Page 57 of Crave
“I am. It’s just—”
“One, you don’t see him when we’re alone. Of course Topher despises me. I forced this unwanted connection upon him. So naturally that’s the primary emotion that comes through. But it’s more complicated than that. We’re bonded, and below the surface.” West hesitated. “Below the surface he’s very messed up over what I did to him. Cal’s been trying to help him sort it out, but progress has been slow, and if the Council discovers what I am—”
“They won’t,” Brody growled. “You think Cal and I forgot the promise we made to Mom before she left?”
“So why did Topher run? You said it was something he overheard between you and River.”
“Council surveillance out in the field has been picking up a lot of vamp chatter in the area. He got really spooked.”
“Any details?”
“With our luck lately?” Brody threw his bottlecap at the trash.
My phone buzzed. Lacey. I swiped to answer.
“Hey—”
“I can’t get a hold of Naomi.” She was breathing hard, voice so faint it was barely audible. “There’s something wrong with me. It’s back. The dizziness. The vision changes—”
“Slow down. Where are you?” I grabbed for my keys, elbowing past Brody, who had his phone to his ear. “West and I will come to you—”
“You can’t.” Panting, she paused. “I think London Blake infected me with something. And I’m pretty sure I’m contagious.”
“Lacey,” I snarled into the phone. “Lace—”
But it was too late. The connection was dead.
* * *
It took me twenty minutes to get back to town. Lacey wasn’t picking up her phone. Naomi was out on a house call, something to do with a sick emu (because good luck getting one of those bad boys into a cat carrier), and I was this close to losing control.
“Lacey,” I barked, pounding on her door. No answer. A dog howled somewhere down in another unit. With a quick check of the parking lot behind me, I kicked in the door.
On the other end of the phone, Brody cursed. “What part of don’t make a scene didn’t you understand?”
“I’m in,” I growled, cutting him off. “Her place is trashed.” Which was an understatement. A broken lamp lay in pieces just inside the entryway. Shredded couch cushions and a mangled bag of Doritos were strewn like fallen leaves across the floor. At the top of her cat tree, Fancy mewed plaintively.
A whine sounded to my right. Whirling, I cursed, nearly dropping my phone. A small cinnamon-brown werewolf crouched over a recently destroyed box of cupcakes. Destroyed was putting it nicely. Picture what a velociraptor would do if you spread strawberry frosting on a herd of goats and go from there.
“Yeah, uh, I’m gonna need to call you back.” Ending the call, I held up both hands. “Don’t bite my face off.”
Shooting me a dark look, the velociraptor in question stalked over to the refrigerator and began gnawing at the handle.
“Okay, Cujo. But it works a lot better with opposable thumbs.”
Baring her fangs, she sat down in front of the door and gave me a pointed look. Yeah. Totally understood that one.
“I’m opening the door. Maybe this time, try to point with your nose like those cute retrievers do on the duck hunting shows and I can pass you down stuff—”
Another growl. Pretty sure I was sleeping on the couch.
I opened the door and cursed again. Meanwhile, Cujo helpfully gave herself a concussion by diving headfirst into the vegetable crisper. The refrigerator contained an empty orange juice bottle and a jar of peanut butter. This, from a girl who cooked for a living. Not good. From her perch at the top of her cat tree, Fancy flicked her soot-black tail imperiously.
“I know. I promised we could watch Chopped next time I came over. First I have to keep Mommy from eating you.”
“Mrreow.” Godiva blinked giant green eyes at me in obvious kitty concern.
Another whine. Cujo scrabbled past my leg, getting marshmallow cream cheese frosting all over my jeans, thank you very much, in her attempts to extract something from the side door. With my luck, it was probably the tabasco sauce, which she’d drink, then cry sad little wolf tears while I had to brush it out of her fangs in the bathtub.
