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I opened the cupboards, looking for the tin can where I stashed the bullets. It was there, but the bullets were gone.
I shook the empty can.
“He took the bullets and the knife.”
Why did that fill me with rage?
The tin can hit the floor with a clack. I left it there. It made no sense to be upset. The bullets were proof, but Soren didn’t hurt me. Fuck, quite the contrary. The man brought me nice shit.
I took the card that came with the flowers and looked at it again, searching for a phone number or a way to contact this guy. My Granny raised me right, and I should at least say thank you. There was nothing.
I made some dinner, this time enjoying the fancy Mac and cheese, not the off-brand stuff I usually buy. Then I collapsed in front of my TV, as usual. Dean should help me forget because he always did. I usedSupernaturalto get through my divorce, and it served me well. Why not do it again to help me stay sane during this shit show? Dean could deal with werewolves. He saw one and killed it. Simple. Easy. Clean.
Would I want Soren dead?
No, the answer screamed at me from my mind. And not only because he brought me a kitchen that was probably worth at least thirty thousand dollars. I felt something when he held my hand and looked into my eyes.
A new fear struck me.
Was I now indebted to him?
What will he ask next?
Later that night, I found myself sitting on the floor in my Granny’s study, surrounded by boxes with old pictures. It felt as if Facebook vomited all over, only in black and white. There were so many pictures of people I didn’t know. Granny was in some and didn’t appear in others.
What I was looking for was proof of his presence. Could it be possible he was Granny’s age? And, if that was possible, he looked amazing for a ninety-year-old man.
My patience started to run thin. I threw the photos in a pile on the ground. All I knew was that my Granny worked after the war on some secret project, but she said nothing about it, keeping it vague and mysterious.
“Granny, couldn’t you have told me we’re involved with a werewolf clan?”
Spike started rubbing itself against me, his soft purring calming me and reminding me how bone tired I was.
“Bed it is,” I told my cat as I got up from the floor and took him into my arms.
* * *
The next thing I knew, I woke up to the sound of my vintage alarm clock, still dressed, with an old photo stuck on my face.
“Fuck, I can’t sleep with strangers anymore,” I grumbled as I saw the picture of two good-looking guys next to my Granny.
“Gran, couldn’t you like have ugly friends? Just saying.”
I undressed on the way to the bathroom. A good shower would clear my head. Even though I scrubbed myself dry, I had flashbacks of dreams of a white wolf running. It was a huge white wolf, the damn thing the size of a pony. And I rode him. Holding my arms wrapped around his neck, my body made full contact with him. It felt almost like a memory.
My image, the real me looking at myself from the other side of the mirror, brought me back.
There is no wolf.
I’m not a young girl anymore. I’m a divorced woman who’s close to forty and doesn’t get to be with Jake fromTwilight. She’d be lucky to get Charlie.
I giggled at the thought.
Wrapping my hair in a towel and with a fluffy robe draped around me, I made my way to the kitchen.
Spike slid between my legs.
“This is a gorgeous kitchen,” I told Spike, filling his bowl with kibble and pressing the button on the espresso machine.
