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Please, good and merciful God, don’t let it mean long-term residence at Rooklin Right-Price Rooms.
Constructed in one of those old-fashioned “open courtyard plans,” the motel had seen considerably better days. Of course, so had I. I just wanted to get out of the cold and get some sleep. I had trouble sleeping here, and it didn’t have anything to do with the cracker-thin mattress or the scratchy sheets. I’d had nightmares about Glenn every night since I’d arrived in Rooklin. The nightmare was always the same: Glenn breaking down my door and dragging me out of bed by the hair, screaming about taking me home where I belonged. But the beds changed in every dream. One night, it was in my bedroom in my cozy little house in the valley; the next, it was my motel room in McClusky; and the next, it was the first room I shared with Caleb.
The guilt, the worry, and the lack of sleep had combined into a strange buzzing sensation that settled between my eyes like a half-formed headache. It had been a mistake, leaving Caleb the way I did. It was cowardly, and Caleb deserved more than that. He deserved more than a stupid Post-it note on a lampshade. And what really sucked was that I would never be able to apologize for it, because I would never see him again. I wasn’t sure he’d want me to.
I missed Caleb. I missed his warmth and weight on the other side of the mattress. I missed the weird wolfy whuffling sounds he made in his sleep. I missed his terrible taste in road music and the faint smell of strange jerky in his truck. I missed feeling safe.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. It wasn’t like me to be so distracted, wandering around outside like this, but I was just so damn tired. I shuffled down the cracked cement patio in front of the motel-room doors, toying with the plastic key fob as I made my way to my room. There were only twelve of them, and I had rented unit eleven, at the far end of the complex.
Across the lot, two Carhartt-clad men stood hunched over an open truck hood, poking at the engine with tools while they slugged back beer. I gave it no thought when they looked up. I smiled wearily at them.
Both men straightened, two predators scenting the wind for prey. Both smiles stretched just a bit wider in an insincere parody of friendly politeness. But I’d lived with apex predators for four years. I knew that look, the overeager, hungry excitement just before the killing lunge. I had just a few seconds before—
“Hey there,” the younger of the two said with a wink. He was tall and broad, with a flat nose and muddy brown eyes.
Damn it.
His voice, with its cruel, teasing tone, had my stomach dropping, a cold, dead weight in the pit of my belly. Without thinking, I closed in on myself. I sank into survival mode, eyes to the ground, face set, ears attuned. I didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge that I’d heard one of them speak. I prayed that I was wrong, that these were just a couple of guys passing their time in the parking lot, content with some harmless flirtation with a pretty girl. An available girl, at least.
Could I dash back to the motel office and stall long enough that they wouldn’t see which room I was in? Why did I smile? What was I thinking? I’d gotten soft, living with the pack, believing I was safe. I’d gotten cocky. I’d barely had any problems since moving up here. And the minute stupidity and exhaustion made me drop my guard, I landed in a big pile of slimeball.
I wished Caleb was there. It was as if my brain blurted out his name. Caleb said he would keep me safe, and suddenly, I felt like an idiot for taking that for granted. Disturbing law-enforcement-grade equipment collection or no, I felt a lot more comfortable with the way he smiled at me than with these two.
Wait, law-enforcement equipment.
I shoved my hand into my coat and slipped my fingers around the collapsible metal baton. If the parking-lot predators could see the wicked way my lips curved as my hand wound around my trusty weapon, they would have been very afraid. They certainly wouldn’t have been circling closer, making nasty comments to each other that they thought I couldn’t hear.
I didn’t have a burly werewolf to watch over me. I had this big metal stick. And Caleb wasn’t my husband or my big, strong protector. He wasn’t even my boyfriend. He was a guy who had picked me up like a stray and tucked me into his pocket. And none of this changed the fact that these guys were now standing between me and my room and the office, one on each side. So friendly parking-lot loiterers was out, it seemed.
“Hey, slow down, now, slow down, we just want to talk to you,” the younger one said as they moved behind me, toward my door. The elder had a bulky, athlete-gone-soft build and thick salt-and-pepper hair, while his counterpart was tall with wicked-looking tattoos crawling up his neck.
Without replying, I just kept moving. My hands were shaking so hard I was afraid I was going to drop my key. And it wasn’t exactly intimidating to see a woman quaking so badly it looked as if she was conducting an orchestra instead of waving a weapon in your face.
Hold it together, I told myself. Steady hands.
“Here, let us help you with that,” the older one offered solicitously, holding out his oil-stained hands as I struggled to fit my key into the lock. Was it a bad idea to open my door? Would they push me into the room and close the door before I could scream? Maybe I would be better off dodging my way to the office. I shoved the key back into my pocket and backed away
I kept my tone coolly polite. “No, thanks.”
“Hey, don’t be like that,” the older one chided through his yellowed, crooked teeth. “Don’t be rude, honey.”
“Yeah, you’re not being very friendly,” the younger one agreed, as if I owed him my time or attention, just because he decided he wanted a conversation.
I hated these guys. I hated these “nice guys” who just waited for some woman to reject their attentions, so they could act the wounded party and avenge their injured pride with slurs and swipes. I’d met far too many of them in my travels, and they never ceased to piss me off.
The younger one—Grabby Hands—tried to yank at my elbow, but I ducked out of the way and put my back to the wall.
“I don’t want any trouble. Leave me alone.” Shaky, too shaky. Damn it. Why couldn’t I get my voice to work right? The very air around me seemed to be closing in on me, the edges of my vision darkening and blurring as the men moved closer.
“Want a beer, sweetheart?” Yellow Teeth asked. “We got plenty.”
“No, thanks. Have a nice night,” I said as I gripped the handle of the baton and backed away from them.
Grabby Hands frowned. “Hey, where do you think you’re going? We’re not done talking to you.”
“Just leave me alone.” The good news was that righteous indignation gave my voice some weight, even as Grabby Hands reached up to drag his hand along my arm.
“Don’t touch me,” I said, growling now.
