‘And why do we call it that?’
My answer came out in a whisper.
‘Because it’s poisonous to werewolves.’
‘A knife can be a tool or a weapon,’ Catherine said again, her green eyes burning into mine. ‘And so can you.’
Chapter Twenty
As the clock chimed a soft midnight, an untouched cup of tea sat cooling on my nightstand. Chamomile, valerian, yarrow and lavender. Grown in the garden at Bell House, dried in the pantry, blended by Catherine, prepared by Ashley, and drank by me every night to induce a deep and dreamless sleep.
But not tonight.
Tossing and turning, I kicked off the single sheet that was draped over my body, too hot and sweaty for even the feel of cotton on my skin. Even the air conditioning couldn’t compete with the dense, sultry warmth that filled my room, smothering my limbs and dampening my hair but now I knew what was in the tea, I couldn’t bring myself to drink it. Rolling over, I pressed my face into my pillow and searched for my happy place, imagining myself back in Wyn’s truck, driving with the window open and the smell of salt in the air. I pictured the strong lines of his profile, the way his brow furrowed every time we approached a light or a stop sign, how hard he concentrated on reversing into the parking space, one arm thrown over the back of his seat so he could see better through the small cabin window.
My imagination and my memories melted together, transforming the suffocating heat of my room into the bold sunshine of the beach. I was no longer alone in bed, instead I found myself walking behind Wyn on the narrow boardwalk that led down to the sand, the striped umbrella over one of his shoulders, backpack over the other, and hands outstretched to touch the feathery grass that grew tall on either side. Then we were on the beach blanket, an easy, honest smile on his face and my heart stuttering in my chest when our hands met. Floating on the current of our connection, I rolled back over and touched my fingers to my lips, wishing he was here with me now.
Bell House played a sympathetic soundtrack, sighing and groaning like it understood, as though it was too hot for her as well. Everything was too much effort, the fan whirring above my head, water running through the copper pipes, floorboards and furniture creaking as they expanded against their will.
Then something else.
My ears prickled at the sound of something striking the window.
‘Lydia?’ I muttered, checking the clock again. Five minutes past midnight. Too late to be throwing stones from magnolia trees.
I heaved my heavy limbs out of bed, praying I reached her before she woke Catherine or Ashley. I didn’t know what kind of security system we had here but I was extremely worried it might be a little more excessive than regular cameras and silent alarms. I carefully opened one wooden slat of my shutters, just to make sure it was definitely Lydia visiting and not a good old-fashioned break-in.
But it wasn’t Lydia or a burglar.
Standing on my balcony, was Wyn.
The night air whooshed into my room as I opened the window. The loud chirp of the cicadas kept time with my pulse and the moon, sliced in half overhead, etched his features in silver.
‘I was just thinking about you,’ I said in disbelief, reaching out to touch him and make sure he was real. ‘How are you here?’
‘Because I was just thinking about you,’ he replied with shining eyes. ‘It’s too hot to sleep in my place, so I took a walk. Turns out it’s pretty easy to climb the magnolia tree out front up to your balcony.’
‘Weirdly, you’re not the first person to tell me that. But you are the first person to try it after midnight.’
His eyes flicked past me into my room, skimming over the rumpled bed covers before settling back on me. In my dresser, there were dozens of cute outfits I could’ve chosen to sleep in, cotton pyjamas with my initials embroidered on the pocket, soft nightgowns with delicate straps, things Catherine had bought for me before I even got here, but of course, this was the night I fell into bed in my underwear and an oversized baseball shirt, full of holes from where it had been washed at least a thousand times.
‘Braves fan?’ Wyn asked.
‘It was my dad’s,’ I said, turning the same colour as the team’s logo. ‘I stole it from him years ago.’
‘They’re having a pretty good season.’
‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’
I pulled the hem of the shirt as far as it would go over my thighs but it covered nothing.
It felt dangerous, seeing him at night. Without the sun to chaperone, there was no telling what we might do. My eyes skimmed his body, his broad shoulders, that full lower lip, all of it too tempting.
‘I’d invite you in but I don’t think it’s a very good idea,’ I made myself say, glancing over my shoulder at my room. My bed. ‘My grandmother would kill us both if she found out.’
Or at least put some kind of curse on you, I did not add.
‘Not the right time for a tour,’ he agreed. ‘You won’t believe me but I don’t even know how I got here. I was planning to walk down to the river but the next thing I knew, I was outside your house and I couldn’t stop myself. Something took over.’ He leaned against the window, his arm framing his face. ‘Were you really thinking about me?’
