Page 19 of Blue Moon Mistress

Groaning, I stretch against smooth skin and consider suffering through it, if it means I get to stay where I am, asleep in a dog pile of delicious men.

Four men who should have spent all of last night as werewolves, but who trusted me enough to participate in a spell that stripped them of the most commonly known side effect of their curse.

Werewolves without their mandatory moon-changes were still werewolves, and even if these ones were a warm tangle around me—one I’d like to sink into and stay with—the morning after a full moon would hit them like a hangover too.

That stretch makes my head spin, and I need to get something into my system before it gets worse.

I slide out from underneath Joshua’s arm, and make my way around them, stepping carefully between Chase and Thomas. They look so peaceful, so harmless. No one would guess they were slaves to the full moon—well, up until last night. Even Johnny looks like a gentle giant right now.

I snag a t-shirt from a pile of unfolded—but thankfully clean—laundry piled on the couch, and slip into it as I make my way to the kitchen.

Wandering a strange house in nothing but my skin isn’t my idea of a good time. And when I pass through the open doorway to the kitchen, I’m glad I grabbed it.

It’s brighter here.

The windows to the porch and back yard have no curtains. There’s too much white in the space, bouncing all of the light back to stab at me a little harder.

I stop beside the island and try to get my bearings. The cabinets are old—not what I expected from their werewolf carpenter owner—and there are so many of them. I don’t even know where to start.

“Scarlette?”

I turn to see Johnny filling the doorway.

He’s a big man. The kind that looks like he compulsively goes to the gym, but his pale green eyes always hold a touch of sadness, and maybe a little fear.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’s pulled on pants, but he’s not wearing a shirt—the one I’m in is big enough, it’s probably his.

Crossing the short distance to me, he brushes his fingers over my collar bone “What do you need?”

“Rosemary. Honey. And coffee.”Lots of coffee.

Leaving me with what seems like a reluctant sigh, he pulls a plastic bear from its hiding spot beside the toaster and asks. “Will dried work, or does it have to be fresh?”

“Honestly, either would work right now. I’ve got a wicked spell hangover and I can feel the oncoming headache.”

He moves past me, opening a cupboard beside the fridge. It’s crammed with plastic jars with red caps.

Three of them land on the counter with a clatter before he turns, to hand me the half full plastic jar of ground rosemary. “It might be expired.”

“I just need something to hold me over until I get home.”

Something like confusion passes over his face as I pop the cap and inhale. The rosemary will work—it’s already started to soothe. The wolf…

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I go to the refrigerator and he turns to the coffee pot, still scowling.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.” The fridge is stocked with meat—not surprising for a post full moon binge.

“I just… I was being silly.”

“Tell me anyway.”

He looks at the tiled floor and smiles, but it’s an embarrassed, tiny thing that tugs at his lips, futilely trying to show itself. “I thought you’d stay.”

I finally find the cream—so pleased it’s not the synthetic flavored stuff.

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