To Kiss a Werewolf Page 4

  “Get out of here. Now.” Her shoulders and back tensed up so much it hurt.

  His head tilted and he studied her face. “What happened? We were in love once. You loved me.” He brushed a cold thumb over her mouth.

  “That was before.”

  “Before what?” He took a handful of her hair and sniffed it deeply.

  She didn’t respond. Why should she have to? He already knew all her thoughts on the matter.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t up front with you about my age. But if I told you, you wouldn’t have believed me.” His face dropped like a whimpering puppy. “I love you, Stella.”

  “You told me you were seventeen,” she choked out, and tried pushing him away, but he stayed, solid like a statue. A cold, hard statue.

  “I’m sorry,” he simply said, as if that would just fix everything. His lips dropped closer to hers. Stella squeezed her eyes shut and tried to move out of the way, but he grabbed her face and planted one on her, deep and hard. It was like kissing a popsicle. How she ever fell for him in the first place was a total mystery now.

  When he released her, she gasped for air, as if she had just gone under water for way too long. “Out now,” she said. “Out now, or else. Or else I’ll scream, and my mother will be in here with her shotgun in less than 2.5 seconds.”

  Billy’s nostrils flared. “I’ll never give up, Stella.”

  FIVE

  There couldn’t have been a more perfect time scheduled for Stella’s PAA field trip. The following morning, the jitters were still fingering up and down her body over Billy’s intrusion. She needed time away to think about what to do. Her gut told her he wasn’t going to just—poof—go away just because she told him to. She had told him time and time again to leave her alone, and it didn’t work. So, getting ready for her trip was honestly just a blur; running her brush through her hair just once and throwing on the first clothes her eyes caught sight of.

  “What are you wearing?” Kit asked. She leaned against her lime green Beetle, eyeing Stella coming out of the house.

  Stella looked down to the pink leotard and matching tutu. It felt really, really tight. She dropped her duffel bag and suitcase on the porch. “How did I get this on?” Being a ballerina used to be another one of her dreams, but she was the worst dancer in class and soon dropped out, much to her mother’s disappointment. Freshman year sure had been tough.

  “Come on, Tinker Bell! We don’t want to be late.” Kit rushed to the porch and grabbed the bag. “I didn’t know it was Halloween,” she added.

  “It’s not. I don’t know why I’m wearing this. But, hey, I didn’t know you were coming. Don’t you and Caleb have to make it to Comic-Con?” She pulled the wedgie out and followed her friend. It was a good thing she wasn’t going to ride the bus to PAA’s carpool meet-up like this.

  “Comic-Con comes around every year, so I changed plans.” Kit opened the back door and Stella threw her suitcase in, hitting something unexpected.

  “Ouch! Careful,” Caleb said, recoiled against his window. “I think you broke one of my ribs.”

  “Oops, sorry.” Stella’s eyes went wide. “Didn’t see you there.”

  Kit pulled the suitcase back out. “This will go in the trunk. I’m just setting the duffel bag here. You got shotgun.”

  Despite Stella’s discomfort over her choice in clothing, she was happy to be driving off to Astoria with her friends. So happy, in fact, it made her temporarily forget Damien would also be there.

  *

  Cindi Lauper’s little-girlish voice blared from Kit’s car stereo, singing “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” Stella sang right along with her two best friends. Yes, Caleb was into the song just as much, if not more than they were, making silly facial expressions and movements from the backseat.

  It was the perfect song, really, seeing as how they were driving up a winding road to the house where one of the coolest movies, The Goonies, was filmed—a pit stop Caleb insisted everyone check out on their way down south. Nobody had complaints.

  Once they pulled up to the old two-story home with a wrap-around porch, Caleb hopped out to the front yard and pulled up his shirt. “Truffle Shuffle!” he called out and shook up his stomach. Caleb was anything but fat. His skinny jeans could barely stay up, even with the assistance of a belt. His beef jerky addiction did nothing. Soon Gordon and Maggie were out of their cars, taking pictures of each other truffle shuffling to post to Facebook.

