His thumbs make lazy circles on my cheeks, sending tingles of pleasure through me in stark contrast to his harsh words.
Every ounce of common sense in me is screaming at me to run. Or hide. Or at least fight back. But his touch scrambles me, and I end up muttering some weird mashup of curse words instead.
He smirks like he’s perfectly aware of what he’s doing to me.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I mumble.
“Of course not. You’re drawn to me, which is refreshing, I’ll admit, considering my beast usually makes humans run in the other direction. Though, maybe it’s unfortunate, for you, because I know exactly who you are,” he continues. “You’re the girl who cried werewolf, and vampire, and dragon, and fae. According to your man crush Monday posts, you see the supernatural everywhere, so I have a feeling my secret couldn’t have fallen into more incapable hands. So I’m sorry, but this is goodbye. But don’t worry, Pepper. I’m not going to leave you without something to vlog about.”
I open my mouth to let him know exactly where he can shove his vlog ideas, but his mouth crashes onto mine with the force of an inferno. Hot. Wild. And completely uncontrollable.
Rage and lust sweep through my body in equal parts. My mind screams at me to kick him in the balls or bite his tongue off while my hands tangle in his soft waves, desperate to erase any space between us. My body burns as I arch into him. I hang on for dear life, giving as good as I get back.
If I’m going to kiss a werewolf, I’m going to make it the best damn kiss he’s ever had. He growls low in his throat, nipping at my lip before soothing it with his tongue. I gasp, and a white light flashes behind my lids, accompanied by the telltale “click” of a camera.
He pulls back abruptly, a smug smile tipping the corner of his mouth.
I blink, momentarily disoriented. My mind flounders, not quite sure why he stopped kissing me and only vaguely aware that I’m supposed to be pissed.
Wait. Did he just take a photo of us?
A sudden wind tickles my lashes, and I blink. When I look up again, I’m startled to realize that I’m alone. I rush out from underneath the awning in time to see him walking down the sidewalk, my phone held above his head.
“Thank God for the cloud,” he says, throwing my earlier words back at me. “Because this one is definitely a keeper,” he shouts before disappearing around the corner.
“Ugh.” I huff. “Fucking werewolves.”
Chapter 3
For the next few days, even school isn’t enough to distract me from my impossible discovery. To my frustration, the video I made isn’t in the cloud, so there’s zero proof that what I saw was real. After a thorough check of my bedroom, the only evidence I find that someone’s been inside is a Post-It stuck to my signed copy of Hopeless by Melissa Haag. In handwriting I’ve never seen before are the words: this seems fitting.
Asshole. At least he didn’t defile it by writing on the pages. I think that’s what they call justifiable homicide.
I glance at the book, thinking of the third in the series which features my favorite character. Bethi would kick my stalker’s ass; werewolf or not. Sure, she’s got a lifetime of memories and training, but I’m not exactly helpless.
I can’t afford to move out of my rent controlled apartment, not to mention Talia and Anna already think I’m having a mental breakdown and moving would only convince them more, but I’m not going to take my supernatural break-in sitting down.
That means there’s only one thing left to do.
It’s time to channel my inner Kevin McCallister and give my stalker some Home Alone style justice.
Two hours—and a whole lot of YouTube tutorials—later, I smirk at the Rube Goldberg boobytrap set up in my room. After a little consideration, I decided to focus all of my security tactics there. My little supernatural stalker is in for a hell of a surprise if he ever tries to snoop in my room again.
With a grin of satisfaction, I sink down onto my bed and fall back into my tried and true method of escaping the dramas of this world. I crack open my copy of Fallen Academy and lose myself in its pages.
A week after the murder-that-no-one-believes, the sexy stranger is nothing but a tortured memory, my phone has been replaced, and I’ve decided that I hate romance writers. Which is really inconvenient for me since I’ve spent my whole life with my nose in a book. Not to mention I am currently pursuing a degree with an end goal of working with authors. I can’t help but feel a bit bitter. Werewolves are not the perfect, sexy, devoted male specimens they led me to believe. They’re arrogant, slightly psychotic, mind blowing kissers. And, let’s not forget, total jerks.
