Page 77 of Cursed to Be Mine
My pulse thunders as I rasp, “Do you know him?”
“No.”
My whole body feels hot as I force out the words, “He isn’t…” I trail off, unable to picture warm Khalid with the crazy coldness I saw in that wolf’s eyes. He was so kind to me, and the way he kissed me…
My lungs burn with air as I suck in a deep breath.He can’t be.
“Do you think he is?” Derek demands.
I shake my head. I don’t for one second think all sups are evil just like all humans aren’t, but Khalidcan’tbe a werewolf. I barely know him outside of a girl’s fantasies, but being around him feelsright.Like the world stops in all its crazy. He lets me breathe, holds me up when I’m about to drown. And the way he looks at me, as if I’mworthsomething…as if I’m beautiful and desirable… He really seesme. He doesn’t see a plaything like a werewolf would or a meal. He sees me.
“You were just asking questions,” I say, “and after all that’s happened…”
“It’s good to be wary. Sups can be anybody. Theycan look exactly like us. Act like us.Pretendto be capable of feeling.Don’t trust anyone until you get to know them. And even then, keep watching them for signs.”
A frown pulls at my lips. “They can’t feel?”
“Wolves don’t care for sheep.” He stands and slings the assault rifle over his shoulder. “It is in their nature to kill us. Letting one live is willingly stepping around a mine instead of detonating it so no one can get hurt.” Picking up the shotgun, he heads down the hall. I stay where I am, chewing his words over.
Are all sups wolves?
Wolves evolved into dogs, man’s greatest companion...
“...a scorched van was found abandoned in the woods near Saltwaters Shooting Club…”
The television interrupts my thoughts, and I pick up the remote to turn up the volume.
“…by a dog walker’s German shepherd, which then ran off into the surrounding trees. Its owner followed it and claims to have seen blood on the ground. The police have not issued an official statement as of yet, but reports have come in saying numerous unidentified bodies have been found. The entire stretch of woods has been cordoned of.”
The anchor woman is replaced by photos of Henry’s van in the area where Mother tried to kill me. I swallow hard as the woods close in on me, as loose twigs press into my knees.“Ma! Please! What are you doing? Ma! –”
Bang!
I jerk, dropping the remote just as Derek comes in. It tumbles to the floor.
“Get ahold of yourself, Scarlett,” he says. “Thewolves won’t wait for you to come to terms with your grief.”
My grief?I want to tell him I’m not grieving, but the words lie trapped in my throat. He won’t care, and I don’t want to scream that Ma tried to kill me. Don’t want him to make me strip to see if I really was bitten or not.
Clenching my fists on my lap, I force a deep breath in. Even though I’m not grieving, he is still right. The wolves won’t wait for me to come to terms with everything I’ve seen and experienced.
Looking up at him, I ask, “Do werewolves have any weaknesses?”
“If you mean something like silver, no. Think of them like animals.” He taps his head. “You fight them up here. You can’t win a fistfight against a tiger, so you trap them. You poison them. You lure them into a pit of spikes. You know how to shoot?”
“He caught a bullet,” I say, not liking my chances with a gun.
“Then shoot him in the back.” He picks up the last of his guns and slings them over his shoulder. “Come with me.”
He doesn’t wait for me to stand. Bending down to pick up the remote, I turn off the TV, then climb to my feet and hurry after him. He leads me down the hall to a closed door. Opening it, he gestures me inside.
As soon as I step past him to enter, my jaw drops. The four guns he cleaned are nothing in the ocean of his stash. Assault rifles, pistols, and shotguns all hang from the walls. As do knives, crossbows, and –
“Fuck? Are those grenades?”
He moves past me to put the guns he’s carrying onto the empty spaces on the wall. “Yes.”
Turning to a small safe in the corner, he crouches in front of it and spins the dial. I stare at him, wondering what lethal monstrosity he’s going to pull out of it. I inch backwards towards the door, my eyes flicking from one wall to the next, my throat closing, my pulse roaring. The woods flicker in my skull. My ma’s crazy eyes bore into mine.
