Hunger Chronicles (Book 1): Life Bites

by Tes Hilaire

  “I do.” We reached the curb and stepped up onto the sidewalk. “And I wouldn’t necessarily mention the prom tonight. But if it comes up, then act like we’re just going as friends. My dad could probably swallow that.”

  “I’m not going to lie about how I feel about you.”

  “Raoul!” I spun on him, anchoring my feet on the cement. “You can’t rush things with my dad. He’s older. Comes from an era where people courted and danced around each other for months before anything got serious.”

  “And the prom would have been the perfect example of courting. In fact, I doubt people went as ‘just friends’ back then, so it makes perfect sense for him to know that I’m serious in my intentions toward you.”

  I gnawed at my bottom lip, thinking about that. It did ring of the type of old fashioned mentality my dad might respect. “Maybe.”

  “I’m right. Admit it.”

  I flung my arms up. “Fine. You’re right. But if he asks you about times,” I said, emphasizing my words with a waggling finger, “you need to promise him—”

  “I know, Eva. You’ve told me. An extra hour at the front for dinner and home before midnight else you turn into a pumpkin.”

  I snorted.

  His lips curled up into that melt-my-legs dimpled grin. He lifted a hand, pushing a hair back from my cheek. “Trust me, okay?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just my dad’s a bit overprotective.”

  “Then we have something in common.”

  I slapped his hand away, giving him my best stop-joking-around glare. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

  The grin faded, his eyes darkening with intensity. “I always take you seriously, Eva.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Don’t worry. I know all about overprotective parents. My mother is the queen of the control freaks.”

  I glance back down the sidewalk at his red Viper. “Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a car that can hit 220, and get to stay out to all hours of the night.”

  “I told you the car is from my dad’s inheritance.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that you have more freedom than me.”

  “Just a different sort of freedom. I have to go to private school, remember? That’s like going into lock-up every morning. I only get to escape after sundown.”

  Whatever.

  Back stiff, I marched toward the front door. Despite the late hour, it was unlocked. I had a key, but my parents never locked the door until after I was home for the night.

  I pushed open the door, stepping into the front hall. “Mom? Dad?”

  There was a scrape in the living room. Then a hurried ticking of claws on wood.

  “Hey Shaggy.” I started to bend down to greet the Old English Sheepdog in all his fluffy-haired glory when all of a sudden Shaggy halted, a growl rumbling like distant thunder in his throat.

  “Shaggy?”

  “Effing dumb dogs.” Raoul’s hands closed over my shoulders. Shaggy let out a sharp bark and lunged forward. I yelped, and then I was on my butt on the floor. Raoul’s large body crouched down between me and my schizoid pet.

  “Eva? What’s wrong with Shaggy?” Mom. Her flip-flops slapping down the hall from the kitchen.

  I didn’t answer, scrambling up to get a hold of Shaggy’s collar before he actually took a chunk out of Raoul. He’d stopped barking but was still doing that deep-throated growl, his lips quivering over his bared fangs.

  “Shaggy! Stop!” I tried to push past Raoul.

  “Wait.” Raoul’s arm came out, holding me back. At the same time he reached forward with his other hand. I jumped, gasping as Shaggy snapped at his hand. But Raoul was faster, his hand grabbing a tuft of fur on the side of Shaggy’s face below his floppy ear.

  “Eva?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at my mom. Saw the worry in her face. I was worried too. I’d never seen Shaggy like this. The big joke around the house was that a thief could come in and rob us blind and all Shaggy would do was slobber them. “I don’t know, mom. He just went cr—”

  “It’s okay, boy.”

  I snapped my head back around, blinking at the sight before me. Shaggy was sitting on his haunches, his tongue lolling out as he panted happily under Raoul’s scratching hand.

  “Well he seems fine now,” mom said, wiping her hands off on her apron. “Who is this?”

  “Oh, um...” I took one last look at Shaggy. Weird. Maybe there was something about Raoul that reminded Shaggy of his old owner. His height and build, or maybe his cologne? Whatever, Shaggy was acting normal now.

