When Hairy Met Stella (Werewolves of Wheeling #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

“ T his is not…ideal.”

Nathan stared at his hands, his breath frozen in his chest. Two glassy eyes peered up at him. How could they look so dull? So motionless?

So lifeless?

The body in his arms felt limp and heavy, its appendages drooping within inches of the ground as the head lulled back. It was cool against his fingertips and seemed to be getting heavier with each passing second. The matted hair covering its back pricked his palms like needles on a cactus. He swallowed hard, willing the energy that popped and tingled in his body to still. But like the body in his arms, it didn’t listen.

Why was he doing this, anyway? It certainly wasn’t in his job description. And no one would have blamed him if he’d skipped out, especially if they’d known why. But that was just it—they didn’t know why. So, he sucked it up, continuing the task at hand— in his hand?—just like he’d happily agreed to.

“Need some help?” a voice called from the other side of the room. Who’d said that? The whooshing of blood through his ears drowned out any discernible clues as to who’d offered their assistance. Lights bounced around the room from passing cars, as though their drivers had no idea the turmoil that grew incrementally with each second he stood here, holding this, this…

“I’m good,” he croaked, unable to take his eyes off the body in his arms. Or the blood on his hands. What a lie. If he was really good , why was he reacting like this? Why did it feel like someone had poured concrete over his boots? Probably the same reason he couldn’t quiet voice in his head, the one that asked the question he didn’t want an answer to: Is this what I look like?

Of course not. He was a barber, so of course his hair looked better. Right? Though, he’d never seen himself when…

He shook his head, but all it did was swish around the thoughts in his head like glitter in a snow globe. What if this was how other people saw him? Not that he’d ever let them have the chance—not again, anyway.

“You gonna do something with that, Nater Tot?”

The sound of his nickname snapped him from his trance. It was a sound so welcome it almost made him smile.

Almost.

There was only one person who called him that ridiculous name, but he would have known that peppy voice anywhere. “Sorry, Stella. Yeah, I was just about to deal with it,” he responded, turning to face his boss.

His boss.

There she stood, a ray of sunshine personified, her bright smile illuminating an otherwise dimly lit space. Where everything else in the room had grown fuzzy around the edges and faded in color, she was as clear as a cloudless October sky. Her hair was on top of her head in one of those buns that looked effortless yet polished, which was just like her—so effortlessly perfect. So effortlessly Stella.

He took a steadying breath—unsure why exactly he was so unsteady in the first place—and nodded toward his hands. “This is just so…”

“Sad?” She shrugged then tucked a loose strand of her golden hair behind her ear. Her shiny gold hoop earring winked at him in the light. “Yeah. But take it easy on him. He’s had a rough year locked up in storage.”

“I’ll say,” he mumbled.

“Blame Crafty Cathy’s. Everything was already so picked over. But we won the window-decorating contest last year. Maybe these guys are our good luck charms.” Stella tousled the fake werewolf’s hair, her fingers grazing Nathan’s arm in the process. Now the hair on the werewolf and the hair on his arm were both standing at attention.

“How about I take this.” Nathan’s brother came up beside him. He pulled the plastic beast from his arms and propped him in the storefront window. Eric was the only one in the salon who could have known what Nathan was going through—well, maybe except for Eric’s fiancée, Lucy, who peered at both through rounded eyes from the front desk.

But she wasn’t a werewolf. He and Eric were. And while Lucy’s love had mostly cured Eric, leaving him with the power to shift at will and not be under the control of full moons, Nate had remained the same. Perhaps because he was immune to the love spell that had saved his brother.

Or maybe because he wasn’t worthy of love in the first place.

He watched Lucy and Eric, laughing as they tangled themselves in a strand of black, glittery garland—on purpose, he suspected.The joy on their faces caused his stomach to sour, but not because he wasn’t happy for his brother. Quite the opposite, actually. He just realized that would never be him. At one point, he thought it could have been him. Heck, it was him once upon a time. At least, he’d thought so at the time. But whoever spouted that mumbo jumbo about being better to have loved and lost than to have never found it…well, love had obviously never dropkicked them in the pants before.

Spoiler: it hurt.

“So, you wanna talk about it?” Eric offered, separating himself long enough to come wrap an arm around Nathan’s shoulders. It was weird in a way, having his younger brother be the voice of reason. The one with the sage advice to give. Nathan was used to being the one in charge. The protector. Like so many things in the last year, this was yet another thing that had changed.

“What’s there to say? That monster in the window is hideous, and people in town for Fright Night will love it.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Obviously, but Hairy Stylez was a hair salon, not a therapist’s office. Stella claimed she was half hairstylist, half therapist to her customers—not that Nate could relate to that. As a barber, most of his clients weren’t really the type to bare their souls during their twenty-minute appointment. And just because her clients divulged way too many details about their lives didn’t mean this was the place for Nathan to word-vomit all over the checkered tile floor. This was his place of work, after all.

