She appeared to be assessing Rebecca as though she could glean everything she needed to know about her with a quick body scan. With only a few feet between them, they stood eye to eye since Rebecca was at the bottom of the stairs and Miles’ grandmother at the top.
Finally the woman pointed at Rebecca. “Why aren’t you mated yet?”
“Grandma.” Miles moaned.
Rebecca had no idea what she was talking about, but considering the conversations she’d had lately, this wasn’t surprising.
“Don’t lay into her, Grandma. We just got here. We’ve had a rough night. We need showers and food. And then we’ll talk.”
His grandmother yanked her gaze from Rebecca to him as if she’d just realized he was there. “The spirits are mad at you.” She jerked her head toward Griffen next. “And you too, young man.”
Griffen stiffened at Rebecca’s side.
Mimi glanced down at his leg. “You hurt?”
“Yes. It’ll heal.”
“The spirits did this?”
What the fuck was all this chat about spirits? Rebecca stood very still, aware of two things. Griffen still had his hand on her back. And Miles still held her fingers with his.
“Grandma, we don’t know that for sure. Do you mind if we go inside? I could at least use coffee if the talking can’t wait.”
His grandmother ignored him, and her gaze went back to Rebecca.
Oh good. Rebecca felt as though the woman could see through her, and she had no idea what she’d done to disappoint the woman before ever meeting her. “You have to complete the mating to appease the spirits. Bad things will happen. It’s bad luck to ignore the spirits.”
Miles squeezed her hand. “Grandma, stop. She has no idea what you’re talking about. You’re scaring her.”
“Why?” Mrs. Bartel rose taller on her small frame as though she could meet Miles eye-to-eye.
Rebecca had no doubt the crazy woman thought she was an equal match, and judging from Miles’ flinch, she might be. He obviously took her every word seriously and treated her with the respect due to someone of her age, but the woman was certifiable.
She shook her finger at Miles. “Young man, I am much older and wiser than you, and I’m telling you not to delay this claiming. Your partner has already suffered injury. Every moment you hesitate will bring you more bad luck.”
“Grandma.” Miles finally released Rebecca to ascend the steps. He turned his grandmother toward the door gently and opened it, ushering her in. “Griffen was injured before I met Rebecca,” he said to her back as they entered the house.
Griffen took a deep breath, obviously as exasperated as Rebecca, and pressed her forward so they too ascended the steps and followed the others inside.
Miles’ grandmother stopped walking. Her mouth hung open, and her face went as pale as possible considering her skin tone. “Oh my.” She held a hand to her chest. “It’s worse than I thought.”
“Sit.” Miles pointed at a chair. “I’ll get coffee. Stop talking before you do more damage than you have already.”
Rebecca didn’t know what damage he referred to, because if he was talking about her feelings, he was mistaken. Rebecca couldn’t possibly be offended by anything the woman said thus far since it was all Greek to her.
Luckily, Mrs. Bartel took a seat in a huge armchair that swallowed her whole.
Griffen tugged Rebecca by the belt loop onto the sofa next to him, stretching his leg out and wincing.
Rebecca turned to him. “You need to wash that, and we need to put more ointment on it.” She frowned at him.
“I will, baby. In a minute.” He rubbed her back. “Don’t worry. I’m hardy. I won’t die from infection. At least not from a puncture this small.”
“Small? Are you crazy?”
He grinned. “By human standards, you’re right. I could have died. But I’m not entirely human, baby.”
Like she needed that reminder.
His hand eased down to rest on her lower back again.
She loved the feel of his touch. It warmed her skin through her tank top. When she turned back around, she found Miles’ grandmother staring at her with the same furrowed brow and pursed lips, as if she were battling a war with herself to keep her mouth shut.
All her mumbling about mating and claiming had Rebecca on edge. Sounded like the woman was speaking to a group of animals, commanding them to fuck.
She shivered. That might be precisely what the older woman meant.
Miles returned carrying a pot of coffee in one hand and four mugs in the other, each finger wrapped around the loop on the side of a mug.
He set the precarious bunch on the coffee table and filled each cup. After handing the first one, black, to his grandmother, he turned to Rebecca. “How do you take your coffee, love?”