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I had no idea why I blushed. “Whatever you need to do.”

“Wolves are good with being naked. I can’t say the same for elves.”

“Context is everything,” I responded.

Man, did I sound like a total dick.

A mouse darted out of the grass, scurrying across the path.

“Gramps was the same size as me.” Declan paused the front door, his dimples catching my attention.

Shit. What was wrong with me?

“There won’t be anything for you, though,” he said. “Sorry.”

“No worries.”

“Also, it’s going to be heavy on the dust in here.” He opened the door and went inside.

He would be the perfect guy to date.

Definitely my type, someone I would have flirted with in another, less complicated life.

Ugh. Stupid brain.

With my insides and outsides feeling grubby, I followed him inside, stepping into a dusty hallway. There were paintings of landscapes all over the walls, hung haphazardly and at different angles. A coat rack stood by the front door with three brown coats hanging from it.

Declan closed the door. “Get ready for a lot of pine furniture and too many shite paintings.”

I smiled, not wanting to pass judgment. And anyway, there wasn’t anything wrong with pine furniture.

To my right was a living room, the door open wide. Yeah, there was a lot of pine furniture, and a huge brown sofa facing a small TV.

There were two more closed doors on the left, and a red-carpeted staircase directly ahead of me.

The air was warm and dusty, irritating my nose. Sunlight barely made it through the grime smothering the windows, the light sickly and gloomy. But it would do for now.

“Caer?”

Nothing from her.

I yawned, too tired to give a shit. “Don’t suppose there’s a bed up there?” I pointed at the staircase.

“Along with a bathroom with working plumbing,” he answered. “Gramps’s buddies still make sure the facilities are functioning. Although they clearly don’t care about the garden and are apparently allergic to vacuum cleaners and feather dusters.” He sighed. “I should just sell it. My inheritance is still paying their salaries.”

“Those folk need firing,” I contributed.

He shrugged. “I hate it here. Gramps wasn’t the best man to be around. I actually think he hated being a werewolf. But that’s a story for another day.”

My empathy flared for him.

“Come on, I’ll take you to bed.” He blanched, holding up his hands. “Shite. Sorry, that came out completely wrong.” Crimson bloomed in his face. “Shiteshiteshiteshiteshite.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “No need to be so panicked. It lightened the mood.”

Why did his embarrassment make him look cuter?

Silvanus is my constant.