Idon’t know what’s going on in my apartment right now.
Which is a problem.
Because I’m Sheriff.
Because the town is teetering on the edge of supernatural chaos.
And because I’d very much like to walk through my own damn front door without worrying that a surprise ritual or unsolicited furniture rearrangement is underway.
But mostly?Because I want to see her.
Megan.Mate.Mine.
After staying up all night with her—combing through crumbling books of bloodlines and whispered legends, flipping through dusty volumes on spirit anchors and warlock hauntings—I finally have something resembling a solution to our dead Warlock problem.
A real one.
One that doesn’t end with everyone dead or possessed.
And I want to share it with her first.
She’s not just my partner on this.
She’s my mate.
My everything.
So I unlock the door, step inside—and immediately freeze.
Because there she is.
Megan.
Sitting pretty at the tiny kitchen table, wearing my shirt, sipping coffee like she does this every morning.Like she belongs here.
And next to her?
My mother.
Oh fuck.
My mother is at the stove.Frying up what has to be a full mountain of bologna sandwiches, grease sizzling and spatula flying like she’s auditioning forIron Chef: Trailer Park Edition.
I blink.“What the heck are you doing here?”
She doesn’t even turn around.
“Owen!How dare you talk to me like that!”she scolds, flipping a sandwich with flair.“Now I forgive you, ’cause you’re hungry.Sit down, dear.”
Megan chokes on a laugh and covers it with a fake cough that fools no one.
I narrow my eyes at her.She grins into her coffee.
“Mother, uh, you met Megan?”
“Of course, I did, son.She was half naked in your bed when I came to do your laundry like I do every other week,” she continues mildly, but I can hear the scold behind her words.
I mutter underneath my breath, hazarding a glance at Megan, who looks like she’s trying not to laugh, presumably at me.I admit, it’s better than her screaming and running, so yeah, I’ll take it.
