Page 20 of Eternal

That same man she saw in her dreams became the man the wolf, Wulfric, had transformed into right before her eyes. How could she possibly know him before he was made, she had asked herself. The answer came to her in a cloud of light. It was because she had known the wolf. His forms were inconsequential, but his strength of pride and character remained prominent on both sides. She found that comforting.

Until something strange started to happen. The light from a full moon passed over the entrance of the cave. The man purred and something inside her body changed.

Her nipples became frighteningly hard. And under her skirts, a slickness between her thighs caused her to frown in embarrassment. She was a maiden. Her innocence was still intact and yet now that part of her throbbed and ached and grew wetter and wetter.

She whimpered in fear of what was happening to her body. And the man who had been a wolf a moment ago grew more agitated. He growled and sniffed the air, his great muscular chest heaved, his nostrils flared, and his fists clenched.

Elissa felt as if she was basking directly in the sun, the heat that consumed her created a haze in her mind and all she could think about was for him to touch her.

He advanced on her. And she escaped him. He growled at her and taunted him until he grabbed her then gently laid her down. He licked her lips and Elissa sighed. He lifted her skirts and parted her legs.

She whimpered in fear, and he touched her face tenderly. Breathing heavily, Elissa parted her legs for him. His calloused hand crept up her thigh. When he touched, where no man had ever touched before, her back arched and her body pulsed with need.

He tasted her wetness from his fingers.

“Omega,” he said softly and captured her lips. “My omega.”

“Mistress”—their butler, Alfred, came upon Farren while she was outside in the sun sipping lemonade and reading—“there is someone to see you.”

She rarely got any visitors personally, mostly because before the alphas came into her life, there had only been Miranda Jacobs, her assistant at the sanctuary in Lemonville Springs, and a distant cousin she’d sorely neglected.

“Of course. Please show them in. Or out. Here, please bring them here, Alfred.”

“Indeed, Mistress.” Alfred smiled.

Farren stood as her unknown guest arrived. The woman was stunning, with long dark hair, gorgeous eyes, and dressed in jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt, her wrists surrounded by bracelets made from leather bands and beads. But the rock in her ring made Farren smile because it was so similar to the one she wore.

“Mistress Maximillian,” she said, holding out her hand to Farren.

“Please, just Farren.”

“Farren,” she said, her smile lighting up her whole face and making her infinitely more beautiful. “I’m Gracen St. James. I… umm… I belong to the St. James’ alphas, Myles and Tristan? I’m their wife? Gosh, I have no idea how these things work or if I’m doing it right and I have no idea why I’m talking in questions either. I mean, it wasn’t so long ago that I discovered wolf-shifters existed, so I tend to question everything, really. I mean, wolf-shifters exist?”

Farren burst out laughing and so did Gracen.

She hadn’t realized how much she needed a friend, someone highly relatable, smart, and someone who hadn’t known shifters existed, and then ended up marrying them. She wondered about Gracen’s story and couldn’t wait to get to know her a bit better so they could compare how two normal girls suddenly found themselves claimed by alpha mates.

They were so uncannily similar. Instinctively, she already knew Gracen was going to be it. Her friend.

They chatted without any awkward silence, and at some points, they were talking over each other while sipping more lemonade. Their topics ranged from what they did for a living—Gracen was a photographer—to making good-natured fun of their overly possessive mates.

“I must admit I was a little nervous meeting you, and now I feel silly for thinking that. But there’s a reason I’m here, and it’s already late and I have a plane to catch or I’m going to be late,” Gracen said seriously.

“What is it?”

“Your father.”

Those two words stilled Farren’s heart.

“I met him. Your father. Harold Dean Kinsley.”

“When? When did you meet him?”

“About a month ago, maybe six, seven weeks.”

“That’s… impossible,” Farren whispered.

“Farren. I know you think your dad died, but he didn’t and he’s well, or he was well when I saw him the last time, like I said, about seven weeks ago.”

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