Breaking angelina (Paranormal investigations # 1.5)

by Rita Webb

backpacks, and head out of the room. They pause

  by the professor’s desk, and he hands out papers.

  I’d forgotten about the test we took last week. I

  hadn’t even studied for it.

  I’m the last one to his desk, and he hands me

  my test.

  An F in red ink bleeds across the page.

  He sighs. “I’m very disappointed in you. If you

  don’t get an A on your term paper and ace the final

  exam, you’ll flunk my class and lose your

  scholarship.” He pauses. “What’s bothering you,

  Angelina? You were my best student last term.”

  I glance at the door—my way to escape. “Sorry.

  I’ll do better. The class load has gotten a little hard

  this semester.”

  “If you need help with anything, let me know.

  I’ve got a list of tutors, and I’m always here to

  answer questions.”

  I give him my sweetest smile—it always works

  on my dad. “Of course, Mr. Landon. I’ll be sure to

  come to you for help if I can’t figure this out

  myself.”

  “Angelina, you’re pale and losing weight. There

  are dark circles under your eyes. I’m just

  concerned.”

  “This is Alaska in the middle of winter.

  Everybody’s pale, and I’m a college student with a

  heavy class load. I’m just not getting enough sleep.”

  “If it’s drugs—”

  I laugh, the sound brittle and derisive. “I’m not

  taking drugs.”

  “All right. You know where my office is.” He

  furrows his bushy, white brows. He really should

  trim those.

  I wish I was taking drugs. Drugs might make

  everything better—drown out the voices, make me

  numb to the world, let me get some real sleep.

  Except as a nursing student, I’ve written papers on

  what drugs can do to your internal organs.

  Even prescription drugs have more side effects

  than the problems they mask. But really, at this

  point, I’m not sure it would matter.

  Back at my desk, I tear the grocery list out,

  folding it and tucking it into my pocket, and then

  toss the F test in without filing it away. Once upon a

  time, I would have cried as I carefully punched in

  the three holes and put it in under the correct file

  heading. Now the stacks of loose papers in my

  binder leave all sorts of ragged edges.

  Packing up my books into my bag, I try to work

  up the energy to be concerned about my grades,

  but I just want to get my sleep and have this whole

  love-potion thing over. All I care about right now is

  surviving this week and making the monsters in my

  head happy.

  Next week, I’ll study extra hard and catch up on

  all my work.

  If I feel like it …

  Before shouldering my book bag, I slip my

  phone out of the front pocket, and as I head out

  the door, I dial the phone number Hunter gave me.

  He answers with a grunt on the third ring.

  “Hi. Remember me? I’m the girl who hired you

  to …” I glance around to make sure no one’s

  listening.

  “To kidnap a siren.” His voice is low and gruff.

  I wince. Kidnap seems like such a harsh word.

  “Can we meet tomorrow at nine in the morning? I

  need to have this done by Thursday.”

  “Sure. Where?”

  “The Coffee Horse. You know where it is?” Far

  enough away from campus my friends and I don’t

  often go there, close enough I can get there by bus.

  I should be able to get in and out without being

  noticed by anyone I know.

  “You got the money?” he asks.

  “Yeah, all ten grand,” I lie.

  “Good.” He hangs up without saying goodbye.

  I stare at the phone—such sweet manners, his

  mother must be proud—before sticking it in my

  pocket.

  Head down, I weave my way through the crowd

  of students heading to and from classes. Bleary-

  eyed, they all stumble through the crowd as they

  clutch their books in one hand and their espressos

  in the other.

  “I’m late, I’m late, for a very important test.”

  One guy runs past me, nearly knocking me over,

  and disappears into a classroom.

  I shake my head. Test doesn’t rhyme with late,

  but oh well.

  Fate, gate, ssstate…

  I don’t know if it’s me or the voices saying the

  words. I need sleep.

  I open the door to my dorm and toss my book

  bag on the bed. The door slams behind me and I

  turn to find Tyler standing there.

  “Bitch.” He knocks me off my feet and I stumble

  back, falling on the bed. “Do you know what you

  did to me? The cops are breathing down my neck.

  They had a search warrant. And now I’m suspended

  from the team because of you.”

  The voices laugh. We told you to stay out of this.

  We brought him here to punish you. Maybe next

  time you’ll listen.

  “No. Please.” Icy claws squeezing my heart, I

  scramble back until I bump into the wall. “Don’t do

  this. Tyler, please.”

  He grabs my hair and drags me back toward him

  before shoving me and pinning me down.

  I scream and he clamps his hand over my

  mouth. I try to bite him, but laughing, he punches

  me in the gut.

  Grabbing the lamp beside my bed, I hit him over

  the head. It’s only wood, but he grunts.

  He clamps his hands around my throat. “Bitch.”

