Growls & Greeting Cards (Wolves of Pine Falls #2)

Prologue

Tonight is the full moon, and I’m leaving.

I push my sleeves up to my elbows before turning on the faucet. As the sink fills with soapy water, I reach for the first dirty dish.

And I stare at my wrists.

I don’t want to look at them. A black hole in my chest whimpers for me to pull my sleeves back down, even if that means soaking the fabric through as I clean up.

But I’ve been ignoring my bruises for too long. It’s time to stop.

“That steak was perfect, babe. And the mashed potatoes and, hell, everything.” A chair scrapes against linoleum, and soon, a strong set of arms wraps around my middle.

Somehow, with some hidden strength I never knew I possessed or thought I would need, I relax into the hold.

“Hope I didn’t spoil your appetite. You’ve got all those poor forest creatures to hunt down later.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss against my neck. My lids flutter rapidly to keep any tears at bay.

These moments were the ones that gave me hope in the beginning. Every soft touch made up for the sting of the hard ones.

His hands slide from my waist, tracing down my arms to caress the bruises. The movement is almost sensual.

It makes the small amount of food I was able to swallow curdle in my stomach.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes, I don’t know my own strength. It’s like that with my kind, you know?”

“I know.” Know that he’s full of shit.

It took me some time to realize it, but when I did, my dreams of a happy future with the man I’d thought I loved shattered.

Cory likes seeing his marks on me.

“You going to have breakfast waiting for me?”

“Of course,” I lie.

Every month, he asks and expects the same answer. I learned quickly what would happen if I wasn’t waiting for him here after the night of the full moon. He requires breakfast and his woman willing.

But this time, things will be different. I try not to think about his reaction when he discovers what I’ve done.

“I’m off. Miss you already.” Then he presses on my wrists with a quick, firm pressure. A warning.

The ache shoots up my arms, and I pinch my lips together to keep the gasp at bay.

After a possessive pat on my ass, he’s out the door.

My hands continue to wash dishes, my pace steady. A performance of relaxation. Soon, the sound of his Harley roars to life, practically shaking the walls of our small house. Cory wants to buy a bigger place. After we’re mated, he says.

Like that’ll tempt me into agreeing.

Even as the growl of his bike fades into the distance, I continue washing dishes, although my movements become jerky with nerves. The rumble of other bikes and trucks sounds out on the road in front of the house, all heading out of town.

When the dishes are clean and in the drainer, I turn off the lights on the first floor and head up to the bedroom.

That’s when I put on speed.

All my packing needs to happen now. If I’d done any of it before tonight, Cory would have noticed, and all my plans would’ve been ruined.

But I’ve mentally packed my belongings hundreds of times, so I know exactly where each item is and exactly where they all go.

It helps that when I came to this town two years ago, I was on a cross-country trip. Traveling light. I haven’t added many important physical items since then.

A handful of pictures of my grandparents I slip from the frames and sandwich in my tattered copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

If I had time, I’d burn all the photos of Cory and me. But I need to be out of this town before dawn is even an idea on the horizon.

Most everything else in my duffel bags is clothing.

I leave behind my laptop and phone so I can’t be tracked. Cory is no hacker, but I have no idea what kind of people he knows.

Plus, he was born to hunt.

I pile my belongings into the trunk of my reliable Honda CRV. The same car I drove into this town, back when I thought I knew what pain was.

The most frivolous possession is my box full of greeting-card crafting materials. I consider leaving it, too, but just can’t part ways with all the pretty paper I’ve comforted myself with these past few years.

As a librarian, people would probably guess I’d mainly be piling books into my trunk.

But I know the true worth of a book is the story it tells.

I can replace most of the small collection I started accruing.

The only titles I pack are the handful my grandma gave to me.

Those are more than just books. They’re memories.

Some memories I want to hold on to.

The ones I created here, with Cory, I wish I could erase.

When I’ve taken everything from the house that I plan to drag along with me, I shut off the rest of the lights. In the dark kitchen, I walk to the notepad pasted on the counter and uncap the pen beside it.

I’m leaving before you can hurt me more than you already have.

—Abby

I want to add another line. Don’t follow me.

But Cory would only take that as a challenge. He was the authority in our relationship. I was not allowed to give him orders.

When I sign my name, I press harder with the pen, burning the letters into the page.

And I say goodbye to Abigail Green.

The woman who fell for a dangerous man and spent years paying for the mistake.

As I step out of the house, I assume my new name, along with a revitalized personhood.

Juliet Adair does not let anyone lay a finger on her.

Despite the urge to drive without my headlights on to make the car harder to spot, I reason that’ll look suspicious and up my chances of getting pulled over.

I need to get out of this town before anyone thinks to look for me.

Luckily, I’ve had help.

Not from the pack, of course. They would never side with me over Cory.

Humans are the only ones I can trust, and even that number is small.

When I get to the turnoff I’m looking for, I silently pray to whatever gods might be listening that I’m not going to find a completely empty road.

A quarter mile down the back lane, I spot a bumper.

Angie came through for me. Again. That woman is the only reason I think I might be able to get away from Cory.

I pull in beside the seemingly abandoned car. It’s an old station wagon, built at least a decade before I was born. And just like she promised, the key sits on the back right tire.

Opening the front door, I slide into the driver’s seat, fingering the steering wheel with a feeling of anxious power. I pop open the glove compartment and flip through the registration information.

Juliet Adair is listed on everything.

Reaching behind me, into the pocket on the back seat, I find a manila envelope. The contents within contain all the precious paperwork I’ve gathered together over the last few months. Everything I need to build my new life.

When I start the car, the time on the dashboard spurs me to quicken my pace. Soon, I’ve transferred all my baggage from the SUV to the wagon. I pull my new-to-me car out onto the road, then leave it idling.

“Thanks, old girl. Sorry about this next bit.” I pat the hood of my trusty Honda.

Then I crack the driver’s door, uncap a bottle of Axe body spray, wrap a rubber band around the nozzle, toss it in the back seat, and slam the door shut.

“Try smelling anything after that, asshole,” I mutter.

My ex relies heavily on scent when hunting—his nose is more sensitive than a human’s.

The moment he opens the door will be agony.

After locking the car up—a subtle fuck you that’ll definitely have Cory wanting to break one of the windows—I chuck the keys as far as I can into the woods.

Would’ve been nice to sell the Honda for the extra cash, but that would’ve taken time.

I salute my vehicle, then jog back to the waiting station wagon.

The dirt road seems bumpier on the way out, every jerk threatening a flat tire, which would mean I’m fucked. But a minute later, through a break in the trees, I spot beautiful pavement.

When I turn back onto the two-lane highway, droplets begin to tap against the windshield. A happy sob bursts from my chest.

Maybe some gods were listening to my pleas. Rain will help wash away any trace I might have left.

With jittery fear and anxiety coursing through my veins, I’m sure time has slipped away at a rapid rate. But when I check the dashboard clock again, I realize it’s been just over an hour since I finished washing those dishes. Not even midnight yet.

The pack will be running till dawn in the woods far west of town.

I’m pointed east, pressing my foot to the gas while keeping to the speed limit. Before long, I reach my first major checkpoint.

As I pass the town limit for Bear Valley, Utah, I steer with my knee and give the sign both my middle fingers.

If I never see this place again, I’ll die a happy woman.

Fuck Bear Valley, with its deceptively quaint atmosphere.

Fuck the people here who didn’t tell me to run the night I arrived.

Fuck the man who almost killed me.

And most of all …

Fuck werewolves.