Howl (Lost Moon: Unravelling Monsters Universe #2)

Chapter 18

18

brONTE

“ I hate this shit,” Sam mutters under his breath as I begin to open the portal. We’re in West’s — our — mansion, in the largest of the living rooms, a huge open-plan space with high ceilings and an interesting apricot colour scheme. I hear West growl something low in response, but I’m too focused on making this magic work to pay proper attention to what’s being said. When the portal — the only magic of mine that glows blue rather than gold — is just big enough for us to pass through, I motion to the men, taking West’s hand.

“Come. I’m not holding it for long.”

West nods, grabbing Sam by the shoulder and propelling him forward, into the portal, before picking up the large overnight bag we packed earlier. Sam lets out a stream of curse words as he falls through, and we quickly follow behind him, stepping into the same suite at the Ritz that we were in earlier this week. So much has happened since we last left this room that it feels like we were here months ago, not a matter of days.

“I’ll go check us in,” West says as I close the portal. I give him a nod, fighting the urge to say I’ll come along too, and when he pauses in the doorway, turning his head to stare at me, I can tell that he’s also struggling. Since we first met we’ve barely been apart, and it’s almost physically painful to think about ever being separated from each other for any length of time. Logically I know West is only popping downstairs to pick up the keys to the room and make our stay official, but my wolf still whines about it, reluctant to see him go.

When we were choosing exactly where to portal to in New York, we decided that the least risky location was here, inside the hotel. Yes, we already had the instructions from future West, but it was good to confirm for ourselves that this was the best option. There’s no hidden cameras in this room, no witnesses, and we figured that it was unlikely that security would notice West heading down to the lobby before he checked in.

With West out the door, I take a seat on the couch in the living area, while Sam walks around the space, peering at the art on the wall and knocking on the wooden table, muttering something about it being “new since I was last here,” before fixing himself a drink from the liquor cart. Whiskey, neat, the same way West prefers it.

“Does everyone in your pack drink whiskey?” I ask as he settles into the adjacent armchair. Unlike West, we’re both out of glamour, and Sam’s bright yellow eyes are striking as he meets my gaze, shaking his head.

“It’s a habit we both picked up from Frank, back in the old days.” He takes a sip, watching me over his glass. “You do know about Frank, right? And what happened to him?”

“I know. West told me everything.”

“Good.”

If there’s ever an opportunity to talk about this with Sam, it’s now. “He said he doesn’t care about anyone outside of the pack.”

Sam cracks a wry smile, shaking his head before taking another sip. “He’s still saying that same old bullshit, huh?”

“You don’t believe him?”

“No. He’s lying to himself. Now, I’m not saying that he’s not ruthless, because he absolutely can be. He can be a real asshole to those that get in his way. But I think you need to separate what the man says, and what the man actually does. Actions speak louder than words… He doesn’t just do things for the pack. Look at what he does for his employees — even his human ones. A lot of big corporations treat their employees like shit. Weston makes sure every single person at the company is taken care of.”

Yesterday West and I had spent the day together, not thinking about the stone, Anita, Elliot, and everything else. Instead we swam in the mansion pool, had sex on the outdoor furniture, took a trip to view some commercial properties with the intention of purchasing them under my portfolio, and had ended the day with a quick visit to West’s office where I’d felt like I’d stepped onto an alien planet as I walked past row after row of grey cubicles. West had repeated the line “This is my wife, Bronte,” at least two dozen times, and we’d ended the visit with West sweeping aside the stacks of papers on his desk to make room for me to sit upon it. He’d pushed my skirt up and removed my underwear in an agonisingly slow tease, before telling me to keep quiet and proceeding to eat me out, one flimsy wall separating us from an entire floor filled with his staff.

“You could say treating employees well is self-serving,” I say now. “It’s good for business.”

“Yeah, it is, and that’s exactly what he tells himself, I’m sure. That he just does it for the business. That he’s some cold-hearted killer that doesn’t care. That’s why you’re so important. You get to remind him that he’s not.”

“I think you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” Sam says. He twirls his glass around in a circle, the liquid making the softest sloshing noises as he does so. “He’s only ever killed for good reasons or because he was ordered to, but he tells himself that he doesn’t care, that he’s broken,” he adds, tapping his temple for emphasis, “and then I think it’s easier for him to stomach what he’s done. As an enforcer, and then as alpha. I would know,” he adds quietly, his eyes focused on his drink. “I tell myself the same thing.”

