The Werewolf Tycoon's Secret Baby (The Woolven Secret Book 2) by Saranna DeWylde Page A

ran.
    “I wish I could tell you not to be afraid of me, but you should be.” Something swam in the depths of his eyes, literally. Thin snake-like strands pulsed and throbbed in those ice blue pools, spilling out across the iris like an alien infection. “You should run.”
    “Are you one of them?”
    “Oh yes,” he whispered on a hiss. “And so are you.”
    “You have me mistaken for someone else.” Where was Drew? She tried not panic. Emmie knew he’d be able to smell it on her. She took a deep breath. “Why are you following me?”
    He didn’t answer her. Instead, he said, “Tell Lenore that Sebastian Monk sends his love.”
    Chills rolled down her spine in snaky tendrils, much like those writhing things in his eyes. It was as if he touched her with them, somehow. Drew was suddenly beside her, his body angled as if to put himself between her and Sebastian.
    “I’ll be seeing you soon,” he promised, his voice rumbling deep in this throat, much like Drew’s had sounded when he’d been Changed.
    His whole face churned--the smear after an artist dipped his brush to blend oils. It was viscous and wet, that Change. Full of teeth, and darkness—black tentacles emerging from his mouth to reach for her like some Lovecraftian horror.
    And he was gone--disappeared as if he’d never been standing there, a manifestation of all of her worst nightmares.
    She hadn’t thought that there was anything worse in the world than Peter Breslin, but she’d been wrong. It was this thing.
    Emmie looked up at Drew. She kept waiting for him to berate her, to tell her that she was stupid to have boarded the ship. That she should’ve waited for him.
    He said none of those things.
    Instead, he cupped her cheek. “You’re safe. I will protect you.”
    Only she didn’t want to need protection. She didn’t want to cower behind him, but Jesus Fucking Christ, how the hell was she supposed to hold her own again something like that?
    She reached out a shaking hand toward him and he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her.
    For a moment, everything was okay. His arms offered sanctuary against the darkness. She let herself surrender to him, to the strength he offered her. He felt so good, the skin to skin connection. It was as if simply touching him infused her with everything she needed.
    “What’s happening here?”
    “I don’t know, but he seemed to know you.”
    She shuddered. “And… it feels like I know him. Only, I can’t remember. When I try, it’s like there’s this… wall.”
    He tightened his embrace. “Then maybe you don’t need to remember.”
    “He said he’ll see me soon. I need to remember.”
    “No, sweetheart. You don’t need to remember for me to kill him. He’ll be just as dead and you and Noah will be just as safe.”
    A cry echoed from below deck, but it didn’t have anything to do with the terror from earlier. It was all pleasure.
    Emmie blushed as she remembered exactly what flick of his tongue caused her to make that sound.
    “We’re making good memories in there,” he said.
    “We are. I wouldn’t change it, you know.” She pulled back so she could look up into his eyes. “This time with you, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. It gave me pleasure. It gave me peace. It gave me Noah.”
    “It’s no wonder the broom brought us back here. It’s a memory I’ve revisited many times.”
    She understood that he didn’t mean simply a fond remembrance. Heat suffused her. She didn’t want him to see her blush and she turned her face into his shoulder again.
    Maybe this could happen here--after all it already had. “Do remember what I said about my demons?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “It looks like they found me anyway. I guess that’s the lesson, huh? You can never really outrun them. They always find you in the end.”
    “Our little vacation doesn’t have to be over.”
    “I don’t think it was ever meant to be a vacation. Your Mrs. Westwood seems like