Page 139 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

And all the fight went right out of me. Because staring back at me were two bunny faces, expertly carved, with various layers of orange depending on how deeply Axel cut into the pumpkin. One had lop ears, and the other pointed, with tufts of fur all around its face. It was unmistakably Basil and Sage. Tears sprang to my eyes.

“You like it?” he asked when I was silent for too long.

“Yes!”

“So, I win?”

“What?! I—no! I didn’t say that.”

“We’ll see what you say in a minute.” With that, he marched me into the bedroom.

He deposited me on the bed with more care than his rough handling suggested, following me down until I was caged within his arms. His shirt was still covered in pumpkin guts, the orange stringy bits clinging to the flannel.

“You’re a mess.” I laughed, reaching up to pluck a strand from his shoulder.

“Whose fault is that?”

“Yours. For insulting my pumpkin while having your own ridiculously perfect pumpkin.”

“Ridiculously perfect?” He dipped his head, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “That’s high praise coming from you, sweetheart.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” My breath hitched as his mouth moved to my throat, finding the sensitive spot just below my ear. “Though I will admit...carving Basil and Sage was really sweet.”

“Wanted to make something you’d love.” Another kiss, this one over my claiming mark. I felt his satisfaction through the bond when I shivered.

“Mission accomplished,” I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “You’re crying.”

“Barely,” I snorted. “And they’re happy tears, you jerk.”

His laugh was soft. “Bet I can make you even happier.”

“How do you plan on that?”

“Got a few ideas.” His hand slid under my sweater, warm palm spreading across my ribs. “Starting with getting you out of these clothes.”

I lifted my arms as he pulled my sweater over my head, leaving me in just my bra and skirt. His eyes darkened as they roamed over me, lingering on the claiming mark now fully visible.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “My beautiful mate.”

“You’re still dressed,” I pointed out, tugging at his pumpkin-covered flannel. “And covered in guts.”

He sat back on his heels, stripping off the offending shirt and tossing it aside. I never got tired of looking at him—all those tattoos covering hard muscle, the broad shoulders, the way his jeans sat low on his hips.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much.” I reached for his belt buckle. “Though you could lose the pants too.”

“Impatient.”

“You’re one to talk.” I got his belt undone, then his zipper. “Mister cave man who throws women over his shoulder.”

“Not women, just you. As for the cave man part…”

The pun wasn’t lost on me.

“How about that punishment I promised you?”