“You’re a good man,” I say. “I can tell. And you have a very sweet little girl.”

“Yeah, Lucy…” he says with a soft smile. “She’s a great kid. It’s hard work, having a pup, but they’re worth it.” He looks at me again, his demeanour suddenly growing serious. “I know you said you’re going to have kids with Weston and it’s all one hundred percent a done deal between you two, but I need you to know that I can tell that you’re being intentionally vague about this stone. I don’t like that you’re still hiding shit from him. He’s my alpha. I’m here to protect him.”

Stay calm, I warn myself, doing my best to keep my breathing and heart rate even, despite the sudden — and accurate — accusation. “Are you threatening me?”

“ No . I like being alive way too much to do that. That’s why it’s bothering me so much that you’re still lying to him. Three decades of friendship with the guy, and I know he’d drop me like a hot potato if he had to decide between you or I,” he says, gesturing between us.

“He loves you,” I say quietly, knowing it to be true. “You’re good for him. He’s not dropping anyone.”

He nods, eyes narrowed. “I see you. Even what you just did — that’s mastermind evasiveness dressed in pretty compliments. You’re not as innocent as you act. You’re a Maheras — the Maheras. You grew up in that court, right? You’re slated to take the throne. No one grows up in that environment and doesn’t know how to bullshit, but the thing is, you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. Weston knows too, you can guarantee it. We’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop. So you might as well tell what you’re hiding about this stone.”

I’ve never heard of this shoe saying before, but I understand the sentiment. “I’m not hiding anything,” I lie. I want to talk to West about it first, not Sam. I know I’ve left it too long and I feel ill about it.

“That’s a load of crock.”

“What is?”

We both turn at the sound of West’s voice. I’d been so caught up in what Sam was saying, guilt roiling in my gut, that I didn’t even hear West enter the room.

“That she’s not keeping things from you,” Sam says, his voice just a little less bold than when he was talking to me. Just like every other shifter, he doesn’t have the drive to fully stand up to an alpha, and when it comes to West, I can’t blame Sam for his caution. Even now, West has grown still, his face neutral, and yet I can feel the danger rolling off him in waves. He’s very, very skilled at being scary when he needs to be.

Something sails through the air, and Sam catches it with ease. A keycard . “Your room is two floors down,” West says. “You can go now. I’ll call you when it’s time to get moving. Be ready.”

Sam nods, getting to his feet. “Did you hear what I said?” he pushes, and I have to re-evaluate how brave he is. “She’s keeping shit from you. There’s no way that we’re going to all this trouble — that Anita helped to arrange some sort of fucked up murder attempt on you — for a rock that only amplifies magic. So what is it that she is keeping from us? I’d like to know.”

“Samuel,” West warns as Sam approaches him.

“Ask her. That’s all I’m asking for, alpha, is for you to ask her, but if you’re too pussy-whipped then —”

“ Get out. ” There’s enough of a bark in those words that Sam can do nothing but nod in compliance, though he shoots me a sharp look on his way out the door, and the lump of guilt in my gut grows heavier as West and I are left alone.

“It’s time to come clean about the stone, Bronte,” he says, remaining where he is, and those words — an echo of what future West said to me — have me feeling frozen.

“West.”

“Why would Anita want it? Why would she, of all people, need to steal from you. She’s been to Lykia before. She witnessed your abilities when you were a child… Surely she’d have more of a sense of self preservation than to take something that’s clearly so important to House Maheras.”

I may have kept calm enough for Sam, but I can’t hide around West. My heart is pounding wildly in my chest, a dead giveaway of my guilt. He can hear it, and I’m certain he can smell the fear in me. His jaw is so clenched I’m worried he’s going to crack a tooth, but it’s the long, hard look that he levels at me that makes me feel sick. “I’ve known this whole time that you’ve been hiding its true purpose, Bronte. So, tell me what it does ,” he says slowly, the uncomfortable, scraping sensation of his alpha bark travelling down my spine.

I grit my teeth against it, growling.

“ Bronte! ”

“ Don’t bark at me!”

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks, crossing the room. I get to my feet, facing him, and like this — with West in glamour while I’m in my true body — we’re almost the same height. “I’ve given you all week,” he continues. “I’ve let you know multiple times that I know you’re not being forthcoming with the information. Am I your mate and husband, or not? I’ve put my pack’s safety on the line, I’m putting my second’s safety on the line, I’m about to walk into a fight for a fucking rock in a few hours… don’t you think I deserve to know what it does?”

“It’s not even that big of a deal.”

