matured, the differences in size and shape became apparent.
“This is Sam,” Simon said. He didn’t offer an explanation of who Sam was. Meg didn’t seem to notice.
“Hello, Sam.”
The pup grumbled and howled in conversational tones. Still safe between Simon’s legs, he edged forward to sniff at Meg, then jumped back to hide. And all the while, Sam’s body quivered and his tail thumped against Simon’s leg.
Wasn’t that interesting?
“You need any help getting those up the stairs?” Simon asked.
“No, thank you. The stairs are clear of snow, so I’ll be fine. Besides, this is my second trip. Good evening, Mr. Wolfgard. Bye, Sam.”
He watched her go up the stairs before he took the pup over to the area Sam was using as a dumping spot. The rest of the residents were tolerant because it was Sam and because it was so cold and because the Hawks and Owls didn’t object to the rats and mice that were drawn to the feces. But sooner or later he was going to have to clean up all the poop.
As soon as the pup had done his business, Sam made a dash for the stairs leading up to Meg’s apartment. Simon caught him halfway up and took him inside their own place.
“No,” he said firmly. “I don’t think she wants to play tonight.”
He could picture, too clearly, the two of them romping with Meg in the snow.
“Come on. I’ll give you a good brushing. Girls like a well-groomed Wolf
Meg doing the brushing, her fingers deep in his fur.
It was better not to think of
Sam got a good brushing and remained fairly calm about having to stay out of the cage while Simon gave it a thorough cleaning—calm enough to venture to the front door by himself and sniff around the entrance.
It was easy enough to figure out what scent the pup was looking for.
And wasn’t that interesting?
CHAPTER 9
Meg bobbled the jar of sweet pickles when something thumped on her kitchen door. Her hands shook as she put the jar on the table, and her heart bounced in her throat. Someone had found her, but she couldn’t seem to move, wasn’t able to run for the front door and escape.
Then the thump was repeated, followed by a growled “Open up, Meg!”
Relief made her dizzy. No one had found her except the annoyed Wolf whose apartment also accessed the common hallway and back staircase.
“Just a minute!” Keys. She needed . . .
A key turned in the lock, but the door was still held shut by the sliding bolt. That resistance was followed by a snarl that made her shiver as she hurried to the door and slid the bolt to an open position.
Simon burst into her kitchen, grabbed her before she could scramble out of reach, and hauled her out to the landing and then through the open doorway into his apartment.
She struggled—an instinctive need to escape from an angry man—until he snapped at her, his teeth so close to the tip of her nose, she wondered if he’d stripped off a layer of skin.
“I don’t have time to play.” His growl rumbled under the words as he pulled her through an empty room, down a hallway, down the stairs, and into his kitchen. “I have to go away for a few days, and I need you to take care of Sam.”
That pins-and-needles feeling filled her arms and hands as soon as he said the words, but she didn’t dare rub her skin and call attention to herself.
“Why are you going away? Where are you going?” It wasn’t just curiosity or concern that made her ask. Simon still had her razor. She’d gritted her teeth for an hour yesterday evening while a craving seemed to eat its way through her chest and belly. Not sure how far blood scent could travel and being sensibly afraid of exciting the predatory nature of her neighbors—especially the vampire, Grizzly, and Wolf—she’d managed to resist using a kitchen knife for a cut. But she wasn’t going to be able to resist much longer.
“It doesn’t concern you,” Simon said. “Just do your work until I get back, and you’ll be fine.” He opened a bottom cupboard, hauled out a bag of dry dog food, and scooped some into a bowl. “This is Sam’s food. I give him a scoop in the morning and another around dinnertime. And he gets fresh water at the same time.”
Staggered by the responsibility he’d just dumped on her, Meg said, “But I don’t know anything about taking care of a puppy!”
“Just give him food and water twice a day.” Simon repeated as he shoved a set of keys into her hand. “Keys for this apartment. If you have any questions, ask Vlad or Henry.”
Meg hurried after him as he strode to the front door and picked up the carryall beside it. “Mr. Wolfgard!”
He turned and looked at her. The prickling under her skin turned into a harsh buzz that filled her legs as well as her arms.
“What about taking Sam outside?” she asked, forcing her voice and body to imitate calm, a skill she had learned out of necessity. No matter what the Walking Names had said about professional manners and being clinical while handling female bodies, when girls struggled against being strapped down for a cut, it provoked some of them into doing . . . things . . . after the cut and prophecy in order to relieve their own response to the girls’ distress. And as long as no usable skin was damaged, the Controller chose not to see what his people were doing. After all, some experiences provided richer details to the visions—especially the darker visions.
To her surprise—and relief—Simon responded to her calm manner by calming down.
He shook his head. “If Sam got away from you, he could get hurt before you could catch up to him. He’ll have to do his business in the cage. I’ll clean it up when I get back.”
The whole apartment would stink of poop if the cage wasn’t cleaned for a few days.
A horn beeped
Simon reached for the carryall.
“Mr. Wolfgard.” When he looked at her again, she lifted her chin. “You have something that belongs to me.”
He didn’t do anything except straighten up and face her, but she felt the underlying menace. Anyone seeing him now would know he wasn’t human. Because of that, she felt certain this was one time she couldn’t afford to back down. If she did, something in him would force her to remain submissive.
“You don’t need it,” he said.
“That’s not for you to decide. But you’re right—I don’t need it. A kitchen knife will do just as well, but mistakes happen more often when the blade doesn’t have a familiar weight and the sharpest edge.”
It wasn’t a bluff. Most girls who used some other kind of sharp edge when they couldn’t get their hands on the proper razor ended up ruined in one way or another if they didn’t end up dead.
He stared at her, red flickers in his eyes. Then he bared his teeth, and she watched in disbelief as his canines lengthened and then returned to almost human size.
The Wolf was definitely too close to the surface this morning.
Saying nothing, he reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out the silver razor, and handed it to her.
Someone outside laid on the horn.
Simon grabbed his carryall and went out the front door, not bothering to close it behind him.
Meg rushed out after him and watched him get into a small passenger van. She couldn’t see who was driving, but it looked like there were a couple more people in the back seats.
When the van drove off, she remembered she was outside and it was cold. But when she turned to go back inside, a fierce need to cut washed over her. Remembering the euphoria produced a flutter through her pelvis, that