  I can’t breathe. I try to push him off, kicking,

  flailing, clawing.

  He only laughs. “You settle down and I’ll let go.”

  I stop fighting. He loosens his grip.

  “You’re so high and mighty. Think you’re better

  than the rest of us,” he hisses in my ear.

  A rapid knock on the door, the knob turns, and

  the door opens. I hadn’t locked it. He didn’t give

  me the chance.

  Emma calls out, “Angelina? Are you home?”

  In a moment, he’s off of me, leaving me panting

  to catch my breath. He’s out the door, shoving past

  Emma.

  I wrap a blanket around myself. I want the earth

  to open up and swallow me.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” Emma’s arms wrap

  around me, holding me tight, and I let out a sob,

  trying to pull away. “No, you don’t. You’re not

  cowering away from me.”

  Holding me tighter, she strokes my hair and

  rocks me, singing softly like Mom used to do to

  frighten away our nightmares.

  “Why did you come?” I whisper.

  She says, “I’ve had a bad feeling ever since the

  last time we got together, and then you missed our

  usual study time last week.”

  When my sobs turn to quiet gasps, Emma says,

  “Who was he? I’ll rip his dick off.”

  “You can’t. He …,” I say. “He didn’t do anything.”

  Yet. The voices laugh.

  “Angelina, tell me.” She lifts my chin and looks

  into my eyes.
<
br />   Keep your mouth shut. Think what he’ll do to

  her.

  Not my sister. Not Emma.

  I shake my head. “I can’t tell you.”

  Chapter 20

  ~ HUNTER ~

  It is entirely too bright outside. The bright light

  stabs through my eyes with ice picks, and my head

  pulses painfully. Maybe I should have stopped

  drinking after the first bottle.

  Who sets meetings at the butt-crack of dawn?

  This had better be good. At least she chose a coffee

  shop for this little meeting. Some caffeine would do

  me good—break the fog hanging over me and

  muddling up my mind.

  Unfortunately, I’ve already been banned from

  this one—a misunderstanding over what black

  coffee means. Apparently, the waitress thought I

  was scary when I lost my temper.

  I didn’t even smash anything. Just growled a

  little.

  Parking my truck in the back, I inspect my

  reflection in the visor’s mirror. My old glamour

  charm, the one from before I caught the emperor’s

  attention, fits over my body like a second skin. I can

  breathe without it constricting my lungs. I can

  move without stumbling over my own feet.

  My hair is silvery white, like my fur and the

  feathers on my wings, and my eyes are still my

  natural amber color. Same height as my natural

  form, same build and musculature.

  I climb out of the truck and stretch, feeling more

  alive than I have since Sammi died. The glamour no

  longer blocks my senses, and the smells of fresh

  coffee and pastries, the cool air and the spice of

  winter, fill me with a tantalizing array of sensations.

  This is the difference in the quality of a first-

  class, legitimate charm caster and a half-assed,

  back-alley purchase from a witch. But at least the

  witch isn’t likely to rat out my new face to the

  Usurper.

  Today, I should be fine—so long as I never use

  this charm in public again. I doubt anybody would

  recognize me here anyway.

  As I approach the front door, two ladies step out

  from the coffee shop, backpacks slung over their

  shoulders. One sees me and elbows the other girl;

  they both stare at me and then run to their car,

  giggling, glancing back at me over their shoulders.

  Discomfort worms through me. I’m not sure

  what I did to make them laugh, and since I’m

  standing upwind from them, their smell is lost to

  the icy wind.

  Turning to the door, I catch my reflection in the

  glass—short-sleeve shirt, coatless, no gloves, no

  winter boots. No human would be foolish enough

  to walk outside in an Alaska winter without

  bundling up. And I’m not even shivering.

  Amateur mistake.

  I got to stop drinking so much.

  With a sigh, I open the door and step inside

  Morning customers pack the café. The sweet

  smell of pastries and the bitter aroma of coffee hits

  me like a truck, and I’m bombarded with the sight

  of hearts and cupids and sweet sayings on

  cardboard clouds. I forgot Valentine’s day is just

  two days away. Stupid human holiday.

  I quickly pick out her scent—tainted with the

  acrid scent of fear and an electric tang of anxiety …

  and that something reptilian I can’t place, the same

  evil stench I picked up at the warehouse. Maybe

  she has a snake-skin purse? Doesn’t seem her style.

  A book set out before her, she leans over it, lost

  in whatever she’s reading. Her blonde hair sweeps

  down in a silky wave. Distractedly, she tucks it

  behind her ear, and I wish I could run my hands

  through the length of it.

  Her long, lean legs, covered in black leggings,

  stretch out, her black boots up to her knees. Pink

  sweater with the top few buttons undone. I lick my

  lips.

  What is it about this human girl? No one else

  has tempted me since Sammi died.