“If it’s not that big of a deal, why all the secrecy? Why hide it from me?”

Because I am afraid you’ll hate me for it…

“It’s a moon,” I say. He’s right, there’s no way around it but to tell him, and I don’t know why I thought I could ever keep it a secret from him. He was never going to let it go. “Its other name is The Moonstone.”

“A moon,” he parrots back, frowning. “What do you mean? What does it do?”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. On the one hand it’s simple, and shouldn’t be that controversial, not when it comes to werewolves and its use, but on the other… “When used with the right spell, the Maheras Stone acts as an artificial full moon. When activated, it can trigger the transformation for werewolves, and it will affect other species in the same way that the regular full moon usually does. The form of magic used is very ancient.”

West’s frown is pronounced now. “There’s a myth,” he says quietly, “whispered by some of the elders that still live in the First, about the War of Wolves. I’ve never believed them, because what they said was absurd. Werewolves can’t change at will. That’s what makes us different from them; we have access to our wolves while they remain trapped.”

“ They. You mean me ,” I say, placing my hand on my chest.

He stares at me, his jaw clenched. “The elders I spoke to said that this story had been passed down for generations… that during the war, the shifter army had been poised to attack on the new moon, when werewolves were at their weakest.”

“And if they had succeeded, it would have been a massacre, a huge amount of losses for the werewolves. I’m aware of the story,” I say. “I don’t know how your elders know it, because they’re not supposed to. It was the new moon, and yet the werewolves suddenly took on their wolf forms, and were able to defeat the shifter army. The outcome was the exact opposite of what the shifters anticipated,” I say gently. “A lot of lives were lost in that final battle, but overall there were far more casualties on the shifter side. The Maheras Stone is the reason why. The very first High Witch to lead House Maheras — my ancestor — is the woman who used it. She activated the stone, and every werewolf on that battlefield was able to change, just as they would under any regular full moon. The Moonstone does amplify magic, and the werewolf army was full of magic that night. She focused the magic on them. Faster, stronger, bipedal wolves with clawed hands —”

“Don’t you dare imply that your wolf is superior to mine,” West sneers.

“I would never, ” I say, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. “And if you think I would, you don’t know me well enough. I love your wolf! It was the magic; it made them faster, unnaturally so. They ran the shifter wolves down, they tore them apart with their hands and their teeth. That was the battle that won the war, I —” I inhale sharply, trying to hold the tears at bay. “West, I hate that our peoples have this terrible joint history. Look at how good you and I are together. And our children are wonderful. But the war seems to hang over everyone.”

“It’s not the war, Bronte. The war was only the start.”

“There’s been peace throughout the last five reigns.”

“There’s been peace because there’s no united shifter population anymore, because House Maheras made sure of that. Divide and conquer. The vast majority of shifters are here in the Second Realm. There’s no room for us in the First. We need territories — that’s how our packs function. The war enabled your people to encroach on mine. You can’t mobilise a divided people.”

“Is that what you wish would have happened? That shifters had mobilised again? That there was a second war?”

West is quiet. I hate this.

“If this is the history of the stone,” he says after what feels like an eternity, “tell me why no one seems to remember it. It seems like a big fucking thing to forget. I’m struggling to believe that werewolves have been able to keep this a secret for so long — in my experience, weres love to rub their superiority complex in our faces.”

“Is that what you think I do to you?” I snap, hurt and upset and defensive because I’ve witnessed weres do that . I’ve heard enough talk around the castle about lesser wolves , and I’m embarrassed and horrified, and at the same time I know shifters say this shit too. Elliot called me a dog , and said things about true wolves .

“That’s not the problem here, Bronte,” West says, doing that thing where he talks quietly and it’s somehow more intimidating than if he yelled. “How is it that people aren’t talking about this stone?”

That question is, at least, easy enough to answer. “When it was all over, the High Witch used dark magic to erase the memories of everyone left alive on that battlefield. The stone itself enabled this.”

“By amplifying her magic. Right.” He clenches his jaw again, brown eyes looking me up and down as if he’s seeing me in a new light. Perhaps he is. This is what I wanted to avoid. I’m not the enemy here. We’re not enemies of each other. “Can you use it? The stone?” he asks, and I can’t quite interpret the look in his eye. Dangerous, my wolf supplies. Not to me, but there’s danger in that gaze, and I can only imagine what his wolf might be doing within him.

I’m past the point of lying to him, and nod. “I know the spells. My grandmother knows the spells. We’re the only ones with the knowledge of what it does, or how to use it.”

