“Did ya hear that?” he asks. His growl is lighter and more like a whine but just as fierce.
“Yeah, we did,” the bear replies. He takes a strong whiff. “Fuck if it don’t smell like shit.”
I didn’t hear what they did or catch the smell that alerted them. I adjust my hold on the purse straps and inch forward. The cougar’s arm shoots out, warning me to stay put. “Get going, little one, before you get hurt. We’ll handle this mess.”
“I-I can help,” I stammer. My voice reflects my raw mood. The experience with Ted eviscerated my heartstrings, and this thing, whatever it is, hasn’t helped me settle. So instead of adding backbone to my words, my shaky voice validates the cougar’s perceptions that I’m weak.
“Go, little one,” the bear insists. “We don’t want trouble from the alpha if you bleed.”
“I can heal myself,” I start to explain.
If they hear me, they don’t show it. As a pack, they move as one, picking up their pace when that presence takes off in a sprint. The weres who remain perk up, eager to back their brethren. Several swing down from the stairwell overhead and jet after the cougar and bear, while more above race forward, their swift and collective steps barely perceptible.
The weres are quick to join the hunt.
And so am I.
Chapter Two
Emme
My feet can’t move fast in the sparkly kitten-heels I’m wearing. I do my best and hurry in the opposite direction the weres vanished. Bad guys tend to double back to ambush the unsuspecting and the weak. If this thing is one of them, I don’t want it to encounter a human. It’s strong and dangerous enough to rile the weres…although it had no effect on Ted.
I push forward to keep from slowing my pace. Ted didn’t sense this thing at all. He should have. His inner animal is akin to other predators. Yet there he stood, his only thoughts on his own desires.
As I reach the next landing, I grab the metal railing to keep my balance. Now is not the time to think of Ted. Danger is afoot and I’m this evening’s token Sherlock.
I reach the ground level and rush through the small courtyard that leads out to the street. Two families are barbecuing. The aroma of charred meat fills the small enclosure. Along the grass, their children wrestle and roll around, the youngest ones chasing each other and laughing. Were Alley: this is what this section of North Tahoe is called.
The females bring platters of steaming appetizers to the table, watching me with narrowed gazes. A male eases away from the grill and takes position directly in front of them.
Their wariness reminds me to mind my supernatural manners. With their young so close, the parents will be more combative and quicker to act. My steps slow. I don’t want them to think I’ll hurt their babies, especially as they’ve already identified me as a being of magic.
“Good evening,” I say. I’m trying to come across friendly, but the tension that licks the air results in me stuttering.
The male grilling steaks abandons his task and stalks forward. He murmurs something I don’t catch. He must know me or of me. Whatever he tells the group is enough to negate the strain my presence conveyed. The weres nod respectfully. I return the nod and walk away. I want them to enjoy their evening and not stress over me.
The children pause their roughhousing as I pass.
“What was she, Mama?” a little one asks.
I don’t wait for her mother’s response and resume my quick pace. Our reputation as allies to the were elite has helped our relationship with other preternaturals. That doesn’t mean we’re perceived as friends or that we’ll ever belong.
My pulse is racing by the time I reach the walkway. The creature, or whatever it was, is gone. So are the weres, and Ted.
I step around glass and chunks of wood from Ted’s fall and head away from Were Alley. Once more, I’m on my own.
The next few rows of apartments pass in a blur. I should call an Uber and head home. It’s just so early. Everyone will be awake and I’m in no mood to share the details of yet another disastrous date. I took an Uber here, wanting to spare Ted from my brothers-in-law’s scrutiny. But Ted, he didn’t wish to spare me from anything.
My purse swings gently along my side. I adjust it and keep it in front of me as the breeze from Lake Tahoe picks up.
It’s unusually quiet in Were Alley. The loudest sound this evening was likely Ted’s vault through the window and his perilous landing several floors below. Brawls are common among weres. It’s probably why no one made a fuss. Although I shouldn’t give Ted another thought, his words remain fresh and continue to burn.
I was a pity date. That’s as much as he told me. A little girl who’d have to do since her striking sister was already taken. My shoulders droop. I’m not ugly, but I’m also not my sister Taran. Her beauty and vocabulary make her larger than life. Everyone notices Taran, and everyone should.
The “little girl” comments, reinforced by the other weres, also prick at my brain. Being small in stature doesn’t make me insignificant, it does, however, portray me as weak and passive and someone easily victimized. It’s why Ted felt so free to tell me what he did.
I shake my head, wishing I could also shake the insults. I want to be that person who others think twice before crossing. Not because of who I know. But who I am.
I lift a crumpled piece of paper from the sidewalk and toss it into the trash. No sooner do I step away from it than I fumble for the small container of hand sanitizer in my purse. The moment I flip open the
