Mor
“You’re walking veryclose to me.”
And it’s not just the heavy tread of Bo’s footsteps that alerts me to his proximity. There’s also the warmth of the monster. He’s like a portable furnace, his presence hot against my back. He would be a pleasant companion to have around come January. Many people think that Georgia is too far south to get cold, but here, in the northern section of the state, near the mountains, there are plenty of days that drop below freezing.
“I don’t want this house to curse me again,” he mumbles. “And it seems to like you.”
His words warm me more than his body heat. I like the idea that this house has sentience that approves of me.
“I’m your curse shield? Nice.” Sarcasm infuses my comments as I glance over my shoulder.
Bo ducks his head and shuffles back a step. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t try to use you like that.”
This monster continues to surprise me. Physically, Bo is built for intimidation. Towering form with broad shoulders andgenerous muscles on all of his limbs. But his posture reminds me of a crumpled ball of paper, all folded in on himself, as if all he wants is to take up less space.
Then there are his actions, which are like tiny sparks of rebellion, immediately smothered by apologies.
I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing that a big man takes notice of how he might bulldoze through the world, but I also don’t like how he gives off the air of someone who has been mistreated and belittled until their self-worth is nonexistent.
“I was joking.” Reaching out, I cup one of his massive biceps and draw him beside me. Now that we’re on the second floor, there is plenty of room for us to walk together. “You can stay close if that makes you feel more comfortable.”
He blinks down at me, eyes owlishly wide, and a blush colors his pale skin until I’m worried he may burst into flames.
The sight is a little bit adorable and a whole lot endearing.
“Come on.” I give him another tug, and we head for the stairs, where I can already smell a hint of breakfast wafting up to us.
Bo was a stumbling, bumbling mess when I got him back home from the bar last night, but I managed to get him to eat almost half of a rotisserie chicken we had left in the fridge. I’m not sure what shape Bo would be in if I hadn’t been able to get food in his stomach. Maybe still comatose.
In the kitchen, we find Ame pouring batter into a waffle maker while her mate fries bacon on the stovetop. I’m still standing close enough to Bo that I hear his stomach rumble.
Somehow, his face flushes a darker shade of red. I’m tempted to pull an ice pack from the fridge to help cool him down.
Instead, I ask, “Got enough food for two more?”
Jack doesn’t respond, other than to hold up an unopened package of bacon, indicating he’ll keep frying until there’s enough for everyone.
“Yep,” my sister chirps, pointing to the massive bowl of batter. “Wasn’t sure who was here, so I erred on the side of caution.”
Ame faces us, taking a moment to study Bo intently. Unlike me, Ame doesn’t have the capacity to fully block off her mystical abilities to read others—though she claims Jack can sometimes act as a white-noise machine, blocking everyone else out. Right now, I wonder what desire she’s hearing play through Bo’s mind.
Whatever it is, she ends up turning to the werewolf at her side.
“Jack, you should be friends with Bo.” She waves a spatula between them. “Spend time together.”
Then she turns on her heel and strides out of the room.
Her mate stares after her. “Right now?”
There’s no immediate answer, but a moment later, Ame reappears with her black cat familiar in her arms. The creature has gone fully boneless, hanging like a rag doll from my sister’s grip. Ame strolls up to Bo and presses the cat against his chest until the monster takes hold of the feline.
He’s gentle, cradling Lucky in his beefy arms, making his body into a spacious hammock for the spoiled cat.
Lucky immediately starts purring and making biscuits in Bo’s sleeve.
“You like animals, don’t you?” Ame asks.
Bo gives a silent nod.
