Page 41 of Ravenous

Lowell’s grin returned. “No argument? See, we’re already agreeing on something.” His gaze drifted to a portrait on the wall. “And who’s that stunner?”

“Mymother,” Meera said, exasperated. He wasn’t wrong though. Her mother was radiant with her glossy raven hair framing flawless skin. She had sat for the painting in her crimson uniform—a hooded, hip-length cloak—with a white sari beneath it, one passed down from Meera’s grandmother. Gran had been wearing it when she was swept up in the Exile from her coven in Kashi.

Back then in Gaia, there’d been no Riders, because there’d been no protracted war between witches and wolves.

“Your mam was a Rider?”

Meera said softly, “Yes.” Before a battle against marauding demons had stolen her life.

“The apple fell far from the tree then?”

What the hells?“You don’t thinkIcould be a Rider?” Magic swirled inside her, but she reined it in before a fight broke out.

He held up his palms in surrender. “Thought you were driven by intellectual pursuits.” He nodded toward the wall with framed diplomas: her degreesin pagan arts and species studies from the Akelarre Institute of Witchery and Lore. “Those look impressive. You studied in Akelarre?”

“I was a long-distance student.” Traveling there took a substantial amount of magic. The journey between the Skein and the House of Witches home world was one-way for most. “Portal travel isn’t cheap.”

“I meant no offense to you, lass.” He gave a rueful smile. “Here, I know how to cool your pique.” From his cloak, he drew a bottle of whiskey, the label old and ambered. “Dinna come empty-handed for our meeting.”

Hecate above. Wolves and their whiskey. She licked her lips before she could stop herself, and his grin deepened, revealing that lupine playfulness she’d predicted.

Of course, this would be the day she wore her baggiest lounge clothes and had her hair knotted in a bun that would attract birds to nest. She briefly considered excusing herself to go throw on a glamour. She might have one in the potion cabinet somewhere. Probably expired.

“Come on, witch,” he coaxed. “Let’s share a dram and solve the Skein’s problems. Surrender to temptation.”

She should say no. She really should.

But resisting him felt as impossible as resisting every other push-pull aspect in her life—spying for Riders…Ditch’s new mandatory training with her enchantress ability…the creeping loneliness of her existence.

Without a word, Meera turned toward the kitchen. When she returned with glasses, she told Lowell, “One drink. Then you need to go. The coven will kill you for being here, you know.”

He hung his coat on the rack and followed her into her sitting area. “And what would happen to you?” He joined her on the sofa and uncorked the bottle.

“Possibly ostracism.” Possibly death. Who knew with Ditch?

Lowell’s expression sobered. “If Ditch truly killed Lazara, I believe she’s capable of anything.”

Exactly. Yet Meera wasn’t sure she believed Ditch’s bold confession. Of course, cannibalismwouldexplain why no one had found Lazara’s body, even with Riders on the case.

“Tell me to go now,” he said gently, “and I will.” His black hair took the fire’s glow in jagged flashes, glinting like obsidian caught in a blaze. She imagined threading her fingers through those midnight locks.

Her pulse betrayed her. “One drink,” she repeated.

His smile felt like praise. He poured the glasses. When he handed one to her, their fingers touched. His skin was warm against hers, filling her with longing.

“To peace in the Skein,” he toasted.

“And to other impossible dreams,” she murmured, clinking his glass. The whiskey burned like a revelation down her throat, and she nearly moaned.

He scrubbed a big hand over his mouth as he stared at her own. “When you lick whiskey off that plump bottom lip of yours, I’m afire with jealousy for the tongue—and the lip.”

She stifled her thrill over his words. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Seducing the assistant to help your kingdom?”

“I’ve no orders to seduce you. Hell, witch, I’ve fancied getting to know you better for years.” His voice dropped. “Every time we met on the Mount, I craved to know what went on behind those dark, watchful eyes of yours. Now I’ve got an excuse, and I’m taking it. Sometimes seduction is its own end.”

She raised her brows. She was aware of the renowned beauties of the Lykae clan. Not to mention the bands of nymphs that roved across the Skein, dispensing pleasure like alms. Those lusty rolling stones loved to visit the equally lusty Lykae. He’d probably partaken of them all.

So why would he look twice at her? She was simplyMeera of the sensible shoes.