“Not going to happen, Dee.” His eerie orange eyes, so out of place on what was a relatively ordinary face, were fixed on her. He had shaggy dirty-blonde hair and a shadow of stubble on his chin. He seemed to be a few years younger than Deanna. It was hard to believe that this unremarkable man was crywolf, the person who’d caused her so much anxiety over the last months.
“Look—” Deanna changed tactics, keeping her voice soft as she picked her chair off the floor to sit in front of the laptop so they were now more or less at eye level. “I get that you’re feeling insulted. I know you think Wolf’s Run isn’t… isn’t respecting you.” Maybe all he needed was a sympathetic ear. Maybe if she just let him talk to her he’d let it go, and get on with the rest of his life. It was a long shot, and a large part of Deanna was repulsed at the idea of sympathizing with someone who’d gone out of his way to terrorize her, but she could just shut her laptop if he got out of hand. He wasn’t in the room with her, no matter what the initial shock of seeing his face made it feel like. “But it’s just a game,” she continued. “Everyone is only pretending. They don’t mean any offense. They don’t think any of this is real.”
“They will.” His grin returned as he rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. The movement pushed him back from his computer and let Deanna see that he was shirtless. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected—corded muscle and hard flesh—but his skin was soft, pasty. He looked like someone who worked a boring desk job, not someone who could turn into a giant predator.
“What do you mean, they will?” Deanna’s voice sharpened as she narrowed in on his last statement.
“I thought about giving you a preview. A taste.” He licked his lips, and Deanna had to press her own tightly together to stop them from curling in distaste. “You’re just like the rest of them, though. You didn’t listen to me, even though I tried to reach out to you.”
“Stalking me, that’s what you call reaching out?” Deanna tried to keep a lid on her temper, but it was leaking out. Seriously, who did this guy think he was? The only thing that differentiated him from a thousand other jerks on the Internet was his eyes—and the unspoken implication there. It was easy to ignore that implication with his face in front of her, when she could see that he was nothing more than an entitled, disgusting creep.
He was breathing heavily now, his chest heaving under the sparse dusting of hair. Anger brought color to his cheeks, the red leeching the oddness from his orange eyes. Maybe he wasn’t a werewolf, she thought with a sudden glimmer of triumph. Maybe she’d guessed right; he’d gone for a pair of cheap Halloween contacts and was exactly what he looked like—a mouth-breathing, unshaven, and probably unwashed troll.
“Fine,” he was snarling at her, spittle flecking the camera on his end. “Fine. You can find out when they all do. With the rest of the sheep. While you’re all gathered, all plump and pretty for me.”
He stood up and backed away from the camera, and for the first time Deanna caught a glimpse of the room he was in.
“Gathered where?” Deanna asked, absently, hoping to keep him talking for a few more moments so she could try to find something distinguishing about the room. There was a bare light bulb hanging from the low ceiling behind him, a small window to his left. The walls were cement, the floor the same. The chair he’d been sitting in rolled, following the slant of the floor and Deanna’s eyes unthinkingly tracked the movement. The chair came to a stop slightly behind crywolf at a dip in the floor where a drain was set. Around it was a dark stain, surprisingly large to be in what looked like someone’s basement.
“The Moon Revel.”
Deanna was still staring at the stain. The shape of it was somehow familiar, and though she’d heard what he said, she didn’t quite register it. She’d seen that shape. She’d seen a pool of something liquid and almost black, stark and vivid against concrete.
Blood pooled dark underneath her, streaks of it shockingly red against a woman’s pale skin.
Her blood turned ice cold, and she could feel it drain from her face. No, it wasn’t—that wasn’t possible. It had been Photoshop. A picture he’d found on some horrible site online. Except that she knew it wasn’t.
“You…” she couldn’t string her words together, couldn’t pull her eyes from the shape of that awful stain. “You’re a monster.”
