Mine.
My inner Devil had been stuck on that particular one-word loop ever since I stepped foot inside the Devil's Food Bakery this past Wednesday to pick up the order of cupcakes Mrs. O'Hare had apparently put in for me.
Did the old Witch know Penelope was mine? I had no idea.
But how fortuitous that my future mate had a certain affection for the very same characteristics that gave my kind our name.
I licked my lips, not listening to a word Emmet was saying.
“Max, I need you to pay attention," the Wolf growled.
I flitted my gaze over to the plans the man had spread out across the dining room table. My stomach growled, and I frowned.
Ever since Mrs. O'Hare abandoned me, I'd been left to my own devices when it came to food.
I was so sick of peanut butter, frozen pizzas, and cold cuts