“Well we know that’s a lie, don’t we? The pixies have stolen it for a reason.” He shakes his head, and this is what I hate the most, the disappointment in his eyes. “I hope you understand how fucked up it is that you’ve had me searching for the weapon that was the decisive element when used against my kind.”

I do. I can tell myself that there’s always a losing side in a war but it feels wrong. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” I say. “I don’t want to use the stone, ever, and certainly not for anything that would cause harm.” I’ve known you a week, I want to say, but it’s a flimsy excuse. I’ve known him a week and I will know him for a lifetime. He’s the father of my children. He’s the man I love. He’s a shifter, and I don’t know how to make this right. I should have told him earlier. I should have given him the option to decide what we were going to do about the stone. “We’re searching for it so that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands,” I tell him. “It’s only a weapon if it’s used in that way.”

“The wrong hands?” he asks, his voice bitter. “You think your grandmother is the right one?”

“The fae are the real danger.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the fae, Bronte. What I care about is that I look like a fool, bringing my werewolf mate around, trying to find a stone that is the root cause of the serious power imbalance that’s existed for centuries. Fuck. You knew this and you still wondered why Anita seemed to turn against us?”

“She’s not supposed to know.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got some news for you, sweetheart. People talk. People are shit at keeping secrets. You can’t trust anybody but yourself.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart in that tone,” I say, and I hate the fact that I’m a crier because here I am getting upset when I have no right to. This is an awful thing. It’s not about me. “I wish the stone didn’t exist! At its core it’s an innocent thing and an innocent spell — you can be a wolf at any time, so what if I could too? I wish I could change at will! It’s the way it was used that made it evil, and yet if it wasn’t used that day in that way, we could very well be in the opposite situation right now. It was so long ago. War is awful, always. My grandmother knows this. She may be many things, but she’s not a fool. She avoids large-scale conflicts at all costs because the price is too high. And the fae will use it in some other way; they’re amassing their power, West. The stone will be safe within werewolf territory.”

“Right, in the way that it was safe last week, when it was stolen from your fucking throne room.”

I shrug, crying quietly. I don’t have the answers. I think the stone is safest where it belongs, but I understand why he’s upset. He stands there, arms folded across his chest, his whole demeanour closed off, and I don’t know what to do to make this right. “Will you still come with me to retrieve it?” I whisper.

“I don’t know, Bronte. Perhaps this is where the future changes from your visions.”

I sob, because what does he mean by that? “Are you leaving me?” I ask, and watch his face transform to horror as I’m hit with that awful falling sensation at the worst fucking time, and —

I’m somewhere else, in a different house, in a kitchen that looks unlike anything I’ve ever seen before; white marble countertops and cupboards, everything sleek , and huge windows looking out to an ocean view I don’t recognise. The Second Realm. It’s obvious that I’m not in the First.

Waves lap at a shore directly beneath this place, and voices I don’t know — teens and children — filter in through an open glass door, the sound too distant for me to make out what they’re saying. The air from outside smells fresh and sweet, similar to the air I scented in the vision at my son’s house, but I don’t think I’m in the same place. I do recognise some of the scents within this house — West, Lacey …

I make a distressed noise, thinking about West and how he said the future would change from what I had seen, and immediately feel a twinge of worry through the bond — it’s still there! — the scar on my shoulder aching. The sound of a chair scraping over tiled flooring comes from the next room, followed by West’s familiar footsteps. A moment later he rounds the corner, his face full of concern. Brown eyes set in a slightly older version of his strikingly handsome face, and hair that’s greying at the temples — that’s all I manage to register before I burst into tears, a ragged sob ripping from my throat. My heart is breaking and I shouldn’t be here right now. I wrap my arms around myself, crying harder, embarrassed and ashamed. I can’t act normal here and this West is going to be just as upset with me, when all I want is to be held and —

West’s strong arms wrap around me, pulling me tight against him and I cry into his neck.

“Shhh, Bronte, sweetheart. It’s alright. It will be alright. I have you. You’re fine. Shhhh .” He rubs circles on my back, his body a solid presence for me to fall apart against. He’s the one I’ve hurt, and I sob harder.

“ Bronte, ” he says, his lips against my ear, his tone firm and gentle all at once. “It’s fine. I’m almost certain that I know what this is about. I know what’s going on in your world right now. I’m telling you sweetheart, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

I’m at that crying stage where it’s hard to speak. “I should…” I suck in another hiccupping breath. “Should have told him!”