“And I guess that makes you the girl who cried wolf. See if anyone will believe you now.” His eyes glowed when he threw back his head and showed a mouth wide and deformed. His teeth began to elongate, becoming things sharp and white and vicious. Becoming weapons.
Deanna abandoned all curiosity and slammed her laptop shut, but not before the first chilling note of a howl echoed from her speakers.
The sudden silence rang in her ears. She swallowed, pressing her clammy palms flat against her thighs, fingers digging into her own skin in the vain hope the pain would ground her. Arthur was a stiff presence at her side; a low growl rumbled from his chest.
“Shh.” Deanna forced herself to move a hand and stroke the soft fur of Arthur’s head. “He’s gone now. He’s gone.” She’d told crywolf that it was just a game—that it wasn’t real. She hadn’t really understood, had she? Despite seeing Jamie shift in front of her, despite knowing that werewolves weren’t just a fairy tale or a horror story, she hadn’t quite grasped the gravity of what that had meant. He’d killed someone. And he’d sent a picture of that to Deanna. The worst part was, Deanna didn’t know her name. Didn’t know her face. All that was left to remember of the woman he’d murdered was the stain of her blood on a basement floor.
Bile flooded Deanna’s mouth, and she shoved back from her desk. She stumbled blindly into the bathroom, knocking her shoulder against the doorway before she dropped to her knees in front of the toilet. She just managed to lift the lid and the seat before she vomited, retching violently while her fingers clung to the cold porcelain.
When she finally managed to stop, she was shaking. Her whole body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat that immediately began to cool as she slumped down against the bathmat. Her mouth tasted sour; her eyes stung with tears.
What was she doing? What made her think that this was something she could deal with? Lifting a shaking hand to wipe at her mouth, Deanna leaned against the side of the bathtub. It was too much. It was all too much.
When she thought her legs would carry her, she pushed herself to her feet, moved back into the main room and yanked her suitcase from the storage cupboard. She crossed to her dresser, pulled out a haphazard bunch of clothes and tossed them in. She left her laptop where it was, not bothering with anything other than her cell phone and Arthur’s leash as she zipped the suitcase closed and set it beside the door.
Jamie answered her phone on the first ring, alarm sharp in her voice. “Deanna.”
“I thought it was a joke.”
“What?”
“‘My girlfriend’s a werewolf.’ It sounds funny, you know? It’s like a joke.”
“Dee, what—”
“It’s not a joke, though. It’s not. You’re fast and you’re strong and you grow fangs. Not cute fangs. Big ones. Because you’re a wolf and wolves aren’t prey, wolves are what hunts prey, and now he’s hunting me, and Jamie, I don’t have fangs!” Deanna could hear the hysteria in her voice. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her suitcase until they hurt. “I’m leaving. I’m sorry. I can’t deal with this. I can’t. He killed her, Jamie. I could see—” She had to swallow around the jagged lump in her throat. “I could see where he killed her.”
“Who?” Deanna didn’t need to see Jamie to know that she was on her feet, probably already halfway out the door of her research assistant’ office.
“The girl from the picture.”
“What happened?” Jamie demanded. “Where are you?”
“I’m at home. I was at home. He—he did something with my computer, took it over for a video
chat.” It sounded ridiculous. “The room he was in, though, it was the same room that picture was taken in, and I can’t—” She broke off again, pressing her phone between her ear and shoulder as she maneuvered Arthur and her suitcase out the front door, then turned to lock it behind her.
“Deanna, breathe. Slow down and breathe and stay where you are. I’m on my way.”
“No.” Deanna shook her head though Jamie couldn’t see it. “I can’t stay here. I need to get out. I need to get away.” The stairs were awkward, and she nearly dropped her phone. She was going to need two hands to get her suitcase down the stairs.
Leaning against the wall of the stairwell, she pressed a shaking hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I’m really sorry. I thought I could deal with this. It didn’t seem like such a big deal, you know?” She smiled humorlessly. “So you’re a real bitch a couple times a month? So what? I’ve been accused of the same.”
