One

It could have been worse.

Yes, it could have—I could have been stuck with Lance Rayner for the biggest, most important English assignment of my high school career. He had the sense of a rock, and dirt was smarter.

Instead I was partnered with Misty Corwin. The Misty Corwin—Prom Queen, cheerleader, class president, and airhead extraordinaire. I had already chosen my book for the project, To Kill a Mockingbird, and was 99.9% certain she’d never even heard of it. I was doomed.

And Misty cemented that fate by losing my notes three days into the project.

~ ~ ~

“What do you mean, you lost them?”

Misty tossed her waist length blonde hair over one shoulder, five feet ten inches of perfect lounging against the decorative arch leading into the school quad. She looked calm, but I could see the panic in those sky-blue eyes. “I, you know, misplaced my backpack.”

Who does that?

I took a deep breath, let it out, promised myself a new toy for Red if I didn’t punch her. “Do you remember where you misplaced it?”

“Um.” Now the panic spread across her face. This was not going to be pleasant. “I got on the bus near,” she looked around, as if some nefarious gossip was waiting to jump on every word. Yeah, I like words like nefarious. Sue me. “You know. The house.”

“The house.” My hands itched, wanting so badly to shake her until she started making sense. She lost the notes, my notes on the project. Notes I had spent months on. She was going to be accountable. If the small, angry part of me I only let out once in a leap year had its way, she’d be paying in pain. “And that would be which house, out of the, oh, twenty thousand or so in Emmettsville?”

Misty raised one perfectly shaped blonde eyebrow. “Sarcasm is like a second language to you, isn’t it?” I looked at her, startled, and I have to say, impressed. I didn’t think she even knew what sarcasm was. “The McGinty house—it’s the closest bus stop to my gym. I must have set the backpack down when I was getting change for the bus. I didn’t mean to, Alex.” She did the pretty little pout that worked with every teacher at school. I was, thankfully, immune. “This assignment is important to me, too.”

“Okay.” I let out a sigh, partly because I knew she meant well, and partly to ease some of the desire to choke her blue. “Let’s go see if it’s still there.”

“But I have practice!” She bounced off the arch, ready to cheer for her right to avoid this. “We have a game on Friday, and as head, I have to—”

“You’re going with me.” I may be short, but I have this—tone. Mom calls it my “creep out the children” voice. Misty cringed like I had threatened her with imminent death. “We will hunt down the backpack, and you will not touch the notes again. Are we clear?”

Misty seemed to shrink with every word. “Yeah. Can we go? I want to have some practice time.”

I didn’t mention the fact that I would be missing dance class as I slung my messenger bag over one shoulder. No one at school knew that I was a dancer—and I didn’t want that to change now. I like having parts of my life separate, to avoid the pointing and laughing.

I clamped my hand on her wrist, to keep her from sidetracking on me as we went past her fellow cheerleaders, and made her walk to the McGinty house. Where there was no backpack to be found.

“You’re sure it was here?”

Misty flipped her hair back, a sure sign she was irritated. “I was just here. This morning.” She spoke slowly, like I was an idiot, and pointed across the street. “My gym is right there. The same gym I go to three times a week. Good enough?”

I pushed hair off my face, limp strands sticking to my skin. Walking here may have been punishment for her, but it didn’t do me any favors. The humidity coming off the ocean two blocks away made me long for air conditioning. Welcome to October in Southern California.

“I’m going to check in the yard,” I said. “Maybe some kid threw it over the fence.”

“You’re not—you’re going inside?”

“It’s just a house, Misty.”

She moved closer to the street, rubbing her arms. The McGinty house was the cliché that every neighborhood seemed to have—an overgrown, abandoned house that was, of course, haunted. I’m far too practical to believe that random spirits hang out in a dirty old house, waiting for some kid sneaking in on a dare.

I handed her my messenger bag. “Try not to lose this one. I’ll be right back.”

She took it. “Alex—I don’t think you should—ˮ

“I’ll be fine. Stay here.”

I opened the rusted wrought iron gate, which naturally squeaked. Inside, the wide lawn was overgrown with some kind of vine, spreading across patches of dry, dead grass, the mess covered by the first drop of fall leaves, and piles of trash. The sidewalk was cracked, and buckling under the pressure of the tree roots demanding more room.

I scanned the side of the yard closest to me, looking for a backpack-shaped object among the trash, leaves and vines. Nothing.

Pushing down pointless anger, I kept looking, forced to move deeper into the yard. Closer to the house, the trash piles got bigger, denser. With a sigh, I pushed up the sleeves of my hoodie and resigned myself to getting dirty.

