Page 32 of Moonlighting with the Werewolf

An ache radiated through the center of my chest on his behalf. At one point, I’d naively assumed places like that didn’t exist anymore, only to be shocked and appalled by some of the homophobia and hatred I’d seen online.

It called to mind that moment between him and the mayor in the lobby of the vet clinic. Elias had acted slightly cagey. Although that didn’t add up, as the mayor suggested Elias might’ve come in to hit on me. Perhaps Elias was hesitant to tell people, or distrustful in general, and regardless of the why, no one should have to live in fear of being who they truly were.

“If Conall hadn’t found me...” Elias’s voice wavered, and he cleared his throat and scuffed his shoe against the peeling paint of the deck. “I don’t want to think about where I’d be.”

Affection coursed through my body, for Elias, Gina, and Conall. I wanted to throw my arms around the two werewolves and swear to keep them safe, despite it being a promise I might be unable to follow through with, no matter how hard I tried. But I’d do my best, and the thought of anymore werewolf injuries tore me up inside.

While I’d ventured into this line of conversation in an attempt to protect my heart, all it did was fill another piece of it with Conall and his pack.

That night, once Sir Pounce and I were alone again in the house, my lights, oven, and microwave working remarkably well, I sentConall a thank-you text. I did my best not to stare at my phone screen, anxiously awaiting a response.

I failed.

It was like seeing a piece of a triple-layer fudge cake behind glass and, after drooling over it and watching it be placed on a beautiful plate, getting told you couldn’t eat it.

This gal wanted to sink her teeth into her cake.

Since I couldn’t seem to release my hold on my phone, I decided to multitask. I pulled up Google and out of mere curiosity searched up werewolves.

I found an article on hypertrichosis, a genetic mutation that led to excessive hair growth that had been nicknamed “werewolf syndrome.” No cure, and nothing helpful, as I didn’t think lasering off hair would endear me to the pack.

Striving to find answers with more validity, I typed:what to do if you can’t shift into a werewolf anymore.

Big surprise, the results were far from helpful. Two pages worth of videogame tricks that I read just in case there was a hidden gem. Which there was in one game, but it was a literal sapphire.

I was relatively sure I hadn’t done any internet searches that’d earn me an FBI agent watchdog, but I covered my tracks by playing the videogame anyhow, as if that was my only experience with lycanthropy. I then spent hours trying to kill the Frost Giant and steal the gemstone, to no avail.

As an hour of waiting turned into two, I rubbed at my tired eyes. My thank-you text hadn’t exactly warranted a provocative response, but the insecure side of me fretted I’d given in to a booty call and turned myself into the woman Conall used for that and nothing more.

But that was silly. He’d sent Elias to fix my electricity. I debated typing out a follow-up text. A question about hisday or Justin or anything else that could possibly inspire a conversation.

A high-pitched squeal alerted me that my kettle of water was ready, and I abandoned my laptop and phone to make myself a cup of tea. As I poured a healthy amount of honey into my mug, I heard Sir Pounce hiss and growl.

“Kitty? What’s going on?”

I gripped my mug of tea in both hands and cautiously entered the living room. If it was a spider or bug, I figured I could go with the stomping method, or perhaps even throw hot tea on it—any creature with more than four legs deserved what they got for breaking into my house.

What if it’s an intruder? A totally unfounded, errant thought, but tea could burn them, too, so yay for options?

Sir Pounce stood at the front door, paws up on the screen. It’d been a stifling hot day, so I’d flung open all the windows, as my cabin didn’t have the luxury of A/C.

“What do you see?” I squinted into the darkness, but what with it being pitch black, I couldn’t see a damn thing. Since I hadn’t engaged the locks after Gina and Elias left, I clicked them into place, even as I assured myself it was likely a mouse or bunny or moth.

Sir Pounce loved chasing and eating moths.

Although usually that involved more of a chirrup than a growl.

A loud scraping noise sounded at the patio door, like sharp nails on glass, and I whirled around. Tea sloshed over the rim of my mug, burning my hand as it splattered the thigh of my jeans. “Ouch, ouch, ouch.”

I set down my mug and danced around, needing the fabric off—it held the heat against my leg as if it’d decided on blister territory or bust. But if someone was out there, they’d see, and what a weird thing to care about. Obviously, I needed to digdeeper into my survival guide, as I doubted it said to prioritize pantlessness over catching a burglar.

Like I could actually catch a burglar—and joke was on them. I didn’t have anything of value to steal besides my car, and it was out there.

Logically, I knew that was unlikely in this tiny town, with its nearly non-existent crime rate. I considered dialing 9-1 so all it’d take was one last digit if it turned into an emergency situation, then thought Conall would likely be the faster and scarier of my options. I pulled up his contact and hovered my thumb over the call button.

“I’m a strong, independent woman,” I said aloud, wishing my voice wouldn’t waver so much. On the way through the kitchen, I found the biggest knife I had and wielded it in my left, so that I could call Conall, yell for help, and then get to stabbing.

Sir Pounce walked alongside me, to the point he nearly tripped me. With my luck, I’d stab myself and end up using my last breath to tell Conall that I regretted we hadn’t gotten to have sex before I left this world.

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