Page 43 of The Woodland Packs

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“Oh, shut up.”

I tried not to let the shaming voice in my mind win over the panic going on.

I counted on my fingers. My period had been two weeks ago, which meant I was probably on day sixteen of my cycle.

I should be fine. There was never a perfect science to conception, nor a completely safe time, but it should be okay.

I’d been on and off the pill for almost fifteen years now, though I wasn’t on it at the moment. And the chance of ovulating at all after so many years of artificial hormones, let alone getting pregnant in one month at thirty-two, was… slim.

My medical brain was screaming at me about the repercussions of such actions, while my modern female brain chided me for being so reckless.

“Oh, fuck, off!” I practically yelled at myself.

I’d never done a reckless thing in my life. Not once. I’d never taken drugs, never had a one-night stand, never taken a chance on anyone, or anything.

This was different.

I’d met werewolves, for goodness sakes!

Surely some of the rules could be bent. Damn it, surely this one time I could even break the bloody rules.

I made my way back to Taylor’s room and pulled on the jeans and tank I’d borrowed from Mary.

I was throwing all my pre-conceived ideas out the window. Screw it.

I had one more day with them, and I wasn’t going to waste it worrying about whether I was doing the right thing or not by following my feelings.

Twenty-four hours until I had to go back to the city and start another fourteen-hour shift in an under-staffed hospital with a supervisor who hated me.

My heart dropped and ached at the idea of leaving, and with that strange thought came the realisation of how much I was going to miss them when I returned to my old life.

Which was crazy. I barely knew them.

But there was something there, between me and them.

They certainly believed I was meant to be here for them and I owed it to myself, and them, to see where this led. If for nothing more than scientific curiosity, although I knew this was so much more than that.

I made my way down the stairs, noticing for the first time the wooden staircase and the carved details I’d missed when I passed this way last time.

Had they built this house?

All of it? How brilliant was that if they had?

There was general chatter going on in the kitchen, and as I made my way down to three smiling faces, my heart sang in recognition of a home I hadn’t known I needed.

“Ah, hi,” I managed to say, my face flaming with heat.

Dexter got up off his stool and came towards me, sweeping me off my feet and twirling me around as though I weighed less than a child.

Which, I guarantee you, I don’t.

I was a comfort eater, and it showed. Or so I thought.

“You hungry, beautiful? You’ve barely eaten all day.”

“Um…”

“Come, eat.”


Tags: Amelia Shaw Paranormal