Page 14 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

He doesn’t say anything.

Why doesn’t he say anything? Why doesn’t he ask if I’m okay? Why doesn’t he fill the silence with reassurances that I’m fine, that the car is safe, that nothing bad is going to happen?

“You’re doing that thing,” I say, because the quiet is unbearable.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you’re pretending not to notice that I’m one deep breath away from a panic attack.”

“I’m not pretending anything.” His voice is steady, calm, infuriatingly patient. “I’m driving. You’re breathing. We’re almost there.”

“That’s…” I don’t have a word for what that is. “That’s very zen of you.”

“I’ve been told I’m calming.”

“By who? People you’ve abducted from hospitals?”

“By my cat, mostly. He’s very discerning.”

I blink. “You have a cat?”

“His name is Mario. He hates me.”

“Your cat hates you?”

“With a passion usually reserved for sworn enemies.” He glances at me, just briefly, and warmth surfaces in his expression. “Your words, I believe. About your friend Millie and mornings.”

He remembered that. He remembered a throwaway comment I made while arguing with him about his own age.

I file that away too. The folder is getting full.

The drive takes maybe fifteen minutes, but it feels like hours. Every curve in the road makes my stomach lurch. Every pair of headlights in the oncoming lane makes my heart stutter. I count the streetlights as they pass, something to focus on, an anchor to ground myself in, and I try very hard not to think about the last time I was in a car.

Headlights. Wrong lane. The sound of…

“We’re here.”

Orion’s voice cuts through the spiral, and I look up to see the familiar shape of Fable Tales: the crooked sign, the crowded window display, the warm glow of the streetlight illuminating the entrance to my home.

I’m out of the car before he’s fully stopped moving, feet hitting solid ground like I’ve just escaped from something. My legs are shaky. My hands are shaking too. But I’m standing on the sidewalk outside my building, and the panic is receding, and I can breathe again.

“Thank you.” The words come out too fast, tumbling over each other in their rush to escape. “For the ride. And the… the hospital thing. And not being a serial killer, apparently. You can go now.”

He’s already out of the car, I didn’t even see him move, and he’s standing beside me, hand settling at the small of my back with a warmth that cuts through my jacket like it isn’t even there.

“I’ll walk you up.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Humor me.”

“I don’t want to humor you. I want to go inside and lie down and pretend this day didn’t happen.”

“You can do all of those things.” His voice is gentle but immovable, a very polite brick wall. “After I make sure you get up the stairs without falling.”

I’m not going to fall. I’m perfectly capable of climbing my own stairs. I’ve done it a thousand times. I…

I take a step toward the door and the world tilts sideways.