Chapter 17 Riley
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Riley
This time, when I woke up, I felt like a new person.
The throat pain was gone. My nose was clear. The heaviness in my chest had lifted completely. It was like my body had decided overnight that being sick was boring and moved on to better things.
Caelan was still wrapped around me. Of course he was. He hadn’t left my side in over twenty-four hours. I was pretty sure he hadn’t showered. I was definitely sure he hadn’t changed clothes.
“You should go home,” I told him, poking his chest. “Shower. Change. Put on clothes that don’t smell like sick person.”
“I don’t smell.”
“You smell like my apartment. Which currently smells like soup and tissues and regret.”
“I like your apartment.”
“Caelan.” I poked him harder. “Go. I’m fine. I promise.”
He didn’t want to leave. I could see it in every line of his body, the reluctance, the possessive need to stay close, the instinct screaming at him that leaving me alone was a bad idea. His jaw tightened. His arms tightened around me.
“I’ll be gone twenty minutes,” he said finally. “Thirty at most.”
“Take your time.”
“Fifteen minutes.” It sounded like a threat. “If you need anything...”
“I’ll text you.”
“If anything feels wrong...”
“I’ll call you.”
“If anyone...”
Good gods.
“Caelan.” I kissed him to shut him up. It worked. When I pulled back, his eyes were dazed, his grip on me loosening slightly. “Go. Shower. Come back smelling like a person instead of a soup kitchen.”
He went. Reluctantly. Looking back at me three times before he finally closed the door. I took my time stretching, enjoying feeling healthy again. I was contemplating a lazy morning of coffee and writing when my phone buzzed.
It was the bookstore where I’d done my signing. Apparently, I’d left some materials behind. Promotional bookmarks, a banner, some signed stock they’d forgotten to give me and I needed to pick up.
I texted Caelan: Heading to the bookstore to grab some stuff. Back soon.
His response was immediate: Wait for me.
Riley: It’s three blocks. I’ll be fine.
Caelan: Riley.
Riley: I’m FINE. Go shower. You smell like desperation and chicken noodle.
I pocketed my phone before he could argue further, grabbed my keys, and headed downstairs.
Dom, Marco, and Vinnie were at the tattoo shop, setting up for the day. Sloane was there too, perched on the counter with a coffee cup, probably harassing them about her next tattoo idea.
“Feeling better?” Dom called out. I’d told my friends I was feeling shitty yesterday, so obviously the men knew by now. Sloane gossiped with them more than she worked.
“Much better. Just running an errand.”
“Want company?”
“It’s three blocks. I think I can manage.”
I headed out into the morning sunshine, feeling lighter than I had in days. The fresh air was nice. The normalcy was nice. Everything was nice.
The street was quiet, that lazy morning lull between commuter rush and lunch crowd. I passed the coffee shop, the dry cleaner, the little boutique with the ugly mannequins…But when I passed the only alleyway in the way, someone grabbed my arm and yanked.
“Shit!” I stumbled, caught myself on a brick wall, and whirled around with my heart in my throat. “Fuck.” The curse slipped past my lips when I saw who was standing in front of me.
Damien.
He looked like hell. Worse than hell. His hair was wild, unwashed, sticking up in every direction. His clothes were wrinkled and stained. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his pupils were dilated in a way that suggested he was either on something or hadn’t slept in days.
Maybe both.
“You fucking bitch,” he snarled. “You think you can do this to me?”
My blood ran cold. “Damien...”
“Drop the lawsuit.” He snarled at me.
“What lawsuit?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.” He was pacing, erratic, unstable like a caged animal. “The contract dispute, the fucking case you filed against me.”
My mind raced. I hadn’t filed anything. I didn’t have money for lawyers. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“I didn’t file...”
He slapped me. I was so shocked I couldn’t do anything but stare. It wasn’t like before. Before, he was controlled. Cruel, but careful not to leave marks that would show. Smart enough to hit where clothes would cover.
This was different. This was hard enough to snap my head to the side, to make me see stars, hard enough that I tasted blood where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek.
I gasped, hand flying to my face.
“Don’t lie to me,” Damien hissed. “I know it was you. Who else would it be? You want to ruin me? You want to take everything I built?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice was shaking. I was scared now, really scared. This wasn’t the Damien I knew. He was unhinged, dangerous, completely unpredictable.
