“Why would you stab a werewolf to protect me?” he parroted. “I’m your enemy, remember?”
He had a point. Calladia’s cheeks heated as she remembered how turned on she’d been watching Astaroth fight and how instinctively she’d acted to save him. Whatever they were doing was nowhere near traditional enemy behavior.
“I’ll call the Red Deer,” Calladia said, changing the subject to avoid having to answer his question. “I need to give Bronwyn my card information to pay for our meal anyway, since we dined, decked, and dashed.” She pulled out her phone, relieved to see a few bars of service. She searched for the restaurant’s contact info, then dialed.
“The Red Deer, Bronwyn speaking.”
“Hey!” Calladia’s greeting was a tad too enthusiastic. “This is Calladia Cunnington. Um, this is awkward, but I forgot to close my tab—”
“You!” The dryad let out a stream of creative curses. “Do you know how much babying I had to do after you left? The way Kai was carrying on, you practically stabbed him in the heart. He was inconsolable until I dosed him with enough whiskey to sedate an elephant.”
Calladia cringed. “Is he okay? I really didn’t mean to stab him.”
“Oh, he’s fine.” Bronwyn snorted. “The wolves heal quickly, and I got paramedic training once I realized how often they were going to kick off in the restaurant. Thankfully, they pay for renovations, and Ranulf has a woodworking shop, so we never run out of furniture.”
“I’m glad Kai is all right,” Calladia said. Astaroth mumbled something that sounded like “I’m not,” but Calladia ignored him. “Let me give you my card info to pay for lunch.”
Once payment was sorted, Calladia asked Bronwyn about the next step to find Isobel.
“I looked up our notes, and it says go northeast until you see two mountains that look like boobs. The town of Griffin’s Nest is at the top of a hill, and after that, the road forks. You’ll take the right fork down into a valley. Cross the river, and when the road ends, hike due north at the bat sign and look for a red door.”
Calladia blinked. “That was way less cryptic than I thought it would be.”
Bronwyn’s exhale was loud. “Yeah, well, after the thirtieth time telling a confused tourist, ‘Seek nature’s motherly embrace, and where one might take flight, instead venture low,’ you get kinda sick of it.”
Before she hung up, the dryad gave a final warning.
“You really made an impression,” Bronwyn said. “I’m not sure if Kai wants to murder you or marry you on the spot, but keep an eye out, because the wolves are on the hunt.”
“Thanks, Bronwyn,” Calladia said. “I owe you one.”
After Calladia hung up, she looked at Astaroth. “Mountains that look like boobs,” she said. “Sounds easy enough.”
“Kai wants to marry you?” Astaroth sounded appalled. “For stabbing him?”
“You aren’t more worried about the murder bit?” Calladia asked, though she was pretty sure the dryad had been exaggerating.
Astaroth made a scornful noise. “As if he were capable of it. You’d kick his arse halfway to the moon.”
Warmth filled Calladia’s chest at his assessment. “Anyway,” she said, pulling onto the road again, “he’s not going to get the chance to murder or marry me. I like living, and I’m far too busy for romance.”
Astaroth picked at the fabric of his faux-leather pants, brushing away invisible specks of dust. “You don’t seem that busy to me.”
She scowled. “Because I’m babysitting you, rather than following my normal routine.”
“And your normal routine is so full of meaningful activity you have no room for romance?”
Calladia’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, because no, her life wasn’t full of much meaningful activity. She had her friends, her clients at the gym, and her hobbies, but there was a fundamental hollowness behind that. The kind of ache that swelled when she ate dinner alone or when she lay awake at night, wondering what the point of all of it was. The ache that turned into sharp pain when she thought of her absent father and perpetually disappointed mother, and how she would never be good enough for them.
“I have more important things to focus on, that’s all,” she said. “And men are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Men are definitely trouble,” he agreed. “But trouble can be fun.”
She snorted as she took a hairpin curve. Past the railing, the ground dropped away sharply, tumbling toward a river far below. “Are you advocating for me to date Kai?”
“No!” Astaroth exclaimed. “Absolutely not. I’m just curious about your anti-romance stance.”
She shot him a glance. He sounded more than just curious. She was reminded of how possessive he’d been over her and how jealous he’d seemed of Kai.
But that couldn’t be right, could it? Maybe he was feeling some kind of involuntary physical attraction, one as inconvenient for him as it was for her. Or maybe he didn’t want anyone stealing her away before she helped him recover his memories.
Calladia didn’t like talking about her past heartache, but in the close air of the cab, with the engine rumbling and the landscape spreading below like a green-and-gray tapestry, it felt right to let the words spill out.
“I haven’t had the best experience dating,” she said past a lump in her throat. “Life is easier if I don’t do it at all.”
She braced herself for some snarky comment, but he seemed to be considering her words carefully.
“Bad experiences with multiple men?” he finally asked.
Calladia shook her head. “Just one.”
“Is he still alive?”
She tried to laugh, but it was a broken thing. “Yes, and still in possession of both hands.” Sam was probably thriving in his hoity-toity professor job, teaching students about ethics in the clinical, abstract manner that ought to have been a red flag that he saw ethics as no more than an intellectual exercise. Undergrads would worship him; hadn’t she, after all? He would bask in their adulation and, if the opportunity presented itself, one of those starry-eyed worshippers would end up in his bed, convinced she was sophisticated beyond her years. Convinced a happily-ever-after was just down the line.
She was squeezing the steering wheel tightly enough to hurt, so she forced herself to relax her fingers.
“Calladia,” Astaroth said in a low voice. “Pull over.”
There was a scenic lookout ahead, and Calladia’s eyes were getting watery, so she pulled into a parking spot at the edge of the cliff. She shut off the engine, then blinked hard to suppress any incipient tears before facing Astaroth.
Without the distraction of driving, she was forced to acknowledge how close they were sitting. Clifford was mighty but small, and there were no cupholders dividing the old-fashioned bench seat. Astaroth could shift a foot or two over and be pressed up against her.
She’d never seen him look quite like this. The usual ironic slant of his features was gone, replaced by deadly seriousness. His crystal-blue eyes bored into her, and she shifted, feeling like he was looking under her skin.