“Yeah. Damn you’re fast.” A smile broke her face, and not even a drop of perspiration dotted her brow. I really hated her. “Do you know Jake?”
“Who?”
“Jake’s my brother. You know, the guy who put on a water show at the practice field.” She knocked her elbow into me.
Little tip from a werewolf—don’t touch us. It’s considered a confrontational act. Lucky for this chick, it was pretty obvious to my wolf that her little five-foot-nothing frame was no match for my five-feet-ten-inches of overgrowth. When my instincts settled, I noticed she smelled different. She wasn’t from the area. For some reason, everyone here smelled faintly of earth and plants. Okay, they smelled like corn, but I don’t want to sound prejudiced. This little waif smelled empty. Like, clay or wood. You know that smell you get when you open a really old box or jar? Not moldy or musty, just…empty.
“So I saw you looking at my brother.”
“What? No I wasn’t. I was watching the game.”
“They were taking a break.” Her voice shifted from upbeat to dead serious in a second.
“Yup. I noticed that. Why I left. Have a good one.” I turned and tried to pace my steps. Then an image of Jake filtered into my brain, and I found my steps increasing their tempo. I tried to slow them, with the old standby of listening to the closest pulse. My feet stopped midstride when I realized the closest pulse wasn’t inside my little cling-on. I couldn’t hear the small blonde chick’s pulse. She didn’t have one.
