Page 14 of Bred By the Wolfman

On to the next one. Even worse than a positive “no” is the two kids behind the counter shrugging, saying they’re college students who just started a week ago. The manager isn’t interested in answering my questions, either, as he’s much too busy wrangling his underage staff.

Great.

Up until the fourth stop, I’m driven fully by my need to find Amanda, to make sure she and my cub are all right. It sprouted as a primal urge, but when I pull into the parking lot, it’s morphed into a resigned frustration.

What if I can’t turn up any leads at all? The weight of the time ahead, wondering and waiting while my mate grows my cub, sinks down on my shoulders like a stone.

Fuck. I can’t give up already.

I get out of the car, slam the door, and walk into the McFlips. It’s on the nicer end of town, with cleaner tile floors. Aston is a predominantly human city, but most of the diners politely try not to stare as I walk in.

I take a deep breath, searching for a whiff of her. For a moment, I almost think I can pick it out, but then it vanishes just as quickly.

“Can I help you, sir?” asks an older woman behind the counter. Her tag says MARIAN.

“Sure, please.” I study the menu for a moment. “I’ll have a double bacon cheeseburger. But I’d also like to ask you something? Um, Marian?”

She tugs up her visor and peers at me from under graying curls. “What’s that, sir?”

I smooth back the wild fur around my cheeks. “Look,” I say, tired of all the pretenses. “I’m searching for someone. A woman I... a woman I slept with. A couple of weeks ago.”

Marian’s eyes go wide. Then, a slight smile tugs at the corner of her lip. “Go on.”

I lean forward so I don’t have to speak as loudly. “It was really amazing. But we didn’t exchange information.” It’s about as close to the truth as I can get without spilling the sordid details of the strangers-fucking-in-a-white-room situation. “She said she worked here a few months back, and I just...” I trail off, hoping I’m not about to wreck my chance of getting an answer. “I want to see her again. More than anything.”

That smile spreads, and Marian’s eyes crinkle. “I see.” She calls back over her shoulder. “Jason, I’m taking my break.”

“It’s not time for your break!” A scrawny man leans around the corner, face pink with pimples. He has a tag that says MANAGER.

“My feet hurt,” Marian answers as she heads away from the counter. She waves at me, urging me toward the door that leads behind it.

The manager sighs and vanishes.

When I reach the side door, she opens it for me and ushers me in.

“Don’t let anyone see you,” she says, which is a rather big ask of a giant wolfman inside a fast food restaurant.

She leads me down a hallway to another small room, and I have to hunch down to fit through the door. There, she goes to a cabinet and opens it.

“You want her number, right?” Marian asks.

“Or her address,” I say. “I just want to leave her flowers or something. I feel like that’s less intrusive than calling out of the blue.”

She rubs her chin. “True.” She leafs through the files. “Here we go. Deanna Jackson.”

Deanna. That’s her name. That’s Amanda’s real name. It sounds much more... right for her.

And it feels like I’m finally a step closer.

“She went by Dee, by the way,” the woman says with a knowing arch of her brow. “Since I assume you didn’t get her name, either.”

I sheepishly shrug. “Thank you,” I say, fully sincere. “This means a lot to me.”

She pulls out the file and grabs a notepad, quickly copying down the address. “You’d better not be some creep ex-boyfriend, though,” she says in a warning tone.

I raise my hands in the air. “No, I’m not, I promise.” I swallow, not sure if I should say what I’m really thinking. Marian tears off the paper with the address but doesn’t hand it to me.

“Would you give me the number, too?” I ask, knowing that I’m pushing my luck. I just want a back-up, just in case.

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