“I’m fine.” Nathan managed to keep his voice low and steady, fighting the impulse to respond all squeaky and high-pitched like Ross Gellar.

“Fair enough.” His brother gave him a pat on the back. “You know I’m always here for you if you need anything.” He leveled Nathan with a look that said he knew exactly what he was going through. Because he did.

He also knew he’d come so close to blowing their covers—well, mostly just his. He was still the one who had to run off to the woods every month to wait out the night of the full moon.

Eric clapped his shoulder one more time and walked away as the opening notes of “Werewolves of London'' played over the sound system. Oh, the irony. Nathan shook his head as he pulled a strand of lights from the storage bin and climbed the stepladder.

He and his brother were the werewolves of Wheeling—not that anyone knew that, of course. Only Lucy had any idea the secret Nathan and his brother kept, and as he looked down at the plastic werewolf propped up in a wicker chair in the window, its hair disheveled and eyes manic, he vowed to keep it that way.

“Where do I begin?” Stella asked her empty office. Empty of people, that is. Definitely not clutter. No, she had that in spades, at least in her humble opinion. Lucy would and had disagreed many times, noting her cousin’s knack for organization as something she’d aspired to attain.

But while the rest of the salon was a place for everyone, this little room in the back of the building—her office—was hers. And she loved the semblance of peace that washed over her when she walked in and everything was in order, which was currently not the case.

Owning her own business didn’t leave her tons of time for organizing, so this was a project she’d kept on the back burner for so long it was going up in flames. Probably where most of this clutter belonged, though setting fire to her office wasn’t the best idea. She’d call that Plan B.

This was a job that called for coffee. Probably pots of it, but she’d start with a cup and see how things went. She grabbed a mug from the small cabinet along the wall and plugged in her Keurig. Before long, she was breathing in the rich, spicy smell of pumpkin brew as it filtered through the air and masked the aromas of hair sprays and dyes that had snuck their way into her back office from the styling cubicles down the hall.

She took her first sip and hummed with contentment. “Much better,” she whispered, cupping the mug and letting its warmth seep into her hands. It was her favorite mug, a gift from one of her very first clients when she took over the salon two years ago. She didn’t know if she was “a cut above the rest” as the mug suggested, but heaven knew she put her heart and soul into this business. Because she loved what she did. She loved making people feel their best. And she couldn’t fail…again.

“Hey, cuz,” a voice sounded from the doorway, startling Stella just enough that her pumpkin-flavored coffee nearly sloshed over the side of the cup.

“Geez, Lucy! You scared the heck out of me.” Stella clutched her chest with her free hand. “I thought everyone left already.”

“Almost everyone. Except for yours truly. I had a couple finishing touches to add to the front window, and I needed to wait until it got dark enough to make sure the lights did what I wanted them to.”

“Like light up?” Stella said with a chuckle.

“Har-har,” Lucy mocked. “You’ll be pleased to know the window looks amazing. Even better than last year. They might as well give us the first prize trophy already.” She bounced on the balls of her feet with a smile that sparkled with sheer joy. This confidence wasn’t something she was used to seeing from Lucy. When she’d moved to town this time last year, she was a shell of herself, so quiet and shy. She didn’t even have the confidence to pick up a brush and paint—something she knew her cousin was born to do.

And now, here she was, a designer who just signed a contract to illustrate the entire next series of book covers for a bestselling author. A woman glowing brighter than the light strands that framed the window display. Brighter than the rock on her ring finger that twinkled under the fluorescent lights above. Maybe that was what happened when people found a partner who supported them. Stella didn’t know much about that.

“Where’s Eric? Did he leave already?”

Lucy nodded. “I wanted him to get a jumpstart on ordering pizza because we were both starving. So, he went back to his place…er, our place? Or it will be in less than two weeks!” The pitch of the last two words she said was almost high enough for only dogs to hear, but it made Stella smile. In a week and a half, her cousin was going to marry the love of her life. Someone who made her better. Someone who made her happier than Stella had ever seen. Or experienced.

Stella rounded her desk, eyeing the order invoices that littered the top of it, pastel-colored pages spread in a palette worthy of an Easter basket. Once the caffeine hit, maybe she’d start by putting the pages in chronological order. “Thanks again for all your help today. I know it’s a tad earlier than we needed to decorate, but with the salon shutting down for two weeks and your wedding, I just wanted to make sure everything was ready.” She plopped into her desk chair, and it let out a moan as if to say it was on its last leg. Except, it only had one big leg. It had four wheels, though. So perhaps it was on its last wheel.

“I’m glad we could get everything finished. When is the construction crew coming again?”

“The end of next week.” Which couldn’t come soon enough.

