Prologue

 

In My Blood

Prologue

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Evie sat in the corner booth waiting, idly playing with the straw in her drink. She was bored and she’d only been here ten minutes. But that was the problem with small towns. Nothing ever happened and on the odd chance that something exciting did happen, it was almost always short lived.

So, she either had to find an excuse to get out of town and head to the city, or find someone who would be willing to entertain her for a few hours.

And that was the other thing about small towns. It was impossible to date. Everyone available was either one of three things… too old, family or someone her parents didn’t approve of.

It was the third reason that bugged Evie most of all and gave her the most incentive to want to get out. It wasn’t as if she needed her parent’s approval in regards to who she dated, but the elders of the pack had strict rules as to what the younger generation could and couldn’t do.

All because some alpha over in Belfast got himself got himself into a tangle with the daughter of the faerie queen. Suffice to say it didn’t end well and a lot of people died. Of course, those actions had ripple effects which had trickled down to the American packs.

Rule #36: No werewolf shall at any time enter into a relationship with one of the fair folk.

To do so would mean excommunication. And to be a werewolf without a pack was dicey. Without protection of other pack members anything could happen.

But Evie never was good at playing by the rules.

Rolling her eyes at him as he sat down in the booth opposite her, Fletcher grinned. “Hey Sis, how’s things?”

“Fine,” she muttered. “What brings you to my booth?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thought I’d check in. See how my little sis is doing.”

Evie rolled her eyes once more. “What do you want, Fletcher?”

“Oh, it’s not what I want,” he said. “It’s what they want.”

“They?” Evie asked, confusion marring her face. “But…”

“Apparently,” Fletcher continued, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Our aunt speaks very highly of you.”

“Our aunt?” Evie asked, while across the table, Fletcher nodded.

“And she’d like an audience with you.”

“Me!” Evie squeaked. “Why me?”

Fletcher shrugged. “How should I know? Perhaps she’s got a potential suitor already picked up, ready and waiting for you to walk down the aisle… they do have aisles in Arcadia, don’t they? I mean you could do worse.”

“I could do worse?” Evie’s nostrils flared. “’Course you would think marriage to one of the fair folk was a perfectly acceptable solution given there aren’t enough pack members to go around, wouldn’t you? Why don’t you marry one then?”

“Because Eves,” Fletcher said. “I’m not one of the last surviving Quinn females on the North American coast.”

“What’s blood got to do with any of this?” Evie demanded.

“Everything.”

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