Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
SILLY PEPPERONI
Darkness surrounds me.
At first, I think I’m standing in a dark room. Then I realize there is no room. No walls. No corners. No end to the shadows no matter where I look.
The uneasy knot in my stomach tightens. Then a growl rumbles through the void, freezing me in place. Somewhere ahead, two red eyes blink open, impossibly bright against the black. They drift closer, watching me with a predator’s patience.
I try to back away, but my feet are rooted to nothing. Panic claws up my throat. The darkness beneath the eyes peels back into a grin. Two impossibly long canines slide into view, glistening as if they have their own light source. He growls again, so close his breath feathers across my face.
The red eyes are all I see. Red. Like blood.
The thought lodges in my mind, and suddenly that’s all there is. Not eyes. Blood. It spills from them in slow crimson waves, overflowing and running down his face. The trickle becomes a stream, then a river, then a crimson tide rushing to swallow me whole.
I try to scream, but my mouth is stuffed with cotton. I try to run, but I can’t move. The wave rises higher and crashes over me, and then…
“Kallie! Kal!”
I gasp awake, sitting straight up and hitting something hard.
“Ow!”
I blink rapidly, dispersing the darkness and red eyes away. When my vision clears, I find Casey, rubbing his forehead.
“You good? You were screaming.”
I push the sweaty, damp hair out of my face.
It was only a nightmare.
Thank fuck.
“Ye-yeah,” I reply on a shaky breath. I need a minute to let my heart slow down.
Casey’s hair sticks up in six different directions, his glasses slightly crooked on his face, dark circles prominent under his eyes. Sleep clearly hasn’t done him any favors either.
My gaze drifts to the bruise circling his neck.
It’s impossible to ignore.
A handprint.
An actual handprint.
In every shade of purple and yellow.
I force myself to look away.
Because the second I start pulling on that thread, everything else comes with it.
The speed.
The strength.
The red eyes.
And those teeth.
God.
My brain keeps trying to file everything under costume. Anything remotely normal. Contacts. Weird lighting. Prosthetic fangs.
Fangs.
Fucking hell.
This isn’t some fucking paranormal romance novel.
I shake my head to clear it.
“You look like shit, Hotshot.”
“Good morning to you too.”
I glance at the clock in the living room to check the time.
Nine-oh-seven.
My body immediately files a formal complaint. Way too early for someone who fell asleep at dawn. At least I don’t have to go walk the dogs for another three hours.
Casey’s phone buzzes.
Then buzzes again.
And again.
He glances down at the screen before pocketing it.
I catch a glimpse of a heart emoji before it disappears.
Of course.
The man nearly gets strangled to death and still somehow has women texting him before breakfast.
“You know,” I say, “most people wait at least twenty-four hours after a near-death experience before resuming their manwhore activities.”
Casey snorts.
“Manwhore?”
“Manwhore.”
“That seems harsh.”
“Says the guy who treats relationships like free samples at Costco.”
For a second, I expect him to fire back.
Tell me I’m jealous.
Ask if I’m taking applications.
Something.
Instead, something flickers across his face.
But it’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
Huh.
I open my mouth to ask what that was about, but a loud knock rattles the front door.
Both of us jump.
Definitely still a little twitchy after last night.
Neither of us moves.
The knock comes again more insistent this time.
“Well,” I mutter, dragging myself up from the couch. “Either that’s one of the neighbors or we’re about to get murdered.”
“Comforting.”
“Thank you.”
Casey’s hoodie is still bunched up beside me from where I’d been using it as a blanket. I pull it over my head on the way to the door.
“Who is it?” I call through the wood.
“We received a report concerning an incident at a local pizza establishment last evening. I was hoping to speak with you regarding the matter.”
A laugh escapes me despite myself.
Local pizza establishment?
Regarding the matter?
Who talks like that?
I pull the door open and a badge materializes about two inches from my face, flips shut, and vanishes back into a coat pocket before I can make out a single word.
My relief is automatic, but a question nags at me. The dispatcher sounded like she was writing off a prank call. Why send someone out now?
I take stock of him and have to look up to do it.
Way up. He’s got the kind of build that makes a hallway feel like a coat closet, wrapped in a long black trench coat that belongs in a film noir and nowhere near my apartment building.
Sandy-brown hair. A jaw that looks like it was carved with a straight edge, stubble included.
And mirror sunglasses, reflecting my own face back at me, looking worse for wear.
