“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.
Chapter8
Megan
It only takes a few minutes to get back to the station, but it feels longer with Owen sitting beside me, all brooding silence and slow glances.
Now I’m in his office—his actual office, which smells like spice, old leather, gun oil, and him—and I’m trying to focus on the task at hand.
Tryingbeing the operative word.
I’m hunched over the computer, scrolling through the digital archives on the Crypt Mansion, and so far, it’s a snooze fest.
Dry historical records, property disputes, one suspicious fire that no one seems to want to talk about, and a few old newspaper clippings mentioning strange noises and disappearing pets.
It’s a lot.It’s also dull.
And if I’m being honest, I can’t seem to focus.
Because the Sheriff is standing a few feet away.
On the phone.Pacing.Smelling like pine trees and man and something deeper—something wild that hums under my skin like a secret.
Geezus.
It’s like the man bathes in enchanted forest soap.
Or maybe this is just some unfair Wolf Shifter pheromone thing.
Whatever it is, it’s nice.
Too nice.
Distractingly nice.
I’m not here to get distracted.
But every time he moves, I look.Every time he mutters something under his breath or runs a hand through that thick, dark hair, my eyes drift over like they’ve been trained.
Like I’m hypnotized.
Like I’m twelve seconds from doing something really dumb.
Because look—let’s not pretend.
I’ve thought about it.
Sleeping with him.
Hell, I’ve been thinking about it since I saw him.
