Page 45 of Teeth To Rip & Tear

The glowing sign of the motel rose up in the distance as the sun over the treeline.

“Are you scared?” I asked.

Wyatt flashed me a smirk. “Scared of what, sweetheart?”

“Scared of the Huntsman.”

Wyatt’s brow furrowed; his red hair was surrounded by a halo of light from the setting sun. “I was an Alpha’s son. Did you know that?”

“I don’t know anything about you,” I told him.

Wyatt chuckled to himself. “I’m considered a catch amongst wolves.”

“Sure you are.”

Wyatt gave me a look. “I’m defective, and my father couldn’t send me away fast enough. I spent some time in the Aos Sí, amongst those that live in the Huntsman’s castle. It’s not a bad life.”

“But what if you could be free?” My fists clenched, and my teeth locked with the force of my secrets.

“To have children?” Wyatt laughed. “I’m infertile. I won’t ever have a child of my own.”

“Oh.” I wanted to apologize, but the Fae inside me wouldn’t let me.

“It doesn’t matter. I protect my Alpha and live for myself, even if the Huntsman holds my leash and yanks it once a year. There are worse ways to be caged. Believe me, I know.” Wyatt shot me a floppy, disarming grin, but I didn’t trust the expression. His eyes were dark and flat.

I had thought of Wyatt as a shallow pool, but it seemed he had a past that perhaps I understood all too well.

We parked outside the Locket Inn, under the street light, but in view of the camera. Wyatt had already shifted as I put the car in park, his wolf a reddish umber, his eyes the same marmalade orange as his pack mates. Wyatt’s tongue lulled out of the side of his mouth as he panted, though even his silly expression couldn’t hide his mouthful of teeth.

Wyatt waited by the car until I crossed the lot and entered the motel before rushing away on four legs—racing for the trees at the edge of the parking lot.

Rows of vending machines lined the pokey lobby, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and even that hadn’t remained in my stomach for long. I didn’t have much cash and doubted that the Locket Inn provided room service.

Maybe I could order a pizza.

I approached the reception desk, eying the man behind the counter, swathed in a leather jacket despite the humid Tennessee fall and the lack of air conditioning in the lobby.

His hair hung in greasy tendrils down both sides of his face, and his eyes didn’t look right. Hollow.

A sour feeling curdled my stomach. He wore a pin on the lapel of his jacket. It was too small to recognize.

“I have a reservation. Melly Parish.” I told him, clearing my throat.

The hotel worker blinked, staring at me numbly, before he reached for the computer and grabbed a keycard, pushing it across the desk.

I didn’t thank him. Instead, I slid the card into my hands and saluted with an awkward half-wave. The back of my neck prickled as I walked away.

I found Melly in the room, watching a rerun of Friends on the ancient television set in the corner. She sat up, waving toward a bag of snacks on the side table.

“Is it sundown already?” Melly acted shocked, checking her watch as she swung her legs over the bed to stand up.

“A few minutes,” I replied.

“Good thing I got started on those wards an hour ago.” Melly chuckled, the sound like dry leaves skittering across the pavement. “Those wolves are really hung up about your security. They’re paying a whack for your protection.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, wrapping my arms around my body.

“You’re not sore about those herbs, are you?”

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