Deck The Halls & Cover The Howls (Werewolf Regulation Bureau Files #1)

Chapter One

Oliver

I wish they could pump music right into your brain. Then I wouldn’t have my hand buried deep inside my couch right now.

I refuse to buy new AirPods, even if that means losing my hand to the dark, dusty world under my couch. A worthy sacrifice it would be. I continue to wiggle my fingers and touch something small and hard. I take it out, feeling relieved.

An eraser? When was the last time I even used one?

I throw it over my head. Future Oliver’s problem to deal with. Come to think of it, that might be the reason the current Oliver is fighting dust and mysterious stickiness off his hands right now. Future Oliver just isn’t a very reliable person.

Going in again, I finally dig out the bud that must have fallen out when I fell asleep on the couch. I thump my fist in the air, victorious at last and very late for my inspiration walk on the roof. It’s already dark.

I slip it safely in the pocket of my sweatpants, tapping it twice to make sure it’s tucked in deep. I finish tying my half-done laces, a task that got bumped the second I realized an AirPod was missing. Then I kill the light, grab my keys, and book it out of my apartment.

I’m closing the door behind me when I notice a walking gym membership making his way towards me. His blonde hair is styled to perfection, and he flashes me a preppy smile. He glances at my apartment door while I stupidly stare, confused.

Then he makes a sharp turn to the door directly opposite mine.

Of course. My neighbor's new flavor of the day. Now that I think about it, this guy is barely distinguishable from the rotating door of beefcakes that come through here every week. I’m mid-eye-roll, my feet already on their way to the elevator, when the door across the hall opens.

I force my head to look straight.

Nothing good can come from looking at Matthew “Call Me Matt” Hale. He’s a masterpiece, carved to the specifications of some particularly dirty wet dreams of every queer man (and most women, I’m sure). If I didn’t know he was a firefighter, I would have thought he lived at the gym.

Built at well over six feet, the guy is a giant in front of his hookup, who is about my height. His wide shoulders take up almost the entire doorway. His arms could easily fold anyone in half and ruin spines. Not that I’m volunteering.

His long, tanned neck, jawline that could cut glass, sculpted cheekbones, and inky black hair that’s artistically mussed like he spends hours styling it into effortless waves make his existence all the more unfair.

I’m still shamelessly looking him over when I notice the hallway’s gone quiet. Too quiet. My eyes snap to his warm brown ones.

“See something you like?” he drawls, one of his extremely expressive eyebrows cocks up.

I crinkle my nose. “That will be a definitive no,” I say primly.

He leans against the doorframe, folding his hands across his chest. My eyes drag through his bulging biceps. The sleeves of his plain black T-shirt beg for mercy.

“You wound me, Oliver. After that awfully thorough inspection, I’d have at least expected a ‘maybe.’” His low voice is all honey.

“What can I say? That unique asshole charm might be wearing off,” I snark.

“Or is it getting a little too irresistible?” Mr. Chin-and-Jawline tilts his head, his intense eyes trained on me.

My heartbeat picks up. That’s enough of that, thank you very much.

“Don’t you have things to do? People to entertain?” I say, looking at the guy now standing awkwardly on the side of Matt’s door.

His eyes follow mine, and he straightens up, like he just remembered the guy he invited over to sleep with him is here too. Matt opens the door wider and gestures for the other man to walk inside.

But Matt doesn’t follow him in. He comes right back out, this time leaning back against the wall. Picture of casualness, this guy.

“So, going for your little walk? There are easier ways to tire yourself out, you know?”

“Like talking to you? A few more seconds and I might fall asleep right here, Matt,” I smirk, so proud of the comeback.

Matt assesses me head to toe, his gaze like a physical touch. I trample a shiver trying to escape. “Looking at you, I’d say you’ll definitely need to go to bed after this conversation.”

My jaw drops at the implication. I narrow my eyes, and Matt huffs out a laugh, his dimples popping.

“Have fun on the roof,” he says, walking inside and closing the door behind him.

I seethe with anger, stalking towards the elevator. I make a sharp left last minute.

I think I’ll take the stairs. Too much energy to burn. I open the glass door and start the three-floor trek.

I've lived in this building for a year, but I’ve never had a normal conversation with Matt.

The guy just knows how to get on my last nerve, which is particularly weird because I’m nice to everyone.

Even Marge on the eighth floor, who unloads unsolicited gossip on me every time I’m unlucky enough to run into her.

The first time I saw the man, I’ll admit, I was struck silent. I mean, look at him! But he just sniffed at me like I’m a day-old trash bag that slipped out of the garbage disposal.

Eventually, his scowl turned into quips and casual flirting. The switch gave me whiplash for days. No smile, no greeting, just that smirk with sharp come-ons that always hit the bullseye.

But it never goes further than that, so I know the guy isn’t serious. Besides, I wouldn’t want to make our neighbor relationship awkward. What if I have a sugar emergency?

Also, the guy’s a jerk. I always tend to forget that, especially when his dimples are on display.

By the second flight of stairs, I am reassessing my reaction to Matt. Why did I suddenly think I was in a damn romcom, running up the stairs to work out my aggression? I’m not an aggressive person, and I’m definitely not a fit person.

Suddenly, I hear a growl from somewhere downstairs. I lean over the banister, almost on an impulse, searching for the dog who made the sound.

Instead, my eyes catch on a man three floors down.

The old grumpy man from 8D? No wait, his face looks different, sharper, somehow.

And he’s taller, bigger. Isn’t he over seventy?

How is he already two floors down? And why the fuck is he crouched down, climbing the stairs like a damn toddler on all fours?

He looks up, his eyes meeting mine. My legs freeze without explanation. Are they glowing? I can’t be sure. He’s too far away.

