Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel (13 page)

Holding my breath is easy because the damn bridal gown is cinched up so tight. I do hear breathing—loud and erratic. My fangs cut into the bottom corners of my mouth. The claws jutting from my fingertips shred the net skirting of my gown.

“Lou?”

The air in my lungs explodes out of my mouth. “Cindy, what the hell are you doing down here?”

“Where are you? I can't see a thing.”

My heart hammers inside of my chest. I take as many calming breaths as the dress will allow. “I'm over here, behind some boxes.”

“Why? And why did you run away like that? Stefan sent me after you.”

“It's happening again,” I say breathlessly. “He's here, Cindy. I sense him. He's the one who sets me off. He's the trigger.”

“Huh?” she responds. “Who?”

I don't have time to explain. I'd shake Cindy if I weren't afraid my claws would cut her. “Everyone is in serious danger! Find the others, say I'm sick and they need to pack up in a hurry. Tell them I'll meet them at the cars.”

“Huh?” Cindy echoes again. “I have trouble understanding you. You're lisping.”

I'm lisping because of the fangs. “Just get everyone out! Hurry!”

The panic in my voice obviously spurs Cindy into action. She knows this is an “act now ask questions later” situation. “I'll get them out, but Stefan isn't going to like having his shoot interrupted.”

“I think he'd like being dead less!”

“Crapola,” Cindy whispers. A second later she darts toward the stairs. She's halfway up when she turns and asks, “What about you, Lou? Are you going to be all right?”

“I just need a moment to get myself back under control, then we're getting the hell out of here. Don't worry about me. I stand a better chance against this thing than anyone else.”

I'm not one hundred percent sure what I've just claimed is true. I have to assume it is since I wouldn't be wearing the fangs and claws otherwise.

“Be careful!”

“Go!” I urge. Thankfully, she does. I stand still, trying to bring my fear and panic under control. That's when it dawns on me that I just sent my best friend off alone while a killer werewolf is roaming the premises. I bolt for the stairs. Fangs and claws or not, I have to make certain everyone else is safe. I'm nearly there when a noise stops me. It's a slight shuffling sound. Like a rat. Only a very big rat.

“Who's there?” I whisper. I know it was a dumb question. Like a rat, or the thing stalking me is going to answer. I decide if I'm going to be stupid I might as well be brave. “Come out,” I demand. “Show yourself.”

Silence.

I'm being paranoid. The murderer couldn't be down here with me … unless there's another entrance to the basement. I've about convinced myself I imagined the shuffling noise when very low, very soft, a laugh floats to me from the darkness. The sound is distorted, like the sound a monster would make if it were trying to be human. It raises the hair at the back of my neck again. I break out in a cold sweat.

I could stay and confront him, but besides the fact I am scared shitless at the moment, if this creep kills me, Cindy and the others will come looking for me … and he's going to kill them, too. I've got to make a run for it. I make a dash toward the steps. Something lashes out in the darkness. There's a sharp sting in my arm but I twist away and keep running. I bound up the stairs with superhuman speed and head out the door, running down the corridor a moment later.

If only I could have run this fast as a kid. I'd have been a track star. Instead, I could barely walk and chew gum at the same time. Is running with fangs as dangerous as running with scissors?

No time to worry over that. I move so fast I'll reach Stefan and the others at any moment. What am I going to do about the fangs? Suddenly, I remember my veil. The combs have dug into my scalp since Karen helped me put it on, so I don't know how I forgot about it. I reach behind me and flip the first layer over my face.

I skid to a halt in the chapel. It's deserted. There are no dead bodies or blood. Good. This time I know the direction to go to get out. The lingering scent of Stefan's expensive cologne guides me. When I stumble outside and down the crumbling steps of the church, I spot Karen, Rachel, and Cindy loaded up in Karen's car. Stefan stands beside his Porsche.

“Lou!” he shouts. “What's going on?”

“We've got to get out of here!” When I head toward Karen's car, Stefan intercepts me.

“Your arm is bleeding, Lou. What the hell happened in there?”

Fear dulls pain. I'd almost forgotten about the scratch I received in the basement. I glance down. Blood drips from ugly scratches on my arm.

