“It most definitely is not allowed—and not easy, either. I think we should call my mentor. She could take a closer look. Maybe figure out who could have done this and why it’s happening to your brother.”
“Yeah, okay. It’s not like I have any options…Ansel doesn’t have very much time.”
“I’ll call. You stay put.” Finn points at Grayson. “Rowan, make sure he stays down.”
Rowan snorts before he jumps up onto the chair with Grayson and attempts (unsuccessfully) to curl up like a giant lap dog. It’s impossible since Rowan—the man—is bigger than Grayson, and the overwhelming mass seems to have translated over into Rowan—the wolf.
Grayson gets a wagging tail to the face for his disloyal thoughts before Rowan settles his butt on Grayson’s lap, completely blocking his view of Winnie.
“Does he do that often? He has to know he’s too big.”
Grayson pokes his currently canine mate, and Rowan leans to the side, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair.
“He does not. He’s not been a wolf very long, but so far he’s taken to it like a champ.”
“Uh…say what now?” She raises an eyebrow, and for the second time, Grayson wishes he could think before he speaks. It’s a novel state of being, given that for most of his life, he’s thought out every single thing thrice over.
“Rowan is a Were, but also a wolf.”
“No…way. You’re a person?”
“Way. He’s a six-foot-five, 230-pound drummer. Until today. Now he’s all that and a giant-wolf-pain-in-the-ass. Okay, maybe he’s always been that last part. It’s just the wolf part that’s new.”
Winnie freezes, and her eyes get hazy as she thinks back over her first meeting with Rowan. A myriad of expressions play out over her pretty features until her eyes snap back into focus, only to narrow on Rowan.
“That was your phone. You were ticked because I called you pretty, but dumb.” She barks out a laugh. “You drooled on me.”
Rowan huffs with embarrassment.
“Oh god, I rubbed your belly and kissed your nose. Dude, not cool.” She very kindly doesn’t call out the licking, and that’s probably for the best.
Rowan turns, still in Grayson’s lap, and hides his nose in Grayson’s neck.
“He’s shy about it, I think. Maybe it’s because he’s not wearing pants.” That earns Grayson a nip to his throat from Rowan and a giggle from Winnie.
“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever had a day like today. Lost my job because I was late, came back here to find everyone confused at Annie’s turn for the worse, met a hot doctor, a Were magic-user, and a Were-wolf.”
Her good-natured smile fades away.
“Do you think your friends can help him?”
“If anyone can, Nimue can. Or she’ll know someone. They won’t take this lightly.”
She nods and sits cross-legged on the floor, patting the ground beside her, encouraging Rowan to get off Grayson’s lap and lie down.
Both of them seem to forget—again—that Rowan is a person behind those big ears and puppy-dog eyes.
Rowan rests his chin on her thigh, encouraging her to rub his ears.
“You said Ansel got sick shortly before your dad died?”
“Yeah, he was seven. One day he was running around playing with the neighbor kids, and the next day, he was pale, throwing up, and sad. I was young too, but thought it was maybe Dad’s influence—always gone, and when he was home…well, it wasn’t fun.”
“I’m sorry. Was your dad always that way?”
“Not really. He was a gambler at heart, always looking for the next big win. Risk taker and magic maker, he’d say. Whatever the fuck that meant. It didn’t put food in Annie’s mouth or clothes on his back,” she says, her tone reeking of disgust.
“Why do you ask? Do you think my dad had something to do with how sick Ansel is?”
