Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels (A Point Worth LGBTQ Paranormal Romance Book 3)

by Chase Connor

  The setting was so peaceful and calm, and Andrew looked so happy to be enjoying his lunch that I almost backed out of talking to him. He obviously had not been in Oma’s backyard the night of the attack, and maybe he didn’t really have any pertinent information that could help me. Interrupting his lunch and causing him stress definitely wouldn’t make me feel good about myself. However, my mind flashed back to the night we had gone on our date, and he had tried to get handsy with me in his car before turning into a wolf and tried to gobble me up. Ruining Andrew’s lunch didn’t seem so awful after I remembered that.

  “What’s on the sandwich?” I asked as I sat down on the bench next to him, making sure to leave adequate room between us.

  Andrew smiled and looked over.

  The smile quickly disappeared when he saw me.

  He didn’t change from smiling to angry or annoyed; he just looked concerned. Of course, in dealing with me, he had been practically run over by Lucas’ truck, punched in the face—by me—and cussed out numerous times by myself and Oma. His track record when I was around was not great.

  “Rob.” He exhaled.

  I smiled and shrugged, though it wasn’t as light-hearted as I would have liked. Andrew wasn’t someone I could ever trust, so I couldn’t put my heart into trying to be jovial with him. Something about a guy trying to eat you really makes you wary of him, ya’ know?

  “How’ve ya’ been?” I asked simply.

  “Um, okay.” His brow furrowed. “I guess?”

  I gave an upward nod.

  “Any fleas or ticks we need to worry about?” It was a low blow, but he still had insults coming as far as I was concerned.

  Andrew’s dark cheeks flushed as he gently started wrapping up his sandwich again.

  “Don’t stop on account of me.” I gestured vaguely at the sandwich. “I’m not here to cause you trouble. I probably won’t be super nice—but what’s new?”

  “I told you that I’m sorry.”

  “Takes more than a sorry after what you did, I’m afraid.” I sat back, pushing my hands into my pockets. “But, I’m not here for more apologies or your attempt at contrition. Eat your damn sandwich.”

  Andrew waited a moment, observing me carefully as I stared straight ahead at the street before us. A car would drive by slowly every few seconds. People were walking by on our side and the other side of the road, but no one paid attention to us, nor were they close enough to hear us talk—as long as we didn’t raise our voices. Raising my voice wasn’t the plan unless Andrew did something douchey again. Finally, as though he realized it was safe, Andrew took his sandwich back out and took a bite.

  “I was attacked by three werewolves the other night.”

  Andrew nearly choked on his bite.

  “I wanted to know if you knew anything about that,” I said, not concerned with the choking sounds.

  It took a few moments, but Andrew finally managed to stop choking, finished chewing the bite, then swallowed in what looked like a painful way. Of course, I wasn’t sure if he just hadn’t chewed thoroughly or if what I’d had to say had rattled him more than I thought.

  “I don’t know anything about that, Rob.” He spat, reaching for his coffee to wash down the bite he had swallowed.

  “Well, you’re the only furry fellow I know around these parts, so I figured you’d know more than anyone else.” I shrugged. “So…here I am.”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know anything about anyone attacking you,” Andrew replied quickly, desperately. “I’m still upset with myself over what I did. I’m really, really sorry, Rob.”

  I waved him off.

  “I want to know if you know of any other werewolves in town,” I said evenly, still staring straight ahead. “And…I managed to hurt one of the werewolves. And she died.”

  Why was I telling him that part?

  “She got burned really badly, and the next morning she wandered up into the yard, naked as the day she was born, and her skin looked all melted. I wanted to know why she would turn back human before she died.”

  Andrew was staring at me like I was crazy. That was fair.

  Who was to say that I wasn’t?

  “I don’t know any other werewolves. Or packs. I mean, I know of them and sometimes speak with them casually—shop talk—but I don’t know them.” Andrew said finally. “I’m kind of a loner. I have been for years. Since before college.”

  Andrew was chewing at his lip, his eyes flicking around, deep in thought as he sat on the bench, holding his sandwich but not taking any bites. I watched him for a moment, waiting to see if he’d add anything else of his own accord, but it became apparent that he was not going to speak up unless prodded. His fingers were digging into his sandwich, his nails and fingertips sinking into the bread and the fillings inside. Mustard was oozing out of the sandwich around one of his fingers, but he didn’t seem to notice. It takes a lot of distraction to not realize that you’re losing the condiments on your sandwich.

  “Andrew?” He started at the sound of my voice, his head whipping around to look at me again. “Why did she turn back into a human before she died instead of just dying in wolf form?”

  “That didn’t happen.” Andrew shook his head, chunking his sandwich into the trash can at the end of the bench. “That doesn’t happen.”

  “It did. Saw it with my own eyes,” I said. “She got burned during the fight, one of her comrades drug her off into the woods, then the next morning some woman wandered up into the yard naked, and half of her body burned all to hell. I’m not making that up.”

  “I believe you saw what you saw, Rob,” Andrew said lowly. “But…if someone is hurt when they’re…”

  “A wolf?”

  Andrew looked around, suddenly aware that we were in public having this conversation. I laughed.

