“You’re saying I’m Mr. Hyde?” I say with a smirk, and she looks confused. “Hyde is Jonas’ wolf’s name,” I say, not being able to control my laughter. “I’m going to have to start calling him Jekyll.”
That breaks her hard shell as she smiles. “Come on, let’s go roam with the ghosts of the Big Easy.”
“There can’t be that many ghosts,” I say, as we walk down the tree-lined streets back to the ferry.
“You were literally locked in a bedroom by a spirit a few nights ago, and you still don’t believe in ghosts?”
“What’s the difference?” I ask her, not liking that she doesn’t look like herself. The red hair doesn’t suit her, and I just want her to switch us back.
“Well, all sorts of differences. I’m not a medium, but my great aunt Daisy is, though she doesn’t talk. I’ve always wondered if speaking to the dead was the reason for that. But they all seem to understand her without speaking. She pretty much just reads books all the time though, not sure the last time she communed with a spirit.”
She looks both ways, not seeing anyone walking around as she tucks us behind a fence.
“This will tingle, again,” she says, her body so close to mine, as her intricate wand is placed between us and she whispers.
The same tingling sensation flows through me, and when I crane my neck to look down at Violet, she’s back to herself. Her unique two-toned hair fits her better. It makes her blue eyes pop and frames her symmetrical, heart-shaped face.
She’s so close to me right now it’s hard to not make a fool of myself. Despite my rational mind, I can’t help but crave and enjoy her scent. Against my wishes, she’s still my mate and on a biological level, I’m attracted to her scent and looks unlike I’ll ever be to anyone else.
“Where do you hide that thing?” I ask as her wand disappears.
“Be nice to me and maybe I’ll tell you,” she says, grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward the ferry.
Her skin against mine shouldn’t feel as addictive as it is. Thorin has shared a bed with her. She’s pet his fur. He’s made sure to tell me about that multiple times. But her skin against mine feels like an electrical current.
I rip my arm away from her, and she glares as we get on the boat. She automatically picks a seat on the top, her sunglasses on as she looks up to the sky, the breeze blowing her black and white hair.
My wife is beautiful.
It’s the worst realization I’ve ever had.
“Is there something on my face?” she asks, wiping her mouth, and I shake my head.
“No,” I reply, and she slides her sunglasses down to look at me.
“Are you going to be weird all day? We’re living different lives, remember?”
“Right. We’re humans, honeymooners.”
She holds her hand out to the sky, the sun dancing against the sparkle of her ring.
“Gotta say, honey. You have taste,” she jokes as the old woman behind us coos.
“Oh my, are you on your honeymoon?” the old human woman asks.
“We are. He did a great job, didn’t he?” Violet replies.
“How did you two meet?”
“It’s a silly story, really. I’m a nurse and Steve here, came in with syphilis. We got him some antibiotics, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the slutty man who came in for relief, and, well, the rest is history.”
I know my mouth is agape as the old woman’s eyes widen and she seems lost for words.
She turns her head, not wanting to ask any more questions about our faux honeymoon.
“I thought we were in a truce,” I say, feeling amused, even though I should be more pissed off.
“Do you really think in any reality I wouldn’t test your patience?” she says, leaning in. “Mr. Walker, there is no realm where I don’t bust your balls.” She winks and stands as the ferry parks and we get off to enjoy our day hidden away in the Garden District.
