How did I explain to Aunt Dot that I lost my man, who wasn’t really mine in the first place, in a fight? Like he was some sort of prize to be awarded to the winner. Which, according to Graeson, was exactly his place in this scenario.

Wishing my water was something stronger, I took a sip to give me precious seconds to string together a cohesive sentence that didn’t boil down to grr. “When is this fight scheduled?”

He pushed away from the counter. “It can wait until you and Dell get back from Kermit.”

I choked on my next sip of water. “Dell’s going with me?”

“A beta’s mate can’t travel alone, even as an aspirant.” He didn’t sound sorry about sending me a babysitter at all. “Besides, she worries about you. She’ll feel better if you’ve got backup, and so will I.”

“Will Bessemer let her go?” Aiding and abetting a fae seemed tantamount to high treason with him.

“We came to an agreement.” Muscles ticked in his jaw. “Please don’t fight me on this.”

“Okay.” I raised my hands in a gesture of peace. “I won’t.”

Dell was a willing donor, and her power was one I was familiar with harnessing. She would be an asset, and she made for good company.

Eyeing me like my acquiescence was some kind of trick, he resumed his food preparations, casting a wary glance over his shoulder now and again, but I only had eyes for the bottles of liquid flavoring.

What kind of man paid this sort of attention to a woman? What did those six tiny bottles truly represent?

I didn’t hang around long enough for people to learn what I liked. Most folks didn’t care to know.

The empty bottle Graeson set down looked worn, like he had been carrying it around in his jeans since the day he pocketed it. The label was faded and peeling as though he had worried it with his thumb while thinking. Of me? What did it mean that I would never see those bottles again without thinking of the ink-stained warg with ghosts in his eyes who had combed a grocery store and emptied a dispenser in search of my favorite flavor?

Such an insignificant thing, but not so insignificant at all.

Chapter 9

Graeson set a small plate with a homemade brownie square and scoop of vanilla ice cream on top in front of me. Dinner was over, the steak devoured and the baked potato inhaled. I could barely lift my fork to take a bite, but when the chocolate hit my tongue, I moaned.

This right here was what made a man worth keeping, worth fighting for, I was sure of it.

“You approve?” He snapped the lid on the carton of ice cream, the only premade item on tonight’s menu.