  “If anyone heard us, they’d just assume we were crazy or talking about a video game or mythology.” I snorted. “I think we’re completely safe here.”

  Andrew swallowed hard and nodded jerkily.

  “If that happens, then they die, or they recover.” He explained. “And it takes a lot to kill a werewolf. As you know…”

  I nodded.

  “If I were hurt right now and could change into wolf form, it would heal me.” He looked me in the eyes. “It’s one of the perks. We heal well. And fast.”

  For a moment, I stared back into Andrew’s human eyes. I nearly shivered thinking of what they looked like in wolf form. Red eyes and feral thoughts and blood lust.

  “What if you’re hurt with…magic?”

  He shrugged, unfazed by the question. Points for Andrew.

  “About the same.” He said. “I mean, magic is more likely to deliver a fatal blow—nature of the beast and how they are related—but we can recover from any wound if it doesn’t kill us really quickly.”

  Thinking about this, I wondered if the werewolf had died as soon as I had burned her and it had nothing to do with the naked burned lady. Maybe the lead wolf—alpha?—had drug a dead wolf away and the naked lady was just a coincidence? Perhaps she was just someone who had been involved in a meth lab explosion? Then again—why was she naked?

  “When you, uh, change back to human, you are naked, right?”

  Andrew flushed again.

  “Yes.” He exhaled. “Why?”

  “Calm down.” I squinted at him. “I was just wondering whether or not someone would change back fully clothed or what. That’s all.”

  He nodded, looking away.

  If I had burned a werewolf badly while in wolf form, logically, that person would be naked and burned when they changed back to human form. If the woman who had wandered up into the yard had been involved in something like a meth lab explosion, surely, she would have been wearing clothes. Or at least the remnants of scorched and charred clothes. The woman who had wandered up in the yard was burnt all along one side—just like the wolf I had blasted—and she was stark naked. It made more sense that the two events were connected than the
m not being linked.

  “I guess that’s all I needed.” I stood.

  Andrew stood quickly.

  “Rob—”

  “You’re forgiven, Andrew.” I turned to him.

  My face was bland. Impassive.

  “If I forgive you, you can stop worrying about it, right?” I said. “So, you’re forgiven. I understand now that it’s the nature of the beast. I don’t believe you did anything on purpose. I still think it’s fucking shitty that you chose to go on a date with someone when you knew that the full moon was coming…and I’m even madder that person was me. But I forgive you. I just hope you’ve learned to keep to yourself on those nights.”

  Andrew nodded with a sigh.

  “Good.”

  “Rob,” He stopped me from turning away, “do you think I could get another chance? I mean, we could go out again. Try to start over?”

  I didn’t mean to, but I laughed loudly.

  “You can’t be serious.” I chuckled. “I mean, I’m not completely stupid, Andrew. I may believe that what happened was an accident—but I’m not going to give you the opportunity to make the same mistake twice.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’m seeing someone.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yup.”

  “Are you seeing someone, or is that the nicest way you could think of to make me stop asking for a second date?”

  “Both.” I nodded. “Always a pleasure, Andrew.”

  With that, I turned on my heels and strolled away. To Andrew’s credit, he didn’t chase after me, holler any apologies or promises or do anything to keep me from going on about my business, which was good. I already had too many things on my mind to spend any more energy explaining how little I would like a second date with him. Andrew was cute. Very cute, actually. But he was a werewolf who had tried to eat me alive on the one date we had gone on. Even if I could genuinely forgive that, I couldn’t overlook the fact that he had been an utterly insufferable douchebag during the date leading up to him turning into a wolf in front of my eyes. Maybe his behavior had been connected to his condition and the oncoming full moon, but it was too hard to overlook.

  Regardless of the problems with even thinking about Andrew in such a way, I also knew that I was showing bias. Andrew was a werewolf. Oma was a witch. Lucas was…something. And I certainly wasn’t just vanilla-flavored human. Ordinary humans don’t shoot green shit and fire out of their hands, do they? Of course, I had no idea what I was. The worst part was—that wasn’t my biggest problem. I also didn’t remember some essential things from my past. Flashes of memories I’d had proved that to me.

  Even more disturbing than not having the best memory was the discovery that I had memories in my head that weren’t entirely accurate. In my mind, I had lived with Oma until I was sixteen years old because my parents had…well, I didn’t know. That was a sudden revelation. Where were my parents? What had happened to them? Were they dead? Had they run off? It dawned on me that I didn’t know where my parents were or if they were even alive to be somewhere. Something in my mind had just made me accept that they were no longer around and I had never thoroughly and honestly questioned that. Why was that?

  Remembering life with Oma before I ran off to chase fame and fortune was difficult as well. I knew I had gone to school; I had found Oma’s house odd when I lived there, I had not had too many friends, I had loved school plays and choir and playing guitar, and…everything was vague. I honestly couldn’t put a finger on a single complete memory while I was awake. But when I slept and dreamed or had nightmares, or sometimes when I touched other people, full and complete memories came back to me. But they became hazy as time went on. I was already forgetting the memories I had seen in my mind’s eye when I touched Ernst and Lucas.