Ten minutes later, all I had for my efforts were filthy hands and a nasty gash on my left forearm from a rusted can. Terrific. Tetanus shot time for me. I had a handkerchief in my messenger bag, and it was time to give up on the backpack, and my months of work.

I could cobble the notes together again from the research on my computer. Unfortunately, most of them had been handwritten during study period, when we aren’t allowed near the library computers.

Please, don’t get me started.

I know—I should have scanned them in, made a backup copy. I just didn’t expect anyone else to be touching them. Backups were number one on my new to do list.

With a sigh, defeated, I started to turn toward the street—and I spotted it, a green bulk in the shadows of the porch.

“Yes.” Forgetting the blood, and the filth coating my fingers, I moved to the steps. They looked—decrepit, but I wanted what was inside the backpack enough to risk it. Besides, the heavy leather of my motorcycle boots would protect me if I went through.

I tested the first step. The wood screeched under my weight, but it held, so I took a chance. The screech became a squeal. I held my breath, ready to jump at the first crack. The squeal subsided to a grumbling moan. Encouraged, I moved to the second step. It got me close enough to reach for the strap.

That was when I heard the growl.

A feral dog—no surprise, since the house had been abandoned for years. I was already headed for a tetanus shot; I didn’t want stitches on top of it.

Slowly, I straightened, feeling for the edge of the step. The growl escalated, turned into a vicious snarl. That snarl came from the half open front door, and somewhere above my shoulder.

Whatever crouched in the shadows was huge.

Heart pounding so hard I felt it in my throat, I clutched the splintered rail, felt blood slide down my hand, drip on the step. Great. If the dog was hungry, the smell of blood would just make it a nastier opponent.

I braced myself, my muscles tense, ready to spring. When I moved, it would have to be fast. And probably not fast enough. But standing here was a guaranteed lose-lose. At least if I ran I’d have a chance.

I took in a shaky breath, bent my knees—and froze at the sound of footsteps behind me.

“Did you find it? Oh, there it is.” Misty bounded up the stairs, barely making them squeak. How did she do that? Being ten inches taller than my barely over five feet, she had to weigh more than me. “I’ll get it and we can—”

“Misty, no—”

I shoved her on to the porch just as the snarling shadow bolted through the doorway, leaping over the stairs. Misty’s scream snapped me out of my panic.

With the rabid animal outside, I took our only option: I dragged her inside and slammed the door behind us. The warped wood caught on the threshold, leaving a wide gap.

We both backed away as a huge snout pushed through that gap. Misty screamed again. I clapped one hand over her mouth and pulled her further into the dark house, hoping to find a back door, a broken-out window—some kind of exit. Hell, I was ready to kick out a wall if necessary.

“Keep quiet.” I stood on tiptoe and whispered against her ear, waited for her to nod. “I’m going to try and find another way out.” I glanced down at her feet, and the three-inch heels she wore. “Take off your shoes.”

She stared at me, her eyes dilated. She was terrified, but she nodded, slipping them off. To my surprise she set them on the floor. She was leaving them behind.

We moved into what looked like a formal dining room, and the front door slammed open. Misty jumped, but kept quiet, her gaze on me. I closed the door, noticed the blood trail I left behind me. We didn’t have much time.

My gaze skated around the room, spotted the far window. It had been completely blown out, and was big enough to climb through with minimal damage.

I motioned for Misty to go first, keeping myself between her and the door. Whatever stalked us had my scent, and the convenient spatter of my blood to lead it straight to us.

Misty reached the window, and the way was still clear. I let out my breath, smiled at her.

The tap of claws on wood warned me a second before the creature exploded through the door.

I backpedaled, running into Misty. She let out a shriek and dropped to the floor. I swallowed, watching the creature stalk across the dining room.

It looked like a mutant wolf—until it stood up on its hind legs, extended claws as long as my hand, and smirked at me. Yes, smirked. Seven feet of snarling, smirking black fur, with teeth that could rip my arm off without any effort.

I crowded Misty against the wall, her whimpers almost as loud as the constant growling of the mouth-breathing monster.

Panicked, I searched the floor around us for a weapon, any weapon, doing a mental head slap when I remembered my Swiss army knife in my back pocket. I froze mid reach when the creature stepped closer.

It stank, like sweaty dog, with an odd, coppery stench that I finally recognized as blood. Horror coiled around the panic, and I pushed Misty along the wall, until we conveniently trapped ourselves in the corner.

The creature turned its head, following our retreat. I swore that smirk turned into a grin. A nasty grin. It was toying with us, playing with its food. I was insulted, and relieved. The game gave me more time to figure a way out of this alive.