  Stella’s green eyes searched for Damien. He wasn’t at the meet-up and he didn’t make it to their pit stop. It appeared he wasn’t going to show after all. Last night was definitely his way of getting back at her. He was surely home with his friends, heading to the beach on this sunnier Saturday, not giving one more thought to her.

  *

  Damien finally woke up around noon. He stretched his arms over his head and glanced at the clock. Noon? The flyer said they were meeting at the grange and leaving by eight-thirty. “Great,” he groaned. Oh well, it wasn’t the end of the world. He would just start heading down there as soon as he was ready and had a big lunch.

  As he showered, he wondered if he really even needed to go on the trip. Not only was he certain Stella would hate him more if he went, but would more time with the group really make a difference? And then there were other thoughts about Stella nagging at him. She actually looked kinda cute when she pretended the werewolf romance wasn’t her book, and that made him wonder what she would look like happy. He imagined tickling her and wrestling around with her on the floor. She’d throw back her head in a fit of giggles; her smile, wide and pretty. No more sad eyes.

  He squirted shampoo into his hands and rubbed it through his hair. As he rubbed, he felt the length of his strands against his neck. Definitely longer than usual. He turned the steaming hot water off, and stepped out, grabbing a towel and wiping it around his waist. Clearing the fog off the mirror with a washcloth, he turned and took a look at the back of his head. Scissors were just in the medicine cabinet, so he got to work hacking off the two inches that had appeared. As he sat on the counter, his eyes were taken to a strange tattoo on his lower back. What the…? It was a symbol of some sort. He scratched at it just in case. Was he seeing things? The symbol stayed there, but now it had nail marks through it. It was real.

  A tramp stamp!

  Why couldn’t it at least be something cool, like his mother’s name in a heart… and on his bicep? Was he blacking out with his new condition? Had he wandered into a tattoo shop last night? Things were getting worse fast. More changes during the day—he tossed a clump of his dark brown hair into the trash—and more problems at night. Maybe going on the field trip wouldn’t be a good idea after all. He growled in irritation.

  Damien rifled through his desk until he found a camera. He took a few pictures as best as he could of the tattoo, then uploaded it to his computer. He had to at least find out what it meant. What, of all the symbols on earth, had he chosen to mark his back with for forever?

  Sitting down, with still just a bath towel around his waist, he drummed his desk, eyeing his computer screen, waiting for Google image results to enlighten him. When he saw the thousands of results pop up, he shook his head over and over. He had seen that symbol before, practically anyone who wasn’t living under a rock would have seen it before. But it couldn’t be this. No way.

  SIX

  Maggie dramatically pressed together her thick fingers and took a deep breath before explaining, “This bed and breakfast, formerly known as Lady Shoemaker’s home, is rated one of the nation’s top five locations for paranormal activity.”

  It was dusk. They finally arrived. Stella and the rest of the gang were eager to go inside and take a gander. They had reserved the location all to themselves more than six months ago, when their group was still a baby. Maggie had planned on giving them all an introduction speech, so they each politely fidgeted or stood there frozen in anticipation as she went on. “During the day,” Maggie said, “it looks as pleasant as your gran
dmother’s home. At night, those old wooden slabs for walls are said to moan and creak more than the ghosts that walk its halls. Its pink siding turns to blood red, and the quaint porch becomes a shadowy lair for the undead.”

  Stella felt a chill go up and down her arms, and she glanced down to the goose bumps that prickled up each of her little hairs. For the first time ever her body protested her disbelief in the undead. As Maggie went on, the chills wouldn’t leave either. To Stella’s left, Kit was chewing gum with her arms crossed, seeming slightly amused, yet unconvinced. To her right, Caleb mirrored Maggie’s cartoon-eyed expression of terror. Then there was Gordon, who looked excited to enter, clutching some sort of gadget with an antenna that could poke your eye out five feet away.

  “Now, who’s ready for some fun?” Maggie finished.

  Everyone spurted out excited exclamations, before she interrupted. “Oh, wait. I should have asked if our president has anything she would like to say. Stella?”

  Stella rubbed her arms one more time, and said, “Nope. I’m good.”

