Page 8 of Diners, Damsels & Wolves

She had to crane her neck up to look at his face. It was angular, with a sharp nose and high cheekbones. What should have been a handsome combination made her sick to her core. She felt the turbulent energy again. Everything about this man projected volatile and violent, and something else lurked just beneath the surface that wasn’t human.

Instead of fleeing or screaming, she couldn’t move, her head yelling six ways to Sunday that this man was wrong—very, very wrong. Her heart hammered. Palming her keys, she shifted her grip to the little pepper spray keychain. She’d never needed to use it before and prayed it hadn’t expired.

“Hmmm,” he growled. “I can hear your heart flittering away. It sounds delicious.” He stroked the side of her face. She flinched away. Gripping her jaw, he yanked her close. “And I can smell you. Your sweat mixed with the perfume of peonies. It’s enticing.”

He nuzzled his face into her neck, then drew his tongue along her temple. Tears welled in her eyes. Her body still wouldn’t move. “I do hope you don’t stand there silent the whole time. I went through a lot of trouble to be here, what with giving my brothers the slip and then sitting in this stinking parking lot for hours. It would be such a shame if you let me down now.”

As he pulled back, she saw his eyes were no longer blue, but the horrible yellow, with pupils like slits. Seeing those eyes, the terrible yellow that flashed in the diner, her heartbeat quickened, then stopped, frozen in terror. The hand on her face gripped her tighter, sharp claws biting into her flesh. He shook her.

The inexplicable freeze on her limbs released. Squeezing her eyes shut, she brought up her pepper spray and pushed the button.

“What the fuck!” He dropped her.

Turning on her heel, she sprinted toward The Barrel. She cursed herself for parking on the side lot away from the front door. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Taking a hard right, she directed herself to the front entrance. Her boot slipped on the loose gravel. At the same instant, something slammed into her from behind. A scream tore from her throat.

Alister grabbed her shoulders, forcibly flipping her to her back. He slammed her into the ground. Kicking and scratching, she clawed at any part of him she could reach.

Punching her in the stomach, he knocked the wind out of her, then kneeled on her thighs. Clarissa tried to kick her legs, but they couldn’t move. He was too heavy. She went to spray him again; he slapped it out of her hand and laughed.

“Foolish girl!”

Grabbing her wrists, he leaned down, inhaling by her neck before licking her jawline. She wanted to scream, but all that came out was a strangled sob.

She closed her eyes, the feeble attempts to struggle getting her nowhere. The sounds of showers running and girls’ laughter echoing off tiled walls filled her mind. Against her will, she was transported back to her high school locker room.

The weight that was pressing down on her was lifted. Keeping her eyes closed, she curled in on herself. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

New sounds echoed around her. Sounds that were happening outside her memories: a scuffle and grunts as bone and flesh collided. Opening one eye a fraction, she saw there was another figure now. The new arrival brought his fist into Alister’s hooked nose, then another across his jaw.

Alister stumbled, spitting on the ground before launching himself at the new arrival. Her heart caught in her throat. A stranger had stepped in to save her, putting his own safety on the line.

Eyes blown wide, Clarissa watched in horror. Alister was strong, too strong to be a normal man. Would this good Samaritan get hurt? Then what would happen? But this brave man, this protector in the night, held his own. Receiving a hit to the mouth—a hit that should have sent him flying—simply disrupted his balance. She didn’t even see any blood. Didn’t people normally bleed when they were punched in the mouth?

This good Samaritan was holding his own like a champ. Maybe Alister wasn’t inhumanly strong, and she was just inhumanly weak.

Immediately regaining his footing, the stranger got in three more hits, kicking the back of Alister’s knees and making him fall. One final punch to the back of the head and Alister landed face first in the dirt.

The good Samaritan stared down at him, as if ensuring he wasn’t going to get back up anytime soon. Relaxing his stance, he turned to face Clarissa.

“Ma’am?” he said softly through his labored breath, his voice gruff. “Are you, did he hurt you? I mean, do you need to go to the hospital?”

She stared back at him stupidly, her mind not working yet. Blinking, she realized there were tears in her eyes. Brushing them away, she looked from the good Samaritan to Alister laying in the dirt.

Her stomach churned and bile burned her throat. Turning her head, she wretched, but there wasn’t anything in her stomach. She dry heaved a few times more. Drawing her sleeve across her mouth, she wiped away the thick strings of saliva and sat up. The good Samaritan was kneeling by her, watching intently.

“I don’t,” she panted and swallowed. “I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’ll be alright.”

He nodded and said nothing while she continued to catch her breath. Standing up, her legs were shaky, and he offered a hand to her. She cringed away from it, and he let it fall to his side.

“Ummm.” She ran a hand over the loose hair plastered to her face. “Thank you. I think … I think I need to go now.” She stopped and stared at her empty hand.

“Ma’am?”

“I … He threw my keys.”

“I’m not so sure you should be driving.”