Page 35 of Howl You Doin?
Me:
You’re taking the piss, right?
Jekyll:
Afraid not, mate.
Fuck.
Chapter 11
Connor O’Doyle
A bit of a hairy tale.
I can’t believeI have to sneak into Whitley’s room. I’ve already done it once before to check for any malicious devices, and attempting it again is just asking for trouble. I’m not a big fan of violating someone’s privacy, considering I’d rage if someone did it to me.
Also, the idea of being in her scent-saturated room again and resisting the urge to go beast mode and grind against her sheets like an uncontrolled dog makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Her smell also clung to me for the rest of the day last time, inescapable and driving me insane. I had to take three showers, and it still wasn’t enough.
My sneakers eat up the smooth cobblestone path that winds around the castle as I contemplate what to do. Or rather, how I do it without getting caughtorgoing feral for her.
My eyes flutter closed, annoyance shredding at my thinly won control. When I couldn’t sleep, I stayed out through the night, letting my wilder side free and running through the forest. The large basketball shorts that are snug in my other form droopalong my hipbones as sweat rolls down my chest and back, but my body is at last exhausted.
Since her arrival, I have been wound tighter than usual, and now that she sleeps down the hall from me, she is a constant thorn in my side.
But, if it is wolfsbane, that would explain why my cock stirs every time the wench gets near and why I get so agitated around her. The way every word that leaves her mouth makes my instinct want to rear it’s ugly head and no concoction can seem to calm me when she is near. And the fact that I can’t seem to stop being adickto her, when she’s really done nothing wrong but exist.
The sun kisses the night sky, and I can just make out the pinks and peaches through the trees to the east. I pull my phone from my running armband and press the side button to make the home screen light up.
Six am. I wonder if the harpy is awake yet. I’ll just wait until breakfast when I know she will be in the kitchen.
An hour later, I’m dressed in a gray suit, my designer shoes clipping down the marble hallway as I make my way to her work area to double check she’s there. The light tinkle of laughter hits my ears a few feet from the door.
I’ve never heard her laugh. Taking a peek in the door window, I can just make out Whitley, her back to me, before my eyes widen with horror when I see fucking Frank. His massive frame moves, blocking my sight, and I hold back a curse.
What the hell is he doing here, of all places?!
“I think it looks just like one,” Frank says.
Whitley snorts. “Really?”
“Doyle will love it,” he continues, moving away from the counter, and away from her, to reveal sweet atrocities sitting on a plate.
“Grumpy bear cupcakes?” She laughs again, and the sound twists something in the vicinity of my chest. “Doyle hates cupcakes.”
“I know,” Frank says, bending his overly large frame to see over her shoulder. His hand brushes her waist as he moves and my nostrils flare. “I think they look more like a wolf to me.”
How fucking dare he.
“Oh.” She cocks her head to the other side. “They kind of do look like a wolf, huh? Wolf cakes it is.”
Just as my temper overflows at the idea of Frank fraternizing with any of my staff members—especially Whitley—I place my hand on the door to intervene, but Frank moves away from her.
“Excellent.” He peeks over his shoulder and looks at me through the door’s window, smelling me there, and a stupid grin curls his lips. “I’ll let you get back to work, Miss Whitt.”
Fucking bastard. He’s up to something for sure.
She turns and beams him a smile, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright.Shit. The fact she’s never granted me a smile but will give them to this toolbag, who would snap her neck just for funsies, enrages me further.
