Page 8 of A Kiss From a Wolfman

Old Bill follows my stare.

“Why don’t you head home early,” he says as if reading my thoughts. “I have a feeling those hunters will want to sleep here, and they won’t take too kindly to you trying to kick them out.”

“Thank you,” I say, kissing his old, wrinkled cheek.

Hanging up my apron behind the bar, I quickly collect my simple cloak and leather satchel before taking one final look at the hunters. The cruel gleam in their eyes as they dramatically reenact their hunt makes my blood boil. I decide immediately what I must do, and there is no time to waste.

I hope I can get it done while they’re all still nursing their sore heads in the morning. Snagging something I need from the bartop unnoticed, I head to the door quickly and plunge into the night.

2

STELLA

The cold night air whips around me, and I pull my cloak tighter.

Looming up ahead is the old mill, its large wheel unmoving even with the strong wind. The journey from the tavern had been quick enough. The closer I crept to my destination, I could hear low hums of pain. Whatever is chained behind the crumbling building is clearly injured.

Its soft, keening sounds slice through my heart.

After hearing how the bar patrons talk about wolfmen, I’m a bit wary of what I’ll find up ahead. Regardless, this poor thing needs my help, and I will give it. If anyone besides Timson said it was dangerous, I might believe them. However, just because it comes fromThe Woodsdoes not mean it’s evil.

That’s my hope at least. All I can do is offer up a prayer that it doesn’t turn on me the moment I appear.

The sounds of suffering get louder as I cut through the overgrown grass. This part of town is deserted. No one was on the street when I started this way, but I’ll have to be quick. The old mill sits below a hill, which is easy to happen upon, and I don’t want word of what I’m doing getting back to Timson.

I shudder to think about his reaction to finding out what I’m doing.

My hand wraps tightly around the barely touched glass of whiskey I took from the bar. I hope Old Bill won’t notice the glass missing until I can return it tomorrow.

Rounding the corner, my steps falter at what I find.

There he is. Tide to a post with a heavy iron chain wrapped around his throat. He is larger than any man I’ve seen—any animal either. The scent of blood is heavy in the air. His breathing is ragged. The thick muscles of his shoulders and chest rise and fall. The wind whips at his black fur, causing him to shiver more intensely.

His pointed ears drop down as he curls further in towards himself. My eyes trail his muscled frame, registering his sharp claws before glimpsing his calf. My breath catches at the gruesome sight. A bear trap has punctured through the lower half of his leg. It will be a wonder if the bone isn’t broken. The brown grass around him is soaked with his blood.

I stumble back a step, accidentally stepping on a fallen stick. The loud snap alerts the beast. His massive head whips towards me. With my position revealed, I have no choice but to show myself. A low growl emanates from him, his sharp fangs flashing in the moonlight.

My heart pounds and my mouth goes dry. Perhaps this wasn’t my best idea, but I’ve come too far to turn back now. Somewhere deep inside me, a voice whispers that everything will be okay and not to be afraid. My intuition hasn’t failed me yet, and I just have to hope tonight won’t be the first time it does.

Another low growl echoes around me. Sliding its thickly corded arms back, I watch its eyes peel open. My whiskey glass nearly slides from my hand as our gazes lock. His eyes are golden, like the throne my father once sat on. Even in the dim light, the shimmer. Only that’s not what steals my breath.

These are not a beast's eyes but a man's—human eyes stare back at me, untrusting and filled with pain. My heart starts to ache even more. As our eyes stay on each other, I watch the tenseness in his body dissipate before he lets out a soft whimper.

Glancing behind me, I make sure no one else is about one last time before walking closer to the chained creature. The beast shivers at my approach, tugging on the metal restraints with a loud clang.

“Shh,” I say softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Kneeling next to him, he smells like pine and smoke. Then, the nauseating metallic scent of blood stings my nostrils. Glancing down, I can see the damage to his leg. The metal prongs are rusted and protrude at odd angles through the muscle of his calf. Clumps of black fur and flesh cling to the old trap. The wound will surely fester if not tended to properly.

Carefully, I set my whiskey down and remove the bag slung over my shoulder. Tentatively, I reach out, only to be met with a soft snarl. My eyes connect with his once more as I will him to see me not as a threat. Just because the streets are bare now does not mean they will remain so—I won’t be able to help him if they put me in chains, too.

“This is gonna hurt.” My hand touches the soft fur of his leg, and he whimpers. “I’m going to try and free you from this.”

The wolfman’s eyes close as he lets out a harsh sigh, which I take as his consent to do what I must.

Touching the cold metal of the trap, I feel around, trying not to gag at the wet, sticky blood coating my hands. I’ll need to do this fast to minimize damage. Taking a deep breath, my fingers wrap around both sets of metal teeth.

Without warning, I rip them apart and free the creature’s leg.

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