Page 58 of Stitched Up in You
At the bookshop, a wave of unease like I’ve not felt in centuries came over me. It must have been Odette’s mask taking hold over the village, and that would explain why I couldn’t find Bernadette anywhere. Odette was keeping her presence hidden. Probably to try and gauge whether she’s my mate in truth.
“Is she a witch?” Bernadette gasps.
It suddenly all comes together. My teeth grind in my mouth and my jaw pops in my cheek. There’s a wave of supernatural mating with humans, and its highly probable Odette has something to do with it.
Chapter 22
BERNADETTE CRENSHAW
I’m in fantasy romance hell. It’s the only explanation for this.
“Stop wriggling, you can’t go anywhere else, and you know it,” Frank snaps, losing his temper once again.
My brows snap together on my forehead, but I can’t blame him, because I’ve been literally wiggling around on him like an eel, or someone very much trying to get warm the whole ride home. Except the closer I try to get, the more space he attempts to put between us, and frankly it's pissing me off.
God, if a literal witch hadn't told me he had a girlfriend, I could never believe it. Supernatural dude or not, his attitude is shit.
“I’m not trying to go anywhere else but warm,” I snap, becoming more irritated with him by the second.
I’ve no qualms about cuddling with my enemy to survive.
And I’ve had more than one fantasy since we left the village about a non-existent light saber and using Frank’s big body as a burrito blanket because of his shenanigans.
Riding around the countryside on a big horse with a hot male sounds like a good time until you add in an icy windstormfrom hell and someone who’d rather freeze than share your body warmth.
I’d be offended except for the huge bulge of his cock riding up against my ass every time I manage to wedge myself close enough to feel it.
So, either Frank has no such compunction, or he just isn’t as cold as I am. I’d almost believe it too, with the way he sits up ramrod straight, his arms locked out and away from me, except when I do manage to touch his skin, he’s just as cold as I am.
I pout and lean back once more, only to feel him pull away just as quickly, which should be hard to do on a horse like we are. “God, stop being such a masochist. It’s so freaking cold out here that I’m not even remotely worried about the hard dick you’re trying to hide,” I growl, unable to go on without saying something about his weird behavior.
Not that I don’t want it later. Much later, when I’m not freezing to death, and when I can process everything I learned today.
I realize now the last bit of my little adventure was totally orchestrated to piss him off, but that’s also not my fault.
The lady who read my palm seemed more interested in asking about where I was from than actually giving me a reading, and then, the other woman showed up seemingly out of thin air, asking what I knew about Frank, not that I had time to answer before he showed up.
She legit poofed. She just snapped her fingers and blipped as if she were never there to begin with, but it doesn’t explain why Frank was so upset at seeing her, or why he called her a bitch.
Every molecule of my being wants to start digging into this place as soon as humanly possible. There’s got to be information on when the village was built somewhere, but now I’ve got a sullen Frankie on my hands, and we can’t have that.
I tilt my head up, peering up at the darkening sky, and then turn to look up at him, wincing at the hard line that makes up his mouth. I’ve never seen it quite this thin, the part of his lips I can see from where I sit in front of him on Brom’s big back.
“Are you okay?” I ask, glancing down at his hands where he fists Brom’s mane tighter with every strike of lightning in the distance. There’s been a lot of it since we left the little village, but so far, the rain has been pretty light.
“I’m fine,” he bites out.
“Sure, you are,” I mutter under my breath, and reach down to rub at Brom’s flank. Luckily, he doesn’t seem that skittish of the storm rolling in. His ears flatten with every strike of it, but he doesn’t display aggressiveness like any other animal would when being put through so much, his temperament amazing for a horse carrying two people in shitty weather.
I hope someone leaves some extra oats out for him today. I know I can’t wait to get back to the mansion and curl up with Edgar, perhaps with a few gallons of super-hot coffee. I’m definitely going to need internet access ASAP too, because I didn’t miss how the dark-haired lady called him Frankenstein, which isn’t even the best part.
She snapped her fingers, there one minute and gone the next, like a freaking magician.
I’ve watched more paranormal romance television than is even mildly appropriate, and replayed the Buffy reruns with Spike more times than I’d like to admit, but nothing could have prepared me for this. It’s as if all of my Wattpad dreams are coming true.
Magic is fucking real.
It’s the only explanation for what I just saw. Magic is real, vampires are real, werewolves are real, and I’m in a rainstorm riding a flaming horse.