When she’d bought the business from Mrs. Bronson when she retired, she’d warned Stella about some of the repairs that needed to be done. Stella just thought she had a little more time. But then a pipe burst a couple months back, and the contractor said it might be best to re-pipe the rest of the salon since the rest of the plumbing was in the same poor condition. “ Gotta love old buildings, right?” The plumber’s words stuck in her brain, a resounding chorus of doom that left her butt so clenched for the past eight weeks she no longer felt the need to do squats at the gym on leg day. Each morning that she walked into the salon and wasn’t greeted with several inches of water on the floor was a victory. “I packed our schedules since the salon will be closed, so I wanted to get the decorating out of the way while we could.”

“Smart,” Lucy responded with a nod. “That’s our Stella…always on top of things.”

Yep. Always . Because if she wasn’t, who knew what would happen? Well, she did. And she wasn’t about to let it happen again. She was no stranger to failed opportunities. Memories of the last time a dream of hers fell apart flashed in her brain, and she willed them to take a hike. Those kinds of thoughts popped the bubbles in her expected bubbly personality. They made her sweat, and that was something she never let anyone see. She was, after all, the glue that held this salon—her dream—together.

Stella cleared her throat. “Shouldn’t you be meeting up with Eric?” She stood from the chair, and the clank of a screw hitting the floor pierced the silence.

“Shouldn’t you get a new desk chair?”

“Someone’s full of jokes tonight.” Stella bent to pick up the screw. What were the odds this wasn’t an essential screw and just one the manufacturers put on the chair for good measure?

“I know. Sunshine Stella must be rubbing off on me.”

Stella thought maybe she’d rubbed off a little too hard, because lately, she hadn’t felt her usual bubbly self. But maybe that was what happened when people had to make a decision they didn’t think they were ready to. This particular one knotted her insides every time she passed the storage closet she kept locked tight. But Lucy didn’t need to know all that. She had a wedding coming up. No time to divulge the stressors of her life these days.

So, she slapped on a smile and willed her eyes to twinkle. She’d gotten pretty good acting her butt off these days.

“Well, Sunshine Stella needs to get this office cleaned up before she leaves tonight. And thanks for the invitation earlier, but I’m gonna pass on pizza tonight. Plus, you probably would enjoy a little alone time with your beau. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I mean, I’m not gonna argue with that. But are you sure? This is kind of a bummer of a way to spend a Saturday night. Unless…” Her brows waggled like they were in a dance competition.

“No, no.” She waved a hand, cutting her cousin off. Lucy had mentioned a couple times that she found someone perfect for her and that they should go out on a date, but Stella always changed the subject. She just wasn’t ready. She’d only been single for a couple months. No, wait. She looked down at her desk calendar. How had a couple months turned into almost a year ? Maybe it was time to get back out there—or not.

“I have dinner plans already.” The lie tasted sour in her mouth, but she didn’t need her cousin playing matchmaker. Besides, she did have plans for dinner—the frozen variety, but still. Lucy didn’t need to know the details. “I’m perfectly content cleaning up this mess.”

“Suit yourself. Just don’t get buried under all this clutter,” Lucy said with a hint of sarcasm to her voice.

She chuckled as her cousin left her office, because the more she looked around, the more she realized maybe she was imagining the mess in her office because it was easier to deal with than reality. She was a professional at roleplaying, or she would have been if she hadn’t screwed everything up. But those skills she’d learned had transferred quite seamlessly into her real life these past couple weeks. “Fake Happy” wasn’t just an awesome Paramore song.

With that thought, she paired her phone to the Bluetooth speaker on the file cabinet and let the upbeat song with its melancholy lyrics fill the office, lifting her mood and giving her an excuse to sing at the top of her lungs, uncontrolled and out of tune, her natural state.

Voice lessons had refined her braying voice, but sometimes it was fun to cut loose and let the notes flow—even if they were flying all over the place. But what did it matter? The salon was empty, and doing chores while you sang off-key and danced off-beat was scientifically proven to make chores fifty percent more enjoyable. Probably. So, she threw her hands in the air like the inflatable tube dude at the car dealership on Main Street and embraced the freedom that came with moving her body without abandon. She didn’t even care that her shrill voice rattled the rafters and likely worried people within a five-mile radius that there was a clowder of dying cats at the Hairy Stylez salon.

But while she butchered a beloved song from her favorite band, she kind of got the feeling she was being watched. You’ve been watching too many Halloween movies this week. Besides, Lucy said she was the last person left at the salon, and Stella had heard her go out the back door, which meant that if there really was someone else in the building, it was an intruder.

This was just paranoia, right? Spending the evening hanging spooky decorations and messing around with strobe lights and spiderwebs had her mind jumping hurdles to conclusions that didn’t add up. Besides, the security alarm would have alerted her to someone else in the building.

But if that was true, why was there a dark form filling the doorway?

“Son of a biscuit!” she screamed. And the crack of knuckles on bone was the last thing she heard before a large man hit the floor.