I reached behind me to find Misty, and my fingers hit up against something metal. It pressed into my palm, and I realized Misty was handing it to me. I closed my fingers around it, recognizing the shape.

A curved iron leg, like the kind off an old woodstove. We had one in our family room, complete with lion’s paw feet. If nothing else, I could surprise the creature, maybe give us enough time to get out the window. It was better defense than the three-inch blade in my knife.

I felt Misty ease up behind me. Good—she was getting ready. Now it was my turn.

Stepping forward, I pressed the makeshift weapon against my leg.

“Hey.” The creature tilted its head, dark, red rimmed eyes studying me. I’m guessing its food didn’t talk back all that often. “I’ve got something for you.”

Before I could rethink my stupid move I swung the iron leg like a bat.

It slammed into the left front leg—and the creature let out a howling scream that threatened to burst my eardrums.

I didn’t wait around to see the results. Grabbing Misty, I bolted to the window and shoved her out headfirst, following so fast I landed on top of her. We untangled limbs, and I hauled her upright, ignoring the burn from my gash.

My dash for freedom was brought to an abrupt halt by her pained gasp.

“My hair is caught,” she whispered. Tears slipped down her face. “I’m sorry.”

I followed the line of her sleek blonde hair, pulling my knife out of my pocket. It was caught, all right. In the jagged corner of the windowsill.

“Hold still.” I set the iron leg still in my hand on the ground. How I managed to hold on to it was a discussion for another time. When I could breathe without terror squeezing my lungs. I tugged at her hair. It didn’t budge.

I took a closer look, aware that the creature could burst through the window at any second. Long strands were tangled around the wood, wedged between the sill and the wall.

I caught her hand, pulled her closer. “I’ll try to get it free.”

She shook her head, glancing at my knife. “Just cut it. Hurry.”

I snapped the blade out and sawed at her hair, flinching every time she whimpered. After the last strands were cut, I picked up the iron leg, and moved away from the window, checking our escape options.

We were at the back of the house, trapped by an eight foot version of the spike tipped wrought iron fence. McGinty must have been one paranoid man. And we weren’t getting out that way.

Before I could stop her, Misty disappeared around the corner. The creature didn’t follow us out the window, like I expected, so it could be anywhere—and that included waiting for us to run out front and straight into its sharp claws.

“Misty!” I tried not to shout her name, but I needed her to hear me. I skidded around the corner and ran right into her. She clutched my injured arm; the pain almost buckled my knees. “God—”

“Sorry.” She snatched her hand away, and saw the blood-smeared gash. “Oh, Alex,” she whispered. “That thing didn’t—”

“Rusty can.” I caught my breath, cradled my throbbing arm. Leaning in, I kept my voice as low as possible. The creature probably had the keen hearing of a wolf, and had already pinpointed our position. “I’m going to go first. If I tell you to run, you run. No hesitation, no looking back.”

“What about you?” Her concern left me feeling—odd. No one at school ever... Never mind.

“I’ll be right behind you. Promise,” I said, when she gave me the skeptical eye. “Are you okay to run?”

We both looked down at her feet, at the bloody footprints in the dirt. Glass littered the ground, and she had obviously found her share of it.

“I’m good. The pain’ll come after, I’m sure.” She tried a smile, failed miserably. I appreciated the effort. Miss Prom Queen kept surprising me. “Don’t play the martyred hero. I really, really don’t want to do the project on my own.”

Before today, I didn’t want to do the project with her at all. Now I wanted to live through this, just to see what kind of awesome we could create. And I don’t use that word often—especially with anything relating to school.

“Just for you.” I hefted the iron leg, my muscles already burning from the weight. “Ready?” Misty let out her breath, nodded. “Wait for my signal, then run like the chess club is after you.”

That got the smile out. The chess club adored Misty, and let her know, in all sorts of creepy, stalkerish ways. “Meet you at the bus stop,” she whispered. “Seriously. You better show.”

“Got it.” I inched along the side of the house, Misty close behind, but out of swinging range. I had seriously underestimated her brain capacity. The stench of wet dog hit me before we reached the corner. I touched Misty’s wrist. “When I say go, you hit it. Hard and fast.”

She bit her lip, but nodded. I kept moving forward, both hands on the iron leg. This time I was aiming for that smirking snout. I needed to do enough damage to give me time to reach the sidewalk. That was my get-out-alive goal.

I just hoped I had enough left to cause the damage.

My arm had been bleeding steadily since I cut it, with no time to do anything but pretend it didn’t hurt like hell. Closing my stronger right hand over my left, I moved forward, taking slow, even breaths.