  I shrugged it off, turning my attention back to the real matter at hand—surviving the forthcoming interrogation.

  “This is Raoul. He, uh, drove me home from the movies.” I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  My mom’s eyes narrowed predictably. “I thought Carrie’s mom was going to give you a ride home.”

  “Raoul offered and, um…”

  Raoul stood up, offering his hand which she took. “And I wanted to meet the woman who had given birth to such an amazing daughter.” He flashed my mom a dazzling smile, kissing the top of her hand. “Now I know where she got her beauty from.”

  I stifled a groan, barely resisting the urge to smack my head. No, Raoul’s. How stupid could he be? My mom was way too sharp for that charm-you-over-crap. Except…

  I watched in amazement as my mother blushed. She delicately took her hand back, her blush turning into an outright smile that sent my jaw somewhere south of a frozen hell. “I like this one, Eva. How long have you been hiding him?”

  “I didn’t…”

  My mother smiled, angling her head toward the kitchen. “Come on back. I need to finish crimping my pie crust. You can talk to me while I do that.”

  Mom spun about and practically bounced her way back to the kitchen. I might have stood there shaking my head in confusion, but Raoul linked his arm around my back and shuffled me along in her wake. Surreal. Shaggy was the one who went gaga over strangers, Mom was always polite but reserved. This just didn’t fit into my reality.

  I shook the thought off, inching away from Raoul slightly. Shaggy and Mom might have entered the Twilight zone, but if my dad came up and caught us cuddling, there would be hell to pay.

  At first I thought Raoul might make a big deal of my perceived defection—his arm clamped tighter around me—but a quick glance at my face and he let me go, his eyes hooded with wry amusement.

  “You have a lovely home.”

  “Thank you.” My mother’s fingers flew around the edge of the pie plate, sculpting the edges of the crust into perfect crescents. “I’m sorry about Shaggy. I’ve never seen him act that way before.”

  “I’m betting he smelled my mother’s latest stray on me.”

  “Your mother takes in stray dogs?” I asked sharply. This was news to me.

  He shook his head. “Not normally, but this one is a young male wolf.”

  “A wolf?” My mom stopped her crimping long enough to look over her shoulder, her elegant brows winged up in alarm.

  Raoul shrugged. “It was injured, probably by a car, so she took it in. Of course, my mom isn’t that good at rehabilitation so I’m the one tending to him.”

  Mom shook her head, sliding the pie into the oven. “No wonder my daughter likes you. Must be kismet.”

  He smiled over at me. “I’d agree on the kismet. I’m still trying to win her over though.”

  “You never told me about any stray wolves,” I said, my tone distinctively hurt. I wasn’t sure why this revelation bothered me so much, other than that we’d been intimate enough to have our tongues down each other’s throats, multiple times, and it seemed like I should just know that sort of stuff about him by now.

  “Wolf. Just one. And I wasn’t sure you’d consider it a virtue, considering that they’re the type of carnivore that would devour poor baby calves.”

  My mother threw her head back, her laughter tinkling through the house like silver bel
ls. Expectantly, there was a loud scraping sound in the basement, followed by the even thud of my father’s footfalls on the stairs. “Jen? Who’s there?”

  “Eva is home,” she called back. “And she brought a friend she wanted us to meet.”

  The thudding picked up in pace. I sucked in a breath, holding it as my dad’s head, and then his stout body popped through the basement door. One step into the kitchen and his feet planted on the linoleum, his shoulders tense, and eyes narrowed like lances on Raoul and the slim bit of space between us. I would have inched away further, but that would be like admitting guilt. Better to stand my ground… and pray.

  “A friend, huh?” my father rumbled.

  “Now Charles….” My mother crossed over and patted my father’s shoulder, her warning evident. She smiled back at Raoul. “Don’t worry, Raoul, like Shaggy, Charlie’s bark is worse than his bite.”