“This is about the stone, right?” At my jerky nod, he continues. “You’ve known him a week. You’re not at fault. He’s being an asshole.”

“He’s you! And he’s n… not. He’s upset. He’s allowed to be.”

“I always understood that you needed more time than a day or two before you shared all your secrets. I should have anticipated that it would be something like that; it was kind of fucking obvious, once I looked back. When you wake up in your own time, I’ll be going with you to get the stone. I was never going to leave your side. I shouldn’t have implied that I wouldn’t go.” He squeezes me tighter, his face pressing to my neck. “I was an idiot back then, Bronte. I’m still an idiot now. I say stupid things I don’t mean sometimes, so please listen to me, you gorgeous, fucking perfect woman.”

I squeeze him back, my deep breaths still punctuated by the odd sob. “I’m listening.”

“You’ve. Done. Nothing. Wrong.”

I take in another shaky breath, pressing my wet face closer against West’s neck.

“I can tell you right now, past me is regretting every single grumpy fucking word he just said to you. He’s sitting there on the hotel floor with his unconscious mate cradled in his arms, wishing she would wake up so he can apologise for being such an ass.”

“But he’s not wrong. You weren’t wrong.”

“Hmmm,” he hums in a tone that makes it clear that he doesn’t quite agree. “You’re his mate. You’re the mother of his children. He loves you. Trust me when I tell you this, Bronte. He’s loved you from the moment he laid eyes on you. I’ve loved you for all that time.”

My face is still pressed to West’s neck. “I don’t know,” I say quietly. “Wasn’t your first thought something along the lines of, ‘Who is this crazy werewolf bitch running through the middle of New York traffic?’”

He huffs a small laugh against my hair. “ No . It was more like ‘This woman smells fucking amazing, and she’s beautiful, and I want to bury my face in her cunt.’” I snort, and he continues. “She’s the prettiest, smartest, kindest, most capable woman that I’ve ever met. There’s no one better than her. She is perfect. She is my world… I was thinking something like that.”

The wracking sobs have gone. I take deep breaths, my eyes closed, still pressed against my mate, enjoying the comforting scent of him. “I love seeing you. I love these glimpses of the future… but this is really shitty timing.”

“ Mmm , maybe, sweetheart. Or maybe it’s what you needed to clear your head.” His lips press to my hair once more. “Like I said, somewhere out there, there’s a version of me right now holding you tight, and hating himself for making you cry. When you wake up, everything will be alright, I promise.”

“It worries me that it’s been happening so frequently. I’ve had clusters before, but never like this.”

“It’s fate.”

I look up at him, staring into his brown eyes. He’s noticeably older — and under the universal glamour, his age will no doubt be more pronounced — and just as handsome as in his younger years. Mate, my wolf says, purposefully reminding me that this is the same man, as if I didn’t already know. He’s still my mate, and I love him just the same, despite how unconventional this all is. “You’ve really bought into the fate thing,” I comment.

“How could I not? When it comes to you, at least, I have. Fate is magic, right? That’s what my wife tells me,” he adds with a roguish smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. I prod him in the stomach with my finger, and he chuckles.

“Is that what she says? I’ll have to consider that concept… I’m joking,” I add after a moment. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

“I know. I know you , Bronte.”

I hum contentedly, feeling much more calm than I was five minutes ago.

“You’re in a very intense cluster of divination episodes,” he murmurs, his hands stroking up and down my back on either side of my spine. “But it’s going to ease soon. That’s what I meant by fate. You and I have discussed this many times, that it seemed like the universe was doing everything in its power to not only throw us together but to reinforce the fact that we should be. You get upset with your mate? Well, suddenly fate is sending you here, to an older — and hopefully wiser — version of him. To remind you that he’s not a complete asshole, or at least not to you.”

I squeeze him tighter. “I don’t think you’re an asshole. When will it ease? This cluster.”

He’s quiet, and I think he’s debating how much to say. “A few days,” he finally answers. “And then you’ll just have the occasional one. But you’re going to have your grimoire, and you’re going to study your divination spells, and build up control until we’re both certain that you can get behind the wheel of a vehicle without putting your life at risk.”

“So I do learn to drive.”

“You do,” he answers, his tone unimpressed. “Don’t remind me of that fucking nightmare. We almost needed marriage counselling after that shit show; I don’t know why the fuck I got it in my head that I should teach you myself.”

I grin. “Really?”

