by Megan Morgan
Gentry peered through the haze of smoke at her dresser. He smirked. “So, you read romance novels?”
She glanced at the dresser and drew on her cigarette.
“Shut up.”
Chapter Four
Gentry jammed clothes in his suitcase and listened to the rain patter out on the patio. An occasional rumble of thunder rolled in the distance, a backdrop to the almost unnerving silence of the house. He yanked on the suitcase zipper, to hear the whisper of the teeth locking together, and then went and propped it next to the door.
This was the first time he’d endure the monthly change since he found his mate. He couldn’t stay in Beverly Hills while it was taking place. He was too dangerous to other people. Someday, he would master control of himself during the moon, like the older wolves did, like his father did. Until then, it was three days in a cabin up in the hills.
Maybe he could take her with him. A wolf would never hurt his mate, even during the transformation. They were wired never to attack the one they were bonded to. But was she ready to see that? Was he ready for her to see it?
Not yet.
A tapping cut through the quiet, and for a moment he thought it was the rain. Then it came again, sharper and louder.
He looked up at the glass doors on the other side of the room. Someone stood outside, in a black sweatshirt, the hood pulled up. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, but then the person tugged the hood back a bit and gave him an “are you gonna fucking let me in or what?” look.
Gentry hurried to the doors. He wore only a pair of pajama bottoms, feet bare, hair tied back. He hadn’t been expecting her.
“Christ.” Starr stepped through the door. Water droplets flew as she yanked her hood back.
In the whole twenty-four hours since he’d last seen her, she had changed her appearance. Her hair was now shorn off at the collar, and solid, dark brown. He slid the door closed behind her.
“Went to the beauty salon?”
She wiped vigorously at her sweatshirt. “I got a part. A little one, a bit part. But I had to change my hair.”
“Oh, wow.” He hugged her. “Congratulations.” He drew back. “Want some coffee? You look like a drowned rat.”
“Thanks,” she muttered. He wasn’t sure if that was for the coffee or the congratulations, so he led her to the kitchen.
“It had to fucking rain,” she complained, as he grabbed a mug from the cupboard. “I was going to get some new headshots taken today, since I just had my hair done. You know how much it costs to get your hair cut and styled these days?”
He grabbed the coffee pot and poured some, glancing sidelong at her. She pulled her sweatshirt off to reveal a white tank top. She was wearing a pink bra.
“I can give you money to get it done again.” He set the pot down. “You’re my mate. Whatever you need, I got you covered.”
“Romance isn’t dead.” She draped her sweatshirt over the back of one of the chairs.
“Not quite like your books, huh?” He plunked the cup down on the table in front of her. It was then that he got his first good look at her, with the washed-out morning light on her face, and he gasped. “What the fuck?” His protective instinct rose.
He reached out and touched the swollen red mark at the corner of her mouth.
She flinched back. “Ow. Don’t poke it.” She patted it gingerly.
“What happened?” He would kill whoever had done it.
She sighed. “These Beverly Hills club chicks. She thought I was trying to steal her richy-rich designer purse.”
“Were you?” He pulled a chair out and sat down.
“No, asshole!” She jerked the chair out next to him. “She had it sitting on a stool, taking up all this damn space in a crowded club, and my friend wanted to sit down.”
“Why didn’t you ask her to move it?”
Starr plunked down in the chair. “I did. She was too tweaked out to understand me. Then she had her damn talons in my face. Why do these girls gotta get such long nails?” She touched the corner of her mouth again. “I guess I can wait until this fades to get the headshots. I was gonna cover it with makeup.”
He tried to stay calm. He knew better than to make a big deal out of it. It wasn’t a big deal. It was never a big deal with Starr.
“So, tell me about this part you got.” He’d better change the subject before she put her talons in his face.
She held the coffee cup and lifted it to her mouth. The steam curled around her face. He was still trying to decide if he liked the new hair, but regardless, she remained beautiful in his eyes.
“I’m a small-town girl who’s an acquaintance of the main character. Between you and me, I think I’m being typecast.”
He chuckled. “Because you come from a small town?”
“I don’t even have a backstory beyond that. I only have two lines.”
“You’ll be a star someday.” He meant it. Her energy was too vital to go unnoticed for long. “You gotta start somewhere, right?”
She sipped her coffee, silent.
“Starr the star,” he joked.
“Don’t make me slap you.”
He stood. “You want a scone or something?”
“I’m watching my figure.” She set her cup down. “Maybe next time I’ll move up the ladder. I could play an innocent bystander who gets shot. Or, ooh, a girl doing lines of coke in the bathroom in the background.” Her tone was sarcastic.
He went to pour himself a cup of coffee as well. Caffeine didn’t take the place of nicotine, but it helped. He popped a stir stick in his mouth to stave off the oral craving. He always thought growing up that being a supernatural creature meant he wouldn’t fall prey to human vices. Boy, was he wrong.
“So, where you going?” She glanced over at his suitcase.
He came back to the table, stir stick pointing upward from between his teeth. “Up in the hills. The real hills, not the Beverly ones.”
