Lara, who was no longer Lara but a woman named Katherine, stepped out of the small house, the skirt of her simple dun dress swishing around her feet as she sang one of the many songs that she had learned from the sailors on the crossing from England, some of which were far too bawdy for a lady to repeat. Luckily, being a low-born werewolf meant that she wasn’t a lady, and her husband and mate was not the kind of man who would stop her from singing a particularly lewd song— he was the kind of man who would sing it with her in his startlingly off-key voice.
New England was nearing its brutally cold winter, and Katherine’s breath transformed into a cloud of steam as she scanned the area around the house. Her eyes quickly found her husband, who was pulling weeds from their small vegetable ga
