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I read further into the article, quickly skimming its contents. It talks about how the pop star hasn’t been seen out in publicsince her last concert in Las Vegas a couple of weeks ago and how it’s rumored she entered some sort of celebrity retreat where there are no cell phones or internet access.

I scroll down further and stop at the photo of thisAlexandriaperson. This one is a close-up instead of a full-body shot, her hair pulled back behind her shoulders. Even with all the makeup and hair styling, I recognize those eyes, those lips, the curve of her cheek. It’s Lottie.

Then realization strikes me, and I turn on Ginger, who’s standing and leaning against my workbench, her arms crossed over her chest defensively.

“Who was the friend of yours that referred Lottie to stay here?”

Ginger shrugs and diverts her gaze off to the side, avoiding eye contact. Her scent shifts, and I smell not only her anger but also her anxiety. Before she opens her mouth, I know she’s about to lie.

“Just an online friend, no one important.”

“Ginger,” I groan and sigh, already reaching the end of my patience.

“Luna, okay. It was Luna.”

“Are you freaking serious, Ginger? You let Luna convince you to allow a world-famous pop star to stay in my cabin?”

I hand her back her phone and run a hand through my hair, gripping the ends, trying not to rip it out in frustration. This is not what I need right now. Vincent and his men lurking around town, the blood moon lunar eclipse in less than two weeks, and now a world-famous pop star using my cabin as her personal vacay spot? None of this is going to end well.

I begin slowly pacing, trying to expel the anxious energy building under my skin, threading my hands together at the back of my head.

“Don’t worry, Hunter. She wants to be found even less than we do. Luna told me all about her before she ever got here. She’s hiding out from the world just like us. Her mother is a tyrant and forces her to work non-stop. Her contract just ended with the record label, and she wanted out. This was the only way she could get out without interference.

“Luna said she’ll probably stay a few months, get her ducks in a row, and either return to LA or go her separate way. She just needs somewhere out of the limelight, away from all the gossip rags and fans, to figure things out.”

Ginger takes a deep breath, and her tone becomes softer, pleading for understanding.

“Lottie doesn’t want the celebrity status; she just wants to be normal. You’ve spent time with her. Do you think she would tell anyone about Snowberry? Or us, for that matter?”

I stop pacing and face my sister, considering her argument. She has a point. I would have never thought Lottie was a famous singer. Rich, yes. That was obvious with her clothes and expensive wine purchase. But a fame-seeking celebrity? It’s just not who she is.

Ginger stares at me expectantly, hopefully. Her shoulders turned inward, preparing for my denial and rejection. She’s befriended Lottie and wants to continue being her friend. Not because she’s a famous singer but because she’s a nice person.

“No. I don’t think she would tell a soul if we asked her not to. Wouldn’t even need fairy dust. She’d keep it secret,” I admit, my arms falling loosely at my side as I give up my stressing.

Ginger’s shoulders relax and separate from her ears.

“Exactly. So please don’t make her leave. Don’t say anything about it. Just act like you don’t know. Come to Blue Moon tonight and treat her like any other person.”

Her posture relaxes even further, her spine straightening. Her scent returns to her normal mix of spicy sass and sweet sisterly teasing.

“Or maybe not any other person. Maybe a special person. Perhaps a girlfriend or even a m—”

“Don’t even say it, Ginger.” I pause, taking in a steadying breath. “She’s human, I don’t even know if that’s possible.”

Her eyes widen, not expecting me to admit such a thing.

Grinning around pinched lips, Ginger holds up her hands in surrender, saunters to the driver’s side of the Mini, and climbs in. Hopeful anticipation gleaming in her eyes.

“We’ll see you later, big bro. Don’t forget to shower beforehand. You smell like motor oil and dirt.”

With a wink, she starts her car and backs out, making a U-turn to head down my gravel driveway.

I stand there staring at the fading taillights of the mini and don’t move an inch until the dust has settled and all sounds of Ginger have dissipated. Pushing off from the workbench, I stride towards my front door, thoughts of Lottie—A.K.A. Alexandria—spiraling through my mind.

I realize that even knowing who she really is, I don’t want her to leave. I want to spend more time with her, no matter her past. Now, my singing nightingale makes more sense. Of course, she sounds amazing. She’s a professional—a world-famous pop star.

Our conversation at dinner last night runs through my head again. She said she was in between jobs and was trying to figure out what she wanted to do for the future. Thanks to our conversations in the forest while in wolf form, I already knew about her controlling mother.