  Just then the front door creaked open and an old woman in an even older dress stood there, her silver hair in a bun. Stella thought her resemblance to the lady in the famous painting of a couple with pitchforks was uncanny. “You the kids who reserved the place?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Maggie said. “How do you do? Are you the owner?” She stepped onto the porch.

  “Yes.” She was expressionless. “Well, come on in. I’ve already got dinner ready for you all, hot off the stove, and fresh out of the oven.”

  *

  Once Stella was in her room, shared with Kit, fun was the last thing on her mind. For the first time, she questioned their field trip, whether it was a good idea or not. Besides Maggie’s bone-chilling intro, the haggy owner creeped her out.

  “This is going to be awesome,” Kit said, dumping her suitcase into a closet that let out a smell like mothballs.

  “Yeah,” Stella said under her breath. She opened her duffel bag on the bed decorated with a patchwork quilt, and pulled out a cardigan to wrap over her vintage tee.

  “Why are you wearing a sweater?” Kit asked.

  “It’s kind of cold out.”

  Kit wore a tank top and had her hands on her hips. “Hm, I thought it was warm, a bit muggy even. When do you want to head to the beach? First thing in the morning? Crack of dawn?”

  That was something else off Stella’s radar. The beach. “How about we just go with the flow. Plus, I think Maggie might have other plans.”

  “Okay, well, what do you think is for dinner?”

  Stella hadn’t detected any smell from the small kitchen or dining area. “I don’t know. As long as it’s not poisoned, I’m happy…”

  “What?” Kit came and stood right in front of Stella, eyeing her. “What’s up, pooky? Aren’t you excited?”

  “I am. I mean, I was. I just need to relax from the drive, I guess. Seven hours is a long time cooped up, you know.” Stella wasn’t even going to confess to her best friend that her first impression of their destination was this horrible. Maybe she was still feeling chills from last night. That would be another thing kept under wraps. Kit knew about the strange ex-boyfriend, but nothing near what happened to Stella last night.

  “At least Damien’s not here,” Kit said. “That would have been so super awkward.”

  And then there was that, too. Yes, at least he wasn’t there.

  *

  At dinner, everyone fit around the oval-shaped table, a home-cooked meal waiting in the center: chicken and dumplings, cream corn and beets, with garlic mashed potatoes. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for Gordon’s gadget which sat right next to his place mat, and a little red light blinking from its corner.

  “What’s that?” Caleb asked around a mouth of potatoes, pointing at the thingamajig.

  “It’s my scanner. It detects paranormal activity, whether it be from ghosts or Bigfoot or whatever.” Gordon emphasized Bigfoot.

  Caleb touched the antennae and it made a zapping sound.

  “Hey, hey. Be careful.” Gordon pulled the scanner away. “We don’t want to break it.”

  Maggie nodded, this time without any cynicism in her expression toward the geek. “Yeah, those things cost hundreds of dollars. I’m surprised you have one. I asked my mum for one for Christmas, but she instead got me PJs and a breast reduction. It should be loads of fun tonight, seeing what happens.”

  “Dessert?” The elderly owner appeared moments later, bringing a deep dish of what looked like peach cobbler.

  “Yes, please!” Caleb grabbed his spoon, and others followed his lead, taking heapfuls, but Stella couldn’t take one more bite.

  The woman stayed watching them, and Stella snuck a few glances in her direction, trying to figure out what her deal was, and why she worked alone. Wasn’t she afraid of some nut staying at her place? Stella trusted her group, but that didn’t mean she thought the rest of the paranormal-loving community out there could be trusted. Maybe she’s not afraid, because she is the nut, crossed her mind.

  “Now is time for me to give the rules. There are only two,” Mrs. Partridge said, looking at no one in particular. Everyone turned to her, ready. “Rule number one—don’t stay up past midnight. I’m a light sleeper, and that isn’t very nice. Rule number two—my bedroom is off-limits. If you dare to enter at any time, whether I am in there or not, then I will not be very nice.”

  The last warning, although mild, cut through the atmosphere like a knife.