“It's nothing,” I tell him. “Let's go.”

Only after I have spoken do I realize that Cindy is right. I have a lisp when I have fangs. Stefan's too distracted by the blood and the scratches to notice.

“You need emergency care, Lou. Get in my car.”

He doesn't allow me a choice. Stefan opens the passenger side door and shoves me and my ruined designer wedding gown into his car. He climbs in the other side, looks at my bleeding arm again, reaches down, and tears a strip of netting off my gown. “Wrap this around your arm,” he instructs.

I wonder if he's worried about my arm or worried about his car. Now is not a good time to ask. “Punch it, will you? Let's get out of here.” Just in case he is more worried about his car than about me, I add, “I feel like I'm going to puke again.”

That gets him moving. Stefan pops the clutch and peels out. He does a doughnut and we're on Karen's tail in a split second. He honks and she speeds up. In the side mirror, through a filmy haze and dust, I watch the church become smaller. I expect some hideous half-man/half-wolf creature to come out of the church, bound down the steps, and chase after us.

“Where's the nearest hospital?” Stefan asks.

I'm not about to go to a hospital. “The scratches aren't that deep,” I say. “I'd rather go home so I can puke in privacy.”

“You aren't going to puke now, are you?”

Stefan's as white as my wedding gown once was. “I might,” I say, just to be cruel. “My apartment is closer than any hospital; I suggest you get me there, quickly.”

After only a moment of deliberation, Stefan shifts into third and hits it hard.

CONFESSION NO. 11

Some days start out shitty and get progressively worse.

I sit on the toilet and stare at my dirty feet. I'm supposed to be in my bathroom puking. Stefan sits on the bed in my room. Should I make puking noises? As many models as he's worked around, Stefan should be used to that sound. I don't feel like pretend-puking, so I rise and walk to the mirror.

My fangs have now retracted. The claws are gone, as well. I'd say I look normal, but that's not the case. I still look a little like Scarlett O'Hara … after the fire destroyed Tara.

“I'm taking a shower!” I shout through the door. “Why don't you go home? I'm feeling better now.”

“Not until I get a look at that arm!” Stefan shouts back. “I want to make sure you don't need stitches.”

With my super healing powers, the arm already looks better. But Stefan isn't going to take my word for it. I turn on the shower and literally rip the ruined wedding dress off. I leave the gown in a dirty heap on the bathroom floor, slide out of my panties, and step into the shower.

The warm spray feels wonderful and I soap myself with shower gel. I use an expensive shampoo that has a wonderful fruity fragrance. Even so, it won't cover the wet-dog smell until my hair dries. Once I step out, I wrap my dripping hair in a thick towel, dry off, and grab my terry-cloth robe from a peg on the back of the bathroom door. I take a deep breath and open the door.

Through a steamy haze I see Stefan sitting on my bed. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine he's waiting for me. Okay, he is waiting for me, but I imagine he's waiting for me to come to bed. I join him.

“See, I'm fine now. You can go.”

Stefan scrutinizes me. He lifts a hand and feels my forehead. “No fever. Are you going to explain what happened at the church?”

Not in a million years
. “I must have eaten something last night that didn't agree with me. Suddenly, I had to puke. I ran off in search of a bathroom, a hole in the ground, anything. Then I got lost and it was dark deeper inside the church. I scratched my arm on something while trying to feel my way around.”

Boy, talk about killing a man's sexual interest in me. I'd already explained in the car that the reason for the veil was to hide the vomit on my face. The sacrifices I make to save my friends.

“Let's take a look at that arm,” Stefan reminds me.

I try to push the sleeve of my robe up, but the scratches are at the top of my arm. “Turn your head,” I say.

Stefan smiles. “Do you really think you have anything I haven't seen before? In fact, I've seen most all of you.”

“We're not at work,” I insist. “When we're at work, you're supposed to be like a doctor. You're not supposed to notice things like boobs that fall out of outfits or things you can see through.”

