Page 7 of Teeth To Rip & Tear

A possum.

Significantly larger than a rat. The scent of blood clung to the air, leaving every breath faintly metallic.

Blood stained the glass, pooling at the bottom of the windscreen where the wiper blades sat.

The wolf stepped forward, using his bulky behind to push me away from the car before he sniffed the wheels and hopped onto the hood with one deft movement.

He grabbed the possum as delicately as possible with his teeth and jumped from the car, tossing it onto the sidewalk. Kaleb licked his lips before he crouched down, performing a big stretch. He looked from the dead animal and then back to me.

“Broken neck,” I whispered.

The wolf yipped his agreement.

Suddenly, Palmer Street felt too exposed. If I squinted, I could see the police station at the corner leading to Main Street, the building squat and boxy amongst the Americana of Locket. My hands shook as I marched to my car. I opened the passenger door, and the silver wolf hopped in without complaint.

As soon as I sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine, my wiper blades smeared blood all over the glass that didn’t clear away until I’d used every last bit of my wiper fluid.

Chapter Three

I thought I was the only one bothered by the carrion on top of my Prius until we pulled up to my house, and the silver wolf growled when I tried to get out of the car.

I wasn’t well-versed in wolf body language, but I got the gist.

Kaleb wanted to survey the perimeter, and I was happy to let him if it meant a moment alone.

I leaned over and popped the door. The sun had set, and the dim porch light illuminated the front of my house but little else. The wolf hopped out of the car and disappeared.

Once Kaleb melted into the shadows with his nose to the ground, I pressed my forehead against my steering wheel.

I had no idea what Joel was thinking if he was even responsible for the dead animals propped on my car like hood ornaments.

He’d parked at the end of my driveway every night the past week—for whatever reason a man does anything. I hadn’t blocked his number, on the advice of my lawyer, so I could collect every hateful text and voice message. Even the most innocuous statements sounded threatening when they came from a man who stood in the darkness and watched my house. Things like ‘the grass is too long.’ Or, don’t forget to ‘switch out the storm screens now that winter’s coming.’

I wasn’t sure how long I sat, engine idling and my head down, but the silver wolf hopped up to my driver’s side window and barked. No doubt scratching the paint, as he informed me the coast was clear.

He waited patiently as I got out of the car and unlocked the front door—playing the role of an obedient dog, though I knew he was the furthest thing from it.

I wasn’t scared of werewolves, not really. There were plenty more things out there to be frightened of, and a host of them lived in the trees surrounding Locket.

I locked the door behind me before I pulled off my jacket. I pressed my hand against the doorframe, activating my grandmother’s wards. She had poured her blood, sweat, and tears into the house's very foundation.

I had no warning as the silver wolf in front of me began to stretch, his limbs elongating and twisting until he stood on two legs. For a moment, I got a glimpse of his naked body, lithe and corded with muscle. Marked with strange tattoos that mirrored themselves on his chest. His clothes formed on his body last, no doubt some kind of glamour.

Wolfkin were wild Fae, but they weren’t without magic just because they could shift into another form.

Kaleb’s face was no longer expressionless; his eyes burned with anger. I stepped back until my butt pressed against my front door.

“Your ex-husband is escalating,” Kaleb said with a growl. “Has he made any other threats?”

I reached for my pocket and pulled out my phone. “Not really,” I muttered as I opened the text chain. “He’s acting like everything is fine. It’s not fine.”

Kaleb’s eyes narrowed. “You need to be honest with me.”

“I’m Sídhe. I can’t lie.” I countered.

He ignored my statement. “Why did you and your husband decide to separate?”

“It wasn’t my fault.” My shoulders rose as a familiar defensiveness set in.

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