Words like “mom” and “mother” didn’t yet roll off my tongue with any ease, so my reprimand was blatant name-calling. “Eris.”

“What? Mother said he’s been sharing your bedroom at the farmhouse.”

Disapproval for Nana’s gossip-mongering darkened my expression. As she presented me with the silver belt I whispered, “Traitor.”

“And who was it that told her I was trying to quit smoking?” Nana shot back.

“She has you there,” Eris quipped. “And she’s hoping for great-grandchildren, though she doesn’t want you to . . . how did you say it, Mother?”

“Don’t put the cart before the horse,” Nana answered.

“Wæres can’t breed,” I reminded them.

Nana smiled optimistically. “Yeah, yeah, but with him being the Domn Lup, a lot of those wære rules don’t apply to him.”

That hadn’t even occurred to me. Fear must have shown in my expression, because they both giggled.

Irritably, I wrapped the belt around my waist, my glare snapping back and forth between Eris and Nana. “I’m certain the molecular science behind the ‘non-viability’ of wære reproduction is something not even the Domn Lup can defy.”

My anger, however, was all for Eris. She knew that a calm mind-set was essential pre-ritual, but she’d had to get that crack in. She couldn’t resist exerting some type of control over me.

I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything else. I’d gone to a lot of effort for this ritual, and I wasn’t going to let her mess it up.

Part of that effort included drawing a pentacle with black chalk earlier on the concrete near the fountain. Because of the dark powder, Nana had brought the dress with her to keep it from getting dirty, but that meant my wardrobe change had to be done on-site. Though the park was seasonably abandoned, I had expected to have to use the quad-cab of my mother’s newly purchased used truck as a dressing room. The fog provided adequate privacy, however, and I opted to switch my clothing beside the fountain.