She pushed back her chair and I called into the kitchen, “Grams and I are going outside for a short walk.” Then, I followed her to the hallway closet, where we pulled on our coats, and headed outside.
I owned three acres, adjacent to Brambleberry Farm, which May and Bran owned. During the days, Bran spent most of his time helping his mother, but he spent weekends on our property. Well, my property. He had refused to let me put him on the deed. He wanted me to feel like it was mine alone, though he was now my beneficiary. In return, I had chosen to forego being added to their deed—though, again, if something happened to both of them, I would be the beneficiary.
Bran and I had worked hard on my herb gardens during the summer. While they were now dormant, come spring they would blossom out and thrive. Bran wasn’t a witch by birth, but he was strongly psychic, with a magic rooted deep in the earth that defied explanation.
Plants responded to him in a way that they seldom ever responded to humans. He put some earth witches to shame, including me. I worked with earth and water magic, but Bran, he seemed to be almost sylvan, though I knew he wasn’t. May was a kitchen witch—not by birth but by calling—and she had passed her knowledge and sensitivity on to Bran. It showed in his love for the work he did, and the results he got.
I wrapped my coat tighter, cinching the belt as snow swirled down, dusting the ground, bringing a new blanket free of dirt and grime. The world always looked fresh and clean after a snowstorm.
“So,” Grams said, when we were near where my shop had been before it burned down. “What’s going on?”
I took a deep breath and, snow falling on my face, I tucked my hair behind my ears. “Bree found out that Faron has been ousted from his position as king of the Olympic Wolf Pack. He can’t have children. His wife was going to leave him, but she was just found dead, in her car. By the skid marks on the snow, Daisy thinks she drove off the road into a tree. Maybe deliberately.”
Grams was quiet for a moment. She glanced up as the snow kissed her eyelashes. Finally, she asked, “What do you need?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure what the hell to say or do. But I can’t lie to you. I find myself hoping…I don’t know what, but I feel an odd sense of hope. And that makes me feel like a bad person.”
“Do you love Bran any less now?”
I shook my head. “If anything, the past year has helped me recognize what a wonderful man he is and how well we suit each other, in so many ways.”
“Are you going to run off to Faron to ask him if he still loves you?” Grams’s voice was steady, without any judgement. She never ‘fished’ for information. She was blunt, and somehow, she managed it without being rude.
“Hardly,” I said. “Hope is one thing, but as I said, I don’t know what I’m hoping for. And his wife just died. Sure, she was going to leave him, but that had to be a harsh blow, especially after he was kicked out of his position as king.”
“Why not just choose another wife for him?” Grams asked. “I don’t know all that much about Pack dynamics.”
“Because, her fertility wasn’t the issue,” I said. “Faron’s the one who can’t father a child and that’s not likely to change. It wouldn’t matter who his wife is. Since he can’t produce an heir, his pack considers him unsuitable to rule. I do know that he loved her, after a fashion. He wasn’t in love with her, but he at least appreciated her and the efforts she made. And…”
I paused, then hung my head. “I liked her. When they went out to dinner a couple times with Bran and me, it was a little awkward, but she was actually a sweet person. She would have made a good queen for the Pack.”
“Do you want my advice?” Grams asked.
I nodded. “Yes, please.”
“Don’t do anything. Wait to see what happens. Tell Bran, though. He deserves to know. There are so many variables right now that it seems premature to be thinking of any possibilities. The hope you’re feeling might be residual, from everything that happened last year.” She patted my arm. “I know patience isn’t your strong point, but I do think that you need to let the cards play out before you place any bets.”
Grams was right, I thought. There wasn’t much I could do right now, and I really didn’t want to confuse matters by saying anything. I’d wait, and if Faron contacted me, then I’d figure out how to respond.
“Thanks, Grams. You have such a level head.” I put my arm around her shoulders and squeezed her to me. “I love you, you know.”
“I know, my dear. I know.”
Together, we walked a little further as the snow continued to fall, then headed back in toward the warmth of the hearth.
“What were you talking to Grams about?” Bran asked as we undressed and slid into bed. He pulled me to him, my breasts pressing against his chest. His chiseled muscles were firm against me, and he hardened as he ran his hands down the length of my naked body. I gasped—the man knew how to use his fingers, that was for sure—and melted into his touch.
“Let me ride you,” I whispered, wanting to lose myself, to slide outside of my thoughts and focus on sensation.
“Of course,” he said, gently stroking my face. “But tell me what happened, first. I know something’s troubling you. I can feel it.” He caressed cheek, then cupped my chin, leaning in to delicately kiss my nose.
His lips—soft and supple—found my mouth and he lingered in the kiss, spurring on my hunger. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he rolled me up to straddle him. I slid down his cock, groaning slightly as I dropped my head back, reveling in the sensation as he filled me up, hard and eager and hungry.
“Fuck me first,” I begged him, swiveling my hips as he penetrated me, stirring the ache that was lingering just below the surface. “I need you, especially tonight. I want to lose myself in your touch.”
But he caught hold of my waist, holding me, unmoving. “Not yet. Tell me what happened?”
I sighed, then—realizing there would be no lovemaking until I talked—swung off of him, rolling back so that we were side by side.