She gazed at him as he sat.
“I can’t be around people during the full moon. Stay out of those fucking clubs while I’m gone, please? Keep yourself occupied. Do something constructive.”
She scowled. “You’re not my keeper.”
“I am, technically.” He sipped his coffee. “I don’t want to come back and find out something happened to you.”
“Maybe you should take me with you. You said you won’t hurt me. You said werewolves are incapable of hurting their mates.”
“I don’t think either of us is ready for that. Someday.”
They fell silent. He watched the rain fall and gnawed on the stir stick, wishing it were filled with tobacco.
“My dad died.” She said it so suddenly, and without feeling, that he blinked at her, thinking for a moment he’d misheard.
“What?”
“Last night.” She stared blankly out the window. “Mom called me.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. He removed the stick from his mouth. “I’m sorry. What happened?”
She shrugged. “Heart problems. Mom didn’t even sound all that upset. She’ll miss him as much as I will.”
“You don’t get along with your parents, do you?” She’d made brief mentions of them.
“Nope.” She shrugged again. “Couldn’t wait to get away from them. All Mom does is drink and all he did was yell. I hated that tiny, cramped house in that tiny, cramped town. I always dreamed of coming to Hollywood.”
“When’s the funeral?”
“In a few days, I guess. Maybe this weekend.”
When he’d be at the cabin.
“But I can’t go. Too busy.”
“Maybe you should. It would at least give you closure.”
“We’re filming this weekend.” She flipped her hair back, probably still used to it being much longer. Her words were a lie, though. If they were shooting this weekend, why would she be asking to go to the cabin with him?
He took a deep breath. “If you need some money—”
“No.”
She squeezed her fingers around the cup. “Don’t offer me charity. I gotta put up with this mate bullshit, but I don’t need you giving me pity gifts.”
He picked up the mangled stir stick and tossed it across the table. “I’m just trying to help you out. We’re in this ‘mate bullshit’ together. Might as well be kind to each other.”
Starr lifted the cup, sipped, and set it down sharply. She swiveled around and pushed a hand into the pocket of her sweatshirt on the back of the chair.
“Starr.”
“You’re not leaving for a few days.” She drew out a pack of cigarettes and her Zippo.
He watched her light one, take a drag, and blow the smoke into the air. She tossed the lighter on the table.
“No, I’m not,” he said.
“Let’s hang out, then.”
****
Starr lay on her back, arm behind her head, and watched the rain slide down the glass doors. The room was steeped in evening shadow and warm. Almost too warm. The only sounds were the falling rain and the whisper of soft breathing next to her. So quiet. If she held her breath, she could hear her own heartbeat. But every time she tried, that breathing next to her got in the way. She just wanted to listen to him.
She turned her head and looked at the glowing numbers on the clock. So late, and getting later.
He slid his hand over and touched her side. Her tank top had gotten tugged up, and there was a bare patch of skin between the bottom of it and the top of her jeans.
“Hey.” He gave that patch of flesh a gentle squeeze. “You awake?”
She shifted, but didn’t answer. He propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over her. “Starr?”
She turned her head and looked up at him. His hair had come loose from the ponytail he had it in. “Yeah, I’m awake.”
“You wanna stay the night? You don’t have to go.”
She grunted and looked away again. “I can’t. Got stuff to do in the morning.”
He rubbed her stomach. “You need a ride or anything?”
“Nah, I’ll get a cab.”
She hauled herself into a sitting position and ran her fingers through her hair. She hated it this short. Hated the color, too. Gentry’s hand slipped off her stomach and he gazed at her.
They’d fooled around, but not much. She found she didn’t have the energy or heart for anything beyond a little making out and fondling, so they ended up mostly talking. She felt like she hadn’t slept in days, and that she could lie right back down with him and sleep the night away.
She looked back at him, and tried to imagine what he looked like when he transformed. He had given her very few details.
“You gonna be all right?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” It didn’t come out with the usual rancor, though. Her voice was thick.
“I worry about you.”
“Do you?” She turned back around and then crawled off the bed and started looking for her shoes.
He watched her hunt up her cigarettes and lighter as well, and pull her dry sweatshirt over her head.
“Guess I’ll see you when you get back.” She tucked the cigarettes in her front sweatshirt pocket. “Don’t kill too many rabbits and groundhogs, or whatever you do when you’re howling at the moon.”
He smirked and then said quietly, “If you need anything, anything at all, call me.”
“Sure.” She rubbed her face and winced at the sore spot by her mouth. She was going to find that blonde bimbo and kill her. “Bye-bye.”
Gentry leaped to his feet and followed her to the patio doors.
“You don’t have to walk me out.”
“Yeah, well, you’re my mate, and I’m going to watch over you as long as you’ll let me.”
She slid the door back. The rain was a drizzle now, the sky gray and low.
She paused halfway out the door and looked back at him. “Maybe I’ll let you do it more after you come back.”
He leaned toward her and said slowly and succinctly, “Behave. Yourself.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Stay out of the clubs, at least until your face heals, all right? It’s not what you need right now.”
