Page 87 of Wind with a Chance of Wolfsbane

“Oh good,” said a woman from behind me, her voice light and airy.

I looked back to find a full-figured blonde woman entering the home. She was beautiful and seemed perfectly at home.

The wolf in me didn’t react. In fact, it curled up snugly as if she was as far from a threat as one could get.

She wasn’t alone.

A very tall and very sexy man came in directly behind her. His brown hair hung nearly to his chin and had bits of caramel running through it as if it was kissed by the sun. It was hard to look away from him. His eyes were stunning—one brown and one green.

Just like Hannah’s.

The thought jarred me slightly. Enough to stop staring at him, which was probably for the best. I was no doubt entering creepy territory.

The voluptuous blondewoman’s attention landed on Astria. “Congratulations on all the sex.” She then glanced toward a different man in the living room, one with close-cut brown hair. “Did you have fun? I bet you did. Peggy told me that she talked to Astria about being more aggressive sexually.”

Unsure of what was happening, I simply stood there, waiting for clarification. None of this had been part of my vision. But the woman’s voice was familiar. Very familiar since I’d just heard it before entering the town. Was this Marcy?

The man she’d been talking to laughed—hard.

“I can’t take her anywhere,” said the hot guy who had arrived with the blonde woman. It was then that I realized he was English.

Oddly enough, his voice reminded me instantly of the man who had helped me in Detroit twenty-two years ago. I knew it had everything to do with the fact that he, too, was English and not that it was actually the man. The odds of that happening were slim to zero.

I peered harder at him, trying to draw other similarities. My vision had been horrible before being turned into a wolf-shifter, and since my glasses had gotten broken in the kidnapping attempt, I’d never actually gotten a good look at White-Shirt Guy.

What I did know was that the man here now didn’t look old enough to be the same guy from Detroit. White-Shirt Guy would be in his fifties or even his sixties now. This man looked to be in his thirties.

A laugh nearly erupted from me. What were the odds that the same man who had saved me from Lester’s attempt at abducting and killing me would be here in the small town of Grimm Cove, South Carolina, standing in the Gallows Lane house, of all places? There was no way the man was White-Shirt Guy. It was simply wishful thinking on my part.

Regardless, he’s hot.

My wolf took note of just how handsome he was as well. She did her version of squirming around me as she pushed thoughts of dropping hints that I wanted to do the dirty with him.

She was never ever allowed to pick a bed partner again in my life since the last time she’d been in charge and had gotten her groove on, I’d ended up pregnant.

Nope.

She was basically me with too much tequila and couldn’t be allowed around anything with a penis unsupervised.

My gaze slid back to the hot guy, and I swallowed hard, clenching my fists at the same time, willing the wolf to control herself before we woke up tomorrow expecting another child.

The hottie put a hand over his eyes and shook his head before glancing in my direction. He froze and, for a moment, looked shocked by my presence. I thought he was going to say something to me, but he didn’t. He simply stared at me.

The blonde woman came at us fast, yanking Astria and me into a rather aggressive hug. “I’m so happy to see you both. Willa, when is Mina getting here?”

“You know Mina?” I asked before realizing she’d said my name as well. This had to be Marcy.

“Not yet,” she said. “But I already love her. We’re all going to be such great friends. That reminds me, I can’t wait for you to tell me all about how Jonathan is in bed.”

“Who?” I asked, sure I’d heard her wrong. She couldn’t have possibly asked me how someone was in bed. Could she? No. She had to be asking Astria. Not me.

The woman glanced back toward the doorway, motioning to the hot dude with the different-colored eyes. “Jonathan Harker.”

My breath caught. Red Wings had called White-Shirt Guy Harker. I was sure of it.

No freaking way!

This could not possibly be him.

---