“Stop being such a baby,” I said, jostling him with my shoulder.
The sour look he shot me would have made lesser men cower, but when compared to psychotic werewolves with a taste for my innards, it didn’t even rate on my scale of intimidating. Raising my eyebrows at him, I just flashed him a bright and cheery smile.
“Pain in the ass,” he muttered under his breath.
Judging by the minute twitch of Alyssa’s lips, her hearing was as finely tuned as mine.
“Have a seat,” she said, trying not to laugh.
He shuffled across the room, shedding his jacket and tossing it on the empty cot. Climbing up onto the examination table he sat with his back ramrod straight and his shoulders full of tension. He was so not a happy camper.
Curiouser and curiouser.
“Son of a…” Holbrook hissed as Alyssa peeled away the layers of tape and gauze, revealing the raw, weeping flesh beneath. I gagged at the putrid smell that permeated the air, invading my nose and coating the back of my tongue with the stink of rotten meat.
“I’m gonna go see about some food,” I managed, backing away towards the door with my hand over my nose and mouth.
***
Making my way down the stairs to get away from the stench, I stepped through the back entrance of the restaurant and paused. Standing beside the stone-faced agent at the bottom of the stairs, I drew a deep breath to savor the delicious aroma of red chilies cooking in hot oil. I could feel the agent watching me, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, but I was too focused on my growling stomach and watering mouth to pay him any attention.
“Stay within sight, Ms. Cray,” he said as I took a step towards the restaurant, the unexpectedness of his voice making me jump. I couldn’t recall having heard either of my bodyguards utter more than a handful of words over the last few days.
Rounding the corner into the restaurant, I spotted my other bodyguard standing beside the front door, where he kept a watchful eye on the street outside. Stepping in line behind an elderly couple, I was unable to hide my smile as they squabbled over whether or not the husband should order the moo shu pork. His wife was insisting that it gave him terrible gas, while he declared that it most certainly did not.
Chuckling, I snagged a menu from a nearby table and turned towards the window, allowing them the pretense of privacy. Flipping through the pages, I perused the specials, deciding on the kung pao beef and Szechuan chicken. Behind me the husband and wife continued to bicker, having moved on from the topic of moo shu pork—which he would not be getting, he would have the sesame chicken and be happy with it—to the decision between white rice and lo mein. Rocking back and forth on my heels I gazed out of the large windows overlooking the street.
Clouds hung low and dark over the city, making everything appear gloomy and washed out. I was so ready for summer I could almost feel the sunshine on my skin and smell the sweet grass. As I turned back towards the register, a dark shape caught my attention, drawing me around to face the window once more.
The gloominess outside made it difficult to make out the street past the bright reflection of the restaurant’s interior. Curiosity drew me forward on silent feet, the sounds of the bickering couple fading away as my attention shifted to the shape slowly coming into focus in the glass.
Horror bloomed in the pit of my stomach as Samson’s face emerged, transposed over the reflection of my pale face. Golden wolfish eyes stared back at me, full of malice and violent intent. A terrified squeak slipped out of me as his thin lips spread into a wide smile, revealing jagged yellowed teeth. Lurching back from the window I stumbled into a table behind me, sending cutlery clattering to the floor, drawing irritated looks from the staff and a raised eyebrow from my guard.
Why the hell was he gaping at me like I’d lost my mind instead of pumping Samson full of silver bullets? Shouldn’t he have been calling for back-up?
Staring back up at the window I was surprised to see nothing but the reflection of the restaurant and the empty street outside. No boogey men loomed beyond the glass.
“You ready to order?” the man behind the register asked, his dark brows drawn together in a disapproving frown.
Scrambling to pick up the silverware I had knocked on the floor, I was shaking so badly that I only succeeded in knocking over a glass, spilling water and ice cubes all over the table and floor.
“Shit!” I hissed, looking around frantically for something to sop up the water.
A young woman in a white apron bustled over with a rag, offering me a small, thin-lipped smile as she began mopping up my mess while the man behind the counter looked on with a scowl and my bodyguard let out a snorting chuckle.