Page 87 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

Sorcha picked at the crumbs of a bun. “Um.”

Briar poked her with her sticky spoon. “Sorcha.”

Sorcha groaned, dropping her head onto her arm. “It’s not a real betrothal.” Her voice was muffled.

“Why not?” Briar demanded. “He’d be lucky to have you.”

Sorcha snorted.

“He would! Did he say otherwise?” Briar demanded hotly.

“Nothing like that,” Sorcha said.

“This is about the Cauldron, isn’t it?” Pippa guessed.

“Yes. We have a plan.”

“Which is…?”

“The less you know about it, the safer you will be.” At Pippa’s enraged scowl, Sorcha wrinkled her nose. “I know. I feel the same way when someone says that to me.”

“Small consolation.”

“Aidan knows I am the Red Cloak,” she added.

“He knows?” Pippa frowned. “Are we going to have to kill him now? I rather like him.”

“I can ask Ethan to help,” Briar offered.

“Yes, you can, sweetheart,” Ethan Swansea said from the stairs, stepping out of the shadows. “But can I have a cup of tea before I go on a murdering spree for you? It’s been hardtack for a week now.”

Ethan was Briar’s Iron Crow: morally flexible, intimidating, and willing to do things other witches would not dare. He was also utterly besotted with Briar Foxglove, who wore flowers in her hair and used to run a tea shop for the snooty villagers of Haven. Sorcha had always liked him. And she trusted him to protect her friend, who was entirely too forgiving.

“Ethan!” Briar darted across the kitchen. “You’re back!”

“Back just in time to do crime, it seems.” He hauled her right off her feet for a deep kiss. Sorcha and Pippa looked away.

For a long moment.

And another.

“Are you done yet?” Sorcha called.

“Not by a long shot,” Ethan returned. “I’ve been at sea for a week.”

“It’s too early for that sort of thing,” she said, just to needle him.

“It’s never too early, Red.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Ethan smirked, sitting in Briar’s chair and pulling her down onto his knee.

“There are plenty of chairs,” Briar pointed out.

“I don’t see a single one,” he insisted, the Irish hills in his voice. “So what’s this about a murder, then?”

Sorcha had no doubt he would cheerfully murder his way around the island if Briar asked him to. She probably shouldn’t find that sweet.