Fisting my fingers in his shirt, I hold on, deepen the kiss, melding my mouth to his in a hungry, searching hunt for more of him. Griffith makes muffled noises in the back of his throat, pleased growls that tighten my nipples and speed up my pulse. I can hold my breath underwater for hours, but by the time we break apart, I’m panting.
Griffith stares down at me, his face flushed, eyes wide, lips plumped. All because of me.
Just when I think he’s going to dip down for another round, there’s the sound of Shrimp’s bark and the metal latch on the door disengaging.
I release Griffith’s shirt, and he steps back just as Rodney appears.
“Hey, boss.” The new arrival raises a hand. “Sorry I’m late.”
Griffith flicks his attention to me, then away. “Don’t worry about it.”
As they talk beer, I slip out the door, feeling Griffith’s attention on my back as I leave.
In the sunlight, I try to process what just happened. Shrimp sidles up to me, looking for ear scratches.
“Hey, buddy.” I sigh. “I think I just started something I’m not sure I’m ready for.”
17
GRIFFITH
The memoryof Clementine’s taste, the soft caress of her lips, the scent of her tart arousal has me punching the dangling sandbag harder.
Carl is off work today, and he and Clem decided to go to the library to see if they could help Mor comb through the texts. Probably hoping they’re closer to an answer now that they know poisoning is off the table. I almost offered to go with them but decided it would be wise to come here instead and work out some of my frustration.
And other—not exactly family-friendly—feelings I have developed toward a certain mermaid.
Mahon, a bear shifter in town, inherited a horse ranch from his parents when they decided to move to a colder climate. Not the ranching type, he gave Owen MacNamara free rein to overhaul this barn and turn it into a well-equipped gym. The selkie spared no expense.
There’s every kind of exercise machine, multiple full racks of weights, pull-up bars, a sparring ring, and a pair of massivetractor tires I’ve seen the stronger mythics bench-pressing. Out in the pasture, there’s a half-finished obstacle course that should be ready in a month or so.
Owen is convinced that, one day, Folk Haven will face a threat from the outside world, and he put out a call for those who want to learn how to defend their home to train here. Any mythic is welcome in this space. They can work out, join in drills, and offer defense strategies at monthly meetings.
Anyone involved is basically on-call defense. No active force that does patrolling, just an insurance policy.
I was one of the first ones to sign up, and now I’m glad I did.
Clementine’s attackers are exactly the kind of threat Owen worried about.
But I’m not here today to strategize. I’m here to work myself so hard that I forget what it felt like to have Clementine Divos’s mouth against mine while she still tasted of the beer I’d brewed in tribute to her.
“Carl’s sister,” I mutter to myself. “His little sister. He’ll fucking flay me alive.”
That last argument isn’t as convincing as it should be. Truthfully, getting into a tussle with the merman would likely have me coming out on top despite his law enforcement training. And if I’m being fully honest with myself, I’m not as worried about Carl scorning me as I am with him getting too invested.
What if he finds out we kissed and starts planning a wedding? Wouldn’t put it past him. Carl wants Clementine to stay here, and what better encouragement to set down roots than a relationship with his best friend?
But the mermaid doesn’t do roots.
No matter how many times I remind myself of that, it doesn’t seem to stick.
I growl at myself as I recall how the sleep shorts she wore the night of the storm showed the bottom curve of her ass cheeks and how the globes were begging for a bite.
And her scent. Fuck, that vanilla is decadent, and that hibiscus bites with the perfect touch of tartness.
If only I could forget exactly what her tantalizing smell means for me, a werewolf.
Mate.
