Page 18 of Fake It ’Til You Mate It

“Okay,” he says, jaw flexing. Something is bothering him, too—and I almost want to slap my forehead. Murder investigation, Honey. Have you forgotten? “Why don’t we start from the beginning?”

The beginning? Yeah. I can do that.

Because I haven’t forgotten, and I might be new to Moonburrow, but I definitely don’t want my rep to go from baker to murderer…

So I tell him everything; well, almost everything. From how Declan stopped by to buy enough treats for the pack meeting—and since both Riordan and the sheriff nodded, it seemed that was true—to me giving him the cupcake for Sheriff Lobo, and how Gus seemed perturbed last night before we went to bed, almost like he sensed someone lurking in the back alley.

I do take a moment to introduce Gus, passing him another apple slice to fill his mouth after he hops onto the tabletop, baring his fangs at the sheriff. For a second, I was sure he was going to launch himself at the wolf shifter, maybe take a bite out of him. Since that would only get me in more trouble, I bribed Gus with a snack, then continued.

I tell them both about how I went down to the bakery to start morning prep, eventually needed to toss the trash, and got my nose stuffed-up with the peppermint stink. They exchanged a look at that, then another when I got to the part of the story when I saw the boots first, the body next, then passed out.

I don’t tell them that I was playing dead. I don’t know how long the wolves were on the scene or how ‘dead’ I looked, but for anyone who isn’t familiar with opossum shifters, it might look like I’m a skittish witch who simply fainted. Neither male asks me about it, though they do confirm they arrived in the alley about fifteen minutes before I came to again.

All that done, I take another sip of my water. Good thing I swallowed it before the sheriff makes his next comment or I might’ve ended up spitting it all over poor Gus.

“Let’s talk about the cupcake.”

I really don’t want to talk about the cupcake. “Um. Okay.”

“You said that you intended me to have it.” He raises his eyebrows. “Is that true?”

Shoot me now. “Yes. But not like I was trying to poison you… I wasn’t trying to poison anyone! It wasn’t even a charmed cupcake,” I insist because it seems important that he knows this wasn’t another Can’t Resist Cupcake sitch, “but just a really yummy caramel apple cupcake. It was a peace offering. To say sorry after you had to stop at the bakery when I accidentally baked honesty cupcakes.”

He purses his lips. Damn it. A rugged wolf shifter in his early thirties should not look as gorgeous as Max Lobo does when he makes an expression like that. “I remember. And you’re sure that wasn’t another magicked cupcake?”

“Positive.”

“But you’re a witch.”

Danger alert, Honey. Danger.

“So? That doesn’t mean everything in my bakery has magic in it. I barely can’t use any at all. My best trick is knowing when the oven timer will go off ten seconds before it does and being able to measure out herbs and spices. Test the cupcake. You’ll see. No magic at all.”

Sheriff Lobo makes a note in his book. I’m sure he’s going to do exactly that, and at least that’s one way I’ll be vindicated.

“Okay. Now about you, Ms. Morgan.”

“Honey.”

This time, he just nods. “There’s something about you. I can’t quite put my claw on it. My wolf keeps telling me that you’re hiding something.” His eyes flash again, the power of his alpha wolf in their depths. “What is it, Honey?”

It’s my name. It’s in the way he rasps my name.

He’s an Alpha. Sure, he’s the sheriff, too, but one look at Max Lobo and there’s no denying how powerful his wolf is. A born alpha—his rank and hierarchy in the pack—who worked his way up to being the Alpha, the ruler of it. At that level, there are certain perks. Total obedience. Shifters who will bare their throat rather than challenge him. A separate bond with the Luna, the wolf shifters’ goddess… and the ability to use their senses to know when a shifter under their protection is lying to them.

I can’t lie. Not outright. It would be impossible to, and no matter what happens between the sheriff and me in the future, I won’t lie. Sure, hiding things for my own safety is one thing, but the way he’s watching me, his wolf expecting an answer…

Fuck it. I have to give him one.

“I am a witch.” I sink down in my seat. “A quarter-witch, on my mom’s side. Grandma Jean was full-blooded, but my grandfather wasn’t.”

The sheriff’s brow furrows again, deeper this time. “Then what was he?”

I gulp. “A shifter.”

Poor male. He looks like he’s barely resisting the urge to climb across the table and throttle me for just admitting this now. What makes it even worse is that I’m used to getting such a look from other shifters, both predators and prey.

“Okay. What kind of shifter?”