compassion is for the weak.”
Anabel’s upper lip curled. “Let me guess, your ancestor Annis told you that?”
“Why do you have to say her name with scorn?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because she ate people.”
“We all have bad habits.”
Wynter lifted a hand. “Okay, let’s just end the conversation right there.” Because it would only go on a downward spiral, and then there’d be hair pulling and stuff.
Most witches would probably be horrified to be a descendant of the Black Annis, who was the witch version of the bogeyman. Not Delilah. She saw only the good in Annis’s “teachings.” So it was pretty unnerving that Delilah often went into meditative states where she had little talks with the old crone.
