vaccination had altered her in some way.
For the briefest moment, Brody’s roughly handsome face filled her mind. Brody. Her mate. The man she’d bound herself to because she was young and scared and alone. She’d realized her mistake quickly, but by then, she was a werewolf. And even more dependent on him. She’d needed him to help her understand her new life. She’d needed him—and he’d used her. Fair enough trade. Until she stopped needing him.
But that knowledge didn’t stop a wave of nausea from coursing through her. No matter what her circumstances were with Brody, she didn’t cheat. That had been his department. Not that she’d cared. She’d have to have cared about Brody for his infidelity to hurt. And she simply didn’t.
Which was why she’d worked so, so hard on a cure. In her mind, if she was no longer a wolf, she was no longer mated. The cure was her only chance at a divorce, of sorts. Her only chance to find the real love and the family she’d craved for nearly two centuries.
Which was why she had to get to work. She pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a zip-front sweatshirt. The agitation was gone now. That was a positive out of all of this. Now she could focus.
Okay, there were the very distracting memories of last night to contend with, but she could control her recollections better than she’d been able to control that relentless restlessness in her body. She was wasting time thinking about the events of the previous night, anyway. It was one night of craziness—really, really crazy. But the side effect was calmness. At least in her body.
Now she had to get back to her work. She wanted her life back. Focus on that. The future.
But as she finished dressing, she couldn’t say why a memory of Jensen’s forest-green eyes appeared before her whenever she thought about her future.
“You got in a tad late, didn’t you, son?”
Jensen looked up from the newspaper as his grandfather ambled into the room. Not for the first time since he’d been home, did Jensen notice that his grandfather looked frailer than he remembered. His tall frame stooped slightly, and his large hands were more gnarled.
“Later than I intended,” Jensen agreed, taking a drink of his coffee. “I hope I didn’t wake you when I came in.”
“Nope, just happened to get up and see your truck was still gone.”
“How was golf?” Jensen asked, feeling the need to change the subject. He’d thought about last night enough already.
His grandfather might look older, but he still stayed plenty active. Today being an example. He’d been out of the house before Jensen had even managed to crawl out of bed. Of course, sleep hadn’t come easily last night.
“My putting was for shit,” Granddad muttered. “And that Harold Wilks moves the ball, I swear he does.”
Jensen chuckled. His grandfather had called his best friend “that Harold Wilks” for as long as Jensen could remember.
Granddad poured himself a mug of coffee, then joined Jensen at the ancient, scratched kitchen table. He sifted through the sections of the paper that Jensen had already set aside, finding the crossword. He pulled the ever-present mechanical pencil from his shirt pocket and began to study the puzzle. Moments later, the scratch of the pencil on paper filled the room.
Jensen returned to absently reading the sports page.
“Did you have fun?” Granddad asked, not looking up from his puzzle.
But Jensen glanced up, knowing the old man was more curious than his nonchalant inquiry suggested.
“When?” he asked, being just as cagey.
“Last night. Did you have a good time?” Granddad said, still penciling in the squares in front of him.
“Sure.” Jensen fiddled with the handle of his mug.
Granddad nodded and he wrote in another word. Jensen returned to an article about the Mountaineers and their winning streak. Or at least he thought that was what the article was about. Maybe it was their losing streak.
“Did the good time
For the briefest moment, Brody’s roughly handsome face filled her mind. Brody. Her mate. The man she’d bound herself to because she was young and scared and alone. She’d realized her mistake quickly, but by then, she was a werewolf. And even more dependent on him. She’d needed him to help her understand her new life. She’d needed him—and he’d used her. Fair enough trade. Until she stopped needing him.
But that knowledge didn’t stop a wave of nausea from coursing through her. No matter what her circumstances were with Brody, she didn’t cheat. That had been his department. Not that she’d cared. She’d have to have cared about Brody for his infidelity to hurt. And she simply didn’t.
Which was why she’d worked so, so hard on a cure. In her mind, if she was no longer a wolf, she was no longer mated. The cure was her only chance at a divorce, of sorts. Her only chance to find the real love and the family she’d craved for nearly two centuries.
Which was why she had to get to work. She pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a zip-front sweatshirt. The agitation was gone now. That was a positive out of all of this. Now she could focus.
Okay, there were the very distracting memories of last night to contend with, but she could control her recollections better than she’d been able to control that relentless restlessness in her body. She was wasting time thinking about the events of the previous night, anyway. It was one night of craziness—really, really crazy. But the side effect was calmness. At least in her body.
Now she had to get back to her work. She wanted her life back. Focus on that. The future.
But as she finished dressing, she couldn’t say why a memory of Jensen’s forest-green eyes appeared before her whenever she thought about her future.
“You got in a tad late, didn’t you, son?”
Jensen looked up from the newspaper as his grandfather ambled into the room. Not for the first time since he’d been home, did Jensen notice that his grandfather looked frailer than he remembered. His tall frame stooped slightly, and his large hands were more gnarled.
“Later than I intended,” Jensen agreed, taking a drink of his coffee. “I hope I didn’t wake you when I came in.”
“Nope, just happened to get up and see your truck was still gone.”
“How was golf?” Jensen asked, feeling the need to change the subject. He’d thought about last night enough already.
His grandfather might look older, but he still stayed plenty active. Today being an example. He’d been out of the house before Jensen had even managed to crawl out of bed. Of course, sleep hadn’t come easily last night.
“My putting was for shit,” Granddad muttered. “And that Harold Wilks moves the ball, I swear he does.”
Jensen chuckled. His grandfather had called his best friend “that Harold Wilks” for as long as Jensen could remember.
Granddad poured himself a mug of coffee, then joined Jensen at the ancient, scratched kitchen table. He sifted through the sections of the paper that Jensen had already set aside, finding the crossword. He pulled the ever-present mechanical pencil from his shirt pocket and began to study the puzzle. Moments later, the scratch of the pencil on paper filled the room.
Jensen returned to absently reading the sports page.
“Did you have fun?” Granddad asked, not looking up from his puzzle.
But Jensen glanced up, knowing the old man was more curious than his nonchalant inquiry suggested.
“When?” he asked, being just as cagey.
“Last night. Did you have a good time?” Granddad said, still penciling in the squares in front of him.
“Sure.” Jensen fiddled with the handle of his mug.
Granddad nodded and he wrote in another word. Jensen returned to an article about the Mountaineers and their winning streak. Or at least he thought that was what the article was about. Maybe it was their losing streak.
“Did the good time
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