“Deanna.” Jamie’s voice was terse.
“I can’t do it, though. I’m not capable of this. I mean, what can I do? I can’t call the cops. What would I tell them? That there’s a murderous rogue werewolf on the loose and he’s going to attack a bunch of… of role players? At the Moon Revel tonight. That’s what he said.”
“I’m coming, Dee. Go back to your apartment and lock the door, and I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”
“No. I can’t—I can’t stay here. It’s not fun anymore.” Deanna barked out a laugh and it echoed harshly in the stairwell. “I’m an idiot. I’m such an idiot.”
“Please don’t go.”
“I have to, Jamie. I can’t help you. I can’t help anyone. I’m not prepared for this.” Deanna insisted. One of the wheels on her suitcase was stuck on a baluster and she gave it a desperate yank, too uncoordinated to stop to free it gently. “You are though. You’ve got a whole pack. And your—your assembly. They’ll help. They’ll know what to do; they’ll know how to keep everyone safe. That’s their job.” With one last, violent tug her suitcase came free, and she hurried down the final few stairs. “You’ve got this, right?”
There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line. Deanna couldn’t even hear Jamie breathing.
“Yeah, Dee. I’ve got this,” Jamie responded finally.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Shame clogged Deanna’s throat. “Just… be safe, Jamie.” Before she could change her mind, and before she could let Jamie change it, Deanna ended the call and turned off her phone. If crywolf could hack into her computer, she had no illusions that her phone would be safe. And if she didn’t have to ignore Jamie’s calls, well then, so much the better.
She grabbed a cab to Nathan’s, promising to pay double the fare when the driver looked doubtfully at Arthur. At mid-afternoon on a Friday Nathan was still at work, but she had a spare set of keys to his car and his place. He’d be pissed when he came home and realized she’d taken his car, but he’d live. And she’d call him once she got to her parents’ house. She didn’t know what she was going to tell him. She’d think of something.
After tossing her suitcase in the trunk and ushering Arthur into the back seat, she let herself into the driver’s side and started the car. If they didn’t make any stops, they should be at her parents’ house in a couple of hours. Deanna didn’t know what she was going to tell them, either, but she didn’t let herself worry about it as she headed for the highway. She’d come up with something. She always did.
Chapter Fourteen |
Deanna had thought that the farther out of the city she got, the calmer she would feel. She’d been sure that the nausea in her stomach would abate, that the lump lodged in her throat and the numbness in her fingers would ease. It made sense—she was safe out of the city. Crywolf had made it fairly clear that he was upset about Wolf’s Run, and so far the game hadn’t expanded to her parents’ smaller town. She’d be out of harm’s way and she’d warned someone else about what he’d threatened, so the burden of all those lives wasn’t hers anymore. She’d done everything she could. She hadn’t asked to be a part of this, but she’d done the best she could, and now she was getting the hell out of dodge. Exactly as anyone else in her position would have done.
So she should be feeling better, right?
Deanna glanced into the rearview mirror to check on Arthur. He’d been unreasonably anxious for the first hour of their drive, moving restlessly across Nathan’s upholstery and covering the dark fabric with his golden fur. He’d finally stopped pacing and now lay curled into a tight ball on the back seat. He wasn’t sleeping, though; his brow was a worried furrow.
She jerked her gaze back to the highway in front of her; her palms, still damp with sweat, clamped tighter around the steering wheel. Her stomach continued to twist in uncomfortable knots, and before she could stop herself she checked the time on the dashboard. It was about half past six. The kickoff for the Moon Revel wasn’t until eight, but considering the number of players who’d RSVP’d to the official Facebook event and the long hike to the amphitheater, it was likely that people had already begun to gather.
She wondered if crywolf too was already there, lurking in plain sight, looking like any one of the hundreds or thousands of players in the city.