  *

  Damien drove for hours straight through a rainstorm without even taking a bathroom or food break. He didn’t care anymore that he was late or that the trip may not help him after all. His Uncle Leo always said if he never tried, then he’d never know.

  And he had to know about this.

  It’s not like packs of teen wolves hung out at the local pool hall for him to interview. PAA was his only real outlet he knew to personally turn to. The trip would offer him the chance to get to know others in the group, and maybe, just maybe, one of them would have a clue as to how to help. So far, the only information he found on eradicating the problem was silver bullets, but at the same time that would kill him.

  Suicide was not the answer. Never the answer.

  He’d find a way to get out of his problem, if it took a lifetime. But, in the meantime, he was speeding down the long and windy Oregon coast into California, taking first things first—thinking just about tonight.

  When he approached the little bed and breakfast, he turned his lights and ignition off and just sat there. 12:32 a.m., his waterproof watch said over a very hairy wrist. Way too late to be knocking on the door.

  He squinted his eyes, but didn’t see any lights on or movement within. A few cars were parked in the drive, one being the green Beetle he recognized from when he had bumped into Stella at the grange’s parking lot. Everyone was apparently there, but in bed. Even if everyone was awake, he couldn’t knock on the door, unless he wanted to be Tasered by Gordon, the little Bigfoot hunter.

  He adjusted his review mirror to look at his face. Short dark brown hair grew from every pore, leaving his eyes as the only evidence to his manhood. Sharp fangs grew over his bottom lip and the hair on his head was longer and silkier, framing it all. He could definitely pass for Han Solo’s wingman. For the heck of it, he attempted to lightly roar like the Star Wars character.

  Damien sighed heavily and rested his head on the steering wheel. When he looked back up, he was sure he saw someone move across the shadowy porch. He quietly rolled his window down a notch and took a whiff of the air. The woods, the ocean, his jeep’s exhaust—these scents meshed together, overwhelming others. He stayed there about fifteen more minutes, before he decided his mind had played tricks on him. There was just one other place he could think of to spend the night.

  Roaring waves crashed down to the bubbling surf. Damien took the right moment to run out and paddle his red surfboard. It had been way too long since
he had last surfed. The night was warm and the sky clear. No one else was on the beach. The water welcomed him like an old friend, splashing cool water over his fur. He rode out a few smaller waves, taking time to swim his board out further into the sea. He could see the swell of a big wave forming, and balanced himself with his right foot in front of his left, a strap around his ankle to the board. Sea-salt water waved around him as a sparkling turquoise tunnel. He reached out, feeling its wall spray through his fingers at high speed. Never had he experienced such great balance and strength, or such amazing waves. When he came out, he rode the top of the next high wave with an exuberant “Owoooo!”

  SEVEN

  “Did you hear that?” Kit rolled over and tugged on Stella’s shoulder.

  Stella couldn’t sleep, so she did hear it. “Yes. A howl?”

  “Yeah, there’re some wolves that live around here. Actually, since we are here in the middle of nowhere, deep within trees, there’s probably all sorts of wild animals, like bears, snakes, maybe even bobcats. Do you think we’ll see any while we’re here?”

  This wasn’t helping her feel any better. “I hope not. Just remind me to not go outside when it’s dark.”

  “Hey, you aren’t acting like your usual self. I’m talking to your shoulder for Pete’s sake. Roll over, so we can really talk. We haven’t discussed anything. No gossip about Maggie… or-or-or Mrs. Partridge. Or Damien.”

  Now Stella rolled over and cocked an eyebrow. “Damien?”

  “Yeah, I totally don’t know why I just said his name, but I need you to talk about something with me. I wished Gordon’s scanner at least beeped once tonight, didn’t you? I mean, I’m kind of like you—I don’t believe in all this stuff—but I sort of do, you know?”

  Stella smiled. “I haven’t heard any ghosts walking the halls or creaking the walls.”

  “You noticed that, too?” Kit propped an elbow against the bed and rested her head on her hand. “Tomorrow should be lots of fun. Saturday is our first full day here.”