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morning’s conversation. “You didn’t seem overly surprised about that.”
    “I dreamed about it,” she whispered.
    She what? “Come again?”
    “Meg reads people. Tara casts spells. I dream,” she answered, as if that explained everything.
    Irritated, he tugged on her feet and pulled her under the water. She came up sputtering and glared across the tub at him.
    “What was the for?”
    “It would be nice if you actually participated in the conversation,” he grumbled.
    “Fine. What do you want to know?”
    “Start with the dreams. You see the future? If you knew I was going to kidnap you, why did you show up at the wedding?”
    Summer blew out an aggravated breath, wondering how to explain it. Hell, she didn’t understand it herself half the time. “I dream possibilities, I guess you’d say. Some things really happen. Some are things that could happen. I never know until I live it, and a lot of times events don’t happen in life the same as they do in the dreams.”
    He stared at her across the water, and she was afraid of what questions he might come up with next.
    “You’ve seen our future?” he asked.
    She exhaled. Relatively safe. “I’ve seen possibilities.”
    “And were we as miserable as your grandparents?”
    She sucked in a breath. How could she make him see it wasn’t that easy? “I’ve seen us happy and fighting. I have no way of knowing which is reality.” He grinned. “I see lots of arguing in my future, actually.” He turned serious. “As long as we’re together, I think we can work it out. If we can get you talking.”
    “Ha ha,” Summer answered, trying to inject a snide note, but his gentle teasing warmed her heart and took the bite out of it.
    He went back to just watching her and the silence stretched. She was beginning to relax again when he asked the question she dreaded.
    “Did you dream about me before we met?”
    Squeezing her eyes shut, she considered lying but whispered the truth instead. “Years. I’ve dreamed about you for years.”

Chapter Four
    Chloe French—no, Underwood. She had to remember she was Underwood now, not French—
    stepped through the swinging door that divided the diner’s kitchen and main room, and froze for a split second before fear and momentum propelled her forward. He was here again. Billy Cagle. Beta of the Appalachian pack. Why did he keep coming back? To remind them both he couldn’t have her?
    She’d met him six months ago, when Jackson took over and kicked Wyatt out of the pack. He had come into the diner, sat at one of her tables, and sized her up in that way werewolves had. She knew the look, the way he sniffed the air around her. She’d experienced that before, she remembered bitterly.
    She’d never forget the look of rage in his eyes when he realized she was bonded to someone else. She had pled sick that night, and left work trembling, panicked and close to tears. She’d desperately hoped she would never see him again, but he kept coming back.
    Nodding, she hurried by the table and behind the counter. It was a slow night, and she knew what he wanted. While she waited for the fizz to settle in his Coke, she adjusted her sleeves, making sure no signs of her recent bruising showed. She’d heard rumors of Billy Cagle for years, but no matter how good they said he was, she lived in terror he would challenge Wyatt. And lose. She sensed he was just waiting for the right provocation, and she’d be damned if she would live with those consequences. Her life was difficult enough.
    Feeling his steady gaze on her, she forced herself to look up and meet his eyes. She gasped.
    Huge mistake. The blue depths shone with emotion, lust, longing, and frustration. Why couldn’t she have met him a year ago? Angry, she forced the thought away. What ifs got you nowhere.
    She carried the glass over and thunked it on the table as she glared down at him. “Why do you keep doing this?” she said in a low, controlled voice. No one was more