Chapter 20
Megan
I wake up warm.
Like really warm.
Wrapped-in-flannel-sheets-and-sunbeams kind of warm.
The kind of warmth that makes you want to roll over and never leave.
Except—I know I fell asleep on the couch last night in Owen’s office after eating the best damn Korean BBQ I have ever experienced in my life.
I remember that.
We stayed late. Eventually, Preacher and Esmerelda dropped by with more baked goods—note to self: get the Sorceress’ recipe for Snickerdoodles—and we munched and went over everything we discovered about the Crypt bloodline and the curse-laced Hellmouth under the mansion.
After a while, I curled up on the couch, fully intending to rest my eyes for just a second with Owen’s big, warm flannel on top of me, and now I’m here.
In bed.
His bed.
Alone, but definitely in it.
And oh my, but it smells like him.
Woodsmoke, citrus, something wild and musky and ridiculously male.
I bury my face in the pillow and breathe in deep like some lovesick maniac and—yep. I need to get a grip.
There’s a folded piece of paper resting on the nightstand.
In scrawled, rough handwriting it reads:
Got called in early to check on a complaint, but take your time. No rush. Breakfast is on the stove.
Yours, O.
He signed it yours.
Swoon.
I mean, come on.
I press the note to my chest and sigh like I’m in a damn romance novel.
He tucked me into his bed.
I glance down at myself. I’m in my panties and one of his T-shirts—definitely not what I fell asleep in.
I smirk.
Sleeping in jeans does suck. Apparently, he thought so too.
Which means the big, broody Sheriff undressed me.
Gently.
And kind of annoyingly respectful, too.
And then let me take over his bed while he went to work.
I swear, if this man gets any more perfect, I’m going to start looking for the glitch in the simulation.
Stretching, I toss the covers back and swing my legs over the side—only to yelp and stumble backward when I spot a stranger sitting quietly in the corner.
Not a stranger like, I don’t know that guy.
Stranger like, there is a grown-ass woman in a lace shawl knitting a purple scarf in the corner of Owen Randall’s bedroom like she owns the place.
She looks up at me and smiles, completely unfazed.
“Um, who are you?” I ask, clutching the sheet to my chest.
A sliver of doubt, of fury, of oh-my-god-is-he-a-cheater unfurls inside of me.
“Don’t mind me, dear. My son is just messy, messy, and I came by to change his sheets, but after finding you in them, I thought I should stay and get to know you,” she says brightly, like this is normal and I’m the weirdo.
And just like that, my jealousy and despair dissolve—thank fuck. But they’re quickly replaced by confusion and trepidation.
“Your son?” I blink.
“Of course,” she chirps. “When Owen was banished from the Pack, I went with him. I mean, he is my boy.”
Banished?
What?!
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Wait—banished? From where? What are you talking about?”
She tilts her head and gives me a look of genuine pity.
“Oh, honey. What do you know about the man you already slept with and met only days ago?”
And just like that, my heart drops straight into my stomach.
Because she’s not wrong.
What do I know about him?
Well, I know that he’s the Sheriff.
He’s brave and smart and so damn sexy he makes my knees weak.
I know the way he kisses.
I know the sound he makes when he’s balls deep inside me, and he growls possessively against my neck.
I know he seems obsessed with feeding me.
I mean, Owen cooks like a dream, tucks me in like a gentleman, and makes me feel safer than anyone has in a very long time.
None of this is anything I say out loud. I mean, it’s not really meant for sharing. And she’s not exactly wrong.
What do I know about his past?
About his banishment?
About his family?
About the Wolf inside him?
Nothing. That’s what.
I take a slow breath, trying not to freak out, trying to process the knitting mystery woman in his bedroom and the enormous can of worms she just opened.
“Do you want some coffee, dear?” she adds sweetly. “I brought cinnamon creamer. You look like a cinnamon creamer kind of girl.”
And all I can do is nod.
Because I am that kind of girl.
And apparently, I have a hell of a lot to learn about the man I’m already head over heels for.