  Feeling playful, like a wolf with his mate, I pull

  out the seat beside her without saying a word.

  “That seat is tak … er, I mean, hi.” She looks me

  up and down, her eyes widen. Her arousal flares

  briefly before she looks away, and my body

  responds, wanting to make her mine. “I’m sorry,

  but I’m supposed to meet someone here. Please

  go.”

  I snag a pastry from her plate. “Angel, you called

  me, remember.”

  She blanches. “You can disguise yourself as

  anyone?”

  I don’t bother to correct her. I just smile.

  “Can you really get me—” She glances around

  and lowers her voice. “—you know, what I want?”

  “If you’ve got the money.”

  I catch the reptilian scent again, stronger now,

  laced with magic. So familiar, I can almost place it,

  but the stink of magic makes it hard to identify.

  Biting her lip, she leans close to me. “I only have

  about seven thousand.” She scoots a gym bag

  towards me and then wraps her arms around her

  stomach.

  “I don’t work for so little. We’re done.” But I

  don’t stand up to leave like I should. I just watch

  her.

  Sniffling, she wipes an eye and looks away from

  me. “But you said you’d take an … alternate

  method of payment. Didn’t you?”

  “Cold, hard cash, angel.”

  “Wait, I’ll pay you in other ways.” She grips my

  sleeve, panic written across her face.

  My heart wrenches, and I pause, kicking myself

  for being so soft even as I do so. “And how do you

  expect to do that?”

  Cheeks flushing prettily, she motions me closer

  to whisper in my ear. “Today, all day, I’ll do

  whatever you want.” Her voice is silky soft, her

  breath hot against my skin. She pauses, biting her

  lip, and that sharp, reptilian odor stings my nose.

  Then she leans forward and purrs, “In your bed.”

  My face burns. I’m not into one-night stands.

  The wolf part of me is too strong to think it’s a

  good idea. It can only end badly.

  But lately, everything I do ends badly.

  It’s been so long, so very long.

  “You know I’m not human, right?”

  “You look human right now. Handsome too.”

  Smelling of determination, she reaches under the

  table and lightly touches my inner thigh. I nearly

  jump out of my glamour as she traces circles higher

  and higher sending an electric thrill coursing

  through me.

  She looks soft and smells of sugar. I imagine she

  tastes of sex and life and intoxicating wonderment.

  Maybe I can pretend, just for a moment, I love her

  and she loves me. That I’m someone else, a simple

  human man with simple human needs. That I’m not

  hunted, not putting her in danger by taking her to

  my bed.

  Pretend I’m not betraying Sammi …

  Creator, forgive me. I drop some bills on the


  table and gather the keys to my truck.

  “Let’s go.” I offer her my hand, and she takes it.

  Chapter 21

  ~ ANGELINA ~

  With a creak and the groan of tired metal joints,

  the truck comes to a stop. A run-down shack sits in

  front of us. Parked in front of the garage, I can see

  junk piles through the window, at least the closest

  layer. As I step out, wind whistles around the

  corner of the building and burns my face, the only

  exposed skin on my body.

  He opens the door, unlocked despite the

  neighborhood. The smell of stale alcohol makes me

  gag. A beat-up couch covered in blankets and

  crumbs seems to be the only spot in the room free

  of bottles, dirty dishes, paper, and junk food. The

  arms of the lone couch are slashed, as if claws had

  ripped them apart.

  He kicks a pair of boxers under the couch. “It’s

  been a long time since a woman has been in here.

  I’m sorry. Give me a moment.”

  He disappears into a side room, and I unzip my

  coat and hang it on a peg by the door—the only

  available surface where my coat won’t get dirty.

  I’ve heard the girls talk in high school about how

  much it hurts the first time, and in college, the

  cheerleaders described their conquests and the

  different positions they’ve tried … Will he expect

  that of me?

  Half a bottle of whiskey and a dirty glass sit on

  the counter in the kitchen. No rags, no paper

  towels, and only a bit of soap at the bottom of the

  bottle, I wash the glass using my hands and a drop

  of soap. When it’s clean, I pour myself a shot and

  swallow it. It burns on the way down, and I like how

  a warm numbness spreads through me.

  I smile and pour another one.

  Behind me, the bedroom door swings open, and

  I can feel his gaze on my back, studying me. I turn

  to look at him over my glass.

  He’s beautiful. Jeans riding low on his hips, one

  knee ripped out. Barefoot. Shirtless. Muscles

  sculpting his arms and chest. Silvery white hair to

  his shoulders. The perfect jaw—strong and sure—

  and soft lips. Everything I could want.

  … except he’s not Jason.

  What am I doing here? He’s not even human; I

  am so going to hell for this. I can’t do this. I’ve got

  to get out of here.

  Pain slams into me, and I almost drop the cup.

  Drrriiinnnk. You will do asss we sssay.”