Claws scraped across cement. It was on the walkway—I hoped—leading up to the house. Please, God, don’t let it be on the sidewalk outside the fence.

I took a chance, peeked around the side of the house. And let relief loosen the knot in my gut. The creature sniffed along the middle of the cracked walkway, its back to me. I knew I wouldn’t get another break like this.

Shouting in my head, I ran forward, raised the heavy iron leg and bashed it against the creature’s right flank.

“Go, Misty!”

I saw her in my peripheral vision, dashing across the lawn. I scrambled backward, keeping the furious, snarling creature in my sightline.

Without warning it leapt forward. I cried out, ramming into the fence left side first. My injured arm bounced off the wrought iron. The pain shot through me, going straight to my legs, which happily gave in to it, dropping me to the ground.

All my pain-blurred vision saw was a black shape filling the sky. I covered my head with my right arm, made myself as small as possible and braced for tearing agony.

Instead, a startled whine nearly deafened me. Something wet and icy splashed over my right arm, followed by a pair of calloused hands that dragged me up and out of the yard before I could take in a breath to scream.

“Alex!” Misty’s voice pierced through the brain fog. “God, are you okay? Get her away from the fence, Sam. That nightmare could still reach through and—”

“He won’t be hurting anyone, Misty.” Oh, no. Please, let me be hearing things. “You’re safe, Alex. I promise you.”

No—not hearing things. That deep, quiet voice belonged to Sam Emmett—yeah, those Emmetts, as in Emmettsville. I’ve had a secret crush on him since the first grade. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s noticed me. After today, I’ll have to start using both hands—to hide my face every time he walks by.

“Alex?” Misty’s soft fingers pushed the sweaty, blood tacky hair off my face. “You’re really scaring me here. Look at me, talk to me, tell me I’m an idiot.”

A snort of laughter escaped me at the last comment. I couldn’t help myself; who knew Misty was actually funny? After a quick pep talk, I raised my head, and stared into the clear grey-blue eyes that had haunted me for ten years. “Hey, Sam.”

“Are you all right?” I made an attempt at a smile. It felt ghastly. Sam actually looked concerned, crouched over me, his wide shoulders blocking my view of the house—

Panic had me trying to stand. “Where is it? We have to—”

“He can’t hurt you.” Sam closed both hands over my shoulders. I don’t think—nope, he’s never touched me like this before. I didn’t know if my heart could take the added stress. “Alex.” One hand cupped my chin, and I didn’t have any choice. I had to look at the gorgeous face. Up close, in touching distance. God, I might need a medic. “What did you see?”

“Are you kidding me?” Misty’s screech threatened to blow out my eardrums. “She saw what I saw—a giant, hairy thing with teeth as big as my arm!”

Sam ignored her—he ignored the most knock out beautiful girl in school!—and kept his gaze on me, waiting. I swallowed, horribly aware of the blood staining my green hoodie, my faded jeans, my hair, and probably every inch of exposed skin. I felt sticky, disgusting, and about as attractive as a corpse on a hot day.

“Alex.” His fingers cradled my chin, the skin rough but warm, and so gentle his care tightened my throat. Please, don’t let me cry. Do not let me cry. “Tell me what you saw.”

“You said he.” It just clicked. Sam was talking about the creature. “The wolf-thing—you know.” I stared at him, not able to say the words.

You know what he is.

Sam nodded, once, and let me go. When he stood I finally saw what he used to get the hairy nightmare to back off.

A silver walking stick.

Liquid slid down the intricate, carved length, the same shiny, slick silver as the stick. I looked at my arm. Dots of silver marked my hoodie, my skin. It wasn’t mercury, because according to some of the odder websites I’ve come across while trolling late at night, mercury didn’t work against werewolves...

Oh, sweet God in Heaven. The truth my mind kept grabbing on to every time I looked at the creature slapped at me, ugly and all too real.

Those grey-blue eyes studied my face, watched every emotion flash over it. I’d make a lousy poker player.

“He’s not what you think.” Sam’s quiet voice cut into my thoughts. “And I’m sorry for what happened.”

He helped me stand, one arm around my waist. If I weren’t so disgusting and already more than a little loopy from the pain, I would have been in crush heaven. Instead, I simply leaned against him, staring at the backpack in Misty’s hands, then at the now empty front yard.

It hadn’t been a dream, or a hallucination. I had the wounds to prove that. Just what the hell attacked us, and what Sam was protecting—those were questions he’d answer. Even if it took every last nerve I had to confront him.