So much for the fantasy of romantic shifters.
I growl in frustration, shaking myself from my thoughts.
Around me, the smell of coffee beans seeps in right along with the low music playing. Hallowed Grounds has the best playlists, but today even that isn’t enough to soothe my stress.
“Dude, why are you growling?” Talia demands. “Are you a werewolf this week?”
“Hell, no.”
“Good. Because I can’t handle any more of your crazy until I’ve had at least one full cup.” Talia throws back a huge gulp of her coffee like it’s the only thing that can help her through this conversation.
I wrinkle my nose at her in disgust. “I’m crazy? You drink black coffee. Everyone knows only crime lords and murderers drink black coffee.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but Anna jumps in to side with me. “Romy’s right. When you’re arrested for some heinous murder that your family forces you to commit, your love of black coffee is gonna be the thing that makes us say, ‘We shoulda known.’”
Talia throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, so now I’m a mobster and a murderer?”
“You’ve watched the same movies we have,” I say, shrugging and taking a sip of my Zombie–my go-to Hallowed Grounds drink. “You’re from New York. You’re here learning to take over the family business.” I use my fingers to air quote the last two words, and Anna snickers.
“You guys are ridiculous,” Talia says.
“Are we?” I ask. “Anytime we ask what your family business is, you deflect. You drink black coffee like it’s water, and you can hold your liquor better than anyone I know.” I list the reasons on my fingers before waving them in her face. “You’re clearly an heiress to a mobster empire. It’s okay, though. We’ll be the friends that help you evade the government when it all comes crashing down.”
“That’s a very compelling case you have there. Let’s alert the media,” Talia drawls while rolling her eyes.
Anna grins.
“But on a more serious note. While you’ve been getting busy with your book boyfriends, Anna and I have been planning the Kappa’s annual fundraiser. You’re still gonna help, right? Because we kinda already volunteered you.”
My mouth falls open, totally at a loss for how smoothly she’s just changed the conversation and played me at the same time. I narrow my eyes at her and then at Anna. “Ugh. Seriously, you guys? How do I keep getting roped into these things? I didn’t even rush.”
“One of the girls is sick. We need an extra body,” Talia says simply.
“And yours is so beautiful,” Anna adds sweetly, but I glare at her.
“Nuh-uh. Do not try to flatter me now. This is exactly why I didn’t join a sorority.”
“I thought you didn’t join because you hate people,” Talia says.
“Exactly,” I agree.
“When are you going to accept that you’re our unofficial sorority mascot?” Talia asks.
“When are you going to accept that I’m not a life size doll?” I mutter in response.
“Of course you’re not a doll,” Talia says. “You’re way sexier than that. More like a green-eyed, ginger Barbie.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“Does that mean you’ll do it?” Anna asks.
“Uh, no.”
Talia shakes her head, b
ut Anna’s face falls. The moment her disappointment registers, I know I’ve just lost.
“What’s the theme this time?” I ask, resigned.
“It’s a bake sale.” Anna perks up, bouncing in her seat the way she always does at the mention of baking.
“Of course it is. And will Just Desserts be providing the food?” I ask even though I already know the answer.
Anna’s dessert truck is one of the most popular in Reverence. All of her treats have hilarious names, like Holy crepe; Well, I eclair; Bless your tart; or Butter my biscuit; but that’s not why her truck is so popular. Anna is a master baker. Snort. But seriously, her desserts are like an orgasm in your mouth. Like me, she already had a successful business when we met as freshmen a couple of years ago, but she’s here learning to expand so she can become the next household name. Move over, Sara Lee.
I learned very quickly with Anna that her sweet naivete doesn’t spill over into her business smarts. She’s a baking genius.
“Yes, but it’s more than just the food,” Anna says.
