Page 70 of Not Another Happily Ever After

Is what we wish to say.

But life, as it’s known,

doesn’t work that way.

It’s ugly. Then it’s beautiful.

Only one thing remains the same.

And that is life, dearest reader.

It is a deeply fleeting thing.

Chapter

26

My wounds are shallow.

My jealousy, regrettably, is not.

With gentle hands, Frog lifts me to my feet, concluding our lesson. Though the warmth of the moment is still evident in the apples of my cheeks.

“That was?—”

“You were?—”

We both sputter.

“You—”

“I—”

We freeze, quiet, breathless laughs slipping through our lips.

“This feels awfully familiar.” I grin.

“More than you realize.”

Frog pauses, his hands flexing at his side. There’s more he wants to say, I can see it. But just as I’m certain he’s about to name what’s swirling in his eyes, something shifts beyond his shoulders.

I squint into the darkness, and in it find two hauntingly familiar large amber eyes staring back at me. A gasp escapes my lips as I take in the shadowy outline of an impossibly large creature.

It snarls, standing on two feet. Biting at the air with its sharp pointed canines, it reveals just enough of its snout for me to see exactly what it is.

“Miss Sunday?” Frog’s eyes narrow in concern.

Slowly he turns, following my gaze.

“It’s a lupin.” I point with a trembling hand.

Frog’s spine stiffens as he stands face-to-face with the creature born of moonlight.

“Return to the carriage, Miss Sunday,” he orders just as the tall, gaunt werewolf emerges from the trees.

His skin is gray with patches of coarse black fur. And his limbs—god his limbs—they’re hunched and bowed, reflecting only a fraction of the poor soul trapped inside.

“Now!” Frog shouts.