Page 63 of Of Magic and Murder

Oh, Goddess. “Are you telling me that Riordan made that noise?”

“If Deputy Licky-My-Balls finally decided to admit you’re his mate like we’ve known all along, then… yeah. That was probably him.”

I turn to Honey. “Honest answer,” I tell her, though the frightened witch I’ll always be deep down inside squeaks: lie to me, make me feel better, oh my Goddess. I ignore that little voice, firming my own as I add, “Please. I need to know.”

Honey exchanges another look with Roxy. “They howl when they’re upset. Sometimes when they’re calling for their pack or their mate. Most of the time, it’s something they do with their mate.”

“He’s calling me?”

“I would say that he is.”

“If anyone here would know, it’s you, Lobo.” Roxy nudges Honey in the ankle with the tip of her boot. “Come on. Tell us. You make the sheriff howl like that, Honey?”

Honey turns pink.

Roxy grins. “Ash doesn’t howl. He’s an opossum. But, oh, do I make him scream.”

Honey casts her eyes toward the ceiling. “Haven’t I told you a hundred times that I’d rather not hear about my cousin’s mating habits?”

I would laugh if another howl didn’t roll through the night, even closer than before.

It’s different when I know it’s him. Still eerie. Still enough to wake every instinct inside of me that remembers teeth and claws and a wolf who tried to pin me beneath it, never understanding that I was screaming no in return.

But it’s Riordan, and that changes everything.

He’s outside of the bakery because I told him I needed to get away from him, to think, and despite everything inside of him that probably wants to come crashing through the door and drag me back to his side, he’s giving it to me. Oh. He still has this innate desire, this wolfish instinct that says he needs to be by his mate at all times, but he’s trying.

That matters.

So does the fact that, in so many ways, I was already choosing him before I knew there was a choice to make. Hell, I was jealous of his mate before I knew it was me. Somewhere in between trying to solve a murder and going on a treasure hunt, I fell for Riordan, and only my pride at being the last one to know had me walking away when every nerve in my body was singing stay.

I didn’t, and until I sat down with Honey, Roxy, and Gus to drown my sorrows in cookie dough, I was waffling on my decision. Then the shifters helped me understand why, to me, this was a massive betrayal, but Riordan was just being careful. Like he told me, he didn’t lie because he didn’t want me, but because he wanted me too much.

And because he does, after managing to stay away for about an hour-and-a-half, he’s finally admitted that he can’t do it any longer.

How do I know?

A knock sounds on the back door, purposeful yet somehow restrained. If we went upstairs with the cookie dough, I don’t even know if I would have heard it. It was Roxy who was too impatient. She grabbed a spoon, some of the sugar cookie dough, and made herself at home in the bakery kitchen instead of the apartment over our heads.

Now? Her smirk returns as she hops to her feet. “Look at that. Seems like Fate’s working overtime tonight.”

She grabs the bowl, tucking it under her arm. For some reason, she walks over to the cabinet and uses her other hand to grab a big container of salt. Honey lets her do it, patting her thigh and whistling at Gus. The opossum climbs up her leg, settling himself on her shoulder before she walks over to the door.

She glances over her shoulder at me. “You want me to tell him to go away? ‘Cause I can do that.”

Gus squeaks in agreement.

I think about it. I always kind of knew that I would have to face Riordan again sooner or later. If I’m being honest with myself, I thought he would’ve flagged me down long before now. I could send him away, but all that will happen is that he’ll wait outside the door, just like he does almost every morning after he sneaks out of the bakery, then waits to return at nine.

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to him.”

Honey nods, then unlocks the door, tugging it inward. My breath catches my throat as Riordan takes a few uneasy, anxious steps inside, so unlike the normally suave, smooth wolf shifter I’ve come to know (and love) that I’m stunned.

Roxy whistles under her breath. Honey hisses at her to hush.

I clutch my hands together in front of my chest.

His hair is a mess. His silk shirt is uncharacteristically wrinkled, and his eyes are too bright, his wolf much closer to the surface than usual. In his shaky hands, he’s holding a pink bakery box.