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He sat at the far end. “Anger, fear, excitement, arousal; any strong emotion could, but once a Were develops control, they shift at will.”
Our conversation chugged along smooth as a documentary. With the subtly of a moose on ice, I closed the distance between us half an inch at a time, remembering how Keith ran me over this same side.
“Why is it this,” —with a finger I slid back the lace to show off my stitched thigh—“can't cause a person to turn, but a bite can?”
His gaze dropped then immediately sought higher refuge on the fireplace mantle, but the man allowed me into his space without complaint. “Certain components need to enter the bloodstream. Short of slobbery paws, the bite is far more effective.”
Spit and stitches made not for titillating conversation, however, Calico had given me instructions. I was curious about their effectiveness and committed to my own plan of earning both their trust, so red-faced I laid my hand flat on Caelan’s cheek.
He turned into my touch, face warm against my palm, and regarded me with an inquisitive patience.
My tongue stuck to my mouth. With sputtering grace I murmured, “Can you turn someone with a kiss?”
Without breaking eye contact, he returned my hand to my knee. I felt relieved yet disappointed, only to flinch at the surprise of him sweeping my hair back, exposing the vulnerable crook between shoulder and neck.
“Miss Davins?” His eyes were bright and his tone low like the hand now on my hip, drawing me close.
My heart skipped. “Marcy,” I purred, knowing full well it didn't roll off the tongue as easy as an 'Isabella' or ‘Sasha.’
His lips brushed my throat in a soft chuckle and then, shaking with laughter, he rested his forehead against my shoulder. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
“Trying?” I shoved him away and scooted back an entire cushion. “I was!”
“Why the hell—” he needed a deep breath to stem the laughs; even that failed to knock his wolfish grin. “Why the hell would you come at me like an actress in a bad porno?”
“Cal,” I pleaded, fanning through several dark shades of crimson.
“Straight out of her playbook,” he muttered. “And you hopped along to her harebrained scheme?” He added a pair of bunny ears for emphasis.
“I’ll be back in my home soon. Her protection for the pelt seems fair.” Agreeing to her tactics didn’t make them any less mortifying.
“Well,” he said, wiping the corner of his eye. “Please inform Mrs. Finn our relationship is strictly business.”
“Will do.” I wrung the hem of my skirt. Whatever blush I’d fanned away roared back. “I’m aware of the optics, but would you consider pretending for a spell? I’d rather not make enemies with a house of werewolves. God knows they’re watching.”
The spotlight glowed warm on the quiet yard. While I didn’t twist around and give away our conversation, it was easy to imagine a forest filled with yellow eyes and pricked ears.
The smile on Caelan’s face faded the longer his focus kept outside. He dropped his arm back along the couch, gestured for me to return. “You best be moving on closer.” Once I’d settled against him, his hand rested easy on my shoulder. “You alright?” he asked, studying my expression. “I’ve some experience scattering vultures.”
“Fine.” I allowed myself a moment of cooldown. “I’m under pack protection at least until I convince you to surrender Stephen’s pelt.”
“Stephen’s pelt is with forensics. Mrs. Finn can throw you after me, but I’m not breaking protocol for a kiss from a beautiful woman. My team won’t, either; well, Jorge might but he can’t swipe my yogurt without breaking a sweat. Jali would sniff him out before he reached the end of the hall.”
“Think Cal’s sore she can’t steal it?” I asked. “Following pack logic, she picked me because if I go down, her pack won’t.”
“You know about her?”
I straightened all proud. “Told you, sheriff, I’ve an eye for art. There’s a good twenty million on her walls. Haven’t determined who she is, yet, but I know which museums would love to have a word.”
“May I save you a search?”
“By all means.”
“Calico Finn is every bit as famous as her brother, but where he gave, she takes. She’s known as the Koi. Leaves a hand-painted figurine as a calling card.”
Forgetting myself, I turned into him. His grip on my shoulder tightened then quickly fell away. “No way. The pieces are in high demand themselves. Unobtainable unless you have something stolen. Priceless in their own sense.” And full of meaning to the creator. There had been speculation in the art community as to what this artist was saying. I almost wished they had her voice to accompany the pieces. I wondered if Cal sculpted the array of koi-patterned animals herself, or if they originated from someone within the pack. “Must admit, I hate what she does but admire her for being able to create a market for her ‘stolen’ art.”
From Caelan’s reluctant nod, admiration wasn’t his choice of adjective.