  Raoul stepped forward, offering his hand. My dad took it instinctively though his gaze was still trying to pierce holes through the “intruder” in our midst.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir.” Raoul’s forearm tensed, just enough to return my father’s firm shake, but not so much as to make my dad feel the need to bear down and win the power play. Good. Another good thing? Raoul had dropped the charming smile. Instead he met my father eye to eye as he answered most seriously, “And I’m the guy who’s fallen head over heels in love with your daughter.”

  I had to swallow another groan. Crap. Raoul had been doing so well until then.

  “Are you now?” My dad took his hand back, folded his arms across his massive chest. “And Eva? She’s normally not one for playing in the clouds.”

  Raoul let out a deep sigh, his hand clasping over his heart. “Alas, you are right, three weeks of endless wooing and she hardly gives me the time of day. I had to bribe, beg, and blackmail her to get her to bring me here tonight to meet you.”

  “Is that right?”

  I blinked hard. Had my father’s mouth just twitched? As if he were about to smile? No way.

  Raoul leaned in closer, speaking in a stage whisper. “I thought, perhaps, being her father, you could give me a few pointers on winning her heart. Maybe even convince her to go to the prom with me next weekend…”

  “Her heart?” My dad tilted his head, considering me. “Not sure I can help you there. But I think I can give you some hints about getting her out of her armor and into a dress.”

  Raoul rubbed his hands together, his eyes dancing as he winked at me. “Perfect.”

  My mouth flopped open.

  “Come on into the family room, Raoul. I think, perhaps, we should get better acquainted.”

  I stared after them, jaw still slack, as my father looped his arm across Raoul’s shoulders and dragged him down the hall, his low-voiced words drifting back in their wake. This was it. Loony dogs, blushing mothers, and two-faced fathers; the world had indeed gone crazy.

  27.

  I wake and know right away that something has changed. Something significant. Something that is oh so seriously…wrong.

  I take my time, keeping my eyes closed and my breathing even as I let my senses and the memories flow into me. The zombies, the run across the desert into the hills, the wolf-zombie, then Wolf-dog and the cave. That’s right. I’m still in the cave, the stone floor cutting into my hip and cheek. And I’m still not alone. Wolf-dog’s pounding heart thuds out a slow rhythm behind me, his body heat warming the air at my back. So what is wrong then?

  I wait for it to come; the knowledge, the sense that will soon wake and tell me why I should feel alarmed. I get nothing. Cautiously I pry open one eye, then the other. All I see is the shadow drenched cave, the pool of water glistening in the failing light, my tank-top, stretched out and dry upon the floor.

  I roll over, expecting to come up against Wolf-dog’s soft fur and smack into skin instead. WTF? I scramble to sitting, scooting back across the floor to stare at the strange male who is occupying the space where Wolf-dog should be. And not just any guy, a strange naked guy.

  Whoa there. I stare at the beautiful backside before me; the tight well-toned bum. Oh wow. Carrie would be proud, mom and dad would be aghast. I am… confused. Talk about a trade up. A sloppy tongued Wolf-dog for a hot guy. Unless… I smack my hand across my mouth to keep the expletive from popping out and waking my unexpected roommate. I am so stupid. A year and a half ago I didn’t believe in vampires, turned out I was wrong. Guess I was wrong about werewolves too.

  I know the moment he wakes up. His shoulders tense, the muscles along his spine tightening and exaggerating the ridges that run parallel paths on either side of the bones. I have to drag my gaze away from this inadvertent, yet fascinating show of strength and back up toward his head. A head that is topped with slightly curly brown hair.

  I can’t help the exclamation that comes from my mouth this time. “John?”

  Naked guy shifts, pushing up off the floor until he’s sitting, his body turned half away from me. The lack of response has me grabbing for my knife, but then he twists his head, the evening light falling across John’s familiar, if a bit haggard, features.

  “John.” It’s all I can say. This is an… interesting development.

  “Hey.” He throws me a half- smile, but winces, eyes closing as he clamps his broad palms over the sides of his head.

