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Elara heads back to her dorm, deciding to get her stuff from her parents’ place later. She parks her car and trudges up the front walk, exhausted but somewhat afraid to sleep. After all, she doesn't remember anything from last night. What if she does something even worse if she falls asleep now?
The key clicks in the lock to the main foyer and Elara hears the scuff of footsteps behind her. She clenches her fist, holding her keys between her fingers, ready to defend herself. If she goes inside now, no doubt the safest place for her, the person behind her will be able to come in too. They’re too close. She can smell them. Practically hear their calm, steady heartbeat. It's better for her to face them out here in full view, so that if something does happen, there will be witnesses on the street.
She turns slowly, ready to hurt someone if they so much as make the wrong move.
The man raises his hands, his mouth twisting as he smirks at her. Clearly he doesn't think much of her keys as a defense mechanism, but Elara doesn't particularly care. If anything,she's furious. She's tired of people underestimating her, lying to her. No more lying down and letting them walk all over her.
“Who are you? What do you want?” She straightens her shoulders and tilts her chin, trying to make herself as big as possible.
Of course, it’s nothing compared to the guy in front of her. Dark haired and dark skinned, he’s a few years older than her. He’s also a powerhouse of muscle with strange gray eyes that almost seem to glow, watching her as she glares back. She doesn’t have to be polite, something that she's trying to remind herself of. He’s standing here on the sidewalk in front of her dorm, somewhere that he certainly hadn’t been invited to be.
“My name is Denzel. I’m the leader of the local werewolf pack,” he says steadily. “And I need to speak with you.”
Elara blinks. Blinks again. Then shakes her head, letting out a dry laugh. The man’s insane.
Actually, it’s a nice relief that someone is even crazier than she feels at the moment. Yet, when she meets his gaze again, it’s steady. Calm. As far from crazy as she would expect. As if he believes every word he just said.
She draws in an unsteady breath, wishing she’d gone inside now. “Look, we all have our own truths?—”
“I can answer all your questions about last night.”
That has Elara’s mouth snapping shut. The one thing she wants right now is answers.
And Denzel knows it. He watches her, a black brow hiked in challenge.
The choice is whether to pick up the gauntlet.
Elara crosses her arms and lifts her chin. “Fine. Hit me with your crazy theories.”
She knows she’s being obnoxious, but she's tired of being jerked around by people, especially ones who show up just longenough to mess things up for her. If this Denzel thinks he has answers for her, then she’ll listen to him.
Purely because she’s desperate.
Maybe there will be a grain of truth amongst his crazy talk of werewolves.
But he shakes his head, glancing around. “Not here. Follow me.”
With another glance that’s pure challenge, he turns and walks down the street. Elara hesitates, knowing this is downright dangerous. The last thing she wants to do is leave the safety of her dorm, but she also isn’t going to invite him in. Exactly how desperate is she?
She thinks of the curtains.
The beakers in the lab.
The glass in the windows exploding.
Laith.
Still clutching her keys, no matter how lame a protection they might be, Elara follows Denzel. He doesn’t look back once, either knowing she’s there or not really caring whether she’s following—or both—as he turns right at the end of the block.
Making sure her cell phone is easily accessible in her pocket, Elara maintains several feet between them. Her pulse is thrumming, her breathing loud in her ears.
This is either a very good idea.
Or a freaking terrible one.
Denzel takes a sharp left and she realizes he’s gone into the small park tucked between a house and a corner store. He sits on a nearby bench, his eyes unerringly falling on her. He knew where she was the whole time.
Sitting down, Elara’s careful to give as much space between them as she can without being in danger of falling off the bench. If she has half of her butt hanging over the edge, then that's her business. She keeps her feet tucked lightly beneath her,bouncing a little on her toes. She’s ready to run the moment she needs to.
