Hungry? Vivienne shook her head. Even if she was hungry, she didn’t think she’d be able to hold anything down. The initial shock was gone but that did not mean that she was all peachy and ready to accept she was a druid, her mother was a witch, and the man she’d given herself to was some sort of creature.
When she didn’t move from the door for long seconds, her mother asked, “Did you want to ask something else, Vivienne?”
She wanted to say “no” and let ignorance be bliss but her lips moved and she found herself asking the question that had been in the back of her mind since she’d witnessed his transformation. “What is he?”
Evelyn was silent for a few moments, and although Vivienne’s back was to her, she could feel her mother’s tension.
“I don’t know what Max is. I thought he was human,” Evelyn replied, and though she struggled to keep her voice light, Vivienne heard the anger.
“Conall. What is Conall?” She’d forgotten—well, she hadn’t forgotten, but she’d placed that in the back of her memory behind Conall—that Max, too, had changed into something that wasn’t human. The one image dominating her mind had been Conall, with burning yellow eyes, lengthened canines, and black fur covering his body.
“Conall,” Evelyn repeated the name slowly, as if testing it on her tongue. “He is a werewolf. They can take three forms: human, hybrid, or their animal.”
Vivienne nodded slowly, and then thought in dry humor that her comparison of him to the wolfman hadn’t been so far from the truth. Except the wolfman wasn’t real, and Conall definitely was. Yes, dry humor sometimes sucked. “And the form I saw? That was a hybrid form?”
“Yes.”
She leaned forward and rested her head against the door. She’d slept with a werewolf.
Mated, a voice in her head corrected and Vivienne’s eyes widened as her body snapped upright.
What the hell was that?
“Vivienne, maybe you should sit down….”
That was her mother. She turned to face Evelyn, dimly recognizing that her mother was now standing, and looking as if at any moment she would approach her.
Vivienne held out her hand. “No—I mean—I’m fine.” Her voice shook with hysteria.
I’m fine. I’m just having a mental two-sided conversation with myself. In light of everything I’ve just learned, that’s not strange, right?
“I’m going—to—um—go.” She hastily left the room and made her way down the empty corridor to the bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and closed her eyes.
I am not crazy. Doesn’t matter that there’s another voice in my head. Normal. Totally normal. I am not crazy….
If she told herself that enough times, she was eventually going to believe it. She didn’t know how long she spent in that position, but when she walked over to the sink and splashed water across her face, she felt more like herself.
She grabbed a few tissues from the box and wiped her face dry before staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked…bad. Really bad. Somewhere along the way, her hair had come undone and was wild about her head. Her eyes were puffy, her face pinched.
You’re not crazy and you’re exaggerating. You don’t look bad.
Vivienne spun, expecting to find someone standing in the bathroom with her. The voice was male, and sounded like Conall, but that wasn’t poss— Eyes narrowing, she concentrated on it.
Who are you?
You already know the answer to that question.
She scoffed and turned back to the mirror. Her mother always kept a few combs in the bathroom. Vivienne grabbed one, caught some water in her palm, and ran it through her hair. Slowly, she began combing through the tightly wound curls.
A bit smug, aren’t you?
His laugh confirmed he was Conall. The question that remained was: how the hell was he talking to her?
Why—no how—are you in my head?
You’re my mate, Vivienne.
He said that as if it explained everything.
She pulled her hair into a severe bun and then gripped the sides of the porcelain sink.
What does that even mean?
I’m bound to you as you are bound to me. I need you to survive as you need me. I am mentally connected to you…always, as you are to me.
Vivienne shook her head vehemently. He was obviously delusional. They’d had very, very good sex. Brilliant sex. She wasn’t even experienced and she knew for a fact that it was great sex.
A low, erotic growl came from the other person occupying her mind. She ignored it.
I’m not your mate, okay? I don’t know about werewolf law or non-human etiquette or whatever, but I didn’t agree to that, so—