Page 30 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

“He doesn’t like a lot of things.” Orion sits in the armchair across from me, folding himself into it with a grace that shouldn’t be possible for someone his size. “Storms. Dogs. The sound the refrigerator makes when it cycles. My face.”

“Your face specifically?”

“He looks at me like I’ve personally offended him. Every day. For two years.”

“Maybe you have.”

“I saved him.”

“Cats don’t understand gratitude. They only understand hierarchy.”

“And where does that put me in the hierarchy?”

“Below him, obviously.” I scratch behind Mario’s ears. “He tolerates you because you provide food and shelter. But you haven’t earned his respect.”

“And you have? After an hour?”

“I have an approachable energy.”

“You called my house a murder cabin.”

“Cats appreciate honesty.”

He laughs at that, an actual laugh, low and surprised, and the sound does something to my chest that I’m absolutely not going to examine.

The knock comes out of nowhere.

Three sharp raps against the front door, barely audible over the storm but clear enough to make Mario’s head snap around. Clear enough to make Orion go very, very still.

This stillness is different from his usual control. Sharper. Predatory. His head tilts toward the door, and I see his nostrils flare, like he’s smelling something, and then his whole body shifts into a posture I’ve never seen before.

Alert. Predatory. Dangerous.

“Stay behind me,” he says, and his voice is different now. Lower. Rougher.

“What? Why…”

“Fable.” His eyes meet mine, and I swear they’re lighter than they were a moment ago. Almost gold at the edges. “Stay. Behind. Me.”

He moves toward the door before I can argue, and I clutch Mario to my chest, my furry orange shield.

This is bad. This feels bad. Something is wrong.

Orion opens the door.

A man stands on the porch, soaked through, shivering. He’s maybe forty, with the kind of face that looks trustworthy at first glance, worn, tired, a little desperate.

“Please,” he says, and his voice cracks with cold. “My car broke down. I just need to use a phone, get out of the storm…”

I don’t even think about it. I just nod when Orion glances back at me, because what kind of person says no to a stranded traveler in a storm? What kind of monster leaves someone outside to freeze?

Orion steps back. The man steps inside.

The man pulls out a gun.

“Wallets. Phones. Now.” His voice isn’t cracking anymore. His hands aren’t shaking. The desperation was an act, a mask, and underneath it runs a cold, calculating current. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

My heart is hammering. My breath is coming too fast. The gun is pointed at Orion’s chest, and I can see the man’s finger on the trigger, and this is bad, this is so bad, this is…