Then he’s gone. It couldn’t have taken him more than a couple of seconds to climb down five flights of stairs.

I can’t move. My heart is beating like it’s trying to rip out of my chest, my breath heavy. Static fills my ears. What did I just see?

After a few minutes, the silence of the empty staircase returns, and I’m dropped back into reality.

Run, my mind repeats over and over.

I blink fast and give moving my legs a shot. I slowly start climbing down, my body shivering. I’m scared. Of the old man? No, he wasn’t the same man who glared at me in the elevator last week.

My brain is too scrambled to make sense of anything right now. All I know is that I need the safety of a locked door between me and the world right now.

When I reach my floor again, I almost run back to my apartment.

This is why I don’t listen to those fitness freak gurus talking about replacing elevator rides with stairs. No, it isn’t good for my heart!

I yank my keys from my pocket, and an AirPod bud falls on the floor. I pick it up and shove it back. The keys jiggle in my hand. Calm down, Oliver!

But what was that? How was a seventy-year-old man so fast? Why did he look so big? He didn’t look human, did he? Was I hallucinating? Why the fuck would this door not open already?

I try to fit the key in the tiny hole on the knob, but it doesn't go in. On the second try, it falls. The noise sounds like a gunshot in the empty hallway. I pick it up and try again.

C’mon! C’mon! C’mon!

It still won’t go in. I will my hands to stay still, but they’re not listening. None of my body parts are.

A door behind me opens with a bang. I whip around, clutching my chest.

Matt looks at me, frowning with… anger? No, it’s concern.

He walks towards me, as if he can’t help himself. Then he’s right there, filling my vision with his whiskey eyes. My brain feels like it’s running a second behind, like I’m in a daze.

“Oliver?” he asks, low, almost a whisper.

When I don’t say anything, his expression changes. He looks angry. Dangerous. He scans both ways down the hallway, ready to murder the first person he sees. When he doesn’t find a target, his eyes land back on me.

“I’m okay.” My voice comes out weak. Why the fuck am I acting this way?

My heart is still going a mile a minute, but my breath seems to have calmed down. Matt looks down at my trembling hands and rescues the keys I’m holding onto for dear life. I’m sure I have indentations in my hands. Can someone copy a key with hand indentations?

I hear the door unlock. Matt gently places his hand on my back and guides me inside.

Then I’m sitting on the couch. Everything is bright, and the door is safely locked.

Matt sits on the table facing me, close. Too close. All my focus is pulled to the brown eyes in front of me. A stray concern for my flea market table floats somewhere in the back of my head.

“Oliver, talk to me,” Matt says, his voice soothing.

“The guy… big… he was crawling on his hands and legs… glowing eyes… old grump from 8D…” I try, my hands moving frantically.

Matt’s eyes go wide. He grabs my shoulders, his eyes assessing my body. His hands move down my arms.

My heartbeat picks up for another reason. Then it hits me. He thinks I’m injured. Because why else would I be blabbering like an idiot about a giant man with glowing eyes?

I close my eyes and take a couple of deep breaths, focusing on Matt’s hands and the heat they’re generating in their wake. A light caress down my back, gentle combing through my hair. I feel waves of calm descending on me.

I try speaking again. “I’m not hurt.” This time, my voice is not a trembly mess.

Matt rests his hands on my cheeks. He sighs in relief. His breath brushes my face. Those light browns appear lighter somehow, almost golden. He nods. “So, what happened?”

I close my eyes and take another breath, taking my time to arrange my thoughts. No dice. “The old man from 8D was running so fast… on his hands.” I point vaguely in the direction of the staircase. “He was big, his face weird… I couldn’t see properly. He was a few floors down. He was naked.”

What? Now that I think of it, he was completely naked with bulging muscles. Was my brain trying to protect his modesty until now? I focus on Matt’s confused face. Yeah, there was no way I didn’t sound like a lunatic. Still, I know what I saw.

“Maybe he was on something?” he tries, his hands still firmly on my face, like he’s forgotten he placed them there.

That would explain the old guy’s actions, sure. People do whacky shit on drugs.

“But why did he look different?” Even from a distance, it was clear as day. He wasn’t himself.

“Maybe it was the low light of the staircase making everything look spooky?” he suggests. “Anyway, did you have dinner already?” He removes his hands. I almost whimper at the loss of his touch. It was just very… calming.

He moves to sit beside me on the couch.

“I’ll order pizza. Do you like olives?” He’s already scrolling through his phone.

“No, olives taste like rot.” No olive is ever crossing the threshold of my house. Wait, why are we talking about food? THERE’S A GIANT NAKED MAN AT LARGE WITH GOLDEN EYES!

“That’s blasphemy, but I’ll let it slide,” Matt says, generously.

Come to think of it, why is he still here? Why is he ordering food for me? Oh my god! Matt, the sexy firefighter next door and walking wet dream, is leaning back on my couch, ordering me pizza.

GIANT MAN, OLIVER! FOCUS.

“Pizza is on its way,” Matt says, pocketing his phone.

“What about the man, though?” I ask.

“What about him?” he asks back, canting his head.

“We should… we should…” What should we do?

“Let’s eat, and maybe you can rest for the night. We can talk about it tomorrow. It’s clearly upsetting you right now,” he says, sagely.

I find myself nodding along. Maybe some sleep would clear my head enough to form complete sentences, if nothing else. Might come in handy in my career as a fucking writer.

When the pizza arrives, we eat in silence. My brain is still too messed up to make polite conversation. Besides, I doubt I know how to be polite to Mr. Muscles next to me.

When we’re done, he gets up to leave. When he’s at the door, he tells me to latch the chain.

I do as he says, already fantasizing about hitting the bed.