I wiped the dampness from my eyes, then ran my hands through my hair, trying to wrangle the dark curls into some semblance of control. I briefly thought about putting on some makeup and then dismissed the idea, not even sure if I’d know where to look for any. To say I seldom had company would be an understatement.
The intense and invasive media coverage during the trial had made me shy away from society. I’d dropped out of college and moved into the familiar old cabin that I’d inherited with my grandmother’s passing. Although I missed her every day, I was grateful she hadn’t lived long enough to witness the horror movie my life had become.
As a freelance graphic designer working through a larger design firm, I made enough money to cover the few bills I had, all while working from the comfort of my secluded home in the mountains of Colorado. I bought the few groceries I needed from the general store ten miles away in Leadville, and had anything else I wanted delivered. Through the wonders of the internet I could get anything I wanted with a couple clicks of a button without ever having to speak to a single person.
It was a secluded and sometimes lonely life, but it sure beat the hell out of living in the public eye, always being chased by the notoriety of being Samson Reed’s only surviving victim.
Emerging from my bedroom, my arms wrapped around my middle as if to protect me from the twisted ball of anxiety clawing at my gut, I found the two agents standing in my living room, their heads bent close together as they talked in hushed tones.
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked, a faint warmth suffusing my cheeks as Holbrook’s eyes settled on me, a hint of their previous heat still lingering in the dark forest depths of his gaze.
“We’re going to take you into protective custody,” Johnson said, oblivious to the heated tension passing between me and his partner.
“For how long?” I asked as I came around to sit on the couch, bouncing my foot on the rug in nervous energy.
“It’s hard to know. It could be a few days, it could be longer.”
Restlessness buzzed in my body and I rose from the couch to pace in front of the fire. “How much longer? I do have a job you know.”
I knew there was no reason to be mad at the agents, it wasn’t their fault that I had fallen in love with a psychotic monster who had tried to tear me open like a pi?ata, but dammit, I was angry that once again Samson was invading my life.
“That’s irrelevant,” Johnson said.
“Our main goal is to keep you safe, Ms. Cray,” Holbrook cut in smoothly.
I knew he was trying to soothe me as you would a frightened beast, and where I normally would have taken offense at such a tactic, my anxiety eased a little under his gaze. There was something about him that spoke to me, something in his eyes that reached deep down into the dark places where the wolf lived, inciting her interest as much as mine.
“Riley,” I said.
“What?”
“My name is Riley. If you’re going to be watching my back for god knows how long, we might as well be on a first name basis, right?”
“Darius,” Holbrook offered with a faint smile, while Johnson just rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Now that the introductions are over, can we move this along?” Johnson said.
Holbrook ran a hand through his hair. “Give it a rest, Harry.”
Apparently Agent Johnson’s gruff demeanor wasn’t just for my benefit.
“Harry Johnson?” I asked, my mouth twitching with the beginnings of a grin that I saw reflected on Holbrook’s face.
“Yes?” Johnson asked, his white brows knitting together in question.
“As in, Hairy Johnson?” I snickered, hysterical laughter once again bubbling at the back of my throat.
Johnson’s face darkened, his lips compressing into a thin, humorless line.
“Yes. Hilarious. Are you done, Ms. Cray?”
Clearing my throat in an attempt to swallow my laughter, I began to nod my head and then shook it as I broke down into a fit of giggles. My shoulders shook with laughter, as uncontrollable as my fear had been moments before.
“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Johnson fumed. “Pull yourself together, woman! There’s a deranged werewolf on the loose and you’ve got a bulls-eye painted on your back.”
Rather than helping me to regain my self-control, his words served instead to revive the fear I’d been trying to suppress. As quickly as the laughter started, it now died away, replaced by a stab of fear in my gut, and I thought I might be sick again.
Okay, so maybe I’m not as in control as I think.
“Why don’t you give us a minute?” Holbrook asked, stepping between us to shield me from Johnson’s view as I turned green.
“Fine. I’ll be outside.” He strode from the room, his no-nonsense shoes thumping on the wooden floor. I distantly heard the snick of a lighter, and a moment later smelled the choking scent of cigarette smoke drifting in through the open door.
“Is he always such an asshat?” I asked, sniffing as I swiped at my eyes and took gulping breaths of air to hold the nausea at bay.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Holbrook replied with a wry grin that brought a weak smile to my lips.
“So, protective custody huh?” I asked.
“I’m afraid so. It really is the safest thing for you.”
“I get it,” I said, nodding.
***