Chapter 67
There’s something about that hitchhiker that you just don’t trust, so you decide to follow Carson instead.
“Sorry,” you tell the hitchhiker. “I’m going with Carson.”
“Are you sure?” he presses you. “I’m telling you, this is going to be a mistake.”
“It won’t be a mistake,” Carson says firmly. “I’ll keep you safe, Sloan.”
That’s good enough for you.
You leave the hitchhiker behind, walking beside Carson through the wooded area.
He seems so confident about where he’s going, like he has planned this out very carefully.
There’s clearly something about him that he’s not telling you, but this is not the time for questions.
You’ve got to get out of here before it’s too late.
After walking for a few minutes, you arrive at the gate. Sure enough, there is a missing bar and a space just wide enough for you to fit through. He was telling the truth. Even more promising, it doesn’t seem like anyone from the mansion is lying in wait.
“Ladies first,” he says.
You squeeze through the hole, and he follows right after. As you continue walking, you start to worry about what is going to happen next. You’ve escaped the estate, but you’re still stuck on Peyton’s Peak, in the middle of nowhere.
“How will I get home?” you ask.
“I’ve got a car parked about a mile from here.”
He has a car already waiting outside the estate? That means he really was planning for all this. A million questions are running through your head, and you can’t wait another minute to get answers. When you reach a clearing in the woods, you grab Carson’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Wait,” you say. “You told me you didn’t know what they were doing, but then how come you have a car waiting?”
Carson grits his teeth and looks up at the sky, then back at my face. “Can we discuss this later, please?”
“You’ve got to tell me something,” you insist. “I have blindly followed you this far, but it’s not fair that I have no idea what’s going on.”
The shadows on Carson’s face disappear as the mist in the sky shifts, revealing the full moon in all its glory. His shoulders rise and fall, and for a moment, he looks almost as if he is in physical pain.
“Sloan,” he says urgently. “We can’t talk about this right now, okay?”
“But—”
Your protests are cut off by the loud groan emitted from Carson’s lips. He doubles over as if he has food poisoning, and then he lets out a noise that’s something between a moan and a growl. What is going on here?
You take a few steps back as Carson falls to his knees.
And then onto all fours. He lets out another guttural sound, and then he claws at his shirt, finally ripping it open.
You expected a gleaming six-pack of abs under that shirt, but instead, his abdomen is covered with a thick layer of brown and white fur.
And then, all of a sudden, the fur is everywhere. It’s covering his entire body, and his hands have morphed into claws. His perfect nose and chin have turned into a snout. Then he raises his head and lets out a howl that echoes into the night.
Carson is a werewolf.
Turn to Chapter 68 (page 175)