Chapter 7
Megan
Okay, so I might have mentioned sometimes I get visions. But I don’t go around announcing it to everyone.
It’s not something I talk about like at parties or anything.
I don’t wear a sign that says Beware: May Glitch Through Time and Space at Random, and I definitely don’t have a crystal ball.
But the Sight? It’s part of me.
Has been since I was twelve and nearly passed out in a cemetery on a school field trip.
They come from the past, the present, the future—hell, maybe alternate dimensions for all I know.
I don’t get to choose. I just get to deal.
And this one? This one hits the second we step onto the cursed weed jungle that is the front yard of Crypt Mansion.
Boom.
My head swims. My spine locks up.
And suddenly I see them—dozens of shades, spirits, ghosts, whatever you want to call them—swarming the property like confused tourists who missed the exit to the afterlife.
Some are old. Anchored here long before this place was even built.
But some? Some are new.
And that’s the part that makes my skin crawl.
A place like Arrhythmia? It should have its own resident creep squad already—long-dead cowboys, broody Shifters, pissed-off Witches who overcooked a spell.
But these? These souls are displaced. Out of place. Out of time.
And beneath it all, there’s something else.
Something buried under the foundation.
Something old. Powerful. And pissed.
My knees wobble.
I barely register the world returning to normal—whatever that means in this town—before I feel a pair of big, callused hands grip my shoulders.
Firm. Warm. Safe.
“Easy does it,” Owen murmurs, his voice low and gruff and way too sexy for someone who just watched me go full Poltergeist.
And yeah, okay, that should be the last thing on my mind right now. But I’ve got two eyes and a pulse. And this Wolf man is seriously hot.
Like, hot enough to make a girl want to get into trouble with him.
That beard? Dark, thick, totally illegal levels of scruffy.
Those eyes? Glowing gold with his Wolf peeking through.
Gorgeous. Dangerous. 100% wreck-my-life material.
And when he looks at me like that? Like I’m more than a problem to solve or an agent to brief?
Yeah. I feel it. Right down to my chipped pink toenail polish.
“You feeling okay?” he asks, voice low, gaze sharp with concern that sends a little flutter through my stomach.
Not ideal when I was just fantasizing about this man pinning me to a wall with that big, delicious body of his and showing me exactly what a Wolf like him could do—but hey, I’ll take the concern.
It’s sweet. Endearing, even. Totally incompatible with the images dancing through my brain, but here we are.
I nod, too fast maybe, but what else can I do? I mean, the man is huge, hovering over me like some kind of supernatural bodyguard fantasy come to life, all warm presence and broad shoulders and protective energy.
And I feel… small next to him. Not in a bad way. Not in a hide-your-curves kind of way.
No, in a this man could eat me alive and I might ask for seconds kind of way.
His lips look soft. Kissable. His body? The opposite of soft. Carved, firm, commanding. I want to know what he thinks of me—of all of me. Of my thick thighs and generous hips and the kind of cleavage that deserves its own zip code. Does he like curves?
The way his golden eyes keep dipping toward my chest like it’s got the answers to the universe makes me think… yes. He likes.
My whole body shivers at the thought of revealing myself to that gaze—inch by inch, button by button.
And then—
“Alright, come on,” he says, breaking the moment like it’s nothing.
I blink, startled out of my ogling. “What? Wait. Where are we going?”
He doesn’t answer right away—just reaches out those big, capable hands and helps me up. His fingers slide over my shoulders with a gentleness that surprises me, and he watches me for one more beat before nodding and turning away.
Back in control. Sheriff mode.
“We’re heading to headquarters. Whatever this is?” He gestures vaguely back toward the Crypt Mansion, still crawling with spectral funk and ghoul slime. “We’re not prepared for it. I’ll have my deputies rope off the property and call in Preacher and Esmerelda to ward the place.”
“Preacher?” I echo, raising an eyebrow as I follow him.
He offers me a hand up into the cruiser. And when he touches my hip to guide me in—just a steadying pressure—I swear I hear a low rumble from his chest. Not a word. Not a chuckle.
A growl.
My eyes snap to his, and I feel it—his presence like a furnace, his fingers lingering, possessive in a way I should probably question.
Instead?
I lean into it.
“Yep,” he says, sliding in beside me like he didn’t just growl while holding my hips. “Ex-Demon turned faithful. Married a Sorceress. He does the holy water. She brings the hellfire. They’re an adorable couple.”
I blink. “Okay, that's horrifyingly romantic.”
He chuckles, and it rolls through me like thunder, low and warm and dangerous.
And I realize something, sitting here next to him, in a town where I don’t have to make excuses.
Usually, after I have a vision—especially one where I nearly faint—I’m scrambling. Backtracking. Making up something about low blood sugar or too much caffeine or, I don’t know, seeing a mouse.
But not here.
Not in Arrhythmia.
Not with him.
He didn’t even flinch when I froze and fell.
Just accepted it.
And that? That’s new.
It’s nice.
“This town’s a conundrum, Sheriff,” I murmur, watching the weird and wonderful roll by outside the window—floating jack-o’-lanterns, a Centaur riding a moped, and what looks like a Banshee playing solitaire on a stoop.
Owen glances over at me, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift like it isn’t the most distractingly attractive thing I’ve ever seen.
“You have no idea, Agent,” he says, starting the car.
And I believe him.
I glance over, heat still curling low in my stomach.
“I think I heard you call me Megan before.”
His gold eyes flick to mine.
“You did.”
I smile, bold from adrenaline or maybe just reckless curiosity.
“I think I like it.”
He rumbles a sound that might be a laugh—or maybe a growl. Either way, it does things to me.
“Noted.” He shifts the cruiser into drive. “Call me Owen.”
I bite my lip and nod, heart doing something stupid and fluttery in my chest.
“Alright. Owen.”
And yeah, okay. I’m in trouble.
Because this isn’t just ghosts or visions or cursed houses anymore.
This is him.
And I think I want to see just how much trouble we can get into.