by A. J. Aalto
“I’m not,” I said, trying to jam the safe end of the razor in the hollow behind my left ear the scratch the unreachable itch.
“You’re not sprouting wild tufts at long last, my lycanthropic vixen?”
“Behind my ears? Dark Lady, I hope not.” I dropped the razor, still feeling the queen’s voice tickling my inner ear in the most irritating fashion. “Are you ready for your nighttime feed?”
Harry seemed to consider this for a long minute, then slipped into the room and claimed his usual perch on the bathroom counter. He did a double take at the oily smudges, and pursed his lips to express his disapproval. At long last, he asked, “Will you not mourn Our Lost Lad, angel, not even a little? Now that he is forever absent from our lives?”
“The first time I mourned Batten, it got ugly. I think I’ll pass on that this time.” My ear itched savagely, and Remy’s insistent whispering tickled. My heart ached briefly with the memory of losing Batten at Skulesdottir, but the fact that the pain was blessedly brief was a testament to how hard I’d worked to heal, how far I’d come. “Forever absent. Yes. That’s just how I want it. I intend to spend the next year right here in this cabin, bored out of my skull, happily, blissfully bored.” I used my tongue to dig back against the inside of my mouth, trying helplessly to relieve the unbearable itch of the queen’s prodding whispers. “I’m tapping out. No more Batten. No more mess. No more wayward adventures. He’s Remy’s problem now.” I spoke to my itchy ears, swatting at one. “Hear me? I’m moving on. You made him, you keep him. I’m out.”
Is that a fact? Remy repeated. And it felt like I had dropped a gauntlet, only to have it picked up by the worst possible opponent.
Harry leaned forward to peer at my head. And then, as if sensing Remy Dreppenstedt through the House Bond, “Oh, love. Now what have you done?”
THE END
About the Author
A.J. Aalto is a biologist and a student of criminal psychology and behaviour. She is the author of Touched, book one of the Marnie Baranuik Files series, and Closet Full of Bones, a psychological thriller. When not working on her novels, she practices throwing hatchets, belly dances, and fails spectacularly at Sudoku puzzles. A.J. is a lifelong resident of the wine region of Southern Ontario, Canada, where she lives with her patient husband and two beloved children.