Page 38 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

“My people skills are…”

“A little rusty?”

“Something tells me I’ll get plenty of practice while you’re here.”

I wanted to make a crude joke. That there were other things we could practice, too. Instead, I pressed my lips together.

He must have read my thoughts anyway because I noticed the way his eyes—well, the one that wasn’t damaged—dilated. He cleared his throat. “Not that kind of practice.”

“I can’t possibly know what you mean.” I smiled sweetly.

“What time?”

“I need to be on campus by eight. The bunnies take about an hour of my time in the morning. Normally, I’m able to slip home a few times throughout the day to care for them. But…”

“They need that much work?”

I scoffed. “Depends on who you ask.”

“Got it.” He stood, grabbed my plate and his, then stopped at the sink to wash them.

I followed him over. He tried to shoo me off but I stood there, insistent, until he sighed. Without saying a word, he motioned to the stack of dishtowels. Then he set about washing the remaining dishes while I dried. It took some navigating to figure out where everything went.

I kind of liked that he didn’t micromanage my efforts. Didn’t tell me where the plates belonged. Or where the utensils were stored. It allowed me to be a little nosey, opening and closing cabinets and drawers.

When we were done, he said, “Follow me.”

“Okay…?”

We went down the hallway with his bedroom. There was a small mudroom off to the left I hadn’t noticed before. He glanced at me, frowned, then pulled a closet door open revealing a collection of winter coats. He grabbed one and held it open for me.

My lips parted and I just stood there, staring.

He gave the coat a little shake. “It’s forty degrees outside.”

My little sweater was perfect for the warm late September afternoons but…

“Fine.” I stepped forward and let him put it on me. It smelled like him and I had to consciously not lift the collar to sniff it. He then grabbed a large torch flashlight and handed it over to me, then led us outside. “Keep the light on the ground,” he advised. “Follow me.”

“Is this the part where you lead me into the forest and kill me?”

He let out a gruff sound. “Wouldn’t have given you my jacket, lass.” His accent came out a little stronger.

I pulled the collar more tightly around me. “Can’t wolves, like, see in the dark?”

“We can. The flashlight is for your benefit.”

I hummed, following behind him, careful to keep the pool of light close to my feet. We were on a path. When he stopped, I crashed into his back. “Oof. Sorry.”

“Here.” He stepped up to a door I hadn’t noticed thanks to his giant form blocking everything out.

I looked up and my jaw dropped. “Oh my freaking⁠—”

He stepped inside and flicked a switch, illuminating a series of lights stranded along the top of the most spectacular glass greenhouse I’d ever seen. I stood in the doorway, gaping.

The smell of damp soil and humidity surrounded us. The windows were coated in moisture.

I caught Axel studying my face. His own was shockingly open, and there was pleasure there. Was he proud of this space? Pleased by my reaction? Perhaps both?