Page 53 of Hell and Hexes

A shadow crossed Dallas’s face. “Everyone is going to think I’m weak.”

“He helped the pack when he didn’t have to. He sent scouts ahead to warn you all that a monster was coming. He and his wolves slowed the attacker down and gave you time to ready yourselves. They stayed and helped you fight. They offered to house your displaced people, to help you rebuild.” I held out my hands. “I don’t think anyone would believe you weak for giving them a few months to make the transition.”

Dallas nodded. “Guessing you’re right. Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Two months.” Clinton frowned. “I’ll do my best, but is there room for an extension if we can’t quite get the place bought and moved out by then?”

“As long as you don’t take two years, I might be a bit reasonable,” Dallas drawled.

“And when it’s not the full moon?” I asked. “It’s going to be hard on folk if they’re forbidden to talk to or even look at each other most of the month, then make nice for three days.”

“If I’m forgiving Clinton, then I can’t demand others do different,” Dallas admitted. “I’m thinking each werewolf needs to make their own decisions on whether they feel it’s right to socialize with wolves of another pack or those who are lone wolves. No matter what they decide, I’ll make sure my people know they gotta be polite and welcoming during the moon, though. Best behavior. Treating all werewolves like guests during the full moon, even if they still hate someone’s guts.”

I guess that was as good as it was going to get for the time being.

“Then let’s seal this as a vow,” I told them, pulling a paper out of my notebook. I’d jotted down what the pair had agreed upon as a sort of contract. It might not look too professional, but if a handwritten note worked for Temperance Perkins and the others who’d originally made up the town of Accident, then it would work for us.

Dallas and Clinton both read over my chicken scratching, then took out pocket knives, jabbing themselves in the thumb and making a blood-print next to their names. I signed my name in a more traditional manner, with an ink pen, then informed both of them that I’d have copies delivered by this evening.

We had a deal. We had peace. And all it had taken was a little bit of deception and theatrics on our part. There was still a lot that needed to happen to make sure that things went smoothly between the two packs, but I was giddy with excitement over what had been accomplished here today.

Clinton had his pack. Dallas had his pride. And Shelby and Stanley would have the opportunity to socialize with other wolves as well as hunt together on the lands they’d grown up on.

I left the meeting and walked back to my house, and for the very first time since I’d died, I didn’t feel drained or tired.

I was good. I was more than good. Healing. Happy. Falling in love with a sexy demon who made me laugh and rocked my world. I picked up the phone and called over to the diner to order some carry-out and looked up as I heard my front door open.

There stood Eshu, a bottle of wine in one hand and a pizza in the other. Beside him was a bottle of rum and a box from the butcher shop that I would bet contained a quarter of beef.

“Better put that in the freezer before it thaws,” I told him.

“Later.” He leaned forward and kissed me. “First we celebrate with rum and wine and pizza. Then sex.”

“How about sex first, so I’m actually sober?” I laughed.

He set down the wine, put the pizza box on top of the meat box, and gathered me into his arms. “A much better idea, my brilliant, beloved couch-witch. Come with me to bed. Or to the couch. Your choice.”

I laughed, grabbed his hand, and hauled him off to my bedroom.

Life was good. Life was more than good. And I only had to die to realize it.

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