Page 97 of Hell’s Half Acre

He gaped. “So you do know about it?”

His mother lowered the hood on her black cloak. Her long, braided hair fell over one shoulder as she moved to take a seat in the chair in front of his desk. Following her movements, he turned back around in his desk chair.

“I do. It’s another one of those save mankind things. Though why anyone bothers to save such pathetic creatures, I don’t know. They’re really quite boring and bothersome.”

He would argue that except he knew no amount of reason would change her mind. “How do the twins save mankind?”

“They have to be reborn and then they have to be sacrificed. Aztecs were big into sacrifices.”

There had been a time when that could have been said about their side, too. It was one of his father’s favorite things. But again, he wasn’t about to tell his mother that. It would anger her and she’d stop talking and vanish.

So he played along. “Any idea why that would involve my partner?”

“No. Why?”

“One of Xolotl’s priests tried to kill Sorcha. Before I could question him, he committed suicide.”

His mother toyed with the silver moon necklace she always wore around her neck. “They’re good at that. The priests, I mean.”

“Yes, they are.” And his mother wasn’t helping this or his mood. He felt like he was just rehashing the same thing with no further clarity. “You remember anything else?”

His mother took a moment to think. “Not really. Never cared enough to ask questions or pay attention.” Vintage Senka.

“And again I ask…any idea why one of their priests would be interested in my partner?”

She shook her head. “Does she have any Mesoamerican blood or ties?”

“Not that I know of. Does it matter?”

“If she is related to the god, it might. It would explain why a priest was interested. Other than that, I can’t think of any reason.”

She was right. It would explain a lot, actually. The aura that clung to Sorcha and why they couldn’t pinpoint it.

Learning her bloodline wouldn’t be hard.

All he’d need was to taste her blood.

Chapter

Nineteen

Sorcha went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. As a cat, Trinket slept on top of the armchair, next to the wall. Luke was asleep on the couch, in his dog form, with Helly curled up at the other end, softly snoring. The urge to pet Luke on the head was hard to resist. He was so cute as a dog.

Unlike his mother, he preferred the form of a huge black German shepherd. She wasn’t sure why, but it made him even more adorable.

It didn’t help that she loved dogs and that her favorite pet as a child had been a perfect tan-and-black shepherd named Jax.

I really miss that dog. She’d loved him so much that she’d never had the heart to adopt another dog after he’d passed.

She couldn’t replace him and she didn’t want to try. And after the death of her sister, she was done with burying the ones she loved. It might be selfish, but she couldn’t go through the grief again. She was done.

As quietly as possible, Sorcha made a cup of coffee and headed back to the bedroom to dress.

By the time she finished and returned to the living room, Helly was awake, but still on the couch under a red plush UGA blanket. Luke sat where he’d been, except now he was sipping his own cup of coffee with his hair tousled and those glorious dark whiskers dusting his cheeks.

Damn, he was gorgeous. It was all she could do not to cross the room and straddle that long, lean body. Run her tongue over his inviting stubble and play a tune across that washboard stomach.

How could any man be so scrumptious?