Page 11 of Broken Moon

I drifted to the table and satdown, my eyes big and my stomach growling. “Whatisthis?” I asked inhushed tones.

“I don’t just bake,” Lucillesaid airily, then grinned and placed a pan of something that looked like hot,frosted cinnamon buns in the center of the table. “I love to cook.” She pulledout a chair across from me and sat down. “And I’ve seen how you eat when youcome into the bakery. I imagine from the look on your face that you’re starvingright now.”

In heaven was what I was.Heaven. “But…”

“You’re wondering where allthis food came from?”

I nodded and gingerly reachedfor one of the biscuits. “I think I had some milk in the fridge and maybe some proteinbars in the cupboard?”

“The milk had gone bad,” shesaid, shaking her head in disgust. “I picked up fresh when I ran to the grocerystore and bought you a shitload of groceries. Oh, and I borrowed your car tomake the run. I hope you don’t mind. You owe me two hundred and thirty-sevendollars, by the way. This should get you through the week.”

I barely heard her. “Fine,” Isaid, my mouth full of biscuit and crisp, hot bacon. “Oh my God, Lucille.”

She giggled and filled her ownplate. “It’s good to see someone appreciate my cooking.”

“I am going to miss this whenyou’re gone.” I poured half a bottle of syrup over the butter and pancakes andbegan forking them into my mouth. I was starving. Then, “And you, of course.”

We both laughed at that.

“So here’s what I wasthinking,” she said casually, a few minutes later.

I paused midchew and squintedat her. “Yes?”

“You’re too skinny, for one.You need someone living with you who can cook. I need a place to stay. You havethat lovely extra bedroom.” She didn’t look at me when she spoke, which let meknow that this was a serious and important request. “I thought maybe I couldlive here. I could be your live-in cook slash housekeeper, sort of.”

“I don’t know you,” I pointedout. “And you don’t know me. I might murder you in your sleep.” But I didn’thate the idea. Not because I wanted a cook—okay, notonlythat—butbecause I was a wolf. We needed people in our lives. I was lonely living bymyself, and it was as simple as that.

“I see you at least three orfour times a week,” she pointed out. “So we kind of know each other.”

“You have references?” I asked,reaching for my orange juice.

She stared at me in a tentativeand hopeful surprise. “Yeah.”

“You ever been arrested?”

“Not even close.”

“You have any kids or pets?”

“No. I love them both, though.”

“I guess we could give it atrial run of say…a week? I’ll know by then if I can live with you. So don’tmove your stuff in just yet. I’ll—”

She rocketed from her chair, barreledaround the little table, and flung herself at me, hugging me like I was aboutto save her from a rabid animal. She didn’t say anything, not at first.Finally, she whispered, “Thank you, Kait,” then went back to her side of thetable and left me to my enormous and delicious meal.

“My friends,” she said, as wewere clearing the dishes, “call me Lucy.”

I was so full I could barelymove. I stuck a plate in the dishwasher then turned to get another, waiting forher to rearrange the plate I’d just put in before I handed her the other. “Bitof a perfectionist, are we?” I asked, after she once again arranged the dishes.

“Bit obsessive compulsive,” sheanswered, then shut the door and turned on the machine. “Now. Can we talk aboutthe sexy hunk of dangerous male who visited you in the wee hours of themorning?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Where wereyou hiding? I didn’t sm…see you.” I’d almost said smell, but she might havetaken offence at that, not knowing I was a wolf with a pretty good sniffer.

“I heard voices and naturallywanted to make sure everything was okay. I tiptoed to the end of the hall andsaw him as he was leaving. And I must say, if he’s your guy, Kait, I amimpressed.And if he’s not your guy, might I get his number?”

I felt like I knew this woman.It didn’t make sense, but I was as comfortable with her as I would have beenwith someone I’d known for years. Still, I wasn’t about to blurt out thatwerewolves existed, though she was apparently a psychic, had seen a demon, andcould likely handle the fact that I was a wolf. Maybe. “His name is JaredWalker. He’s an asshole,” I said, instead. “And no, you can’t have his number.”

“I had trouble sleeping lastnight,” she told me, changing the subject so fast my head spun. “I couldn’tsleep for thinking about that demon. I mean, that was real, wasn’t it? They’dsomehow summoned an actual demon?”