Witch Bound

compatible match, and the prophecy was recorded. All of the contracts were drawn up and signed before the woman sitting next to Christian was even born. Voila, instant bride. Fen, for one, appreciated the simplicity of it. It was, after all, far better than the dilemma his kind faced. He would have embraced an arranged marriage, but no one was willing to curse their daughter by promising her to a hound.

And it was stupid to ponder such things in the presence of his psychic friend whose Spidey senses were very definitely tingling now as she watched him with those big brown eyes practically oozing with sympathy.

“Do you think that’ll ever be you up there?”

He set his sandwich down and took a long pull from the bottle of beer before setting it aside. “You can ask me that?”

“Some things are worth the risk,” she said quietly.

He reminded himself that she wasn’t being purposefully cruel. She hadn’t been raised clan and had lived here for less than two years. So he forced a smile. “It’s not for me, Grace. You know, always a bridesmaid...”

She didn’t buy it, but she played along and settled back in her chair to pick Christian apart instead. “Has he said anything to you?”

“About her? No. He’s mentioned her maybe a half-dozen times in the last twenty years. He’s not going to run if that’s what you’re asking.”

“There’s been speculation.”

“From people who don’t know him as well as they should. They think he’s unreliable because he dates a lot of women.” Fen grinned when her eyebrows shot up at his overly diplomatic description. “Okay...because he’s screwed every single woman in town. But all of those women knew about this. If any of them were stupid enough to think they had a chance of holding him, they’d have deserved the dishonorable bastard they ended up with.”

Grace’s lips twitched. “So Christian’s not a dishonorable bastard.”

“He’s not dishonorable. If his parents ever did anything as impulsive as screwing before marriage, then I’m a jotunn. Duty has always been everything to him. The most important thing.”

Grace didn’t look entirely convinced, and he tried to think of a way to make her understand. It would be a disaster if she took it into her head to meddle in this. Christian would be furious and poor Aiden would have to step in to restore the peace, which would suck because if Grace interfered, she would be the one disciplined.

“You’d have to have known Christian’s parents,” he said. “Especially his father. Alan Jager was a rigid son of a bitch, but he was also the kind of man you couldn’t help but respect. He wasn’t pretending to be good. He was good. And he expected everyone else to be able to live the same way, particularly his son. Christian has that same sense of honor but without all the self-righteousness that went with it.”

“Do you think he likes her?”

He looked at her askance. How the hell should he know? Christian probably didn’t know that yet. “What difference does it make?”

Grace rolled her eyes so hard, it was a wonder they didn’t pop from their sockets and go bouncing along the floor. “That’s the exact same thing Aiden said.”

He took another swig of his beer. “Well, there you go.”

No wonder Aiden was off working the room. Fen loved Grace to death, but she was like a terrier with a rat when she hooked her teeth into something that bugged her. It made her a fine private investigator, but he had no interest in psychoanalyzing his friends. His gaze swept the room, seeing who was there, checking for escape routes. Neat rows of tables, folding chairs of metal and white plastic, most of them filled. Grace and Aiden were feeding the whole town.

Apparently, Fen was the only hound who’d showed. Crowds were often difficult for them, at least when they were expected to behave, wait in orderly lines and sit quietly, make small talk with the normal people in town. He was happy for Christian, but he hated these things. He’d rather be at McGuire’s or home on his laptop finishing up that design he’d had to abandon the other night for the hunt. Work. Chasing demons. Staring at his navel while he pondered the mysteries of the universe. Plenty of things he’d rather be doing than sitting here watching the town prepare for another wedding. His knee tapped the bottom of the table, making it shake. Grace gave him a funny look and he forced himself still.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he told Grace, giving her a quick peck to the cheek to make her stop scowling. A breath of air. Then he’d make another half hour before taking off. He was the best man. He couldn’t leave quite yet. “Don’t worry so much. I haven’t met a woman yet that Christian wasn’t able to charm the pants off.”

She didn’t look remotely reassured by that, but he didn’t pause to address it. The best thing they could all do for Christian and his little mouse was to give them space to get to know each other. He slid through the crowd, avoiding Lois and her coven of hedge witches along the back wall. Elin, one of their twin pair of counselor crows, was arguing with Aiden in the hallway and he gave them a wide berth too. No way was he getting sucked into that argument, especially not when he saw Christian get up from the head table to walk toward them. Sometime while Fen had been talking to Grace, the mouse had disappeared. Grace was right. Christian’s bride hadn’t looked happy. Something had happened to upset her. There was more of a chance that she’d back out than Christian, if he didn’t miss his guess.

Again. It wasn’t his problem.

Pushing open the metal door, he almost whimpered in relief when the cold, fresh air washed over him. The door closed with a heavy clank, muffling the noise battering his eardrums. The smell of food and bodies cleared from his nose. His eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light. The heightened senses that came with being a hound were a bitch sometimes, especially in closed spaces. Outside, in the cool, quiet dark, it was another story.

Hunching his shoulders against the chill air, he made his way around the corner in case anybody came out to smoke and wanted to chat. Once there, he leaned against the brick and looked up, feeling some of the tension ease from his body.

Nothing like a November sky in Iowa, when the weather was cold and cloudless and the moon wasn’t up yet. There was no light on this side of the building at the edge of town, just a field stretching out toward the lake, grass weighted down by frost. He could shift and run. If anyone even noticed that he left the party, they wouldn’t comment. For the most part, they understood his trouble with crowds and made allowances.

The water wasn’t frozen yet. The night after a hunt was usually the quietest. Animals were still spooked and everyone else was too exhausted from the ride to be out wandering. He could be alone.

A soft noise brought his attention back to his surroundings. Like a sigh or a whisper just out of hearing. He’d have thought it the wind if it hadn’t gone still just at that moment.

The Dumpster was a few feet away, set on a concrete slab at the corner of the back lot, and he took a cautious step in that direction. Could be a raccoon or cat, but the noise didn’t sound like the furtive nocturnal scratching of a scavenger. He inhaled deeply, but the garbage messed with his sense of smell. It came again, this time followed by an obvious and very human sniffle. Someone was crying.

Fuck. He froze, almost to the Dumpster. He could head back inside. Just—

“I know you’re there.”

He closed his eyes and considered pretending that he hadn’t heard her speak. But she was a member of his clan now, about to marry his best friend. It would be cowardly to turn away.

“Christian?”

Of all the luck... He dragged in a deep breath. “No. Not Christian.”

“Oh?” He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she actually sounded more miserable. “Sorry then. Just pretend I’m not here.”

Yeah, right.

He crossed the remaining distance. Red, rust-spotted and smelling of old food, the Dumpster created a shelter from the wind. The mouse sat on the curb with her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin on her knees. He was wrong. She wasn’t sniffling because she was crying. She was sniffling because it was twenty degrees outside, and she wasn’t wearing a coat. Pretty little idiot.

“Someone from Colorado really ought to know better.” When she gave him a questioning look, he said, “You’ll freeze out here without a coat.”

“I’m fine.”

No. Clearly, she wasn’t. “I’m Fen.”