Page 24 of Dead Wolf Walking (Bad Moon Academy 1)
Running my hand over the edges of the cotton, I pinch the material. “They’re not even that short.” They go down to my mid-thigh.
“No, but they are… rather tight.”
I bring my eyes to meet his. “You checked out my ass, didn’t you?”
“I am but a man.”
“Wolf,” I correct.
He chuckles. “Half wolf, half man. A shifter. Regardless, you’re getting new clothes.”
I glance away, a little unsure how to respond to his comment. “Fine. I like Converse, Nike running shoes, and I prefer capri leggings to shorts.”
“Thank the moon,” he whispers.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a teacher? Why do you care what I’m wearing?”
“I’m a professor, and I have my reasons.”
He’s a helpful one, isn’t he? “Is there some type of uniform?”
I immediately regret the question for two reasons. One, this isn’t a private school. Two, I wouldn’t follow it even if it existed.
“No uniforms.” He grins at me. “I better go before I’m late. I’ll see you around?”
“Sure, Professor Carter, see you later.”
He groans. “It’s Carter. No one calls me professor.”
“All the more reason. Goodbye, Professor.” I start up the stairs, ignoring the prickling sensation at the base of my neck that’s telling me he’s watching.
He can watch all he wants.
I’m still exploring the west wing.
Chapter 5
Raven
I end up getting turned around when I reach the second floor and have to backtrack, crossing the landing and heading in the other direction toward what has to be the west wing. The east was full of classrooms, a few living rooms, and a movie theater. None of the people in the theater followed me. They either don’t care or, no, let’s face it. They didn’t even look at me when I walked in. They probably don’t give a crap.
The lights are off in this hallway, making it seem even more forbidden as I approach a velvet rope, the kind they use at movie theaters. Carefully stepping over so as not to tip the stands, I grin when I place both my feet firmly on the threadbare carpet. I thought the rest of the building was dirty, but, man, this section smells like decaying roses.
For some reason, these pictures aren’t covered by sheets. I stop and study the face of a sour looking woman. She’s sitting on a fancy seat next to a smug man. That explains the face she’s making; he looks like an asshole.
The brass plate on the bottom of the frame reads: Peter and Priscilla, Pack Olympic.
The Olympic forest is close to Deckerville, but it’s so big. I have no idea how far away Aunt Lou is, but it can’t be more than a few hundred miles. That’s also assuming we’re still in Washington state. They could have taken me anywhere after they gave me the sedative.
I make a note to ask Carter where we are the next time I see him.
A shiver skates down my spine. This side of the mansion is colder. I run my hands over my arms and turn away from the portrait, slowly making my way down the hall. It’s seemingly average, aside from the abundant splendor, but I don’t understand why it’s restricted. There’s no sign of the so-called renovations—I knew it.
Eyeing another painting, I stray to one side, walking into a cobweb and squeaking as I frantically rip the sticky strings from my hair and try not to scream. I’m going to need a long hot shower once I get back to my room. Carter’s offer to get me extra clothes and shoes is sounding more appealing. Running my hands over my back and front, then down my legs, I shake off all of the imaginary spiders I feel crawling over me and move to the middle of the hall.
Passing four closed doors, I pause when I come to one that’s open. I check for any spider webs I might’ve missed before tiptoeing to the door. There’s no one here so sneaking around is a bit ridiculous, but the darkened hall sort of demands stealth. I peek through the small opening. No one is inside as far as I can tell. I gently push against the door, relieved it doesn’t creak when it swings aside.
Holy ballrooms.
