Page 61 of Lycans & Lattes

“Love you too, honey,” she said and hung up.

There it was, the surprising duality of the woman: she was sharp and harsh, but she loved deeply too. I hated to admit how much I related to her. I was always perceived as too harsh by everyone as well.

“I . . . should go change,” I said. “Maybe into something more than Wyatt’s hoodie.”

“Yeah, and fix your just-fucked hair,” Harlow added, and I shot my sister a death glare.

Eloise hooked a now-clean thumb toward the stairs. “Feel free to raid the clothes in my room. There’s a hairbrush and straightener in the bathroom.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully and hurried away.

The apartment was messier than the last time I’d been here. Clearly, Wyatt had been distracted, and Eloise’s room looked like a punk-rock bomb had just gone off inside. It was clear she’d hastily packed to run over to my place, everything still left in disarray like a crime scene.

It’ll all be over soon, I told myself as I got to hunting through Eloise’s suff to find a ripped T-shirt and a pair of leather pants. Not my style or at all sensible, but they were the only things that would fit.

In the bathroom, my reflection showed that I was in an even worse state than I’d expected. There were twigs in my hair and mud streaking my skin. I’d been covered in worse and resigned to enjoying a full “everything shower” later. I popped the small window next to the mirror opened and ran the hot tap. If I was going to hide any evidence that those pictures had been taken tonight, I had to get to work.

After washing my face, brushing out way too much debris, and using the flat iron to smooth out my crazy frizz, I was finally presentable. I was turning off the straightener when I heard the bell on the door chime from below, followed by friendly voices talking.

Someone had come to pick up the desserts, I assumed.

I stayed hidden, waiting to hear the bell again upon the person’s exit.

Instead, I heard heavy steps coming up the stairs. I was prepared to hear my sister coming to check on me, but then the door opened and Gregory was standing there.

For a second, I wondered if the old man had gotten lost. Maybe he was desperate to pee?

“Oh, hi,” I said awkwardly. “Did you need to use the bathroom?”

He didn’t move, his eyes staring daggers into me, and I had a sudden awareness of the fact that he and I were alone.

“You.” His voice was a deep growl as he grabbed for something in his pocket. “You have taken everything from me.”

I took a shaking step back into the bathroom as he pulled out a Bowie knife. I screamed, darting behind the bathroom door and shoving it closed, but despite his age, the werewolf was still so much stronger than I was. His powerful muscles splintered the door off its hinges and pushed me into the opposite wall.

There were shouts from below, and pounding feet rushed up the stairs, but time seemed to slow and I knew they wouldn’t make it in time.

Gregory lifted the knife.

I raced along the wall, moving toward the open bathroom window, and eyed the awning of the store next door.

This was some cartoon-level foolishness, but it was either take a page out of the Looney Tunes playbook or get stabbed. As I passed the sink basin, I grabbed Eloise’s hair straightener just as Gregory reached for me. I spun, smacking the man across the face with it. The sizzle of skin and heat mixed with his howl of surprise.

The shock of the sudden burn bought me enough time to land a swift kick between his legs. He doubled over in pain, giving me the perfect chance to hit the back of his head with the straightener again. He didn’t drop the knife, but he dropped to the floor. I relished that little moment of satisfaction.

Take that, wolfie.

In a split second, Gregory was on his feet again. He rose up, twice my size, with determination in his eyes, and all my smugness evaporated as quickly as it had appeared.

Where was the cavalry?

I was about to yeet myself out of a window, for crying out loud. But in all the emergency preparedness drills I’d run with Harlow, we’d never developed a plan for being attacked by a septuagenarian werewolf.

I took one last breath before hauling myself up onto the windowsill and out the only viable exit.

Fuck it. A woman defenestrating herself probably isn’t even in the top ten weird things tourists saw this week.

I jumped, crashing onto the awning so hard that my teeth clacked together.