“ Really. ”

I take the time to really stare at West. I want to remember his face like this. “Is it going to be okay?” I ask. I don’t really know what I’m referring to — the stone, our relationship, our unconfirmed living situation. In almost every vision I’ve had, we’ve been in the Second Realm, and the only time we were in Lykia, there were guards watching West from afar.

“Yes.” He presses his forehead to mine, and all I can see is the brown of his eyes. The colour may change, his golden eyes hidden behind glamour, but the way he looks at me hasn’t. The overwhelming love that he pushes at me through the bond fills my chest until it steals my breath and has fresh tears burning at the back of my throat.

“You still love me after all this time,” I whisper, because it’s one thing to hear him say it, and another to feel it this way.

“Always, sweetheart.”

Kissing him feels so natural because it is; this is my mate, my husband, my West. I sigh into him, allowing him to take the lead, to walk me backwards as we moan into each other’s mouths, until my back hits the edge of the kitchen counter, boxing me in. He trails kisses down my neck and over my bare shoulder, jolts of arousal running straight to my nipples and clit as he circles a particular spot with his tongue, leaving me gasping. In glamour, as I am right now, there’s no permanent marks of his bite, but I can feel it all the same.

“Glamour hides it,” West says quietly, brushing his lips over the spot. “But our bodies remember, as do our souls, and our wolves.”

“They definitely do,” I whisper, suppressing a moan as he sucks on the patch of skin there. I can feel myself growing wet, and his cock is rock hard against my hip. “Where is yours? Where’s your bite?” Mate, my wolf whines, urging me to find out, and I grip his broad shoulders.

He doesn’t answer, freezing in place, and as the sound of voices grow closer he curses under his breath. “I swear, Lacey has some sort of internal alarm that goes off specifically for this purpose: time to cock-block Dad. ” He frowns as he takes a step back, rearranging himself and his clothing so his erection is no longer obvious.

“You didn’t know this was going to happen?”

He shrugs. “I knew; you told me this is how it goes, though it has been twenty years so my memory is a little fuzzy on the details of what you’d described. I was hoping for some sort of miraculous change in the timeline, but I think we both know this is all set in stone; what you see always comes true.”

Twenty years. I want to ask more, but two sets of feet are thudding over what sounds like wooden decking outside, close now. I look out one of the windows and see two teenage girls walking past — one blonde, the other with hair as dark as mine. Both girls are wearing bikinis, towels wrapped around their waists. My baby, my wolf says.

“She doesn’t know,” West whispers in my ear, low enough that Lacey won’t hear. “This has always been our little secret; I’m the only one that can tell when you appear from the past. Hey, ” he adds, drawing my attention to him. He kisses my forehead, murmuring against my skin. “I need you to remember something important. You’re always the most powerful person in the room. This isn’t some sort of motivational corporate bullshit; this is a factual statement. You are the most powerful person in the room, my little witch. Always. They all pale to you. Even your grandmother.”

The glass door adjacent to the kitchen slides open. In steps my daughter, tall and beautiful, barefoot, sand clinging to her tanned legs. I can see both West and I in her. “Mom, Ellie is gonna stay the night, okay?” She looks directly at me, clearly expecting an answer. Shit. Ellie must be the other girl, a petite, pretty little human who glances cautiously at West.

“I see we’re at the stage where you’re not even asking, just telling,” West says.

“I learned from the best,” Lacey retorts, grinning with the exact level of snark I’m used to seeing from her father. There’s no doubting that she’s his child.

“It’s fine,” I say, the words coming out of my mouth, but it’s not me speaking — it’s her , future me, the woman that belongs here in this body pushing through to the surface. This suddenly feels more along the lines of the visions I’ve had in the past, where I am the observer only. It’s the strangest sensation. “You know you’re always welcome, Ellie. We’re going into Whangārei for dinner and I assumed you’d be joining us; I already included you in the reservation. Lacey, you girls need to be dressed by six-fifteen, alright? We’re out the door at six-thirty.”

“’Kay. We’re gonna watch a movie.”

When they’re gone, their footsteps fading into the distance, West says, “It’s always fun seeing you, sweetheart.”

I turn my head, opening my mouth to speak, but then I’m falling again…

… and waking up with my head in West’s lap, his brown eyes filled with concern as he stares down at me.

“ Bronte. ” The relief in his voice is palpable.

“West.” I lift my hand to his cheek and he closes his eyes, long lashes dusting his cheeks as he turns his head slightly, kissing my palm. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No. I am.”