Chapter 27
Wyatt
The conversation about getting married had been rapidly and unceremoniously interrupted by another round of lovemaking.
And then another . . . and one more for good measure.
Just the thought of Willow being my wife had turned me on so much that I couldn’t contain myself.
And she seemed just as happy to abandon her crusade for answers in favor of moaning my name.
With a sleepy, sated smile, I carried Willow back to my place, grateful to find all the lights off. Willow nestled into my arms, hair disheveled, clothing torn, but my mate’s boneless, happy expression matched my own.
Every time we’d had sex had always amazing, but this had been something else entirely. I’d been holding myself back before, afraid I’d scare her, afraid I’d push her too far . . . Now I knew she not only could take on my wolf, but she enjoyed it.
She was mine. Of course she could handle all of me.
The tight muscles in my body eased at the thought.
Finally, for the first time, I felt like everything would be okay.
So many of the obstacles before us seemed to instantly clear with that one binding, and I knew there would never be anyone else for me.
Even if I had to fight my entire pack, she would be my wife. My mate.
Breaking the news to her about needing to be married in a few weeks hadn’t gone as planned. But judging by the bouts of laughter and whispers of “yes” in the panted breaths between rounds of sex, we were final. We’d be married under the moon, and I would take my place as alpha with her on my arm.
Still, it felt like we were doing everything backward. After years of push and pull, it felt like we were skipping a lot of steps before we got to the finish line. The first sparks of our relationship had been unconventional, to say the least, but what in this town wasn’t a little kooky?
My main fear was that I wouldn’t find the asshole threatening her before I could watch her walk down the aisle. If I had to, I wouldn’t sleep or rest until I found them. My future queen would be safe, no matter what.
With determined steps, I walked us across the threshold of Full Moon Bakery before setting Willow on a cool countertop. I tossed my keys down and wandered toward the wall and flicked on the lights.
Willow gasped, and a sixth sense alerted me to a sudden shift in her emotions.
“What—” I closed the distance between us before the word even fully made it out of my mouth.
My gut plummeted to the floor.
There, on the counter next to her, were three Polaroids of the two of us in the forest, the moonlight bright enough to reveal far too much.
“Holy shit.” Willow grabbed the pictures and flipped them over. “Holy shit!”
In black writing that looked as if it were carved by angry, shaking hands were the words: If she’s your queen, then she’ll die like a bitch.
A frantic sob escaped Willow’s lips. “Oh my god.”
“Hey. Hey.” I immediately gathered her in my arms, pulling her head to my chest. “Breathe,” I commanded even as my own pulse ratcheted up.
“If they have those photos, then they must have digital ones too, right? Like, everyone has a phone camera. Oh my god. Everyone’s going to see—”
“No one will see these,” I growled. “There’s still a scent. I think . . .” I lifted the Polaroid and took a deep inhale. “I think I can trace it.”
I grabbed my phone and quickly dialed Eloise.
“Hey, bro—”
“I need you to get to the bakery. Now. Bring the witches.”
I heard her grabbing her keys before I even finished speaking. “Hang tight,” she said. “We’re on the way.”
I darted to grab my hoodie from the back of the stool at the register. Willow trembled too much to take it from me, so I yanked it over her head and pulled it all the way down to her knees. Her body drowned in it.
“Listen to me. This is a good thing. They’ve gotten sloppy, and I’ll be able to hunt them down now. It’s going to be okay.” I pulled her forehead to mine. “This ends tonight, Willow. I promise you.”
The door flew open and the Scooby gang ran in. Jordyn’s hands swirled with magic, Eloise held a butcher knife, and Harlow brandished a rolling pin.
“We’re here,” Eloise declared. “The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker.”
Harlow shot her a look. “Wait, which one am I?”
“Not now,” I gritted out. “You fill them in,” I added to Willow, kissing her one last time.
I took a step away from her, but she caught my wrist. “Be safe,” she whispered.
I nodded and rushed into the night, holding a crumpled Polaroid to my chest like a beacon. The bastard wouldn’t get away this time.