Change For Me (Werewolf Romance) (The Alpha's Kiss) (18 page)

Somehow, the summer was already half over, and even though Jolie Evers from the
Times
had never given me a firm deadline, the increasing number of calls I got from her told me that she probably wanted something soon. And don’t get me wrong – I loved that I had the opportunity. It’s not that. It’s just... turning like six hours of stories from Grandpa Joe, eighty some-odd books on local lore, and my own experiences – whitewashed to make me not sound like a lunatic of course – into a two-thousand word story is a lot harder than I thought it would be when I said I’d do it.

“You need anything?” Annie, the librarian, came by. “I’m on my way to my dinner break.” She rolled her ‘er’ sounds into ‘a’ sounds. She’s about my age, or maybe a little older, I can never remember.

I looked around at the fort I’d built. “No,” I said. “I think I’m okay for now. I need you to show me how to use that micro-thing, but that guy probably won’t be done before you get back anyway.”

My phone buzzed in my purse, rattling against my keys and making a whole bunch of noise. Instinctively my hand shot out to turn it off, but Annie laughed. “I’d tell you to turn it off, but I don’t think you’ll bother him.” She turned to the family tree guy at the microfiche who had some of the biggest, 1970’s DJ-style headphones I’d ever seen in my life wrapped around his head.

We both giggled for a second as he be-bopped his way through another birth certificate, and made some notes on a tablet, and sang half a word. I only wished I could enjoy what I was doing that much.

“All right, see ya in a while,” Annie said, turning and dialing someone on her phone before she was out the door.

I’d almost forgotten my phone the second time it rumbled. It took a second to fish it out of my purse after navigating the research material minefield, but when I did, I saw it was Grandpa Joe. Texting? Something had to be wrong. I chuckled to myself, which after everything I’d done, is what finally got microfiche guy to turn around and shush me.

Which made me turn red I tried so hard to stop myself from laughing more.

He shook his head in the most comically disdainful way, and returned to his birth certificates from the 1750s.

“Dear Lily,”
the text began. Of course it did. My grandpa is the only person on earth who writes texts as though he was drafting a letter to the Queen. I snorted a little, but the guy didn’t turn around that time. Maybe he was too pissed.

“I’ve got a visitor here. Damon showed up, very agitated about something. I think you be—”

With that, the first one cut off. He never had gotten the hang of brevity. I was already up by the time I checked the second one, which did exactly what I thought it would do; told me that Damon was asking for me and that I better get home pretty quick.

It also had a lot of apologizing for rudeness and so on, like only a grandpa can do. Funny thing about my grandpa – he’s never, ever rude in anything he writes. He says it’s a horrible idea to ever put anything into words you don’t want found a hundred years later. As I stared at the pile of stuff – letters, books, and all other kinds of dusty old business – I’d collected, that made perfect sense.

I was out the door before I remembered all the research material I had piled up. It bit me deep, jabbed at my orderly nature, to leave it all out and not returned to the rack for re-shelving. A quick glance around the completely empty library let me relax a little. I thought that probably, Annie wouldn’t mind. It’s not like anyone had ever – and I mean
ever
– looked at any of the stuff I had pulled.

And it wasn’t like anyone had been in the library that week.

Heaving a sigh, I climbed up into the old Bronco, slammed the key in the ignition and pumped the gas. A few seconds and a belched-up cloud of exhaust later, the old girl roared to life and I was on my way.

It wasn’t until just then that I remembered how weird it was for Damon to go to my house. I mean, sure, he’d been there plenty of times when we were dating, but he was always a little reticent. He was supposed to go back to work today, or at least go talk to his boss about his two week vacation. I wondered if he had, or if there was something going on he needed to talk about.

Whatever it was, I realized that I liked the idea that he came to me. I thought maybe, just maybe, all that stuff he said was true. About how I made him feel safe, how I was “home” for him. At the time I convinced myself it was just the fever, though I hoped it was true.

In the back of my mind, too, was the hope that he had gotten over his fear, come around to believe that maybe – just maybe – our love was worth the risk. It was to me, anyway, and as I got in the car and turned on the engine, I got a lump in my throat that lasted all the way home.

