HERA
The vintage wallpaper in my bedroom had a pattern of faded lilies and weeping willows that felt like a direct reflection of my soul. I sat on the edge of my armchair, the springs groaning in sympathy, staring at the small and the rectangle of Jarek's burner phone.
For three months, this little black box had been my tormentor. It would buzz, vibrating against my nightstand with a persistence that made my teeth ache. I knew who was on the other side.
Elowen. The fucking damsel in distress.
"The little pureblood is persistent," Penelope, my wolf, grumbled. "She smells of desperation. I want to tear the silk right off her throat. The man is ours—is that too hard for her to register?"
"She's a ghost, Pen. A memory he hasn't buried yet." I whispered, clenching my teeth.
Tonight, the phone had rung again. I watched it, my eyes tracking the glow as it illuminated the dust motes dancing in the dark.