His smile stretches. “I'll try to remember that.” Stefan sighs and turns so he's facing the opposite direction on the bed. I scramble out of the top of my robe, exposing only one shoulder and the arm in question. The scratch marks have faded.

“See, all better.”

He turns and looks at my arm. “That was a lot of blood for those shallow scratches.”

“I'm a bleeder,” I explain. Ugh, is there no end to the icky stuff I must admit to in order to fool this man? “I told you it wasn't serious.”

Stefan glances past me into the bathroom, frowning at the wadded, dirty gown on the floor.

“Oh, it's serious,” he assures me. “Do you have any idea how much that dress costs? Not to mention the shoes you seem to have misplaced somewhere in the church.”

I am now soon to own a ruined sluttish bridal gown and a pair of nonexistent shoes. I'll put them in the closet alongside my red sex shoes with the gum on the bottom. “I'll have my agency handle it.”

Reaching out, Stefan runs a finger over the scratches. “I never meant for you to get hurt. Sometimes my artistic eye outweighs my common sense. Truth is, none of us should have been in that church today. The place has been condemned.”

It occurs to me to wonder how the killer knew I'd be in the church. He must be watching me. Following me. It suddenly dawns on me that he's probably been watching me for six months. He's the reason for the outbreaks. I respond to some stimuli when he's around. And I realize he could have easily been around me for six months without me knowing. He can look human, just like I can, right?

“Hey, cover up, beautiful. I don't want you catching a cold on top of everything else.”

Stefan interrupts my thoughts. I very much need to hear I'm beautiful at the moment. Considering the fangs and claws, I also need to feel human. Maybe I should kiss Stefan to feel human. I've wanted to kiss him for six years. Hell, I hardly know Terry Shay and I kissed him. But I don't have to work with Terry. How would Stefan's kiss compare?

“Lou? Are you here?”

Cindy. Thank God she has horrible timing.

“In here,” I call.

Even though Cindy is short and skinny, she sounds like an elephant tromping through my apartment. She appears at my bedroom door a moment later. Her eyes widen upon seeing Stefan perched beside me on the bed.

“I thought you were taking Lou to the emergency room, and instead I come home to find you making a move on her.”

“I'm not making a move,” Stefan says, rising from the bed. He winks at me. “At least not now.”

Cindy clonks past him and sits beside me. “Are you okay, Lou?”

“I'm fine,” I assure her. “It was just a few scratches.”

She's dying to ask me everything that happened in the church. Of course she can't while Stefan is still in the room. “You can go now, Stefan,” she says. “I'll take it from here.”

Not used to following orders from a lackey, Stefan lifts a brow. “Maybe Lou would prefer me to take care of her. I can fix soup.”

Very clever. Pitting me against my best friend. Not clever enough. “But will you hold my hair back for me if I need to puke again?”

He flinches, then tries to act like he didn't by flexing his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe you'd be more comfortable with Cindy taking care of you.”

“I thought so,” Cindy mutters. “Come on, lover boy. I'll show you out.”

Cindy rises and moves toward the door. “Get better,” Stefan mouths to me before allowing her to show him out. I close my eyes and allow myself the peace of being alone with the lingering scent of Stefan's expensive cologne. I'll have to tell Cindy what happened, what I think has been happening for the past six months. I hope Stefan's cologne is strong enough to hang around until bedtime. Maybe I'll have good dreams.

*   *   *

He wears a mask. His eyes glow red from two dark holes. A snout protrudes from his face. His mouth is open, white pointed teeth gleaming in the night.

Above me, the moonlight casts his hairy silhouette in silver light. I want to scream but my voice is trapped inside of my throat. This cannot be real. It must be a dream. Yes, a dream. And I am once again an unwilling witness to his killing.

On the ground, huddled and shaking, lies his victim. Her fear is thick in the air, a fog that clouds her mind and robs her of the ability to run, to fight, to do anything but wait for his attack. She is a gazelle pitted against a lion. Her body has already surrendered to death.

Fight, I want to shout. Scream. Do something! I am helpless to protect her. The realization knots my stomach and forces hot bile up in my throat. I am in hell. A silent witness to a crime. There's nothing I can do but watch. Or is there?