Undead and Unwelcome

Chapter 42

It was a beautiful night—cool, with clear skies. The moon seemed to almost hang over Wyndham Manor, huge and white. There wasn’t a cloud anywhere, and the stars seemed brighter and closer than they ever had been.

I started walking on the same path Lara and I had taken to the playground . . . Thanks to my vampire senses I could hear wolves running and walking and fucking all over the place. Two of them crossed my path, clearly playing Chase Me, but they moved so quickly I only got a blurred glimpse of tan fur and lots of teeth.

I must be out of my mind.

Well, that was always a possibility. But for once I wanted to take advantage of the fact that I, too, was fast and strong. I suppose if a few hundred of them ganged up on me I could be in serious trouble, but Jeannie had told me that werewolves didn’t go feral during the full moon. They retained their human personalities, they just felt things more keenly. Sadness became depression; anger became fury; happiness became ecstasy. But no matter how deeply they felt something, innocent bystanders didn’t get eaten.

Not that I was exactly innocent, but I think you know what I’m getting at. And it made sense—they had been coexisting with humans for millennia. People were bound to notice if gobs of mutilated corpses were found after each full moon.

I rounded the curve just in time to see the largest wolf I’d ever seen step out of the woods and block my path. Huge, with extremely light fur—almost white—and the biggest green eyes I’d ever seen. It was powerfully muscled and sat in the middle of the road, staring at me like a living statue.

“Uh, hello.”

Nothing. Of course—what had I expected?

“I, uh, come in peace.”

Then I realized where I’d seen those eyes before—Derik.

Great. A werewolf who was pissed at me for getting his friend killed was now blocking my path. Ah, what a week!

I was suddenly so thirsty I could hardly stand it, but realized that was the vampire equivalent of adrenaline. The fight or flight reflex. The last thing I planned to do was bite him. It would be a novel way to be disemboweled.

“Good dog,” I said, wishing I had a Milk-​Bone. Or a case of them. “Uh—I wish Antonia was here with you right now. She was really happy when she was finally able to change.”

Derik cocked his head, never blinking, and then—ulp—started walking toward me. Good-​bye, cruel world.

He stopped at my feet and looked straight up at me. His head was bigger than a bowling ball. His paws were larger than my hand, even with all my fingers spread wide.

Is he gonna kill me?

Yup. He probably is.

Except he wasn’t. He was just sitting there, staring up at me.

And all at once I stopped being nervous for myself and put myself in his shoes. Paws. His friend had died half a continent away, and he couldn’t save her. Any more than I had been able to save her.

I knelt on the path. We were so close, our eyes were no more than eight inches apart.

“I am so sorry about Antonia,” I said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her. But you go on and stay mad at me, Derik. It’s my fault she’s dead. If I had it to do over, I’d have taken the bullets myself.”

Derik threw back his head and howled—shrieked—at the moon. I thought my head was going to split. I thought my heart was going to split.

When I couldn’t stand it another second, I flung my arms around his thick, furry neck. And did the thing I swore I wouldn’t do again this week.

I cried and cried.

More wolves were padding out of the trees on either side of the road, one with Michael’s black fur and distinctive golden eyes. They formed a ring around us, and the air was split again and again by the silvery, haunting howls.