around pots and ovens while two men washed
dishes in a large sink. None of the workers paid any attention to either of them.
At least not until they reached another door at the end of the long steel tables. A tall
blond man was standing in front of it, and he appeared less than pleased that Aimee
wanted to take Marguerite through it. He looked just like the man who had thrown them out
of the bar last night, except he didn't seem to remember her at all.
"What are you doing, Aimee?" he asked in a growling tone.
"Move, Remi."
"Bullshit."
Aimee put her hands on her hips. "Move, Brother, or you'll limp."
He narrowed his eyes. "You don't scare me, swan. I could tear your head off and not
flinch."
"And I could hurt you in a much more permanent way." Her gaze dropped to his groin.
"Now move it or lose it."
Curling his lip, he reluctantly complied.
"Ignore the scowl," Aimee said as she opened the door. "It's his natural countenance.
Believe it or not, it's far more becoming than his smile. That just looks creepy."
Marguerite didn't know what to think as Aimee led her into a posh old-fashioned parlor.
The house was absolutely beautiful. Weirdly enough, it looked as if it were in some kind of
time warp or something. There was nothing on this side that looked modern at all. Nothing.
Her eyes fell to the door that held fiveStanley dead bolts and an alarm system that
would rival NASA's.
Okay, not entirely antique. But other than those telltale items, it was like walking onto an
old-fashioned movie set.
Aimee led Marguerite up an intricate hand-carved stairway to the second floor, which
was lined with mahogany doors. The waitress didn't pause until they were halfway down
the corridor. She knocked on the door, then cracked it open.
"You decent?" she asked, keeping her body so that Marguerite couldn't look into the
room.
There was no answer.
"Yeah, well, you have a visitor. So you need to be human for a while, okay?" After a
brief hesitation, Aimee stood back and opened the door wider. "I'll wait out here until the
two of you are finished. Just call out if you need anything." Then under her breath she
added, "Like a priest, cop, or lion tamer."
Marguerite frowned. What an odd thing to say, but then, she was quickly learning that
everyone here was a bit strange.
She stepped past Aimee, into the room, and froze as she caught sight of Wren lying on
a large sleigh bed under a black comforter that matched the black curtains covering the
windows. His skin was ghostly pale. The flowers she'd sent earlier were lined up on his
dresser and before it, but other than that, there was absolutely nothing personal in the room
to mark it as his. It looked as if he were nothing more than a visitor just staying a night or
two.
Her heart hammered as she went to him. His breathing was labored and a large Ace
bandage was wrapped around his shoulder and upper chest. With the black comforter
draped over his lower half, he was bare from the waist up, showing her a remarkably toned
chest and arms. The man was incredibly well built, with a full six-pack of abs. The only
hair on his chest was a small trail of dark blond hair that ran from his navel down to
disappear under the covers.
But what held her attention most was the amount of obvious pain he was in.
Marguerite knelt beside the bed as guilt tore through her. This was all her fault. All of
it…
"Why didn't you tell me about this?"
He didn't answer. Instead he reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from her
face. "You shouldn't have come back here, Maggie."
His hand was rough and callused. Unlike the guys she knew, his hands were used to
hard work, not oiled manicures. "I wanted to give you a small token to say thank you for
last night."
Wren glanced at the flowers in his room. The bears and other Were-Hunters had been
harassing him unmercifully about them. Not that he cared. To him those flowers were
unbelievably precious.
No one else
dishes in a large sink. None of the workers paid any attention to either of them.
At least not until they reached another door at the end of the long steel tables. A tall
blond man was standing in front of it, and he appeared less than pleased that Aimee
wanted to take Marguerite through it. He looked just like the man who had thrown them out
of the bar last night, except he didn't seem to remember her at all.
"What are you doing, Aimee?" he asked in a growling tone.
"Move, Remi."
"Bullshit."
Aimee put her hands on her hips. "Move, Brother, or you'll limp."
He narrowed his eyes. "You don't scare me, swan. I could tear your head off and not
flinch."
"And I could hurt you in a much more permanent way." Her gaze dropped to his groin.
"Now move it or lose it."
Curling his lip, he reluctantly complied.
"Ignore the scowl," Aimee said as she opened the door. "It's his natural countenance.
Believe it or not, it's far more becoming than his smile. That just looks creepy."
Marguerite didn't know what to think as Aimee led her into a posh old-fashioned parlor.
The house was absolutely beautiful. Weirdly enough, it looked as if it were in some kind of
time warp or something. There was nothing on this side that looked modern at all. Nothing.
Her eyes fell to the door that held fiveStanley dead bolts and an alarm system that
would rival NASA's.
Okay, not entirely antique. But other than those telltale items, it was like walking onto an
old-fashioned movie set.
Aimee led Marguerite up an intricate hand-carved stairway to the second floor, which
was lined with mahogany doors. The waitress didn't pause until they were halfway down
the corridor. She knocked on the door, then cracked it open.
"You decent?" she asked, keeping her body so that Marguerite couldn't look into the
room.
There was no answer.
"Yeah, well, you have a visitor. So you need to be human for a while, okay?" After a
brief hesitation, Aimee stood back and opened the door wider. "I'll wait out here until the
two of you are finished. Just call out if you need anything." Then under her breath she
added, "Like a priest, cop, or lion tamer."
Marguerite frowned. What an odd thing to say, but then, she was quickly learning that
everyone here was a bit strange.
She stepped past Aimee, into the room, and froze as she caught sight of Wren lying on
a large sleigh bed under a black comforter that matched the black curtains covering the
windows. His skin was ghostly pale. The flowers she'd sent earlier were lined up on his
dresser and before it, but other than that, there was absolutely nothing personal in the room
to mark it as his. It looked as if he were nothing more than a visitor just staying a night or
two.
Her heart hammered as she went to him. His breathing was labored and a large Ace
bandage was wrapped around his shoulder and upper chest. With the black comforter
draped over his lower half, he was bare from the waist up, showing her a remarkably toned
chest and arms. The man was incredibly well built, with a full six-pack of abs. The only
hair on his chest was a small trail of dark blond hair that ran from his navel down to
disappear under the covers.
But what held her attention most was the amount of obvious pain he was in.
Marguerite knelt beside the bed as guilt tore through her. This was all her fault. All of
it…
"Why didn't you tell me about this?"
He didn't answer. Instead he reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from her
face. "You shouldn't have come back here, Maggie."
His hand was rough and callused. Unlike the guys she knew, his hands were used to
hard work, not oiled manicures. "I wanted to give you a small token to say thank you for
last night."
Wren glanced at the flowers in his room. The bears and other Were-Hunters had been
harassing him unmercifully about them. Not that he cared. To him those flowers were
unbelievably precious.
No one else
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