coven for this afternoon. Marx hasn’t come by yet; he got tied up with the attack, and it took longer to square up than he thought. I got a message from him just before you naked tackled me. He said he’d drop by in a couple of hours to fill us in on what’s happening.”
I narrow my eyes at him—mentioning the thing we’re not supposed to be mentioning is not part of the plan. Then again, maybe if I clued Rogan in to the plan, he might follow it better. But that means I’d have to bring up the thing that I don’t want to bring up, so I’ll just shoot him a warning glare and hope he picks up what I’m putting down.
“The only other thing you missed was this…” Rogan continues as though my warning shot fell on deaf ears. He walks out of the kitchen, and I debate for a moment if I was supposed to follow him. Before I can make up my mind one way or the other, he comes back with a massive white box. He sets it on the island next to me and hands me an envelope. I open it, pulling out a card that has a neat but masculine scrawl on it.
Lennox,
When we heard what happened, Alpha Riggs insisted on sending you this. I, of course, then insisted on playing delivery boy. When you’re well and rested, call me. I’d like to take you to dinner sometime, maybe even find a stump and see where the night takes us.
Saxon.
He drew a winky face just before his number and a heart just before his name. I trace the angle of Saxon’s handwriting as I read the note again, and a small smile works to claim my mouth. I set the note and envelope down and reach for the lid of the huge box. Sadly, it’s too big to be a jackalope antler, but who knows, maybe this is one of those present inside a present tricks that are fun to do to people, but annoying when you’re the one opening fifty boxes just to find a lame-ass cuddle coupon. Rogan plucks the note from the counter, reading it and grunting with annoyance before tossing it aside. I pull the top off and find a stack of various bones. I study them for a quick second and realize it’s a duplicate of the bone order that I lost in the accident.
My smile grows even wider. Looks like I’ve got some spelling to do.
“Told you that you’d have a problem on your hands with that one,” Rogan grumbles, jutting his chin in the direction of the tossed aside note.
I snort out a laugh. “Oh yeah, a dinner invitation and the drop of the digits is stage five clinger status. Alert the authorities,” I gasp in faux outrage. “Oh wait, they tried to kill us,” I point out snarkily, adding an eye roll for effect.
He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything else. I take a sip of my coffee, and it forces me to close my eyes and revel in the explosion of flavors on my tongue. I welcome the heat that pours down my throat as I swallow, and I swear this cup of coffee is a better lover than a fair percentage of my past dalliances.
“I want to have your babies,” I state matter-of-factly, opening my blissed out gaze and leveling an arduous look on the coffee machine. Rogan barks out a laugh.
“Should I leave the two of you alone?” he teases.
“Please don’t, you know she only puts out for me because you tell her to,” I plead, and he laughs even harder.
It’s a nice sound. He looks so carefree and relaxed with his head tilted back and a chuckle bouncing around the kitchen. It warms something in me to see him not bogged down by stress and worry, even if only for a moment. I dropkick that marshmallow of a thought as far away as I can. Not today, Satan. Not. Today.
“Alright, Rogan Kendrick,” I announce, taking another sip of my delicious mocha to help fortify my resolve. “I’m going to whip up some potions and protections, and while I do, you are going to sit here and tell me, once and for all, what the fuck is going on. Enough is enough, it’s time to get it all out of the cauldron. And before you even think about holding out on me, you should know that I have a recipe