  I try valiantly not to stare at his rippling muscles. Fail. Even covered in dirt and crusty sweat, his body is superb. Far better than I thought; having only seen him in baggy cargo pants. Of course, the fact that he’s naked enough for me to study him like this drives home the fact that, “You’re a…”

  “Werewolf, yeah,” he says, his hands still clamped like a vise around his temples.

  A million questions pop into my head, like, say, how he became a werewolf? When? How many others are there? But he’s obviously in pain.

  “You okay?” I ask, kneeling down cautiously beside him. Not sure if it’s the were thing making me inexplicably nervous, or the naked guy thing. John’s a were. A naked were.

  “Just sore. The change isn’t kind at the best of times.” He drops his hands, draping his forearms over his knees and hiding the more…interesting…aspects of his naked self. I flush guiltily, dragging my gaze back to his face. He’s studying me intently, his gaze roaming over my blood caked shoulder that the black wolf had ripped into with its claws. “How about you? You okay?”

  I reach up and swipe away the dried-on blood. Beneath the skin is creamy and smooth.

  “You heal faster than a were.”

  He sounds kind of jealous of this fact. I shrug, brushing off my right forearm as well. I did. As long as I’ve had enough blood. And last night I’d certainly gotten my quota. Too bad I’d lost so much of it during the wolf-zombie fight. A million more questions pop into my mind. Had John heard the fight when he came to my rescue? Had he, like me, been looking for a place to hole up and just happened upon us? And, more importantly, was that thing merely a sick wolf, or had it, too, been a werewolf?

  “The wind seems to have let up,” John says. “We should probably try and make it back to the helicopter. They’ll be wanting to pick it up as soon as possible.”

  I look around the cave, the rough walls and dim interior strangely homey. Even with the gluttony I’d partaken on, I wouldn’t have lasted the day outside. But John’s right, now it is time to leave. We have a lot of distance to cover between now and daybreak. My questions will have to wait.

  I stare at his trembling hands, the sheen of sweat that has erupted over his body. Maybe it’s not me I should be worried about.

  “You sure you’re up for a hike?” I ask.

  “As if I have a choice.” He grunts, staggering to his feet. I immediately reach out to steady him, one hand falling on his arm, the other his ribs on his left side. The contact with his warm smooth flesh has me sucking in a breath, but I force my hands to remain.

  This is John. Just because he’s naked and a were doesn’t mean he’s som
ehow changed overnight.

  Okay, that’s stupid. He has in fact changed overnight. And back again. Point is he’s still John. There is just more to John than I ever thought.

  “Over there.” He jerks his head toward the pool of water. “There is a slight depression on the other side. I stuffed my clothes and things in there.”

  “Oh.” Too bad.

  I do a mental head smack. This is a good thing, not a bad thing. Walking naked through the desert during the cold night is not a good thing, no matter how much I may have enjoyed the view.

  When I’m sure he’s not going to fall over if I let go, I hurry across the cave, skirting around the pool. Sure enough, there are John’s cargo pants, t-shirt, and boots stuffed into a dip on the other side. There is also his gun, though it has no magazine in it. I grab them up and head back to John, stopping briefly to grab my own tattered tank-top.

  He takes his stuff from me with a thanks and begins to yank the clothes on. I try not to watch, concentrating on putting my arms into the proper holes of my tank—and let me just say there are a lot of them now.

  I turn back to find him frowning down at his boots. He’s managed to get on all his clothes and stuff his feet into his boots, but he’s trembling even worse than before, and it’s obvious the thought of bending down to tie them up is discouraging.

  I bend and start to work on the laces. “So, you didn’t go down into the bunkers, I take it. Not if you managed to find this cave in time to take your clothes off before the moon rose.”

  “Of course not. I’m not suicidal.”

  I don’t say anything as I tie off the second boot. I wonder if he knows that I almost did. Go into the bunkers, that is, not commit suicide. Even if the end result would have turned out the same, it’s not like it would have been a conscious decision. “Did you come back after you’d found the cave?”

  “Back to the warehouse?”

  “The bunker,” I correct him. “I found the access ladder to the tunnels blocked off. I wondered if you’d done that or someone else.”