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“I know.” I dialed the emergency number and asked for an ambulance. “But I didn’t actually lose it—it was thrown from my hand when Belle saved my ass from a gunshot.”
“A statement that not only emphasizes the need for more caution on future escapades,” he said, his tone dry, “but brings us back to the point that if you’d waited for help, like a normal, sane person, you wouldn’t have been shot at yet again.”
I flashed him a smile. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a normal, sane person.”
He twined his fingers through mine. “And I can’t say I’m sad about that, even if it sometimes frustrates the hell out of me.”
“Good, but let’s not talk about frustration. Not until we can do something about it, at any rate.”
His soft laugh ended in a wince. “Damn, don’t make me do that.”
“Are you sure you want us to stay with you?” I asked, amused. “Isn’t that like putting a plate of meat in front of a ravenous dog, and asking it not to eat?”
He grinned. “I would never call you a mere plate of meat.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Then what would you call me?”
“A banquet. One I intend to consume slowly, over many hours.”
My pulse leapt at the thought. “I was hoping for days, not mere hours.”
“You have a café to run, remember?” Amusement and desire danced in his bright eyes. “And we do have to sleep sometime.”
I tsked. “It’s a sad state of affairs when a werewolf has so little stamina.”
“That sounded like a challenge. Consider it accepted.”
“Good,” I said. “I look forward to it.”
The following morning Belle and I headed back to the café. It was a goddamn mess. The explosion and subsequent fire might have been confined the first floor, but there was debris and dust everywhere—even in the most unlikely of places, like the freezer.
With the power out—and unlikely to be restored for a couple of days thanks to the damage done to the meter box in the explosion—we were left with little choice but to throw out or give away anything stored in the fridges. The local gossips caught on to that news with great alacrity, and we had a steady stream of people happily taking cakes and slices off our hands.
Mike, Penny, and Frank all pitched in to help clean up, and by the end of the day, the café was in good shape. At least when the power was restored, we could begin trading straight away.
Once the three of them left, I went upstairs to retrieve the bottle of Glenfiddich whiskey I had stashed for emergency situations—such as bloody dreams of death and destruction, which thankfully didn’t happen all that often—then grabbed two glasses and poured us both a drink.
“Here’s to surviving another dark spirit.”
Belle tapped her glass against mine. “And to learning that we are, indeed, as special as we always thought.”
“To be honest, I’d rather we weren’t.” I downed the whiskey in one gulp. Though it burned all the way down, it didn’t calm the stirring trepidation. “It’s going to cause us grief, Belle. I can feel it.”
“Probably, but like everything else, it’s pointless worrying about it right now.” She paused, and wrinkled her nose. “Ashworth’s approaching.”
I got out another glass, poured him a drink, and slid it toward him as he strode into the room. “Thanks,” he said, surprised. “What are we celebrating?”
“Survival.”
“Amen to that.” He took a drink and then added, “Thought you might like to know that the High Council has called for nominations for the position of reservation witch.”
I frowned. “That sounds like it could take some time, and I’m not sure we can afford it given we have an unprotected and very large wellspring here.”
“Which is why I volunteered to remain until the
position is filled.”
“Oh, I’m sure the reservation council will be so pleased to hear that,” Belle murmured.