Something tugs at the back of my mind.
The voice.
The trench coat.
The formal way he talks.
Everything clicks into place.
“Stud Muffin?”
He goes very still.
Not the flinch of someone caught off guard. More like a man who has just watched a card he was hoping to keep hidden get turned face-up on the table.
“Huh, I didn’t know you were a cop. So, I guess it’s technically Officer Stud Muffin,” I joke. “Wow. That… explains a lot, actually.”
“It does?”
“Yes.” I nod enthusiastically. “The evasiveness. The weird answers. The mysterious trench coat thing.”
His gaze flicks down to the coat.
I swear he looks personally offended.
“And Bruno. How is she?”
His expression somehow gets more uncomfortable, a slight red tint beginning to stain his cheeks.
For a man who looks like he could bench press a small sedan, he blushes way too easily.
He blinks, clearly recalibrating. “Bruno is in excellent health, thank you for asking.”
Casey, who’s been quietly hovering, steps up behind me and clears his throat. “You’re here about last night?”
Officer Stud Muffin stares at Casey for a long, slow second before finally addressing him.
“That is correct. I’m conducting a routine follow-up. Can you walk me through the events that occurred?”
Casey and I exchange a glance.
A whole silent conversation passes between us.
“We went there to get some pizza and grab her bag,” he starts. “We walked in and there were already people there,” he continues. “A lot of them.”
Officer Stud Muffin nods once.
“And then?”
Casey’s hand drifts unconsciously toward the bruise on his throat.
Officer Stud Muffin’s gaze follows the movement.
For the briefest moment, something hard flashes across his face.
Gone so quickly I almost miss it.
“Then things got weird,” Casey says.
“Weird,” the officer repeats.
I snort. “That’s putting it mildly.”
His attention shifts to me.
“Perhaps,” he says, his voice oddly formal, “it is possible you witnessed a... disagreement that escalated beyond what was expected.”
The explanation slides into my head so easily it feels prepackaged.
A disagreement.
Sure.
A disagreement.
A normal disagreement involving shattered glass, a crossbow bolt, and Casey being lifted off the floor by his neck.
Wait.
I frown.
“No.”
Officer Stud Muffin looks genuinely confused.
“No?” he repeats.
“No. That doesn’t sound right.”
Beside me, Casey has gone strangely still.
“Fear can play tricks on the eyes,” Officer Stud Muffin says, his tone lower now. Smoother. “In a chaotic situation, it’s easy to misinterpret what you see. Perhaps it was just a few drunk men who became aggressive.”
My stomach tightens. Something about his phrasing feels slick, designed to slide right into place.
Casey’s eyes lock on his. He hesitates, then nods slowly. “Yeah. It was dark, and really loud. I guess... I guess it was just a bunch of drunk idiots.”
I stare at him.
Then at Officer Stud Muffin.
Then back at Casey.
I nudge his arm. “Casey.”
Slowly, his head turns toward me, like it takes a second longer than it should.
“Yeah?”
The fog clears from his eyes just enough to make me doubt myself.
Maybe I’m just looking for weirdness because last night broke my brain.
Officer Stud Muffin’s attention shifts to me, eyes impossible to read behind the sunglasses.
“You were frightened,” he says.
It’s not a question.
“You left immediately afterward and returned home.”
The words settle over me like a warm blanket, and my head feels fuzzy, distant. A simple, normal explanation. For a second, my exhausted mind wants to sink into it, to just agree and be done.
Then I see it again—Casey’s feet dangling off the floor. Red eyes. Fucking fangs.
I dig my nails into the doorframe, the sharp sting helping to cut through the haze.
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not what happened.”
Officer Stud Muffin goes still. “You witnessed intoxicated individuals engaging in a physical altercation.”
Casey’s posture straightens.
“Yes.”
I nearly growl with frustration.
Officer Stud Muffin’s head tilts slightly, like he’s looking at a puzzle piece that refuses to fit.
Then, to my surprise, he takes off the sunglasses.
And wow.
Okay.
That should probably be illegal.
His eyes are so dark they look black at first glance, but flecks of blue catch the light when he shifts, like someone scattered bits of sapphire through ink.
For a second, I completely forget what we’re talking about.
Or why he’s standing in my doorway.
Or why Casey is acting like his brain got unplugged and plugged back in wrong.
Am I drooling?