  I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and pulled out my phone. Pulling up the notepad app, I made myself notes about the memories still in my head. Just in case I forgot them again.

  Chapter 6

  “What the hell are you doing now?” Oma grumbled when she entered the kitchen through the back door.

  Glancing over my shoulder at her, I took in the dirty bib overalls, the rubber gardening shoes, the too big gloves, the big sun hat, and the spade in her hand as she stood there. She looked like any grandmother from anywhere across the country getting ready to plant her garden for spring. The fact that I knew she was anything but the innocent old lady planting her garden made the ensemble look ridiculous. Lena was standing at her side, arms crossed over her tiny chest, glaring at me, helped me remember that Oma was not the little old farmer lady she appeared to be.

  “I told ya’, sir,” Ernst whispered up from my side, where he had been standing for the last few minutes. “This was a bad idea.”

  “It’s okay, Ernst,” I replied and turned away from the cellar door I had been attempting to open.

  The door in the kitchen that led down to the cellar was tightly shut, though I couldn’t see anything that kept it sealed so tightly closed. A good lock would have kept me out, but the door didn’t even budge a fraction of a centimeter when I pulled on the knob. Most doors will give at least a little, rattle in the frame, when yanked on forcefully. The cellar door did nothing but stay tightly in place, keeping me from gaining access to the room below.

  “Where’s the key?” I turned to Oma, crossing my arms over my chest as I stared her down.

  “Why?”

  “So I can open the door.” I glowered. “Obviously.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” She said. “I done told you to stay out of there. There ain’t nothin’ down there for you.”

  “Let me be the judge of that. Where’s the key?”

  “You ain’t goin’ down there.”

  “It’s either the key…or an ax.” I shrugged. “Maybe I can figure out that fire throwing trick again…but I’m not entirely sure how that works so who knows what I’ll end up doing. Up to you.”

  Oma glowered at me.

  Lena’s eyes had grown wide, and her arms had dropped to her sides.

  Ernst was shifting from foot to foot by my side.

  “Ernst.” Oma barked. “How could you let this happen?”

  “Ernst isn’t my keeper.” I snapped. “And you leave him alone. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  I placed a hand gently on the top of Ernst’s head, luckily without memories flashing through my mind. Like the green lasers and the fire, the memories came whenever they felt it was appropriate.

  “So, I see he’s your little pet again.” Oma rolled her eyes.

  “I’m sorry?”

  Oma looked startled for a minute then was back to glowering at Ernst and me.

  “Nothin’, ya’ shithead!” She snapped. “There’s no key to the damn cellar and ya’ ain’t goin’ down there. End of discussion.”

  “Fine.” I nodded.

  Calmly, I motioned for Ernst to move away. He gave me a pleading look but shuffled a few feet away. I gave Oma one last look, then turned around, took a step back, then attempted to put my foot through the door. All I managed to do was send pain up through the heel of my foot that settled in my calf. I didn’t let it stop me. I kicked again. And again. And again. The door was rattling, finally, but I knew after the fifth kick that this was not going to provide the results that I wanted.

  I spun around to glare at Oma, my foot aching.

  “I’m going to get an ax.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Oma grumbled before I could make a move for the back door. “You want in there so fuckin’ bad, fine.”

  The fact that Oma hadn’t screamed at me for trying to kick in one of her doors was not lost on me. Maybe she knew that I could pay to replace anything I broke? Or perhaps she knew I’d never be able to kick it in and one of her household helpers would fix any damage?

  Lena and Ernst were both looking uncomfortable as Oma stomped across the kitchen to the sink and opened her “catch-all” drawer. I waited, trying not to wince at the pain in my fo
ot as she rustled around in the drawer. Oma muttered to herself like a crazy person—naturally—and Ernst and Lena shifted nervously from foot to foot as I waited for the key to be found. With all of her mumbling and cursing under her breath, I couldn’t help but feel that maybe Oma was stalling for time until she could figure out a way to distract me.

  Kicking at the door had been a dick move. I knew that. However, with everything that had happened since I got into Point Worth—Kobolds, werewolves, magic fingers (not the sexy-time kind), naked burned up women, Teenage Ghost Rob—everything was making me desperate to figure out what was going on. If I had to kick in a door, or, try to kick in a door, then I was going to do that. Having more and more unfamiliar memories flashing through my head when I touched someone, ghostly apparitions of my teenage self, or more attacks from local werewolves, were things I could do without for the rest of my life.

  Maybe I’d find something in the cellar that would put all of the pieces together. Or maybe there would be nothing. Maybe I’d go down in the cellar and have a revelation that would eventually drive me over the edge for good. After several dreams of the cellar and the ghostly green light, I knew that the cellar wasn’t a terrible place to look for answers. No matter what I found in the cellar, once I gained entrance, at least it would settle my mind. If I found something that explained what was going on, that would be ideal. If the cellar held nothing of import, then at least I’d know to focus my attention somewhere else. At least I’d be moving in the right direction and taking action, not just standing around with my thumb in my ass.

  “You and this damn cellar.” Oma huffed as she yanked the key out of the drawer. “I don’t know why the hell you got to go down there.”