Paige le Mont

The doorbell rang.

 

With Finn padding behind her, no doubt hoping to sneak outside, Sela hurried down the hall. “What’d they forget? Gotta be organized in college.” Blocking the cat with her foot, she opened the door to a man leaning against the architectural stone veneer, his legs crossed at the ankles.

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“Oh.” Dammit. Should’ve peeked through the peephole. No clipboard, logoed clothing, or fliers. Scowling, she huffed. “Not interested.” She nudged the door, but the way he shifted his weight and silently regarded her made her pause. Her brain tripped. Weird. She squinted, giving him a once-over. Wavy, mahogany-brown hair fell across his forehead. A close-clipped beard edged his sharp jaw and expanded into a goatee. Mmmm. Handsome. Sunglasses rested on his straight nose. He removed them in a calculated, practiced move, revealing striking gray eyes.

 

No. Her breath whooshed out like she’d been punched. Fucking hell. She slammed the door and pressed her back against it. Aksel? Ragged breathing rattled her lungs. Aksel’s dead. Her thoughts scattered like startled blackbirds. So … a doppelganger? She slumped to the floor. Draugr? She covered her mouth. No, not a zombie. It’s the space-time continuum. What? He’s Aksel’s son. Her lungs seized.