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She only chuckled.
Valentina shook her head. “I swear, Quinley, I did not realize he was so boring. I would have warned you before you mated him.” The wolverine slid her gaze back to him. “A woman needs some adventure in her life. Thrills. Excitement.”
“Being hunted by a wolverine isn’t something anyone would term ‘exciting,’” he insisted.
“I would,” said Quinley.
He groaned, his head almost falling back in exasperation.
“There, you see,” Valentina said to him, triumphant. “Dominant males and their overprotectiveness. Yawn.”
Quinley started to laugh, the minx.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Blair pulled a face at the complimentary pot of ketchup. “That’s not something that would count as any kind of gift, let alone a Christmas present.”
“Oh, I know,” said Elle, bopping her head to the music coming from an idling car in the mall’s parking lot.
“Wait, you don’t want it to count?”
The redhead plopped the ketchup into one of her shopping bags. “No.”
Blair turned to her. “But he’s your brother.”
“Half-brother.”
“You and Damian have the exact same parents.”
“Same mother,” Elle corrected. “His father is Satan himself.”
Quinley smiled against the inside of her coat collar, her face half-buried inside it to protect her skin from the cold.
Blair gave Elle a flat smile. “Hmm, Damian kind of looks like your dad.”
“The Antichrist can take any form he chooses,” said the redhead.
“Okay, how is it you think your mom came to have sex with Satan?” Blair challenged.
“He obviously fooled her into thinking he was my dad.”
“Fooled her how?”
“The Devil can take any form he chooses.”
Exasperation flickered across the bush dog’s face.
Bree snickered. “Give up, Blair. Give up now. You’re only hurting yourself.”
The music faded away as the once-idling car drove off, adding to the traffic sounds of engines running, horns honking, brakes squealing, and wheels spinning.
The mall was incredibly busy, so the lot was a current hub of activity. Her cat didn’t like it; wasn’t fond of the assault to her senses. Streetlights flashed. Bushes rattled with the breeze. Puddles rippled. Laughter came from kids using a curb as a balance beam.
Thank God it was an indoor mall, because the weather was abysmal. Windy, cloudy, cold, and rainy. The rain had now died off, but the smell of ozone remained, overlaying the scents of car exhaust and wet pavement.
Quinley felt for the long cue of people stood at the taxi rank, exposed to the elements. Quinley and her pride mates were huddled under a shelter near the drop-off/pick-up area, waiting for Isaiah. He was on his way to collect them.
Shopping wise, it had been a productive day for Quinley—as evidenced by the amount of bags she was carrying. Her gloves provided a nice buffer between the skin of her palms and the dig of the bag handles.
