Page 68 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

Nope. Won’t happen. The world will never go all the way back to “normal” now. I can’t change that. Can’t shut my eyes again after they’ve been opened to all the other people (saying creatures seems wrong) living with us “regular humans.”

“Don’t worry, lover. Your claim has been staked.”

I do worry—maybe about things I shouldn’t. But if I’m going to worry, I should be worrying about that big bastard overlord. My teeth grind together. I’m gonna crack a molar like this.

Worrying isn’t going to help, and it’s just going to ruin your day.Stepping out of the bathroom, I march back to the bedroom in time to see Marina patting the pillows into place, glorious body on display, ass begging to be grabbed when she bends over to grab the corner of the fitted sheet.

I grab her by the waist. Hoist her up as she flails and laughs in surprise.

She squeals, “Kev!”

“Shower with me? Yes? Good, let’s go.” I don’t give her time to answer, just carry her with me, loving the way her hair trails down my skin and the way her laugh tickles my ears.

Chapter Eighteen

“This is the weirdest weather,” a lady in pawprint scrubs puts three pie pumpkins in the back of her truck bed and starts pushing the small red cart back to the entrance of the faded wooden building that serves as the Onyx Farm’s “market.”

I nod, looking up. The air is thick and hard to breathe, out of place for October in Pine Ridge. The sky is dark gray with red streaks, even though we’re hours away from night. “Storm before morning,” I say. “Red sky at night—sailors delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning,” I murmur, looking heavenward.

“Hey, my grandpa used to say the same thing.” The lady fishes car keys from the pocket of her scrubs. “But it’s not morning. It’s afternoon. What’s that mean?”

I blink and shake my head. “I don’t know. There are hurricanes in the Atlantic. Maybe we’re seeing the storm’s leftovers.”

“Jasper Wainwright didn’t mention that.” The woman fans herself. “I never miss one of his forecasts. Oooh, he gives me such a hot front, if you know what I mean.”

I take a moment to really study the woman— a short, plump brunette with tattoos covering her arms and a NYU Pine Ridge lanyard around her neck. It readsJen Chambers, Department of Veterinary Medicine.

I wonder if she can see us for what we really are. Should I try to fix her up with the lonely werewolf? “He’s single, you know,”I say, keeping my eyes fixed on her as I stack the apples in pyramids.

“Yes—and he also looks like Superman minus the glasses. Shaggier hair, too. But I guess that goes with the territory.”

Is that a hint?

Humans are so confusing.

“He’ll be at the Halloween Parade.”

“Are you kidding? He’d never go for a dumpy little vet tech like me.”

I smother a laugh. “In this town, all sorts of unexpected things happen. You never know who’s going to take an interest in you or who’s just waiting to find their perfect match.”

Jen Chambers shrugs and closes the gate on her Ford truck. “I guess that’s true. Seen plenty of things that are thoroughly unexpected in this neck of the woods.”

A hot, suffocating blast of air seems to scream down on me as she drives off.

“Storm’s coming,” Carrie Onyx sighs as she appears beside me, several ten-dollar bills folded in her outstretched hand. “You still planning to walk home? It feels like New York has lost its air conditioning.”

Carrie knows this town is populated with more than just humans, so I shrug as I take the money and tuck it into my pocket, explaining, “The water’s usually cooler. If I start to get woozy, I’ll swim home. Kev’s apartment is right across from campus and just uphill from the river.”

“Dad can give you a ride in his truck?”

Mr. Onyx is a gruff, silent farmer who leaves the social aspect of the business to his wife and kids. A month ago, I would have gladly accepted a ride from one of his strapping adult sons, but now I just shake my head as another furnace-like wave coats my skin. My hands are actually flushed pink instead of theirnormal lily white. I don’t think Mr. Onyx Sr. would take kindly to abandoning his precious dairy herd to drive into town.

“No thanks, Carrie. See you tomorrow!”

I gather my purse and head toward the highway. With supernatural strength and speed, a four-mile walk will take me under an hour.

But after an hour I realize I’m still only about halfway home—and the sky is no longer red, but pitch black.

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