“How much more?” I ask, nervous at her hesitant tone.
“We’re teaming up with the Deltas. Talia had this great idea to have them serve the desserts.” She starts giggling uncontrollably and can’t continue.
I’m instantly leery. A feeling that only intensifies when Talia, not so subtly, kicks her under the table.
“Ow,” Anna groans, rubbing at her shin.
Talia turns to me with a look of innocence that makes me distrust her on principle. “The Deltas are just going to join us as our man servants.”
“Man servants?” I echo. “Isn’t that a little bit derogatory? If they tried calling you a servant, you’d rip their dicks off.”
“It’s business, Romy. We just need their stupid muscles to bring in the ladies. The money we’ll make for charity outweighs my righteous indignation.”
“I’m not spending my day with a bunch of knuckle-dragging frat boys,” I state flatly.
“C’mon, Romy. It’s our annual charity event. The biggest fundraiser of the year. You have to help,” Anna says, but I cross my arms over my chest, unmoved.
“Besides,” Talia adds, changing tactics, “You have to come so we can grill the douchebag Anna is dating.”
“What!” I screech turning to Anna. “Since when are you dating someone?”
She blushes before mumbling, “He’s not a douchebag.” She squares her shoulders before saying louder, “He’s really funny, and he can be sweet as pie. I want y’all to give him a chance.”
I glance at Talia, and she rolls her eyes. “You know him. Brody? The Delta’s president.”
My eyes widen in surprise. Brody’s the type of guy whose only suggestion for fundraising last year was a bikini contest, if you know what I’m saying. Unfortunately, our sweet Anna has always had a soft spot for boys her mama wouldn’t approve of, and even more unfortunate, Brody isn’t the worst guy she’s ever been interested in.
So, I smile at her. “Um, wow. That’s great. Brody is definitely the life of the party,” I say in a weak attempt to placate her.
Talia snorts at my lame compliment. “So, you see, you have to come. It’s our job as Anna’s roommates to threaten Brody with bodily harm if he hurts our girl,” she insists. “Besides, it’s not like you have something more important to do than charity. I mean, as long as you’re not going to unveil the existence of Bigfoot next.”
She laughs at her own joke before attempting to drink from her empty cup of death. “Shit. I’m out. Be right back,” she says before sliding out and shuffling towards the counter for a refill.
“Hey, ya know she’s just jokin’, right,” Anna says. “We’re both just worried about ya. You scared us with all that werewolf talk, hun. We can’t help but be protective of you even after all this time, and well, Talia, bless her heart. She doesn’t do well with the gooey bits of life.”
Anna was right. Talia hated gooey stuff, and even so, she’d been there for me at my darkest without flinching.
I sigh, rubbing at my temples to relieve the stress headache that has started to form. Neither of them believe me, but I can’t really say I blame them. I’ve lived and breathed paranormal romance for as long as I can remember, and even I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around what I saw.
If it’d been only that night in the alley, I might have convinced myself I was crazy just like Talia said. But if I close my eyes tightly enough, I can still feel the press of his lips and the feel of his rough hands against my body.
Asshole. His attitude makes me want to, in equal parts, kiss him again and kill him with my bare hands.
Aside from the memory of his touch, which has kept me awake late for a week now, I’ve replayed our conversation over and over again in my mind. Not only did he not deny he was a murderer, he also openly admitted to being a werewolf. It’s the only proof I have that I’m not completely insane.
The kiss, truth be told, probably proves the opposite.
“I know that you guys think I’m nuts, but that doesn’t change what I saw,” I tell Anna.
Her lips part as if she’s about to interrupt, but I continue before she can.
“I’m not asking you to believe me, and I’m not mad. Hell, I even understand why you guys don’t believe me. But I know what I saw. If you can’t trust me and believe in what I saw, then I’m just going to have to get proof.”
The words are out before I realize how badly I mean them. Almost instantly, determination steels my resolve. I’m going to figure out a way to prove to my friends that I’m not crazy, and taking down that smug dog will just be the icing on the cake.
