Lucan’s muscles all jump like he’s been hit with electricity.
Maggie gasps and looks between us in horror. “Deek’s leaving?”
Ginny’s hand seals over Maggie’s mouth and Charlotte’s arms drop around Maggie to capture her from behind in a move that’s a little disturbing and not entirely unlike a praying mantis.
Lucan spares them all a glance, and then his eyes are on me. His body turns towards me, face so blank I can’t read him, except that his brows are pinched a little worriedly, or from stress, more likely. But I do watch as his Adam’s apple moves slowly in a strong swallow.
I cast around for what I should say next. You know, movies and TV never prepare you for real life dialogue when you’re asking the werewolf who babysits your children to remain living with you because you want to explore the feelings the two of you have developed for each other.
“Lucan,” I lick my lips, and his gaze lowers to watch me do it, “can I talk to you in private?”
“We’ll go outside!” Charlotte volunteers, her and Ginny beginning to steer Maggie towards the backyard.
“First,” Deek announces quietly, “I need to make a call.”
CHAPTER 42
SUSAN
To say Lucan is agitated when he emerges from the basement not two minutes after heading down, is an understatement.
“No reception?” I ask. I’m standing at the kitchen island, cleaning the junk drawers. This isn’t a usual occurrence for me—evidenced by the fact that we have more than one drawer dedicated to miscellaneous crap—but I have to say that it’s helping to keep a lid on my nerves.
It was better than trying to listen in at the basement door.
An impulse that not only made me roll my eyes at myself in disgust, but caused me to seek the junk drawers as punishment.
“Reception’s fine,” Lucan replies, his voice oddly tight. “It’s the recipient who’s the problem.”
I glance over at him and find he’s watching me warily.
“What? And who?” I ask.
Lucan’s head whips to the front door, and his ears sprout fur and shift from a man’s to a wolf’s.
There’s a knock, followed by Lucan going full werewolf and launching forward.
He hits the door before I can even round the island. “Hang on!” I tell him, giving him a look that plainly says he’s being crazy. My feet swiftly carry me to him, quickly helping to free him of his clothes before I’m nudging him aside with my hip and peeking out through the peephole.
Somehow, I’m not surprised to find a grinning Finn waiting on the other side.
Pulling back the lock and twisting the handle, I eye him and Lucan as I drag the door open wide. “Hiiii,” I say slowly.
“Howeyeh, Sue!” Finn calls heartily—and then he leans forward, snatches up a bristling Lucan, and begins hauling our wolf bodily to his car.
“What are you doing?!”
Finn’s voice is barely strained even with the way Lucan is fighting to get free. “I happened to be in the area—lucky thing for this scabby mutt—”
Clearly this is a shifter insult. Lucan’s coat is plush and glossy because Maggie loves to brush his coat until it shines with health.
“—when I got an inadvertent bat signal that had me hustling to you to lend my special brand of help.” He’s reached his car and without too much effort, manages to squeeze Lucan’s grunting, twisting, kicking frame tight against his chest so that he has the hand free he needs in order to pop open his car door.
He shoves Lucan inside.
Slamming the car door shut just in time to keep a rebounding Lucan in it, Finn points to the rocking car and orders, “Do not hurt Esmerelda.”
Lucan freezes, strong clawed paw raised to scrape the window. He lowers it, along with his gaze—but he still bares his teeth.
“You named this Esmerelda?” I ask, trying not to stare too hard at the paint job. The color literally hurts my eyes. The purple is that intense.
“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” Finn declares, and he turns to me.
Behind him, subsonic vibrations are beginning to make the windows quake. Lucan is growling.
Unworried, Finn gives me a smile that any other time would probably feel reassuring. “Let’s have a chat.”
A man's muffled scream erupts from the back half of… Esmerelda. “Help me!”
My eyes shoot to Lucan, but the scream sure didn’t come from him. He’s cocked his head, his ears pricked, and he’s staring at the back seat, giving the impression that the sound originated... From the trunk? Then he’s