by K.N. Lee
Well, Magnus was upset that they were back and that they were causing more damage to Juliet’s pickup.
If she didn’t tell him her name soon…
By now, the werewolves had spotted him, but it didn’t matter. Magnus leaped off the pickup and landed onto the hood of their truck. He smashed his body straight against their windshield. The glass didn’t break with the impact, but a fist of a werewolf, did puncture it. His fist was bloody as he yanked it back through the hole, and already he made two more holes, enough for the windshield to crack and splinter.
His elbow directly in the center shattered the windshield, and he launched his attack on the passenger first. A few bites and a hard enough slap that snapped his neck, and that werewolf went down for the count.
The driver was reaching around beneath his seat, still ramming up toward Juliet’s pickup. If he was reaching for a gun, he didn’t get to it in time as Magnus darted out of the ruined windshield, onto the roof, and down the driver side. He ripped off the door and then seized the driver. A few werewolf punches to his chest, and the werewolf wheezed, coughing up blood, and then stilled.
Magnus climbed into the truck and stopped it. After using his shirt to wipe down the steering wheel, he stepped out of the truck and waved his hands.
At first, it looked like Juliet was just going to abandon him and drive away, but she slowly made a U-turn and swung back around. She braked, stopped, parked, and climbed out.
Immediately, he went to her side, trying to block her field of sight, to prevent her from seeing the carnage.
Too late.
Her eyes widened until he could see more white than iris. “What did… You… Why…”
“They wouldn’t have stopped coming after me,” he explained.
“But…”
“They wouldn’t have stopped coming after you. It was the only way to keep you safe.”
She was trembling, shaking, her mouth opening and closing.
Without thinking, he enveloped his arms around her, drew her close, and kissed her.
Chapter 8
His lips were soft, and he certainly knew how to kiss, but her mind was reeling, and she pushed him away. Then she did one better, and she hauled off and slapped him so hard her palm and wrist ached.
He worked his jaw. “I guess I deserve that.”
“You… You… How could you?” she sputtered.
“I had to kill them,” he protested.
To some extent, her mind could rationalize his actions, but at this moment, she was highly irrational. Even so, she understood that they couldn’t stay here, but could she really just leave the bodies behind? Was that something she could live with? But what could they do? They couldn’t stop and bury them, and no matter what if said, if he dared to ask her to drive around with bodies in the back of her pickup…
“How could you involve me in all of this!” she fumed. She brought back her hand to hit him again.
He caught her wrist, but his grip was loose. “I was selfish. Needlessly desperate. I… I’ve been by myself for so long, and… That the first werewolves I came across in a year tried to rip me to shreds… I guess I needed to make some kind of connection—”
“Connection?” She snorted. “Well, you can keep your connections and your lips to yourself.” Zelda kept her focus straight ahead to avoid seeing the bodies—the scent of the blood was enough to make her want to gag and vomit—and climbed back into her pickup.
“Um… Does keeping my connections to myself mean no ride?”
She should leave him here. Let him take responsibility for his actions. He’d done this. He’d brought all of this on her, on him, on them.
But would it end here, with their deaths? With their murders?
No, it hadn’t been murder. It had been self-defense. Justifiable, yes, but could they wait around and explain that to the police? Of course not. The rest of the werewolves in their pack would know who had killed them and hunt them down. They had to lay low at least for a little bit.
With a sigh, she grumbled, “Get in.”
He didn’t have to be told twice. Before she could take a deep breath, he was already sitting beside her, buckling himself.
“Where are we going?” he asked. “You never did tell me.”
“We’re going. Isn’t that enough?” She so badly wanted to gun it, but she couldn’t forget that she was driving on a spare. No way could she afford for the spare to get a hole in it, too.
At least they were on a seldom-used street. It might be a few days before the bodies were found.
For an hour, they drove in silence. The miles rolled on by. Zelda didn’t feel tired at all. She didn’t feel hungry, either. Shock. Maybe she was in shock. How in the world had this become her life? First, werewolves and now, killing… She was an accessory to… No. Self defense, remember?
Her mind was a frightening place right now, so she opted to break the silence. “We’re going to a cabin. My mom owes it. She lives in upstate New York, so we’ll have it to ourselves. Not that you’ll be staying long. I’ll pack you a bag of my dad’s clothes. I can give you a little cash. And then you’re gone.”
“I don’t need—”
“Just stop,” she said.
Silence descended, and another half hour later, she pulled onto a gravel road. Up the path was the wooden cabin. She had gone here every summer since she’d turned seven. Her mom had taken over the general store after her dad passed away, and she had expanded it and eventually sold the chain. Now she worked as a businesswoman in New York. They saw each other for holidays, now that Zelda was in college.
College. Classes. At least tomorrow’s earliest class began at eleven and not eight.
She drove around to the back and parked behind the cabin. That wasn’t what she typically did, but she felt so anxious right now, like she was in hiding. Witness protection.
“Come on.” She led him to the back door, unlocked it, and waved him in. “You can sleep in the—”
“Do you mind if I shower first?”