Don’t think about it, she ordered herself. If she didn’t think about it she might be able to breathe around the tightness in her chest. She hadn’t taken a full breath since she’d seen the bloodstain on the concrete floor. Don’t think about it, she repeated furiously. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it.
Her heart picked up the rhythm, slamming against her ribs until she felt as if she were choking on its meaty pulse. Needing to distract herself from its thundering—don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it—Deanna uncurled one of her hands from the wheel and jabbed at the power button for the radio. It took three tries to hit the right button; her hand shook uncontrollably. The car filled with an electronic club mix, bass pulsed from the speakers and her eyes blurred with sudden tears.
Then Arthur was at her side, his nose pressed cold and wet against the bare skin of her neck. With a jolt, Deanna pulled her attention to the road in front of her; she’d been drifting toward the center line. She jerked the wheel, reacting on adrenaline-fueled instinct rather than knowledge, and sent them sharply toward the shoulder before she managed to slam on her brakes. The sudden stop flung Arthur forward into the back of her seat and his high-pitched yelp of pain cut through Deanna like a shard of glass.
She yanked the key from the ignition and released her seatbelt. She raced to pull open the back door and see how badly he was hurt.
“Baby, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, tears falling unchecked as Arthur cautiously picked himself up and moved toward her, giving a slow wag of his tail as though to tell her he was okay.
Deanna hugged him, burying her face in his neck as she tried to fight back the sobs that shook her entire body. She felt sick again, and knew this time that it wasn’t from the shock or the horror of the day, but the oily slick of guilt burning in her gut. She’d run, with her tail between her legs and without a second glance. She’d left her girlfriend alone to deal with someone who was a monster—in every sense of the word. And trying to convince herself that she’d done the right thing made her the worst sort of coward.
“I’m sorry, baby.” Crouched on the side of the road with gravel digging into her knees, she was still whispering into Arthur’s fur. “I’m sorry.”
He nosed closer, solid and trusting, and Deanna gave one last shuddering sob, inhaling the warm scent of him. She knew what she had to do. She had probably known it the moment she’d passed the city limits and her skin had gone clammy. Giving Arthur another reassuring pat, she made sure he was settled comfortably before she got back into the car.
After flipping down the sunshade, she used the small mirror to look herself square in the eye. Her mascara hadn’t
fared well; her soft green eyes were circled with smudged halos. She pulled a tissue from the box Nathan kept in the glove compartment to clean up until she looked less like a raccoon. The minor cosmetic repair settled something inside her, and she herself gave a little half-smile as she recalled one of her favorite quotes: Put on some lipstick, pour yourself a drink and pull yourself together. Well, she couldn’t pour herself a drink, but she could put on some damn lipstick.
Deanna pulled out her favorite color and applied it carefully. With her hair pulled back and her face still blotchy from tears, Deanna didn’t think she’d win any beauty contests; but there was a glint of resolve in her eyes, and that more than made up for it.
Deanna eased the car from the shoulder. Checking that the way was clear, she turned them back toward the city.
It felt good to be doing something other than running.
It took another hour to get back. Deanna fought the urge to speed recklessly, but nothing would be stupider than to die in a car crash when there was a werewolf out for her blood and everyone else’s. She called Jamie twice from the road, which was also stupid when she didn’t have a hands-free device, but when she turned her phone back on, she found a text from Jamie saying not to worry about the Moon Revel because she’d take care of everything.
Deanna wanted desperately to catch Jamie before she went into the woods.
Jamie’s phone had gone to voicemail both times.
Hey, this is Jamie. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.
When Deanna turned off the highway and stopped for a red light, she grabbed her phone. She would call Nathan and see if he knew where Jamie was. She didn’t think he would, but she didn’t know what else to do.
Glancing down at her phone, Deanna frowned in dismay. She hit the center button again, but the screen remained stubbornly dark. She realized that she hadn’t charged it before she’d fled town. The stupid battery had died, and now she didn’t have a way of getting a hold of anyone.
The Better To Kiss You With Page 11
