I pull in beside the seemingly abandoned car. It’s an old station wagon, built at least a decade before I was born. And just like she promised, the key sits on the back right tire.
Opening the front door, I slide into the driver’s seat, fingering the steering wheel with a feeling of anxious power. I pop open the glove compartment and flip through the registration information.
Juliet Adair is listed on everything.
Reaching behind me, into the pocket on the back seat, I find a manila envelope. The contents within contain all the precious paperwork I’ve gathered together over the last few months. Everything I need to build my new life.
When I start the car, the time on the dashboard spurs me to quicken my pace. Soon, I’ve transferred all my baggage from the SUV to the wagon. I pull my new-to-me car out onto the road, then leave it idling.
“Thanks, old girl. Sorry about this next bit.” I pat the hood of my trusty Honda.
Then I crack the driver’s door, uncap a bottle of Axe body spray, wrap a rubber band around the nozzle, toss it in the back seat, and slam the door shut.
“Try smelling anything after that, asshole,” I mutter.
My ex relies heavily on scent when hunting—his nose is more sensitive than a human’s.
The moment he opens the door will be agony.
After locking the car up—a subtlefuck youthat’ll definitely have Cory wanting to break one of the windows—I chuck the keys as far as I can into the woods.
Would’ve been nice to sell the Honda for the extra cash, but that would’ve taken time.
I salute my vehicle, then jog back to the waiting station wagon.
The dirt road seems bumpier on the way out, every jerk threatening a flat tire, which would mean I’m fucked. But a minute later, through a break in the trees, I spot beautiful pavement.
When I turn back onto the two-lane highway, droplets begin to tap against the windshield. A happy sob bursts from my chest.
Maybe some gods were listening to my pleas. Rain will help wash away any trace I might have left.
With jittery fear and anxiety coursing through my veins, I’m sure time has slipped away at a rapid rate. But when I check the dashboard clock again, I realize it’s been just over an hour since I finished washing those dishes. Not even midnight yet.
The pack will be running till dawn in the woods far west of town.
I’m pointed east, pressing my foot to the gas while keeping to the speed limit. Before long, I reach my first major checkpoint.
As I pass the town limit for Bear Valley, Utah, I steer with my knee and give the sign both my middle fingers.
If I never see this place again, I’ll die a happy woman.
Fuck Bear Valley, with its deceptively quaint atmosphere.
Fuck the people here who didn’t tell me to run the night I arrived.
Fuck the man who almost killed me.
And most of all …
Fuck werewolves.
1
JULIET
FOUR MONTHS LATER
There’sa werewolf across the street. And he’s staring at me.