“Oh my God,” I said out loud with a gasp I pulled to a stop, flagged by a police officer in the middle of the last intersection before the turn to my house. “How did I miss this?”

A shredded pile of metal, twisted, gnarled and horrifying to look at lay in the middle of the road.

“What could have,” I trailed off when I saw the bumper. I’d know that collection of bumper stickers anywhere.

There were a couple of Grateful Dead and Led Zeppelin stickers right next to one with a bunch of religious symbols that spelled out ‘tolerance’. And right between them, one that said HARVARD UNIVERSITY on it.

“Caitlyn,” I whispered.

My stomach went right into a knot when I saw the claw marks on what was left of the door.

With my next breath, “Devin” came out. My voice shuddered.

Reaching for my phone, my hand trembled so violently I could hardly swipe the touch screen to send a text. There was only one person, or whatever, that could handle this. If Devin had really done this, that meant...

The reality was too awful for me to really deal with, but I knew I needed Damon. Needed to at least let him know as my hands trembled on the keys. I fat-fingered my way through a message before I remembered that the last time the two of them met, Damon’s phone was the only permanent casualty.

Good thing he’s with grandpa.

One car at a time went through the intersection, every last one of them rubbernecking like assholes at the mess of Caitlyn’s car. The only saving grace for the whole business was that there wasn’t any of that tell-tale orange powder all over the ground that soaked up blood. In fact, there was no Caitlyn either.

Empty car, torn to shit, with claw marks running down one side of the doors – all I could think was how fast everything changed. I thought the big drama of the summer was almost sure to be my article, or maybe nursing my werewolf boyfriend back to health in his cave-house. I shook my head.

Caitlyn was with him. He had her. Even worse, I imagined she had no idea what in the hell had overtaken her formerly human-all-the-time boyfriend. Sure, he had been a dick for as long as I’d known him, but bending over and turning into a mythical creature is going to catch pretty much anyone off guard.

“Devin’s got Caitlyn”,
I texted.
“Tell Damon please.”

A couple of seconds later, I got a very hastily worded reply.
“On my way. Stay safe.”

I couldn’t imagine what he meant. I mean, what could be dangerous to me? Whatever was going to happen already had. And yet, in the back of my mind, it was clear there was something to his words.

“C’mon, get on through,” the traffic cop said, waving at me. “Go on, miss.”

I needed Damon. I couldn’t leave until he came.

“People gotta get places, young lady,” he said as he approached my window.

“That’s... that’s my friend Caitlyn’s car,” I said, sticking both my hands out the window and craning my neck. “Did she have a wreck? Gosh that looks terrible. Where’s the ambulance?”

He smiled disingenuously and leaned on the side of the car, pushing up his sunglasses. “When have you ever heard of the Fort Branch Police Department giving case details to someone not five minutes after a case has, uh, happened? Wait a minute,” he pulled his glasses down. “Lily Kyle? You two weren’t friends.”

“Things changed,” I said. “And also I’m working for a paper now.”

He cocked his eyebrow, obviously not impressed. “Let me see your credential.”

Is he serious? He’s serious.

“I can call my editor?” I offered.

“You don’t have a press pass?”

“Just got hired,” I said. “It’s in the mail.”

“Well hell, Lily, it ain’t like there’s anything to see. Give me the name and number. I’ll have the department call it in before you can poke around. Local paper, right? I don’t remember the last time Ellie hired a new writer.”

I shook my head, “No, it’s a different one.”

“All right, pull on over to the shoulder and get me the info.”

I did as he said, shouldering the Bronco, just in time for it to heave a dying breath and crap out. I dug the business card Jolie had gotten me to print out for the librarian and handed it over. She probably didn’t mean for me to use it quite like this, but hey. When opportunity knocks, right?

“I’ll be damned, but come on out,” he said when he returned a couple of minutes later. “You working for the
New York Times
? I was impressed about some of you all going to college, and here you are a writer for the
Times
.” He whistled. “Well, anyway. Uh, you getting out?”

