Chapter 17
GRIFFITH
The memory of 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 massive tractor 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.
A potential one anyway.
A fact I’ve known for a while now.
When Clementine was seventeen and I first realized how delicious she smelled to me, I raged against the knowledge. Reminded myself that werewolves could smell more than one potential mate in their lifetime. And a person didn’t have to smell like a mate for them to be a good partner for a werewolf.
But now Clementine is back, and she’s not a rebellious teen anymore. Sure, she still has a snarky bite to her, but with an underlying maturity and confidence. She’s finding her way through the world, and this trouble she stumbled into is not her fault.
She’s just suffering the consequences—and doing so with a bravery that’s admirable.
And fucking hot as hell.
“Damn it.” The curse fuels my next punch that lands so hard that it splits the bag. Sand pours in a steady stream, collecting in a miniature mountain on the floor. “Curse The Clawed One’s trail.”
“Look at that. Little Griffy has stepped up his game.”
I turn, realizing that, in my distraction, I didn’t even register the scent of a new arrival. Bo Folan grins at me from the open barn door, his tall stature and broad shoulders taking up more of the entrance than most would.
“Not so little anymore.” I huff, thinking back on the scrawny kid I used to be.
A runt of the litter other pack mates picked on until the summer I finally filled out in an impressive way.
Thought my parents would finally take notice of me then, but it didn’t work out that way.
Still, didn’t have to deal with the bullies anymore, and was able to step in between them and Carl.
Bo found himself on the wrong end of a curse a couple of decades ago and spent years trapped as a statue. He was only freed recently by Mor Shelly, and the monster is still getting used to the modern world—and the kid he once knew who’s now an adult.
“You want to spar?” I ask, hoping for a true distraction.
“Normally, I’d love to knock you around.” He smiles wide, his words full of good humor. “But Mor sent me to find you.”
Oh yeah, did I mention he fell in love with the witch who saved him and now they live together in bliss in her library?
I grab a roll of duct tape off a shelf and perform a quick patch job of the sandbag, making a note to order a replacement one for the gym. “Y’all need another researcher?” Hopefully, I’ve worked off enough excess energy so I don’t start fidgeting as I try to read.
“They think they found a fix.”
I pause, all my attention on Bo. “A fix?”
He nods. “Mor thinks she can heal Clem.”