The Warlock's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

escort Renfrey ; he was usually wary of both familiar visitors and strangers alike. He might have felt the call to prowl, of course, and recognized in Renfrey a source of protection.
    There was little doubt that Renfrey could provide it. He had been alert back there, also valiant and strong—all the things expected in a man, yet so seldom found. She could admit that much, if only to herself.
    Behind her, there came a low growl. Her aunt's boxer dog must be out of the house. Aunt Berthe had probably released him into the fenced yard thinking Carita would let him back inside when she returned. No doubt he had seen the cat; she could hear his toenails clicking on the walk as he trotted toward the open gate.
    The gate! Carita stepped back and gave it a hard swing, trying to slam it closed.
    It was too late. The burly dog barreled through the opening. Tearing past her skirts with the ruff on his neck standing high and a threat rumbling in his throat, he charged the cat.
    The old stray feline leaped high and came down on all fours with a savage hiss of warning. The boxer skidded to a stop.
    “Down, boy!” Carita shouted. “Stay!”
    The boxer gave no sign of hearing. Feet planted, lips drawn back in a snarl, he watched his adversary. His chest rumbled and saliva dripped from his muzzle.
    Bow-backed, the cat faced the dog with its fur in wild spikes, its fangs bared and fierce challenge in its yellow eyes. Abruptly there was only a blurred tangle of legs and claws. Frenzied yowls and dust rose from it.
    The fight was furious, but the boxer was heavier and more powerful. With a hoarse growl, he lunged. The cat twisted away, spitting, but was caught by the scruff of the neck. The boxer shook the soft, limber body and prepared to toss it high, ready to seize a killing hold.
    Carita gave a cry of pity. It had happened so fast; she could not think what to do. There were only seconds left in which to make the dog drop the cat.
    Then Renfrey was there, striking the boxer a smart blow across the back with his cane. The dog's jaws opened as he yelped. The cat sprang free. Renfrey bent swiftly to scoop the feline up.
    The boxer, recovering, snarled and sprang to snap. Glistening white teeth closed on Renfrey's wrist. The cat squirmed out of his grasp, clawing its way up to a shoulder where it perched with a baleful stare.
    Grim-faced, Carita plunged forward to touch the dog with the tips of her fingers. The boxer shuddered at the familiar yet electrifyingly painful contact. Releasing his grip, he whined and dropped to his belly. With lowered ears and dragging tail, he rolled his eyes upward to her face. Finding no forgiveness there, he whimpered and lay still.
    Carita straightened, swung immediately toward Renfrey and reached for his wrist. “Let me see.”
    She thought for an instant that he would refuse. Then he thrust out his hand with the palm uppermost and his wrist exposed below the bloodied cuff of his shirt. She reached to push the cloth higher while she cradled his hand in hers.
    The dog's teeth had torn the skin, but the lacerations were not deep and no veins had been severed. She could feel a faint quivering in his fingers. The cause might be from pain or even shock, but she didn't think so.
    She looked up, and her gaze was snared by the darkness of his eyes. Their surfaces were so still, held such patience, so much understanding, that she felt something shift, achingly, inside of her.
    An impulse fluttered over her, gathered strength. It was so small a thing, yet a part of all that had passed unspoken between them. Before it could be banished by propriety or sanity, she acted.
    Bending her head, she pressed her lips to his injured wrist. She closed her eyes while purpose guided her. An instant later, she smoothed her fingertips in benediction over his healed, unblemished skin, then let go of his hand.
    “Thank you,” he said, the words a husky whisper.
    “You believe me now?” It was asked with care, with exactitude and