Page 29 of Dark

“Yeah, not my kink. But she looks like you. Inky black fur. Violet eyes.”

“Ugh. Way to sound like a bad romance novel—"

“Brody and I are together on this,” he interrupted. “You’re staying with me until we catch this guy. You need hours, I’ll give them to you at Dark, but no more going off alone.”

“Ellie—”

“Brody’s on it. Neither one of us likes the looks of this. Too many players and the pieces don’t add up. Your sire changed you by force, tailed you here from Austin, stalked you over at the trailer park with who knows how many people hanging around. There’s maybe someone else following Ellie, which I can’t even think about right now because this guy? Getting so close in broad daylight when he can smell there’s a more dominant male around? Bad sign.”

Ethan gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.

“You’re being hunted.”

6

Hayden

ETHAN AND I SPENT THE NEXT THREE DAYS tracking my stalker in between shifts at Dark. After following the trail back across the Caldwell’s property into town, through two dumpsters, and underneath a busted Chevy Impala, I started to wonder if the wolf I’d glimpsed darting away spent any time in human form at all.

We were backtracking through the side streets of Blood Moon when the sky exploded in a sudden downpour. Every spring, Central Texas got thunderstorms like you wouldn’t believe. Winter often meant months of drought, the ground turning so dry the grass shriveled up and blew away in papery white tufts. But within five minutes of that line of gunmetal gray thunderheads driving in off the western horizon, hailstones would blanket the ground like snow, the culverts flooding with ten inches of rain. They were beautiful in the way most things in Texas were beautiful—fierce, wild and rare enough to make you appreciate what this planet could create despite their destructive power.

“He’s being too careful, avoiding all the cameras.” Ethan dragged me under the awning of The Broken Spoke, Blood Moon’s world-famous barbeque pit owned by none other than Dallas Caldwell.

“Can Brody talk to local business owners, get their footage?”

“Sure. But he’ll have to be careful. It’s always a balancing act. You start asking questions, pulling data, who’s gonna get curious? Unless we can be sure we’re onto something—"

“It’s not worth the risk.”

“Right. We’ve got motion-activated cameras outside Dark. If he tries to get close, we’ll get him on tape.”

He swiped his hair out of his eyes, the rain sticking his t-shirt to his chest.

I bit my bottom lip. “Do you have to close later?”

Ethan slid a hand into my back pocket, drawing me in. “Curry and Westeros?”

My heartrate increased, the tingling connection of the bond shivering across my skin. Every night the moon rose and my body came alive. Ethan and I hadn’t gone any farther than our hookup on the counter downstairs at Dark. Which had meant a lot of heated make-out sessions on his couch. And table. And okay, that one time he held my wrists over my head up against the door. Um, yes please.

I couldn’t be sure what this was. What we were. Was I just fooling myself into thinking I was different? Or was I the next in a long line of Lacey Blairs?

In the moments I managed to cling to consciousness long enough to retain my human shape, we ate takeout and curled up on the couch in front of his laptop, binge-watching Game of Thrones over containers of honey-sesame chicken, beef with broccoli, wonton soup and crispy egg rolls. Having someone else who geeked out over the Starks as much as I did? Yes, please. But it was more than that. It was Ethan giving me stolen moments of normalcy in a world that had been upended, daring to show me glimpses of a side of himself he fought to hide from the rest of the world.

Every night, I got stronger, managing to hold out a few more minutes each time before, shaking and sick, I let myself be taken by the wolf. While I went furry, Ethan sketched, occasionally sliding bowls of Cocoa Puffs into my new lair beneath his coffee table in exchange for toe kisses. Twice I’d awakened in his arms, human again, being carried to bed. When I begged him in a slurry voice to stay, he pressed a kiss to my forehead and retreated to the couch out front.

But some nights it was impossible to fight the rising sense of helplessness. I couldn’t leave. Couldn’t see my sister. Night after night, I battled rage, confusion and blackouts. Forgot who I was only to wake in a post-shift stupor. Trembled as tears pricked the backs of my eyes, wanting to break every dish, shred every pillow, destroy all of Ethan’s furniture down to the last chair. And then curl into a ball and weep, trapped and alone with the part of what had happened I could never say aloud. That in those darkest moments just after twilight, I worried I would never feel like me again.

Ethan had me talking to Cal. Which… describing moonlust-fueled hookups with your therapist’s brother and whether or not they were a good idea in the long term? Um, awkward? But after watching my dad deny he had a problem and go back to using no matter how many programs Piper tried to get him into, I knew I needed help dealing with this.

I was in the middle of a killer practice session Saturday afternoon when my hands started to shake.

“C'mon,” I said under my breath. "Five minutes. Not yet.”

Fumbling like I’d downed three margaritas, I forced my fingers back to the right frets. But thirty seconds later, the muscle spasms were so bad I was in danger of rewriting rock history In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida style. I pulled out my phone, the room blurring as the wolf clawed to get free. Not even six. Just freaking great. Between trying to track down whoever was out to kill me, fight training (I’d been informed my epic Kleenex-box-versus-spider ninja skills did not count when confronting the feral and undead), and learning not to eat Ethan’s couch when I shifted, Daisy Addiction’s gig next weekend was on track to be an epic fail.

Thumbs shaking, I tapped out a text.

Me: Where are you? Threat level hangry.