Chapter 16 #2
“Okay, spill.” Maren drops into the chair across from me. “That’s the second time you didn’t tell Karen about feeling watched? Why not? And don’t give me that ‘it’s probably nothing’ bullshit. You never called her after our hike the other day, did you?”
I cringe and lift my head. “No.”
“Luna.” Her voice is incredulous and irritated all at once. “Three dead bodies on your property, and you think feeling watched isn’t worth reporting to the sheriff? Who are you, and what have you done with my smart, level-headed best friend? What’s really going on? What aren’t you telling me?”
That I have a stalker. I am being watched, and I stripped for him. And some dark, twisted part of me wants his attention. I’m terrified, but I can’t stop replaying how it felt when he was staring.
But I can’t say any of that. Instead, I sit up and meet her gaze. “I don’t know, Mar. Maybe I’m losing my mind.”
Sane people don’t strip for their stalkers. Sane people call the police the second they see a masked stranger watching them from their yard. Sane people don’t feel this perverse thrill alongside the bone-deep terror.
“You’re not losing your mind. But you are being an idiot if you don’t take this seriously. Karen’s right. You need security. And you need to stop keeping secrets that could get you killed.”
I trace the wood grain on my desk with my finger instead of looking at her. “I know.”
“Did I overhear Karen say that was Thomas and Bertha Meyers out there?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck!” She exhales a long breath. “I guess you got your wish. And whoever did this to them is a hero in my book. Those assholes had it coming.” She rubs her temples. “So, about this security system?”
“I can’t afford a fancy security system, Mar. I’d rather spend the money on medical supplies or the enclosure we need for Titus.”
“You can’t help animals if you’re dead, Lu.”
I turn away and start shuffling papers that are already organized. “I’ll research some systems tomorrow.”
“No need.” Maren tosses an elegant business card onto my desk with a flourish.
“Eleanor asked me to give you this when I picked up the mail. Mr. Damien Wolfe owns a security company. And Eleanor won’t shut up about him or how hot he is.
Although I don’t know if I trust Eleanor’s opinion of what defines hot. She is married to Frank, after all.”
“Be nice. Frank is a sweetie.”
“Oh, he is, but he looks like the old man from UP.”
A small laugh escapes before I can stop it, making my head pound so hard I half expect my eyeballs to pop out like corks from champagne bottles.
“God, he does, doesn’t he? Poor Frank.”
“Anyway, you said Mr. Billionaire is a hottie silver fox, too.”
“No, I didn’t. You inferred that when I told you Eleanor said he has gray at his temples.”
“Whatever. Point is, you need to call him. Eleanor said one of his companies specializes in custom security. And since he’s loaded, maybe he’ll cut you a deal for the sanctuary.”
I pick up the card, running my fingers over the heavy stock and minimalist design. WOLFE GROUP embossed in matte black against slate gray, superimposed over the face of a silver wolf. Beneath it: Damien Wolfe, Chairman and CEO.
I trace the raised lettering with my thumb. “I’ll think about it.”
She pushes to her feet. The skepticism’s written all over her face. She’s heard this exact promise before.
“Your call, but you need to get something. You know you do.” She turns toward the door. “I’m tired of seeing dead bodies at work. I’m going to ask for hazard pay if it keeps happening.”
A low growl rouses me from sleep. Moonlight filters through the curtains, illuminating Shadow’s silhouette at the window. He presses his nose flat against the cold glass, nostrils flaring, as he peers into the yard. My heart kicks like a caged animal trying to break free.
I’d gone to bed relieved when my watcher didn’t show, but my relief evaporates the instant realization dawns.
My pulse hammers against my throat as I fling the covers aside.
“Is he out there, baby?”
The cool air hits my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and legs. I fumble for my robe, tying the knot as I edge toward the window.
Shadow’s growl rolls low and continuous, a sound that comes from deep in his chest. But he makes no move to bark, no sudden lunge toward the door or down the stairs. He watches, waiting, as if he knows something I don’t.
I press my palm to the glass and peer out into the yard, squinting through the darkness. At first, nothing. Then a shadow shifts, separating itself from the darkness beneath the trees.
My watcher.
My heart slams against my ribs, the sight of him stealing the breath from my lungs.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Fear floods every cell.
But beneath it, excitement that has no business existing pulses.
Dark and hungry. It crackles under my skin like a live wire, scattering my thoughts until I can’t hold on to a single one.
Am I losing my mind? The fear makes sense, but what is this dark current running parallel to it?
I should move, run for Grandpa’s shotgun, or do something other than stand here like a deer caught in headlights.
But I’m frozen, eyes locked on the figure below, the man who’s turned my yard into his stage, looking up at me wearing an eerily beautiful silver wolf’s mask covering the top of his face.
I square my shoulders, forcing steel into my spine.
“I think it’s time we stop this game, watcher.”
My voice is steady, though every hair on my neck stands up. I pivot away from the window and slip out of the bedroom. In the hallway, I turn right, moving toward the cabinet at the far end, between the bathroom door and Maren’s room.
I step on a loose floorboard, and the groan is deafening in the otherwise silent house. Stopping in my tracks, I look back, half-expecting to see him materialize behind me.
My fingers shake as they find the lock on Grandpa’s gun cabinet. A cold sweat slicks my palms, making my grip uncertain, but I manage the combination. Numbers burned into my brain from age twelve, when he first put a rifle in my hands.
I lift the shotgun, surprised by how natural it sits in my palms despite the tremor running through my arms. The weight of it grounds me, solid and reassuring. Like a promise of protection wrapped in cold steel.
Grandpa’s voice echoes somewhere in my memory, gruff and certain.
Never point unless you’re prepared to shoot, LuLu.
Am I?
The stairs creak under my weight as I descend, the cool wood a shock beneath my bare feet, sending shivers up my legs that have nothing to do with temperature.
Shadow waits by the front door, his eyes reflecting what little light seeps through the windows.
He doesn’t whine or pace but gazes at me with eyes that seem to imply this moment was always inevitable.
I slip my feet into the boots waiting by the door. The lock turns with a soft click, and I take one last breath of safe, enclosed air before pulling it open.