Marked

Epilogue

Rachel bolted upright, gasping for breath, heart pounding frantically in her chest. She swept her arm across her nightstand, cursing as she tried to turn on the light and knocked her alarm clock to the floor. The bulb glowed when she flicked the switch, bringing her drab bedroom into focus.

He wasn’t here. It wasn’t real.

A dream. It was just a dream.

She threw the covers aside, uncaring that it was colder than hell.

The house she’d inherited from her father—a house she’d had to have her mother evicted from—was poorly constructed. The insulation wasn’t fit to house an animal inside, much less a person or family. Adding insult to injury, the roof needed to be replaced. The only real way to stay warm was to drink tons of hot chocolate, layer her clothing as thickly as possible and sleep beneath heavy blankets.

She returned the alarm clock to its proper place before she walked through her home. She turned on every light along the way. It was a silly habit, one she’d developed shortly after her father’s death. Maybe that was why she hated supernatural creatures so much. Bad things lived in the dark. Things that would snatch you up and eat you alive.

You can run but you can’t hide, Just Rachel.

“Piss off,” she snapped, wondering why in the hell she’d started having dreams about the arrogant, condescending and impossibly gorgeous werewolf she’d met at the tattoo shop. She didn’t trust men in general, which meant she sure as hell wouldn’t trust a member of the male populace who changed into an animal. Besides, he wasn’t her type.

Not your type? He’s a goddamn werewolf!

“Get a grip, Rachel,” she muttered, hating that she had resorted to talking to herself after spending too much time alone. “Make your chocolate fix and go to bed.”

Despite trying to focus on the task at hand, she kept envisioning Tall, Dark and Arrogant. In her dreams his face was covered in a thick, attractive shadow. His eyes were as she remembered—a vibrant shade of gold. With his T-shirt missing, clothed only in jeans and boots, she’d been able to see all of his tattoos. The intricate sleeves wound around the front and the back of his shoulders, creating one large pattern. The black ink suited his tanned skin, bringing attention to his muscular arms, broad shoulders and six-pack abs. Just below were the visible bones of his pelvis. Bones that created a sexy V that vanished beneath his jeans.

“Okay, that’s it.” She slammed a fist onto the counter. It was lust. Plain and simple. Nature was finally making its demands on her body. “Tomorrow I’m getting a vibrator. Enough’s enough.”

Once the hot chocolate was made she scurried to her bedroom, turning off the lights as she went. She placed the mug on the nightstand as she wrapped the blankets around her, grateful she’d decided to splurge on quality handmade quilts instead of cheaper comforters.

Sinking into the pillows, she brought the drink to her lips and her thoughts shifted to Chloe. If things were different she would have called her best friend and told her what was going on. It wasn’t unusual for them to call each other at weird times. As a matter of fact, they’d been known to spend hours on the phone talking about this and that.

A sharp pain lanced her chest.

Would Jackson resent early morning phone calls? Would he get pissed off if Chloe wanted to visit Rachel’s home for a girls movie night? Although they weren’t related by blood, the women were as close as sisters. They talked to each other almost every single day. Surely he wouldn’t try to come between them?

“If he does, I’ll shoot him,” she grumbled.

As usual, the hot chocolate was gone before she was ready. She always wanted more of the stuff. It was her one indulgence. The only thing she spent hard-earned money on. With an exhausted groan, she placed her mug on nightstand, turned off the light and sank into the bed.

It was dark, the night quiet.

She glanced at the window, trying not to think about the full moon. She really needed to get some sleep. The shop was always busy in the summer and winter. Tomorrow wasn’t going to be any different. Unless she sold the house and shop and moved—something she’d considered but hadn’t had the courage to do—this would forever be her life.

She closed her eyes, safe and sound in her snuggly warm bed, trying to return to the land of dreams. Mr. Tattoo Man was a coincidence. Nothing more. Just another weird thing that sometimes happened to people. Like déjà vu. Besides, if he showed up again she’d tell him to go fuck himself.

You can run but you can’t hide, Just Rachel.

Who the hell did he think he was? She wasn’t running? No way.

She grinned into her pillow, waiting for sleep to claim her. In dreams she could do whatever she wanted, which meant normal rules didn’t apply. As soon as she drifted off she’d search for a drink to throw directly into his face. After he was good and doused she’d tell him where to go and how to get there. If she was lucky, they’d be in a public place.

She focused on a location, choosing a bar down the road. It was always full of human patrons. Putting him in his place in front of mere mortals would be full of awesome, bordering on epic.

Now that would wipe the smile off his face.