Page 29 of Fang Fatale

"Welcome home."

By the time we pull into the drive, Barnaby has claimed the passenger seat as his own.

My little cottage sits exactly where I left it, tucked beneath the trees, hidden behind Dandy's wards and more luck than good planning. For the first time in years, home doesn't feel like a place someone else chose for me.

It feels like mine.

I carry Barnaby inside, spread a stack of towels across the living room floor, and help him settle onto the couch. He circles twice before collapsing with a contented groan that sounds suspiciously human.

"I'm glad one of us knows how to relax."

I laugh softly to myself as I sort through the bag of toys.

A knock echoes against the wooden gate surrounding the property.

Not loud.

Just firm.

My smile disappears.

I know exactly who it is.

I scoop Barnaby into my arms and step onto the porch, pulling the front door closed behind me.

Alaric stands just beyond the ward, one hand tucked into the pocket of his dark coat, the other holding a brown paper bag.

He offers a crooked smile.

"I come in peace."

I fold my arms a little tighter around Barnaby.

"So did the Trojan Horse."

His eyebrows lift.

"...That's actually a fair point."

Despite myself, the corner of my mouth twitches.

He notices.

Of course he notices.

"I brought breakfast," he says, lifting the bag. "One cinnamon scone for you."

He glances at Barnaby.

"And one plain biscuit for the distinguished gentleman."

Barnaby's nose begins working overtime.

Traitor.

"I appreciate the gesture," I say carefully, "but I'm not inviting anyone in."

"I wasn't expecting you to."