Page 49 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

“My boyfriend’s in the back,” I lie smoothly. “He’ll be out in a minute.”

“Really.” The man’s smile widens. It still doesn’t reach his eyes. “Because I’ve been watching for a while, and I haven’t seen anyone come in or out.”

The prickle at the back of my neck becomes a full-body alarm.

Watching. He said he’s been WATCHING. This is bad. This is very bad.

“He uses the side entrance,” I say, still smiling, still keeping my voice steady. “Is there something specific I can help you find? Because if not, I should probably get back to inventory…”

He moves fast.

Faster than I expected, faster than I can react, and suddenly he’s in my space, hand closing around my wrist hard enough to make me gasp.

“I think you’re lying,” he says, and his voice is different now, lower, colder, the false friendliness stripped away. “I think you’re all alone in here, and I think you’ve been all alone for days. And I think we should get to know each other better.”

“Let go of me.”

“Make me.”

My heart is hammering against my ribs. My wrist throbs where his fingers dig in. I should scream, should kick him, run, do something, but my body has locked up, frozen in that ancient prey response that says don’t move, don’t attract attention, maybe if you stay very still the predator will lose interest.

“I’m going to call the police,” I manage, and my voice barely shakes. “If you don’t let go right now, I’m going to…”

“With what phone? It’s behind the counter, charging. All the way over there.” He grins, and there’s something genuinely unhinged in his expression now. “I told you, sweetheart. I’ve been watching. I know your little routines.”

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god…

The back door explodes off its hinges.

It doesn’t open. It doesn’t even burst. It explodes, the wood giving way with all the resistance of paper, the frame cracking, and suddenly my stockroom is filled with something massive and dark and utterly terrifying.

The lycan fills the doorway like he was built for it, taller than a Great Dane, broader, muscles bunching beneath dark fur that seems to absorb the light. His hackles are raised high enough to double his size. His lips are peeled back from teeth that gleam white and very, very sharp. And the sound coming from his throat isn’t a growl.

It’s a promise.

The man drops my wrist, scalded.

“Jesus CHRIST…” He’s scrambling backward, knocking over a display of new releases, his face drained of color. “What the fuck is that? What the FUCK…”

Orion advances.

He doesn’t make another sound. Doesn’t need to. The silence is worse than the growl, a predator so confident in his ability to destroy that he doesn’t bother with threats. Each step is deliberate, controlled, backing the man toward the front door with the patient inevitability of death itself.

“That’s a… that’s a freaky huge DOG…” The man’s voice is climbing toward hysteria. “What the fuck is wrong with you, lady? What kind of person keeps a…”

Orion snaps his jaws.

The sound cracks through the quiet shop, gunshot-loud, and the man breaks.

He doesn’t scream this time. He goes white, makes a small strangled sound, and backs away with his hands raised, tripping over a display table, scrambling upright, and then he’s gone, out the front door at a dead sprint, no words at all, just the frantic slap of his shoes fading down Main Street and the bell swinging wildly in his wake.

The door swings shut behind him.

Silence.

I’m shaking. I didn’t realize I was shaking until right now, but my whole body is trembling, and my wrist is throbbing, and my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth.

He was watching me. He grabbed me. He was going to…