I was so stunned I hadn’t really realized what was happening. “I’m waiting for my photographer, if that’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “Did you just say you had a photographer? You gonna tell me you’re going to be on the nightly news next?”

Forcing myself to laugh, I tried to play it cool. “No, but thanks for the compliment. Damon King is my photographer, but he’s only part time. I don’t know if they’ll know he’s working for me.” Thinking quickly, I added a suitably smug, “Down at headquarters.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he said. “Whenever he shows up, I’ll have to give you the rules for the crime scene. Some stuff you can’t shoot.”

Damon’s bike roared up the side of the road. I squinted, surprised to see him ballsy enough to not only ride the shoulder, but to ride on it going the wrong way down the road. I just about started fluttering when I saw his hair flying behind him, and those beautiful cheekbones.

“Your boyfriend needs to wear a helmet,” Officer Sanders said, as Damon pulled up beside my Bronco and killed his engine.

I wonder if he actually did get brained, would it just grow back?
I decided not to voice my question to the policeman.

Damon hopped off his bike and almost mauled me trying to get me out of my car. He crushed me to his chest, his lips tasted like beautiful fire when he pressed them to mine. Heat poured from him, embracing me and passing through me in a wave.

“I was so worried when your grandpa told me you saw Devin, or he was here. A million things went through my mind and they were all too awful for me to think about. I had to get here,” he said, clutching me again and parting my lips with another breathtaking, ferocious kiss. “I had to make sure you were safe.”

“I’m fine,” I whispered. “Play along. And also, you’re in quite a different mood than when I saw you last.”

A half-smile crept across Damon’s lips. “What are we looking for?” he asked. “We already know what happened.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just wanted to see if there was anything... obvious that he might have left behind.”

“If I treated my crime scene photographer like that, I believe she’d sue me,” Officer Sanders said.

“Damon,” I said, slightly stunned, and opening my eyes wide to remind him to play the game. “Did you bring the camera?”

“Camera?” he said. “Why?”

“Hard to take pictures without one,” I said. “I’ve got a backup in my trunk, grab it.”

Luckily, I’d not bothered to take in my cheap little digital to the library earlier. By that point, Officer Sanders was so tired of dealing with me he didn’t bother to ask why a real life, big-time journalist was going to take pictures with a fifty-six dollar camera.

Damon sighed heavily. “Lily, we don’t have time for this.”

I shot him another glance, one that he took seriously.

“Come on, kids, I need to get back to doing my actual job.” The policeman tilted his head to the small handful of cars that had gathered, waiting for his direction. Someone drove through even though he was waving at them to stop. “See? Chaos,” he said. “Utter chaos.”

As soon as we were a few feet away from him, Damon gave me a funny look. “What did you
do
?”

“I’m just using my press rights. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to get a little closer to see what he did.”

Damon laughed and shook his head, clearly shocked. “I don’t even know what to say,” he said. “But listen, I think he’s changing. Earlier I heard some cops talking about a break-in at Lottie’s, that truck stop. I’m pretty sure he busted in, made a mess, and killed the guy working the counter.”

Damon’s voice was taut and strained. “Lily,” he said softly. “We’ve gotta, I mean, I’ve gotta stop him. We can’t let this turn into a war. The only problem is, if he’s fully turned, I haven’t even started my ritual yet. I don’t even know
how
to start. Poko just keeps telling me that I’ll know when the time is right. Like that does me any good.”

I put my hand on his chest, feeling his warmth, relishing the thumping of his heart against my palm. “Everything’s fine,” I said. “Come on, keep up the charade. And don’t think you’re getting away without us having a long talk.”

“Congrats, by the way.” He chose to ignore what I’d just said.

“For what?”

“Your grandpa told me about the story,” Damon said. “That’s awesome.”

I blushed as I smiled. No one else knew. I hadn’t even told Annie at the library what I was doing since she never asked. I guess that if I did, I was afraid it’d be more real.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling.

Damon bent his head a little and kissed my forehead.

“All right, all right, this way,” Officer Sanders said. “I thought you were here to be journalists, not neck like teenagers.”

“Come on,” I said to Damon, trying to sound official. “We’ve got work to do, camera man.”