time he leaned against the door, but as he thought to twist the fancy glass knob and walk right in, his manners—and his sense of self-preservation—reminded him he’d probably be safer on this side of the door. With a wince, he pondered how well the thin slab of wood would protect him against magic.
There wasn’t much he feared. Vampires gave him no challenge. Faeries were amiable toward him. Demons just plain creeped him out. But a smart wolf never returned to a place—or person—of danger.
“Just a few minutes, please, Abigail?”
It was cold today, and no matter how many layers he wore, he still felt the wind tickle down his neck and ice over his shoulders. But he had to be here. Jason had said an actual signature was required. Email wouldn’t cut it for a divorce.
“No, we don’t need to talk,” she called, opening the door a crack and gifting him with a flash of heat from inside. “It never happened. I’ve moved on. You’ve moved on. We’re all good. Life goes on. Goodbye.”
Ridge blocked the door with a fist. He pressed against the weight of the tiny witch trying her best to defeat his strength. “I happen to have a piece of paper that says it did happen.”
“You what?”
“Signed by Elvis, even. It’s a little wrinkled, but it’s legal. Elvis was his middle name. The guy who married us was an actual ordained minister, can you believe that?”
“Well, tear it up!”
That would be the obvious action. But Jason had checked online and their nuptials had been recorded in the Clark County Marriage Bureau of Las Vegas. The receptionist, appropriately named Priscilla LisaMarie Jones, had signed as a witness. Richard Addison’s marriage to Abigail Rowan was legal, whether or not he had the paper to prove it.
“Maybe I don’t want to tear it up,” he said, trying a new angle. It wouldn’t serve his purpose to barge in and demand. And he didn’t want to walk away with another scar. Kindness never hurt a man’s position. “I did save your life.”
“And I am very thankful for that,” she said through the slightly opened door. He couldn’t see her, but could feel her determination; she was putting all her weight against the door. Did she hate him so much she couldn’t give him a few minutes? “Really, I am thankful for the rescue. I don’t think I ever said it to you while sober.”
“I don’t need your thanks.”
“But you need to keep me your wife? What’s that about?”
“That is not what I want from you.”
“Then tear the damn thing up and leave me alone.”
“What if I want to convince you I’m worth a shot?” He winced. It was a means to get him inside, to talk rationally with her. He wasn’t seriously considering keeping her as his wife. But he had to play the witch carefully.
And protect his balls against sudden blasts of magic.
“Please, Ridge, we don’t even know one another. You know nothing about me.”
“I know you like vodka.”
“Used to like vodka. I haven’t gone near a drop of that devil’s brew since that night.”
“That bad of a memory, eh?”
“Something like that.”
“I had no idea I was responsible for such a horrible memory.” Then again, wolfing out on an unsuspecting woman was enough to scare anyone for life.
“It wasn’t you, Ridge. Well, it was, but there was also the part where I was strapped to a stake and flames were whipping about my ankles. I’d say that was the worst memory.”
“Thank God for that. I mean, that it was your worst memory. I’d hate it to be me that was your worst.” Because memories never went away, and their haunting ability could fell a grown man to his knees. “I scared you. I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t scared, I was … startled. I’m sorry, Ridge. This is not a good time to talk.”
He maintained his position, keeping her from closing the door. “You scarred me, Abigail. To my core. And that scar has kept you in my mind.”
“Then why didn’t you come to me sooner? It’s been thirteen years, and all of a sudden you want to start things with me again?”
“I didn’t suggest that—”
“Does this have something to do with you taking over as principal of the Northern pack? Don’t tell me you need a wifey to—”
“You already are my wife, Abigail. And it’s not because of the pack.”
He stopped, not wanting to lie to her. Of course it was for the pack. His life revolved around trying to rescue the pitiful remnants of a pack he held in his charge.
“Could we please talk face-to-face? It’s below zero out here.”
“I understand wolves handle the cold well.”
They did, but that didn’t mean he didn’t prefer a warm living room. Did the woman not have a compassionate bone in her body?
“Did you bring along divorce papers?”
He tapped his coat pocket. “If I came at a bad time—”
Silence crackled like the ice lining the rain gutters overhead, crisp and foreboding.
“Doesn’t take more than a minute to sign some silly papers, does it?” She swung the door open. “Hurry. Get inside.”
Sensing an odd urgency about her, Ridge crossed the threshold and stomped his boots on the rug to shake off the snow from the treads, but he kept his senses dialed on high alert. The house was indeed cozy and warm.
The black cat sitting on the back of a blatantly pink sofa took one look at him, hissed and darted out of the room.
“Didn’t much care for you, either,” he commented, and followed Abigail through to the kitchen, where she grabbed a black leather purse to mine for a pen. “That your familiar?”
“What? Swell Cat? I don’t do familiars, nor do I summon demons. He’s just a regular, un-shifting mutt of a cat—who doesn’t like dogs.”
At the unsavory remark, his jaw tightened. Wolves did not like to be called dogs, or even hear finely veiled references. But he’d shackle his anger because he respected Abigail’s power and knew it took but a gesture from her to put out some kind of magic he didn’t know how to fight.
He scented a metallic, smoky flavor on the air and his eyes went straight to a blackened outlet that had soot streaks crawling out in all directions along the wall.
“Electrical problem?”
“Yes.”
She wasn’t in the mood to talk, rooting around in her purse to keep her eyes off him. Fine. He knew this wasn’t easy
