Heat flared against her cheeks. “My brothers and cousins use this place for hunting. I’m sure there’s something in there you can put on.” Though she wasn’t sure any of it would fit.
This man had to be six four with thick muscles.
“There.” She pointed to the open closet. “There are pants and shirts hanging up in there.”
“Do I need to blindfold you before I set you down?”
She shook her head as he set her on the mattress. She covered her eyes, even though she wouldn’t mind taking a look at such a specimen of a man.
He chuckled as if he’d been able to read her thoughts.
Lifting her forefinger, she took a peek. Nice, round ass. True buns of steel.
He hiked up a pair of jeans that actually fit his slender waist pretty well. Turning, he pulled a dark shirt over his head. That article of clothing, on the other hand, pulled a little too tight across his chest, but she didn’t mind staring at those defined pecs through the cotton fabric.
Jesus. She’d turned into the female version of her brothers when they’d been horny teenagers and gawked at all her friends. She cleared her throat. “What happened to Norse?”
“I’m him. He’s me, but I’m not supposed to go by that name now.”
“Dayton. Right. Why is that?” Could this really be the boy who didn’t exist? And what exactly did that mean? So many questions and very few answers.
He shrugged his massive shoulders. “A voice told me.”
Right. A voice. Perhaps the wolf was really crazy.
“Why didn’t you communicate with me? Werewolves are capable of doing that with their own kind.” And witches were full of trickery, so this man, wolf, beast, or whatever, could actually be part of another plot to destroy the Wolfairies.
Well, he’d have to kill her first.
“I’m not a werewolf,” he said with a perplexed look.
“What are you, then?”
“A Wolfairy, of course,” he said as if she should have intuitively known that. He leaned against the dresser, his palms pressed on the wood top in a relaxed manner.
“Please. Now I know you’re full of shit.” The more she studied him, the more she thought she’d seen a picture of him somewhere before. It had to be in the research. “Wolfairies didn’t exist until my brother’s twins were born.”
He shook his head. “My sisters and I are all Wolfairies, only they don’t shift, and I don’t know why.”
“No. That’s impossible. I know your sisters. They are the mothers to the Wolfairies. They mated with my brothers, and they created a new species. It was all foretold in the Legend of King Lear.”
“King Lear was my father.” Dayton puffed out his chest. “My mother, Aria, was the last of our kind.”
“How do you know that?”
“The voice. It told me when they split my soul. The voice said that in order to protect my sisters, my mother went into hiding, pretending she was a mere human.”
Normally, she’d toss up her hands and walk away. This man was surely delusional.
Or not what he appeared to be.
“Do you know how your spirit became split?” she asked, excitement tickling her brain. She wanted to see where this liar would take the conversation. Her father used to tell her that the self-centered, and Dayton was definitely egotistical, always showed their hand if you kept the conversation geared toward them.
She could do that.
Maybe.
Dayton rubbed his temples. “That I don’t know.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
“Loaded question,” he said. “Before the wolf side saw you, all I knew was that I didn’t fit in anywhere in the world. I didn’t belong to a pack. I didn’t know I was half fairy until I ate Norse.” He waved his index finger in the air. “And I didn’t really eat him.”
“I beg to differ but go on.”
“Your presence triggered a need to get inside the farm. To cross the fog line. The pull so strong that if you hadn’t come outside when you did, I would have found my way inside.”
The reality of who she was dealing with took her heart and sank it into the depths of her inner darkness. “You killed Ralph. Why did you kill your sister’s father?”
“I did no such thing.” He folded his arms across his chest and pursed his full lips. “Who is this Ralph person?”
“Your sisters, Coral and Isadore’s, human birth father, only he was really a Royal Fairy and was helping to carry on the spirit of King Lear’s legacy.”
“Other than non-paranormal animals, I’ve never killed anything before, and I wouldn’t start now. I might have been an outcasted animal, but I like I’ve said before, I wasn’t, or will I ever be, a monster. I’m the opposite of an ogre.”
“A wolf killed him, and you’re the only one close to the farm that doesn’t have ties to it.”
He pushed off the dresser, closing the gap. His eyes narrowed. “I’m not a killer.”
She should be frightened. Didn’t matter that he was the spirit of the son of King Lear, being separated that long could have made him go bonkers or something. However, she found herself easing closer to him. She wanted to take a whiff of his fresh, hot spring scent. It was like being in a valley, in a natural hot tub, and inhaling the cold and humid air at the same time, lining your lungs with a breezy coat of relaxation.
She snapped her mind into focus. She wouldn’t allow herself to become mesmerized by his charm. “What were you doing by the property line?”
“Looking for you. And Norse.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” Nothing he said answered any of the questions about the future. The only thing he’d done is explain where the other half of Norse had been.
Shit. That clarified a lot.
“I’ve been wandering these woods for centuries as a lone wolf with no pack. I’ve always understood humans and werewolves; I just couldn’t communicate with them. It was you who ignited my knowledge and
