Page 125 of Her Wolf

It’s not kopi Luwak

Coffee and baking bread teased Cora awake. She opened her eyes, blinking to force them into focus. White walls and a fluttering curtain slowly appeared. She stretched, groaning softly as her muscles warmed, and propped herself up on an elbow.

Just visible beyond the curtain were the fronds of a palm tree. A faint susurration filled the air— familiar and yet completely foreign at the same time.

Pressing her palms into her eyes, Cora sat up. The sheets under her felt like satin against her skin. She looked down at herself, staring in confusion at the silk nightie draping her. The cream-colored garment was slightly too big for her—the two v’s at the top of the short dress barely covered her nipples.

She tugged up the fabric, squinting around the room. She could have been looking at the page of a home decor magazine with this place’s wicker furniture, and white-and-blue striped upholstery.

There was even a bottle with a ship inside it on the mantle.

Nails clicked against the shiny wooden floor.

Cora’s eyes widened as a white pitbull emerged from the hallway, standing on the threshold and staring inside.

Its jowls hung open. A string of foamy saliva slowly drooled from its drooping lip before splattering on the floor by its dirty paws.

It left a few grains of sea sand in its wake as it slowly made its way into the room.

Lady.

But it sure didn’t look like a lady. She’d seen stray dogs with more meat on their bones.

Cora swallowed, and drew her legs up tight against her, withdrawing to the center of the queen-sized bed. The dog stopped a foot away from the side of the bed, watching her as it slowly panted.

The sound of bare footsteps drew her eye. Zachary stepped into the room, a tray in his hands. On it, cutlery rattled faintly against crockery.

Of course: this was a dream.

Cora dipped her head, closing her eyes as she allowed herself a rueful smile. The beach house, the sickly dog, a cheerful Zachary West.

A strange, twisted dream, but a dream nonetheless.

“Morning, my love,” Zachary said, giving her a broad smile.

She’d never seen him smile like that before. He was so handsome when he did, dark eyes sparkling and adding boyish charm to his usually severe expression.

He wore a short-sleeved shirt, the buttons undone, and a pair of beige slacks that came just above his knees. Paired with bare feet and that mop of unruly brown hair, he looked like a man who’d still slip out some morning for a surf, hoping he wouldn’t run into the younger bucks as he tried to catch a few waves before breakfast.

Zachary came around the bed, gently moving Lady aside with his foot and placing the tray on the nightstand closest to Cora.

The light in the room seemed too bright, and would flicker and falter every few seconds.

She hated dreams like this; they always felt like they went on forever.

“Is that for me?” she asked, completely unintentionally.

Zachary beamed at her, and perched on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling, my love?”

She smiled at the term of endearment. “Good. A bit stiff, but good.” She stretched, and Zachary ran a hand over the sheet draping her shin.

She should have flinched at the touch, but she didn’t.

Dreams were weird like that.

“This’ll see you right,” he said, gesturing toward the tray. Then he leaned closer, and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Your things are in the closet,” he said as he drew back. His eyes drew a lingering line over her body. “Not that I would mind if you stayed in that for the rest of the day. What’s left of it, anyway, sleepy head.”

He left while she was still giggling to herself like a school girl. She glanced at the tray. Her stomach felt hollow, but she didn’t want the food—the coffee would do for now.

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