Page 94 of Shifter Situations

We ended our call, and I dragged my fae with me to wait for them. It took Dolyn and company twenty minutes to get to the lodge after wrapping up the disposal.

I was sitting on the stairs of the porch, propped up between Vaughn’s legs as he ran his fingers through my hair.

The incubus stopped in front of us, and I rolled my eyes at his appearance.

“There’s blood on your face.”

“Yeah, the fae punched me in the mouth.”

I pulled Vaughn up, directing Dolyn and his friends back to our cabin.

“What fae?”

“The one we killed at Sloane’s house.”

Vaughn stumbled over his feet, his eyes widening in surprise. He leaned forward, angling his head like he’d misheard Dolyn. “Was it a winter fae?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him.”

“I think so,” the other demon hybrid admitted. “He threw ice at me.”

I grimaced as Vaughn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where did you take the body?”

“To Lira. The hellhounds were pretty excited about it.”

The third guy snorted. “I’ll never understand how something so ferocious looking is so fucking nice.”

We continued up the path, and Dolyn introduced Vaughn and me to his friends. I knew the one guy was a necromancer, but I was curious about the other. He was some kind of shifter, but not an animal.

“What are you?”

“That’s rude.”

“I’m rude.”

He smirked. “Your reputation makes you sound scarier than you appear.”

“I don’t want to look scary. What are you?”

“Skinwalker. And before you ask, this is my skin.”

I nodded. That would have been my next question.

Stopping at the edge of the yard, I watched Ripley interact with Briggs and Baylor on the porch of Jack’s cabin. The fact that she could smile after all the bullshit was a fucking miracle.

“I’m not saying that she’s a delicate flower or anything, but be nice to her. She’s been through a version of hell that she didn’t want to speak about with me in the room. She grew up with Briggs and his brother, so she’s comfortable with them.”

I kept trying to talk to Dolyn, but his attention kept straying to Ripley. He used his left hand to rub at the center of his chest.

“Dolyn? Are you listening to me?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure.”

“Does your chest hurt?” I asked him, but I had a feeling that I already knew the answer to that.

He couldn't keep his eyes off of Ripley, and neither could Ozlo. She seemed to be having the same problem as she spoke to Briggs and Baylor.

“It feels a little strange, yes,” Ozlo admitted.