Where the hell am I? I can’t smell Jace’s lemon pie scent.
“Estel, are you there?” I tried calling, but there was no answer. “Estel?”
“Ugh, stop talking to that filthy wolf,” I heard an older voice say. “Why is my precious blood mixed with such a lowly species? The Gods must be punishing me.”
Contrary to what I expected, her voice did not sound like that of a thousand-year-old woman. If I had to bet, I would say she was Vonnie’s age.
“Let me guess, grandma?” I said as I looked up.
Before me was a woman of approximately 40 years with short brown hair and hazel eyes.
We didn’t look anything alike, and if I weren’t a werewolf, I wouldn’t have known she was related to me, but her scent didn’t lie.
Of course, when I called her grandma, her face turned into a scowl. “Don’t call me t
