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She cringed.
“…what my skepticism was actually in reference to is what your participation in the rescue mission in La-La-Land would mean for the little spat you and Hazel are having with Juneau and her witches.”
At his mention of the Elder witch who’d provoked a rift in the formerly united witch community, Merle’s hackles rose, her power buzzing to the surface. Juneau’s misguided and reactionary persecution of Lily after she was turned into a demon—through no fault of her own—was a dangerous travesty.
Merle clenched her jaw. “What about it?”
“Well, you and Hazel are the linchpins of the opposition against Juneau, right? Sure, you’ve got other witches on your side, but you two, you’re the cornerstones of the movement against her. What do you think is going to happen when Juneau realizes both of you have left for an open-ended trip into Faerie?”
Her breath stuck in her throat. “Oh, gods. You’re right. I can’t leave. Why didn’t I see it before? If word gets out that we’re both gone, it’ll weaken our side in her eyes…”
“…and she’ll swoop in and strike.”
“Ugh. That bitch.” She closed her eyes, let her head fall back for a moment.
“Getting feisty, little witch?” He moved to the stove and ladled out a cup of the finished brew.
She took the mug he handed her and sipped on the decoction, made a face and said, “You should use less mold.”
He grinned at her echo of what he once said to her, after they just met, and, damn, but his smirk hadn’t lost any of its appeal. “Bottoms up.”
Bracing herself, she downed half the cup of Mountain Dirt before having to pause and shudder at the taste.
“I can ask my contacts, see if anyone knows a fae.” He laid both hands on her shoulders, massaged her neck and her nape, grounding her with his touch.
She sighed. “That would be great. Thank you.”
Closing her eyes, she leaned forward, resting her head against Rhun’s chest. As always, the feel of him soothed her to the depths of her soul, calmed her restlessness, shifted everything back into focus. She inhaled a good noseful of his scent and hummed with contentment.
“I’m so damn tired,” she whispered.
His arms came around her, stroking her back. “The magic you’ve been doing for Arawn?”
She grimaced at the thought of the Demon Lord, that rotten bastard who had the right to call on her magic at will, courtesy of an ill-fated deal Merle struck with him to keep him from claiming her sister Maeve. “Yeah. You know what he made me do this time? He had me change the freaking color of his stupid fireflies. Wanted them red. Fireflies! I had to fumble around for hours until I got the spell right, and all the while he sat there in wolf form, watching me with a grin on his face. And let me tell you, a grinning wolf is not a comforting sight.”
Rhun’s muscles tensed under her touch, and his growing irritation vibrated along their mating bond, a dull throb deep within her.
“He’s using up your magic for meaningless shit.” It was a growl filled with dark, dark anger.
“And laughing his ass off at the show.”
Stepping back, he pinned her with a steely look. “Tell him to go fuck himself. This has gone on long enough. It’s time you put an end to it.”
She snorted. “Yeah, right. Don’t you think I’d do that in a heartbeat if I had a choice?”
“But you do.” He glared at her. “You can tell him it’s over. End the deal.”
“Oh, sure, and I’ll just go tell my baby sister that I’m throwing her to the wolves.” Or wolf, in that case.
“So you’d rather—”
“I’m not discussing this, Rhun.”
He looked like she’d slapped him. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “One of these days,” he said slowly, quietly, “I’m going to hog-tie you, go to Arawn, and end the deal for you.”
Blood beginning to boil, she glared at him. “You do that, and I will unleash a world of hurt on you that will make your time in the Shadows seem like a five-star vacation.”
They stared at each other for a good ten seconds, then they both growled, “Fine!” and turned away.
