Page 9 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

Andrew and I had been on a date.

Lucas and I were now dating.

Andrew was the other man.

The fact that I had nothing but contempt for Andrew didn’t factor into Lucas’ reasoning in the matter.

“I, um,” I chewed at my lip as I thought, “I honestly can’t say. It was all so quick and confusing. Not to mention terrifying. Maybe I was in shock during the whole thing, but I don’t remember much except that he turned into a wolf and I didn’t even know werewolves were real, Lucas. I just remember how angry and feral he looked. And his eyes. These wolves last night had the same kind of eyes. Not like some wild animal with a hunger for dinner, but something intelligent. These wolves knew what they were doing. They hadn’t just happened upon Oma’s yard and—”

“What were you doing out in the backyard so late anyway?”

“I thought I saw people out there, and—”

“Real smart, babe.” He teased.

Shrugging, I gave him a half-smile.

“People or wolves, there was obvious danger in the backyard.” His brow furrowed. “Why did you think there were people out there? Did you hear voices or something?”

“Hey.” I glowered.

“Not in that way.” He snickered. “Please stop implying that I’m calling you crazy for two seconds, Rob. I mean, did you hear people talking or calling out, or…something?”

“I guess?” I chewed at my lip. “We—I—woke up because of some noise or something and then I heard it again, and it was coming from outside. I looked out of my window and there was a person in…”

Lucas just watched me.

“I swear if you call me crazy…”

“I won’t.”

“Some person in like a hooded…cloak? Or robe?...was standing in the backyard. Kind of looking up towards my window.” I cringed at letting such a statement come out of my mouth. “Kind of like, I don’t know, ritual robes or something?”

Lucas was frowning deeply.

“Like a witch?”

I gestured with my hand, validating the suggestion.

“It wasn’t, ya’ know…?”

“It wasn’t Oma.” I shook my head. “Too tall. Way too tall.”

“But you were looking down from the window, Rob.” He shrugged. “And you had just woken up out of a dead sleep, right? Maybe…”

“Look,” I shook my head softly, “I’ve been no big fan of my grandmother’s lately. I’ll give you that. But don’t try to implicate her in this. It wasn’t Oma.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“That was sharp.”

“I was just saying ‘okay.’” He squeezed my hand. “Promise.”

“Okay.” I relented. “But I just know it wasn’t Oma, okay?”