Zelda bristled at his rudeness, but then she spied that he was looking a little poorly. The poison, maybe? And there was blood all over his knuckles and on his face. He’d tried to wipe at it during the ride, and she sure hoped he didn’t get any of the seat or else he’d be washing out her truck before he left in the morning.
Wordlessly, she fetched him a towel and led him to the bathroom. “Second door on the left is the guest bedroom. It might be a little dusty, but everything’s clean. See you in the morning.” She started to walk away.
“Thank you,” he called.
“Yeah.” She waved a hand without looking back at him.
“Thank you, Juliet.”
Why was he… Oh, yeah. She’d called him Romeo, and he had kissed her like she was his Juliet…
“It’s Zelda,” she said.
“Thank you, Zelda.”
She almost smiled.
Zelda showered herself in the master suite bathroom and put on one of her father’s shirts since the clothes left there were now too small for her—all of her clothes that fit she’d brought to college with her, and the ones still here had been from when she was a girl. She was not a New York girl, so her summers she spent her in the cabin. Her mom, if she could, would take a week or two off to stay with her every summer. They were close but not as close as Zelda and her dad had been.
Sleep wouldn’t come. She tossed and turned, but every time her eyes closed, she saw the dead werewolves, smelled their blood. Eventually, she shoved the covers aside, stood, and made her way to the kitchen.
To her surprise, the light was on. Magnus sat at the table, holding an empty cup.
“You after the rum again?” she asked as she opened the fridge. Of course there wasn’t milk. She settled for tap water instead.
“Actually, I prefer scotch, but I’ll take what I can get.”
The table and the counters didn’t reveal a bottle of either liquid.
“Haven’t drank anything,�
� he answered her unspoken question.
“Have you eaten?”
“Not for hours.”
“You hungry?”
“Could eat a horse.”
She blinked.
“I don’t eat horses.”
“I don’t know what you eat or don’t eat. What you drink or don’t drink.”
“Is that… No. I don’t drink blood. I’m not a vampire.”
“Are they real, too?” She rooted through the cabinets. Man, were they low on food. Not surprising. It was late October. Halloween was days away. They only stocked the place in the summer. “Soup, okay?”
“I’ll heat it,” he offered.
“Least you can do,” she mumbled. She removed two cans of New England clam chowder from the cabinet to the left of the stove and pointed to the cabinet that had the pots and pans.
While he set about heating the soup, she got out some crackers and then sat down. She was wiped, drained mentally and physically, but still, she had all the questions. “They’ll hunt down the werewolves, won’t they? Their pack?”
“Yes. Once they realize they’re missing.”
“Will they be able to tell it was you?”
Magnus froze for a second. “I don’t think so. Regardless, they won’t be able to figure out your involvement. I’ll do a better job of de-scenting your truck before I leave in the morning. If you buy some white lilies and Jerusalem sage for your apartment, they won’t know I was there either. You might want to get some here, too.”
“Interesting. Their scents are strong enough to overwhelm the nose?”
“Yeah. Not many flowers that smell nice can, but I doubt you want the corpse flower where you live.”
“I’ll pass on that.”
He tested the soup. “Not yet,” he muttered. “Go ahead,” he said over his shoulder.
“Go ahead what?”
“Ask your questions. I know you’re dying to.”
“Are werewolves born or created?”
“Born. A bite won’t turn you into one, if that’s what you’re afraid.” He turned around, leaning against the stove, and crossed his arms. Yeah, he painted a tempting, handsome picture, especially since he was cooking for her.
Only heating up soup. Nothing to get excited over.
“So one day there will be a baby Magnus cub.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Werewolves don’t shift for the first time until their early teens. No cubs.”
“Oh.”
“And I’m without a pack. I won’t be having kids.” Magnus refocused his attention on the soup.
Now that sounded horribly lonely, but that wasn’t her problem. None of this was.
She definitely wasn’t going to be asking what happened if a werewolf and a human were to couple. Nope. The thought shouldn’t have even crossed her mind.
“You never answered me about vampires,” she noted.
“Nope, not real.”
“Are there other shifters? Can some people become bears or lions?”
“Nah. Just wolves.”
“A shame.” She frowned.
“Where are the…” He opened a few cabinets and removed two bowls. She stood to fetch them spoons, but he waved her back and found them himself. First, he brought over hers and then his. “I make a mean soup,” he boasted.
She stirred hers. “Not hard to do. All you have to do is make sure it doesn’t burn. Now, if you were to actually cook a full meal from scratch, then you can actually brag.”
“I’d love to make you a full four-course meal.” He spooned himself some and grimaced. “Way too salty.”
Zelda shrugged. It tasted normal to her. Maybe his taste buds are enhanced.
“More questions?”
“Does it hurt to transform? Do you know what is in your DNA that makes you able to transform? Do you have an affinity to the moon, or is that just myth? What about… Sorry.” Her cheeks burned. “I’m studying to be a scientist. Questions are kind my thing.”
“Analytical mind and all that. I get it.” He grinned. Despite the issue with salt, he’s going to town on his soup. “Does it hurt to transform? It did at first, but you get used to it.”