“You’ve got twenty-four hours to drop it, or I swear to god, Riley...”
“I didn’t file anything!”
He grabbed me by the throat.
His fingers closed around my neck, squeezing, and my panic went from manageable to full-blown terror in the space of a heartbeat. I clawed at his hands, but he was stronger than me, and he was pushing me back against the wall, and I couldn’t breathe...
“You think I’m fucking around?” His face was inches from mine, spittle flying. “You think I won’t end you? I made you. I can unmake you.”
I couldn’t scream or breathe. The pressure on my throat was cutting off everything. Air, sound, thought.
“Without me, you’re nothing,” he snarled. “Nothing. A failed writer with delusions of grandeur. I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?”
I tried to speak. To tell him I hadn’t done anything. But no sound came out, just a strangled wheeze.
“You want to play hardball? Fine. We’ll play hardball.” His grip tightened. “But I promise you, Riley, you won’t like how this ends.”
The alley was empty. No one walking by, no one to hear if I somehow managed to make a noise. And I knew, knew with horrible certainty, that if I tried to scream and no one came, Damien would make me pay for it.
This is it, I thought, distantly. This is how I die. In a dirty alley, at the hands of my ex.
At least I kissed Caelan first. At least I had that.
Black spots danced in my vision. My lungs burned. My fingers were weakening against his grip.
And then the strange thing happened. My chest started to tingle. Not from lack of air. This was different. A warmth spreading through my sternum, a pull, like someone was tugging on an invisible thread attached to my heart. That’s when I heard footsteps, running fast toward us.
I forced my eyes open. Through the black spots, through the fading edges of my vision, I saw the entrance to the alley. And my heart, my oxygen-starved, barely-beating heart, leaped. Caelan.
He was sprinting toward me, faster than any human should be able to move, his expression a mask of pure, murderous rage. His eyes were fixed on Damien, on Damien’s hands around my throat, and there was a quality in them that made my blood freeze.
They were glowing amber. Inhuman.
I opened my mouth to try and speak - and Caelan’s body changed.
It wasn’t gradual or slow. One moment he was a man running toward me, and the next his form was shifting, warping, fur erupting across his skin.
His clothes shredded. His bones cracked and reformed with sounds that should have been sickening but were somehow natural, inevitable.
His face elongated into a snout, his hands became paws, his body dropped to four legs.
Where Caelan was, there was now a wolf the size of a horse. A wolf with fur the color of dark gold and eyes that glowed like molten amber. A wolf that was snarling with such rage that the sound vibrated through my chest, through the wall behind me, through the very foundations of the building.
This was impossible. Insane. This was the kind of thing that happened in my books, not in real life. Real life didn’t have werewolves, didn’t have men who transformed into massive, glowing-eyed beasts.
But real life was currently pinning me to a wall with its eyes on my attacker, and real life didn’t care what I thought was possible.
I screamed.
The sound tore out of my ruined throat, raw and primal. I screamed even as the pressure on my neck disappeared, because Damien had seen the beast and had stumbled backward, his face white with shock, his hands releasing me as he tripped over his own feet trying to get away.
“What the fuck,” Damien was babbling. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the...”
I screamed as I slid down the wall, legs giving out, lungs finally pulling in air but my brain still short-circuiting from what I was seeing.
The wolf, Caelan, the wolf that was somehow Caelan, positioned itself between me and Damien, massive and protective. Its hackles were raised, its lips pulled back to reveal teeth the length of my fingers. Saliva dripped from its jaws. Its muscles bunched beneath its golden fur, ready to strike.
Then it turned its head toward me and I flinched, pressed myself against the wall and waited for the killing blow. Instead, the wolf stepped closer, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal.
Its massive head lowered to my level. And then, gently, impossibly gently, it licked my cheek. Its tongue was warm and rough, and it traced over the spot where Damien slapped me with a tenderness that made no sense. That couldn’t exist in a creature this terrifying.
Then its snout moved to my throat. Nudged the red marks there. A low whine emerged from its chest, full of distress, fury, anguish at what it was seeing. The wolf turned back to Damien, and all that tenderness disappeared.
The snarl that ripped from its throat was the most terrifying sound I had ever heard. It wasn’t a dog’s growl. It wasn’t even an animal sound. It was older, a promise of death given voice.