“You were frightened,” Officer Stud Muffin says again, his voice lower than before. Softer somehow. “You left the establishment immediately afterward and returned home.”
That strange warmth slides through me again.
Like the answer is already there and all I have to do is accept it.
I hate it instantly.
“We were frightened because one of them nearly killed my friend.”
His brow furrows slightly, like that wasn’t the response he was expecting.
“Kal—”
“No, Casey. You literally almost got strangled.”
Casey’s hand rises automatically to his throat.
“Oh.” He blinks and confusion flashes across his face. “Right.”
For a second it looks like he’s waking up from something.
Then his attention starts drifting back toward Officer Stud Muffin, and that distant look creeps in again.
Absolutely not.
I step sideways and plant myself squarely between them.
“What the hell is happening?”
The question hangs there.
Officer Stud Muffin doesn’t answer.
Doesn’t blink.
Doesn’t even look annoyed.
He just stares at me with those stupidly beautiful eyes, all dark blue flecks and impossible calm, like he’s waiting for something.
Like if he stands there long enough, I’ll suddenly start reciting his version of events back to him.
Not happening.
And honestly?
I’m getting a little tired of being the only person in this conversation making any sense.
“What?” I demand.
Something shifts in his expression.
Then, just as suddenly, it’s gone.
The sunglasses reappear.
The wall comes back up.
“I believe there has been a misunderstanding.”
I bark out a laugh.
“A misunderstanding?”
“Indeed.”
“Pretty sure strangulation is hard to misunderstand.”
His jaw tightens.
“Regardless,” he says after a moment, “I appreciate your time.”
“Wait. That’s it?”
“We will investigate the matter.”
The matter.
Not the assault.
Not the… attempted murder? Murder?
The matter.
I watch him disappear down the stairs at the end of the hallway.
The moment he’s gone, I inhale deeply, gulping in air. It’s almost like I was underwater and just now returned to the surface.
Beside me, Casey squints after him.
“Was it just me,” Casey asks, “or was that guy weird as hell?”
I look at him. Then at the stairwell. Then back.
“Seriously fucking weird,” I mutter, closing the front door. “You okay? You kind of froze up there.”
“Yeah, I think so? I don’t know. I don’t feel like myself today. I think I might go lay down for a while. Sleep the weirdness off.”
I nod.
“Good plan. I’m going to go take a shower before I have to walk the dogs today.”
Casey’s already heading toward his room. He gives me a small backwards wave and closes the door.
I stare after him, scratching at my thigh, wondering if my happy-go-lucky roomie is now broken, all because I decided to bring him to the strange pizza shop.
I shake off the twinge of guilt and go back to my room, starting the shower and undressing so I can wash off the weirdness as Casey called it, and get a jumpstart on my day.
But the strange interaction with Officer No Name leaves me with a foreboding feeling, one that feels familiar to the one I’ve had too many times lately. It can’t be a coincidence that I keep running into him everywhere I go, right?
The feeling of being watched hasn’t really left me since the day when I walked into the pizza shop of doom.
Which is foolish because I know full well I’m all alone in the tiny apartment bathroom with no windows.
As I’m undressing, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, noticing I have dark circles under my eyes like Casey from lack of sleep.
Maybe I can sleep in tomorrow morning and catch up on a few hours. I glance down at my birthmark on my chest, the one that looks like a flower, and a new shiver that has nothing to do with being cold runs down my spine, trailing a path that is not entirely unpleasant.
The way the pizza guy called me Daisy rolls around in my mind, and despite the fact he attacked Casey, I can’t bring myself to think of him as the bad guy. He protected me last night. When those other guys… whatever they were, tried to get to me, he stepped in.
I sigh, feeling ridiculous for thinking of the dangerous man who attacked my roommate as anything other than the villain after everything that happened.
Get a grip, Kal.
I’m about to step into the shower when something in the mirror catches my eye. More specifically, something on my body that should not be there.
What the hell?
On my right thigh, there’s a mark that was most definitely not there yesterday.
It looks like… a tattoo?
But it’s not raised like ink would be, more like it’s always been there, sort of like my birthmark.
Except, it can’t be a birthmark. Not only was it not there before but it’s like handwriting, like it was carved into my skin, purposely.
It’s oddly familiar, but I can’t read it… and it’s freaking me out.
My heart starts racing, and I run a hand over it, tracing the design with my fingers and it shimmers purple.
Fuckity fuck.
What have you gotten yourself into, Kal?