“The pain?”
“There’s always a little bit of pain, but it’s not as bad the more times you shift.”
“Do your bones break and reform?”
“I don’t think so. It’s more like everything gets rearranged.”
She stared at his arm. Not overtly hairy, not like some guys.
He flexed, his bicep bulging, and she rolled her eyes.
“What was next?” he asked with a laugh.
“Your DNA.”
“Now that I don’t know.”
“Ugh.” She would kill for a sample of his skin and blood. No. Not kill. Not literally. Zelda rubbed her forehead. What was this? Her life? She didn’t recognize it anymore.
“As for the moon, I love to take long romantic strolls beneath her beautiful gaze with an equally beautiful woman such as yourself—”
“False flattery will not prevent me from kicking you out in the morning.”
“Oh, I realize that, but who said anything about it being false?”
He was charming, she had to give him that.
For some time, they talked about nothing important—her love of running, his preference for camping instead of a beach vacation, her hatred of romance novels and rom coms, his confession that he never watched TV or movies.
“When you live on the run, you don’t get a TV let alone cable,” he explained.
“Do you have a cell phone at least?”
“Yep.”
“A smart phone?”
“Nope.”
“So you don’t have access to the Internet either.”
“Nope.”
“Uninformed, unintelligent…”
“Hey! Who said I’m unintelligent? I found you, didn’t I?”
“Luck.” She rolled her eyes.
“Or fate.” He reached across the table toward her hands.
She moved them onto her lap. That she wanted him to touch her unnerved her. Yes, he was hot, but he had killed. To protect himself. And me too. But could she overlook his flaws? They were so different, different species even. And he said it himself—he lived on the run. She was a college student. She had big plans for her future. She would never give them up for a guy.
He hadn’t asked her to, and she doubted he would. So he’d kissed her once. It might not mean anything to him. She might not mean anything to him. With the ease in which he flirted with her, he seemed like an accomplished pro. He probably moved from city to city, girl to girl, breaking hearts along the way.
Well, she wouldn’t give him her heart to break.
“I already told you I don’t fall for fate and that kind of romantic sentimental crude. My old roommate would’ve lapped it up. She read all kinds of romances, especially paranormals.”
“She loved to read about werewolves, huh?” He winked.
“Hate to break it to ya, but she preferred bear shifters, actually.”
“What? Dragons I could understand, lions I’d accept, but bears? Give me a break!” He clasped his hands to his heart dramatically.
Zelda burst out laughing. “Did you get your theatrics from your mom or your dad?”
“My mom. She was the lenient one. She was the life of the party. My dad grounded her. They made a great pair.”
She rubbed the back of her neck, noting the past tense, not wanting to bring up a sorrowful subject.
He still had a hand stretched toward her, and he flipped it up so he could curl his fingers in a come here motion. Reluctantly, she gave him her hand. His palm was warm, maybe a little warm than normal. Smooth but powerful. No callous.
“My father died to protect her. She had gone hunting as a wolf one time. A storm broke out. My dad went after her. A branch from a tree had injured her, and her healing was taking longer than it should. On their way back, they crossed paths with a wolf. An animal.
It attacked them. My dad killed the wolf but was mortally wounded. I was ten.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood. I’d much rather talk about—”
“My dad died. A heart attack. He was mostly all about business, but we were really close. I was definitely daddy’s little princess.” She grinned, refusing to form tears.
“You? A princess?”
“Hey, now. Be nice.”
The way he was staring at her, he wanted to treat her like a princess. Which was saying something because she doubted he had much money, or any for that matter. What did he have to offer? Nothing. Still, she didn’t pull her hand away. There was something about him, and she was beginning to suspect it wasn’t just because of her scientific curiosity that she wanted him around for a little longer yet.
“Your mom?” he asked, squeezing her hand.
She squeezed back. “Lives in New York. I see her during the summer a little bit. Since I turned eighteen, I kinda have been mostly by myself. At college, I mean. She moved out of PA last year, and I never followed. Dad lived near Philly all his life. I love it here. I’m happy here. I have roots here.”
“Roots.” Surprisingly, he was the one to pull away. “I don’t know what that’s like.”
“Do you have to run? Can’t you find a place to settle down?” Why was she holding her breath as she waited for his answer?
“Ironically, I was hoping that he would be the place I could do just that I thought the packs were out west still. Didn’t realize they’d followed me. I don’t think they followed me directly, but the fact remains that they’re here.” His grimace tugged at her heart. She couldn’t imagine what his life must be like. Constantly moving, leaving friends behind everywhere, or worse, not even forming friendships at all.
“The nomad wants to settle down, huh?” she said softly.
“Yeah. Might be nice to. Maybe. A possibility.” He shrugged.
“And what would you do with yourself? Get an apartment? What kind of job?”
“Nah, to grow roots, you need a house. Go big or go home. As for work, I’m up for anything. I’ve done a lot of odd jobs over the past year. Waiter. Construction worker. Garbage man.”