“How are ya gonna prove that werewolves exist?” Anna asks skeptically.
“Are we still talking about this?” Talia asks as she sits back down with her fresh cup of demon juice. “Don’t you have more important things to worry about? Like your final project? Did you figure out how you're going to increase your following?”
I groan at the reminder. “Not exactly. In order to boost my following by fifteen percent, I’m going to have to come up with something big.”
“That shouldn’t be hard for ya, Romy.” Anna pats my arm. “Your pictures are gorgeous.”
“Thanks. The problem is that there are a lot of amazing bookstagrammers with equally gorgeous pictures, which means I need something that sets me apart from everyone else.”
“What about your book boyfriend posts?” Anna asks. “Those always get a lot of interaction.”
“Boy, would I love to interact with some of those hotties,” Talia puts in with a wink.
I shake my head. “Book boyfriend posts are too overdone at this point. I need to figure out a way to make mine more interesting.”
The girls fall silent, all of us lost in thought. My own drift right back to the sexy murderer from last week. . .
Shit! That’s it!
“I know what I'm going to do.” I slap my palms against the table. “I'm going to prove werewolves are real,” I whisper animatedly.
Talia and Anna share a look, and I know that they're going to try and discourage me. I hold my hand up before they can interject.
“Think about it. I saw a real live werewolf. That’s the stuff of every bookworm’s dreams! If I can prove that werewolves are real, I can do more than ace my finals. I can secure my spot as an influencer for years. Hell, I could probably write my own book! It totally makes sense.” I look between the two of them, hoping they'll see the merit in my plan.
“Okay. Let's just play devil's advocate here and pretend like werewolves are real,” Talia says, and I start to interrupt her, but she cuts me off. “So, werewolves are real. How do you plan on hunting down this mysterious, murdering werewolf? Are you just going to keep swiping right on Tinder and hope he pops up?”
“Of course not.”
“You know nothing about him. So how do you propose to track him down?”
For a split second, I feel guilty for not telling them that I saw
him here last week, but I couldn’t handle more of their disbelief then, and I can’t now. Or worse, the voice in my own head warns me of my own stupidity at trying to track down a guy who’s fully capable of murder and knows where I live.
I hesitate, knowing full well that voice has a damn good point. But in the end, the voice reminding me how important my project grade is, wins out.
As soon as I make the decision, a new detail about his follow-up visit sticks out, and my lips curve in a smug smile that would maybe even put his to shame.
I jump up from the table, bumping into it and causing the mugs to rattle. “Shit. Sorry. Um, you're probably right. I’ll stop with the crazy ideas. Look, I'm gonna grab one of these to go, and then I have to book it to class. I'll see you guys at home,” I say before rushing away from the table.
I don’t bother to look back to see if they’ve bought my story or not because up ahead, luck is on my side today. There's no line, and my favorite barista, James, is behind the counter.
I take a deep breath, trying to play it cool.
“Hey, Romy. Back so soon? Should I just start you an IV drip,” James jokes, flashing me his dimpled grin.
My heart stutters.
I can practically hear Talia in my ear, begging me to ask him out, but I only smile back at him. “I know I have a real problem. I'm glad you're willing to sacrifice your sacred barista oath to take care of me, though,” I say solemnly, and he chuckles, reaching for my mug. “Um, actually, can I get this one to go?”
“Sure,” he winks before turning to put my empty mug in the sink.
“Hey, James, um . . . is there any chance you could do me a favor?”
He looks up at me, curiosity shining in his hazel eyes. “Depends. Whatcha need?” he asks, leaning back against the sink before crossing his arms over his chest.
Damn. He’s flirting.
I hitch my bag higher, self-conscious now.
It’s not that James isn’t hot, but I haven’t dated since my parents died. Every time I’ve tried flirting or even talking to a new guy, it’s ended awkwardly. Grief is a real buzzkill.
The Girl Who Cried Werewolf Page 3