Page 8 of Clubs

First of all, I wouldn’t have admitted to it over the phone if he had. Second of all? “Of course he didn’t do it. You think we go around offing random people, Genevieve? Just for the fun of it?”

“Well, I’ve seen wolves kill for less.”

“Less than the fun of it?”

“Far less, love.”

“Well, Declan isn’t one of those wolves,” I snapped. “Can you give me the number or not?”

“Quite testy for a woman begging for help.”

“It’s almost 4 AM and I’m exhausted. Apologies.”

She must’ve sensed my sarcasm, because she said, “I can tell. I’m looking for the number now. Ah, here it is. Ashley Montgomery.” Genevieve listed off the number, and then said, “Give her a call. She’ll want extra for waking up so early.”

Looked like I might be selling that kidney after all. “Great. Thank you.”

“Mhmm.” I had just lifted the phone from my ear to put it on the receiver when Genevieve said, “Wait.”

Sighing, I brought the phone back to my ear. “Yes?”

“Have you remembered anything else?” Her voice was softer now. Hopeful. “Anything at all?”

One more deep breath.

About a year ago, images had started flashing through my mind. At first, they were blurry, like a TV whose antenna needed adjusted. Gradually, they had become more vivid.

Running through a snow-blanketed forest. Chasing after a black wolf the same size as me. Tackling it to the ground, rolling with it through the snow, biting at each other’s faces and scruffs. Because yes, I’d had one of those.

At first, I cracked them up to sweet nothings. Odd fantasies. Then they grew more realistic. So realistic that, at times, they felt more real than my own flesh. So much so that it scared me. I’d gone to Genevieve and asked what she thought it meant. She’d chuckled and said that more than likely, in the life where I had met Declan, he wasn’t the only Werewolf in the relationship.

Since then, more memories had come through. Flashes of a man who wasn’t much of a man at all, but a boy in his late teens. To me, he had seemed a lot like a man. And he looked a lot like the one I called my boyfriend now. Beautiful brown eyes, warm brown skin, and a crooked smile.

But I didn’t only see Declan—or whatever his name was then—in those flashes. I saw others. Women whom I called friends. Women whose names I didn’t know. All I remembered vividly was my time with them, the way they made me feel. Feeling for them the same way that I felt for Ariana. A sisterhood that apparently spanned hundreds, maybe thousands of years.

I remembered my home as well. It was always snowy. Snowier than any place I’d been before, and that was saying something for a girl born and raised in Oregon. All the foliage was black for some reason. That stuck out.

But if Genevieve was asking if I remembered a clear story or life, the answer was no. I remembered being the girl whose memories were floating back to me, but I didn’t remember her story, nor the romance with the man she’d found again in the modern world.

“Bits and pieces,” I said. “It’s all patchy. Why?”

“Curiosity. I know it kills the cat and all, but I just wanted to know. What about Declan?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Interesting.” With that tone, I could envision her face. Brows pinching together, head slightly tilted. Absolutely fascinated. “I wonder why that is. He’s clearly the one more invested in your relationship, and yet you’re the one who remembers—”

“Alright, fuck off.”

Her laugh sounded through the speaker as I set it onto the receiver. As soon as it stopped, I picked it up again and typed in the numbers she had given me. Ashley answered on the third ring. Apparently she lived close, only about fifteen minutes from the precinct. Spades was about half an hour away, so I told her she would beat me there. She said that was fine, so long as I brought my checkbook.

Setting the phone down, I flapped my lips together in a trill.

“You got him a lawyer?” Emory asked.

“Yep. Heading there as soon as I can leave here.” Scanning the room, I counted two people still lined up for questioning. “Am I supposed to wait?”

“They told us to hold off until they talk to everybody.” Emory nodded to a cop at the door. A cute guy on the heavier side with brown hair and brown eyes. If not for the fact that he was a cop, and the fact that I was taken, I would’ve done him. “I saw that one checking out your ass, though. I bet he’ll let you go if you bat your eyelashes right. And unbutton your top.”

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