Page 319 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Did I take the wrong exit?" I ask dryly.

"Nope."

Delightful.

A deer stands in the middle of the road up ahead of us, staring at the SUV with the hollow indifference of an animal that hasn't seen many vehicles.

I honk.

She blinks.

I honk again.

She takes three leisurely steps to the shoulder and pauses to chew something. She shits, ignoring us as we pass, other than the flick of an ear.

The trees thin eventually, giving way to a foggy stretch of road lined with weathered buildings. There's no cell tower visible. One road in, same road out. If something went wrong here, you'd have to save yourself or not be saved at all.

I glance in the mirror.

Wraith is watching the fog through the window with the tired, somber expression of someone who recognizes every shadow.

This is where he grew up. Where he was abused and tortured.

This town looks like it wouldn't even notice.

I would know.

"Turn right at the church," Ivy says, leaning forward to be my second pair of eyes on the GPS.

Church is a generous word for the crumbling white shell. I turn right and the motel materializes from the fog. There's a pickup truck with no bed parked out front and a rusted-out sedan mounted on cinder blocks.

I pull in and kill the engine, craning my neck to examine the exterior through the windshield. The place is falling apart. Doors that were once green have turned gray from weather and lack of cleaning. Duct tape has been thoroughly abused. A few windows sport poorly patched bullet holes.

Behind me, Wraith shifts. He's more alert now that we've stopped. His blue eyes flick over the lot with weary recognition.

"Stay here," I tell them, reaching back to grab my bag from the backseat floor between Wraith and Ivy. "I'll get the room. One you can walk up to without going inside."

I climb out and hit the lock on the keyfob just in case, even though Wraith could pull anyone apart without breaking a sweat in spite of his condition. He manages an irritated growl that I've locked him in, and I dangle the keys from my fingers with a little grin to keep him on his toes.

To keep him awake, specifically.

The reception area reeks of cheap cigarettes, and I zero in right away on the source, a tall older beta behind the counter with wild white hair and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He's watching a noisy sex tape on his phone.

I can already tell he's going to love me.

"Good afternoon," I say, smiling as I step up to the desk, because everyone deserves a chance.

He lifts his head with a jolt at my accent and narrows his eyes at me. "You checkin' in?" he asks with the same suspicion I receive in all shitty towns with a population less than two hundred.

Oh well. I tried.

"One room, the biggest bed you have. Exterior entrance," I say flatly.

He studies me. "Cash or card?"

I peel bills from the roll I keep in my leather jacket. The clerk counts them with agonizing slowness, licking his thumb between each bill, his eyes flicking to me now and then.

He hands me a key with a thick red plastic fob marked with a 66.