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Only one thing had been truly working lately.

A pair of jade eyes filled my mind, and my gut clenched so tight I sucked in a breath. Maybe I was a masochist now, because the images my fox kept throwing at me of Jasmine felt like pure fucking torture. Wanting what I could never have, a female I shouldn’t even be thinking about but did anyway because just the thought of her was a lifeline, and a seriously fucked-up torment.

I might think my unsuspecting lifeline hated me, but Jasmine wasn’t capable of the emotion. She did think I was a “fucking creep” though, and a “slimeball”…oh, and let’s not forget the way I made her “skin crawl.” Can’t forget that part. I’d been drunk when she’d laid that on me, surprising the fuck out of me. I had no idea little Jazzy Thornheart had it in her. I’d never seen her so pissed.

But I’d more than deserved her anger, and I fucking cringed when I thought about the shit I said to her.

She sure as hell wouldn’t want my slimy hands on her, and I’d never touch her, not in a million years. All I needed from her were her eyes on me.

It didn’t matter if those gorgeous eyes were filled with disgust or anger—or disappointment. I just needed her to look at me, so that late at night I could close my eyes and see them, see her. So I could fall so deep into her eyes that the blood and the pain couldn’t reach me.

And I was ashamed to admit I had a fucking entire file of photos of her on my phone, like the fucking creeper she thought I was. While she thought I was texting or watching something on my phone, I took pictures of her. If I wasn’t too far gone, like I was this morning, I scrolled through them, and they helped me regain control. Yes, it was fucked up. No, I had no idea what it was about her that soothed the horror inside me, and I realized when I walked in and found Breanne still in my bed, I didn’t want random hookups anymore. I didn’t want any of it. Besides running to the cliffs and cutting, Jasmine was the only thing that truly helped.

What the fuck did I do with that?

I unlocked the door and walked into the cold room. The only reason I could think of was that she was the one sent to deliver the message to me three years ago, that those souls had chosen her. I didn’t know exactly what they’d shared with Jasmine, but I knew enough about her power and how it worked, to know they’d shown her what happened to them, how they’d died—how I’d killed them.

The thought turned my stomach, but it also connected us in some fucked-up way.

Because she knew more about what I did, what that evil fuck had made me do, than anyone else. I hadn’t even shared it with Willow. I didn’t want that in her head.

No wonder I disgusted Jasmine.

Shoving it all from my mind, I turned on my music and put on my rubber apron. The still healing slices in my skin pulled as I moved and helped keep my mind clear.

I drew back the white sheet covering Mr. Fulton. The witch was in his eighties. He’d died suddenly yesterday night in his sleep. The family was coming to view his body tomorrow, so I needed to get him ready.

“Let’s get you dressed and looking good, Mr. Fulton,” I muttered and got to work.

A couple hours later, I’d finished touching up his face and had him in his suit—

Something cold, like icy fingers, brushed across the back of my neck. I froze. It definitely wasn’t the first time, but this shit was getting more and more frequent. I looked behind me, but, of course, there was nothing there. Gritting my teeth and fighting down the anxiety, I finished getting Mr. Fulton ready, ignoring the cold touches that kept coming.

“Go,” I ground out. “Just follow the fucking light already.”

Spirits weren’t new here. This place got its fair share, but they were transient. They were passing through, if they ended up here at all. I wasn’t a medium, but I’d felt them, had seen things all my life living here and so had my parents, it was part of dealing with death every day.

But this, what had been happening to me more and more lately, was something else, and after what happened to me, even with the rune Willow had inked on me to stop a soul from possessing me again, that fear was always there. It didn’t help that things were getting worse and I didn’t know why. I jolted when invisible, cold hands pressed against my back again, the iciness soaking through my clothes.

No. I shook my head when the thought filled my mind. It wasn’t them.

It couldn’t be one of the souls Jaz spoke to three years ago, because they were gone. I did what they asked, right? I somehow found the strength to come home, I left the forest. That was as close to peace as I’d ever get. No, this was someone, something else, it had to be. Those souls, they were just on my mind because the anniversary of that fucking nightmare was fast approaching.

It was hard, but I forced myself to continue to ignore it. I turned the music up and got back to work, telling myself over and over I was safe. Possession wasn’t possible.

Maybe it was just Mr. Fulton? Maybe he was fucking with me? I hoped like hell it was, the alternative wasn’t something I could stomach.

I pulled up to the clubhouse. I hadn’t been by last night. After preparing Mr. Fulton, I’d shifted and left. I hadn’t been in the mood to be around anyone and spent the night in the forest—running, hunting, letting the fox lead and my animal instinct take over, keeping me firmly out of my own head.

But I couldn’t be away from Willow and Violet for long. We were witch and familiar. Being away from her all that time when I’d been struggling so bad had only added to the pain. It was early evening, and as I strode toward the clubhouse, I heard the music, nineties dance, the kind of stuff Asher played if the wolf shifter wasn’t listening to death metal. Colored lights flashed through the glass windows high along the wall.

“What’s going on?” I asked Relic, who was working on his bike out front.

“Zinny’s leaving tomorrow. Her cousins are here with some of the wolves. They threw her a party.”

The rumble of bikes echoed behind me, and I turned as the rest of the hounds returned from their ride, the ones not stationed around the clubhouse on security detail, anyway.

Warrick kicked down his bike stand, swung his leg over the seat, and started toward us. “Wills was waiting for Violet’s daddy to get home so she could join the fun,” Relic said.