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“Don’t I deserve a medal or at least chocolate for getting up at…?” I twist, trying to see my watch, but it’s hidden by my gardening glove. I yawn. “The ass-crack of dawn? Don’t you reckon that this Luca sounds like one of those fancy, refined Alphas who’d have a heart attack if he saw me smeared in dirt like this, Beau? I’m never going to get this done in time and then clean up.”

Sweat drips down my neck from the humid heat of the morning sun.

Cicadas chirp and butterflies flit between the wildflowers.

I sweep a despairing glance over the weeds growing among the flowers. The yellow masses cast the bluebonnets and coneflowers into a deep shade. Field bindweed is strangling the tall stalks of my sunflowers and larkspurs, dragging their heads down to the ground.

I turn back to face the green, sprawling vine that is climbing around the base of the oak.

I narrow my eyes, patting the trunk. “Don’t worry, Dream Tree. I’ll save you first.”

I grab a large handful of the weed, which is trying to harm my tree, and pull it away.

Satisfying.

I hurl it over my shoulder.

I feel like a warrior.

Then something catches my eye.

I peer closer at the trunk that has been revealed to the light.

My expression softens, as I trace over the carved heart with the initials E & P inside it.

“I found you again, Evan,” I whisper. “I never lost you.”

Evan and I had our first kiss under this tree. We made our first promises of love.

We named the oak our Dream Tree because it held our dreams about our future.

When Evan and I first bonded and became a pack with Beau, I reckoned this oak must be magical because it had heard Evan and my whispered hopes and dreams for our future and had woven a fate for us.

Now, I no longer believe in dreams.

In wishes come true.

Or in fate.

I only believe in living day by day and somehow finding a way to honor the Monarchs’ memory.

How can I do that, however, when I have two weeks left to live in this inn?

By sharing this place with the Coles? By allowing myself one final heat here?

Even Devlin can’t take that away from me.

I shudder, trying not to think about Devlin’s increasingly possessive phone calls.

I tear at the vine, imagining that it’s Devlin’s throat.

I snarl.

Then I try to calm myself by imagining the way that Rhett has tormented me over the last couple of nights.

I blush at the memory of the toys that I ordered online at his direction.

Last night, to Rhett’s seductive drawl, I followed his commands.