“You seriously think I’ll be mated by then?” Had my sister taken crazy pills and fallen off the deep end?
“Matthew and I fell in love on our first date and knew we were destined to be together. So yes, it’s totally possible.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she believed in the whole werewolf/fated mates nonsense. I grabbed a napkin and proceeded to shred it. So, my sister was banking our family’s entire future on me finding someone at the drop of a hat and falling instantly in love just because she had? I’d say those were pretty crappy odds.
I guzzled the rest of my beer and motioned for the bartender to bring over another. “Let me remind you that I’ve dated a lot of women and haven’t run into ‘the one’ yet. Don’t you read the supernatural tabloids?” Being in this business made me pretty jaded when it came to love. So many people weren’t into me for me—they liked the bright lights and celebrity status of being with me.
“Oh, Travis,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Sometimes the broken-hearted just need a little help in the love department.”
She clearlyhadbeen reading the tabloids. The engagement and break-up between me and my sexy co-star Pamela Pinkly had been completely fabricated by the network. Fans ate it up, they said, claiming an off-screen romance validated the on-screen one. Unbeknownst to fans, however, was that Pamela was already in a very serious relationship. With a woman.
Just once, I’d like to date someone who didn’t want something from me.
My inner wolf simmered just beneath the surface. “What makes you think I’ll be mated by the next White Wolf Moon? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not currently going out with anyone, and I prefer it that way.”
“If you’ll shut that pie hole of yours long enough to listen, I’ll tell you.”
By the time our one-sided conversation came to an end, I’d finished my burger, downed two more beers, shredded a few more napkins, and added another person to the list of people I wanted to kill.
My sister.
CHAPTER THREE
Daphne
Istood on the rain-soaked deck of the ferry, the Washington State coastline now far behind me. The fog bank ahead was like a solid wall of concrete rising from the gray water. It did not say ‘tropical vacation’ to me. Not a good sign when all you brought were sundresses, sandals, and a borrowed tankini.
Holding back my hair so it wouldn’t whip into my face, I sighed heavily and shivered. What kind of person believed they won an actual vacation on the internet?
I’ll tell you what kind. A gullible, desperate one.
Although my friend Bettina wouldn’t have cared that I had planned to hide out in her apartment back in Atlanta, it hadn’t stopped me from feeling a little guilty about it when I got there a few days ago. She’d asked me to water her plants while she and her boyfriend backpacked around Europe, not crash on her couch indefinitely.
But as soon as George and I arrived, her elderly neighbor had knocked on the door and handed me a parchment paperenvelope with really pretty calligraphy. Mrs. Baker had found it on the doorstep addressed to me, and she didn’t want to leave it lying around.
At first, I thought it was a special delivery from Pharma-Douche. You know, like a thin bomb or some anthrax. But the woman had assured me it arrived just after my last plant-watering visit—long before my life was in danger.
I’d skimmed the cover letter and groaned, then Mrs. Baker demanded to know what it said.
“It’s one of those scammy sweepstakes,” I’d told her. “Says I’ve won a singles trip to paradise. What a crock of baloney.”
“To where?”
“Darkaway Island, where the monsters come to play,” I’d said, reading the promotional material then shoving it back inside. “It sure doesn’t sound tropical to me. Sounds like Halloween Town for cosplayers.”
To my surprise, Mrs. Baker had snatched the envelope from me, put on her readers, and rifled through the papers herself. “DarkawayIsland,” she’d said rather dreamily.
I was surprised she’d heard of it and asked if it was a real place.
“Of course, it is,” she’d replied. “My second husband and I spent our honeymoon there. The beaches are quite lovely. And at the higher elevations, there’s snow. You can sunbathe and snow ski on the same day.”
I still didn’t buy it. I wasn’t a senior citizen who easily fell for that kind of bullshit.
Mrs. Baker had lifted an eyebrow, as if she knew what I was thinking. “It says you entered an online contest and answered a bunch of questions.”
“I didn’t enter any contest.” But the moment I’d said it, something niggled at the back of my mind.
“You don’t remember filling out a questionnaire asking about monsters?”