She chewed her lip. “I’ve never been in a fight before. First time. It wasn’t really a fight even, just two girls slapping and clawing at each other. The bouncer broke us up, threw us both out.”
“It could have been worse. You need to settle down and focus.”
She knew it was true, but she hated to hear it. “Hollywood made me a wild child.”
He reached out and gently took her chin between his fingers. “Your small town made you a wild child. As in, you think this is what you need to do to escape it.”
She gazed at him a moment and then pulled out of his grip. “Yeah, well, I never thought escaping meant becoming a werewolf’s mate.”
“Trust me when I say I had different plans for my life, too.”
That hurt to hear, for some reason, though she knew damn well that no guy like him wanted to be saddled with a girl like her. She turned and pulled her hood up as he stepped out into the drizzle. Her throat was tight, a lump there that was hard to swallow around.
“Be careful, Starr.”
She trudged through the rain, hands pushed into her front pocket. “Yeah, whatever.”
Chapter Five
The closer it got to the full moon, the more Gentry felt like he was crawling out of his skin. That was why when his phone rang as he stepped out of the corner mini mart, he nearly yelped. He’d gone out to buy cigarettes because he couldn’t handle the craving any longer.
The street was empty and his car sat at the curb. Midnight in the middle of the land of dreams. He scowled and slipped his trilling phone out of his pocket. Probably his father.
He smiled at the name on the screen. Not his father.
He hit the button and put the phone to his ear. “I can’t believe you’re actually calling me.”
“Gentry.” Starr’s voice was raspy and weak.
He froze.
“What’s wrong?”
The response shook him to his core. Harsh, choked sobs. Every protective, killer instinct inside of him went into overdrive.
“Where are you?” He rushed toward the car. “Where the fuck are you?”
“At home,” she croaked. “Gentry, I need you.”
He didn’t ask any more questions. “I’m on my way.” The line went dead as he yanked the car door open.
He drove in a blind panic through the streets toward her apartment. He dug his phone back out and hit speed dial. It rang. And rang. And rang.
“Fuck!” He drove faster, blowing through a red light. His mind raced to all sorts of dark possibilities. Had she gotten in another fight? Was she attacked?
When he reached her house he simply parked the car on the curb and leaped out. Let them ticket him to death.
Thank God he could move at superhuman speed when he needed to. He stopped short, however, when he reached her door. It was wide open.
“Starr?” He stepped in hesitantly and looked around. No lights on, but his keen eyesight showed him nothing was out of place. Had she been burglarized? Raped? He looked down the hallway. The bathroom light was on, the door open.
“Starr?” He hurried down the hallway and stopped short outside the door. The distinct, sour smell of puke hit him in the face.
She was sprawled on the floor next to the toilet, phone clutched in her hand.
“What the hell?” He rushed in and kneeled beside her. She was pale, her eyes half-lidded, hair matted on the left side. “What the fuck did you take?”
He bent and listened to her chest. She was breathing, though shallowly. He gripped her wrist. Her pulse was quick but vital.
“Wake up.” He patted her cheeks. Her skin was cold. “Did you call 911?”
She whimpered and rolled away, clutching her stomach. “Ugh.”
“What did you take?” he demanded. “Starr, what did you take!”
“I
didn’t take anything,” she mumbled against the linoleum.
“What?”
“Just … drank too much.” She groaned.
He thought he might scream. In fact, he had to clench his jaw to keep from doing so.
“Are you telling me you fucking called me, and put me in hysterics, because you puked from drinking too much?”
She whimpered.
“If I could, I would kill you.” He stumbled to his feet.
He walked out of the bathroom and tried to get his raging emotions under control, not to mention he needed some non-puke scented air. How the hell was this his mate? How was he going to put up with this for the rest of his life? This wasn’t fair.
Starr whimpered again. “You said … anything I need…”
Gentry froze. He drew in a deep, shaky breath and then slowly turned around. He stared at her a moment, lying there limp and pathetic on the floor. His mate. Then he walked back in the bathroom.
“Come on.” He slipped one arm under her knees, the other behind her back. “Are you done throwing up?”
“I hope so.” Her head lolled against his shoulder. “I only had a few beers.”
“What, every ten minutes?” He wrinkled his nose. “You somehow managed to puke in your hair, even though it’s shorter now.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “You weren’t here to hold it back.”
“I wouldn’t have.”
“Yeah, you would have.”
He carefully maneuvered her out the door and into the bedroom, where he laid her gently on the bed. He wanted to toss her. “I’ll be right back.”
He went back to the bathroom. Flushed the toilet. Opened a window. Found a rag and doused it with warm water.
He went back and switched on the overhead light. Starr winced. Using the rag, he got her face wiped off and her hair cleaned out.
“What was that about not wanting me to be your keeper?”
“Kick me when I’m down.” She grunted.
“I’m going to. You scared the shit out of me.”
Once she was cleaned up, he worked on getting her out of her clothes. She had on a low-cut top, which had suffered only minimal splash, and jeans he had to peel off her legs. He left her in her panties and bra.
