Page 36 of The Crimson Wolf
“It wasn’t trying to murder you. The Blood Moon is a few days away, and he couldn’t control his shit. He was likely trying to protect himself from the monster you were with.”
I step closer to him, looking up at his stare full of hatred. “The only monster I see is the one keeping me prisoner. From what I witnessed, the werewolves have done nothing but hurt people. They killed my parents, you know.”
He scoffs. “Oh my God, you’re impossible. You’ll believe anything you hear.”
“What am I supposed to believe, huh?”
He reaches out, touching my chest. I flinch and try to step backward, but his other hand wraps around me, holding me in place. “You know what's true in your heart. I know you can feel it.”
The lava pours back into my veins, every cell in my body ignites, and the blood in my body pumps too loud for me to gather any semblance of reason.
“Your father was part werewolf.”
His words knock me out of my trance, and I muster all my strength to push him back. The minute his touch disappears from me, my reason clears, and I gather all my anger to finish this pointless conversation. “And my mother was a Hunter. I was trying to discover the truth on my own, but then I was knocked out and captured, and now here I am again with my freedom taken away from me. From how I see it, I think I know what side I’m on. Now, are you going to let me go or not?”
He stares at me without a word, as if waiting for me to read the answer on his face.
I storm to his room, needing to make as much distance between us as possible. I can’t think clearly when I’m around him, and I’m starting to wonder if his effect on me is some sort of werewolf power to lure in their prey. “Fine,then. If you need me, I’ll be in your bedroom waiting for you to make up your mind on how you’ll eat me.” I say before I slam the door behind me, but not quick enough because I hear his smug little ass say, “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you.”
25
Electrocuted
You never truly know how restless your mind can be until you’re locked inside a room without entertainment for a few hours. What kind of psychopath doesn’t have a TV in their bedroom? I shouldn’t be too surprised since Cameron is a werewolf and a kidnapper.
I’ve already gone through all of his drawers and discovered he organizes his underwear by colors—again, psycho. I went through his closet and found an assortment of tennis outfits. The fact that he plays shocks me more than if I had found a string of human teeth. I can’t imagine Cameron swinging a racket on a court in those tiny shorts. Okay, maybe I can imagine it—as much as I try to pushthe thought away once it swims down to my core. Tennis just seems too normal. He should be pillaging villages and practicing witchcraft—not coaching soccer and working on his backstroke with a bunch of retired women.
It only takes about two hours to snoop through all of Cameron’s belongings, and it doesn’t bring me any closer to escaping his room. My mind races, wondering how worried Granny probably is.
Jack would know that I’d been captured by a werewolf by now. My car is still parked in the driveway, and I have mysteriously disappeared. It’s his job to handle shit like this, after all. So why is it taking him so long to rescue me? Maybe the other werewolves are pretending they still have me captured and are using me as a bargaining chip for more power? Or maybe they told him I escaped, and he’s searching for me through the endless woods. Whatever the case, I hope he figures it out quickly because I’m so bored I’m about to smother myself with one of Cameron’s pillows.
A knock sounds on the door.
“I hope you’re here to kill me now.”
Cameron cracks the door open, but I don’t lift my head from lying flat on his mattress. “I was here to see if you wanted to take a walk, but I am feeling rather peckish, so maybe roasting you over a fire is a betteridea.”
I strain my neck to look at him, amusement dancing in his amber eyes. The sarcasm oddly puts me more at peace, even if he joked about eating me. It couldn’t have been more than five hours since I saw him last, but he looks completely different. He has a full beard, and hair covers his ears, running down his neck. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt and tucks his hands under his armpits, but I catch his long fingernails before he does. God damn him to look so hot even while he’s obviously transforming into his monster self.
I sit up, crossing my arms over my chest and my tattered T-shirt I’m still wearing from— I don’t even know how many days ago. “I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself lately, but if you’re trying to make a joke, now isn’t the best time.”
The light dims from his face, and he walks into the bedroom. “It’s the Blood Moon coming up. It makes even the strongest of us turn without control.”
This statement piques my interest. I know little to nothing about werewolves, even though their kind makes up a part of my DNA. I began this whole journey to find answers. First, it was about the attacks, and then it became more about my family history. I still don’t trust Cameron as far as I can throw him, but maybe I should utilize my time in captivity to discover more. “Fine. Where are we walking?” I ask as I stand from the bed.
“Just around the property. It’s not good for us to be cooped up here all day. But don’t get any ideas about running away.”
I straighten my smelly T-shirt. “Don’t you know anything about reverse psychology? It’s like you’re practically begging me to run away.” I walk into his closet, grab a cashmere sweater, and pull it over my head. I catch his glance—laced with something like disgust, or arousal—I can’t make it out. He turns his head as if the sight of me in his clothes makes him want to vomit. Or jack-off. Again, I have no way of reading him clearly. I try to ignore him—even if I can’t ignore his smell as it slips around me, peppering my skin with goosebumps. “I guess it would make sense since you’re all wolfy right now. You probably want me to run away so I become a more exciting meal.”
He sighs and turns away from the door to the living room as I walk toward him. “Although Ilovehearing your offensive assumptions about werewolves eating humans, it’s getting a bit old. I’m tempted to prove you right just to shut you up.”
“So werewolves don’t eat humans?” I catch up with him as he walks out the front door, straining to read his face. The cool midday air wraps around me, making me feel less claustrophobic. As much as I hate to admit it, Cameron was right about it being a good idea to get out of the house. Maybe that’s what he wants, though—me to feel morecomfortable so I don’t try to run away again. If that’s the case, he’s a bigger idiot than I imagined because it will take a lot more for me to develop Stockholm Syndrome than a brisk walk through the woods, regardless of how handsome he is.
“No, we don’t.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one and bringing it to his lips.
“Ugh,” I cry in disgust. “Do you really have to smoke right in my face? You know those things will kill you.”
He squints at me with a smile. “Since when do you care about my health?”
