The Monster Files: The Monster Files

By Cate Dean

Follow Alex and her friends through all their adventures!

 

Alex Finch's life changes forever when she discovers that monsters are real. Join her as she discovers the secrets, the surprises - and maybe, find the love of her life.

 

Book 1 - Alex Finch: Monster Hunter
Book 2 - Truth and Consequences
Book 3 - Welcome to The Haven
Book 3.5 - A Monster Files Wedding

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cate Dean
• Release date: Dec 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516314645

Cate Dean

Cate Dean has been writing since she could hold a pen in her hand and put more than two words together on paper. She grew up losing herself in fantasy worlds, and now creates her own worlds, infusing them with adventure and magic. When she's not writing, she travels to places that inspire her, having her own adventures, and reads pretty much anything she can get her hands on. There - I got the official biography out of the way. I love to write, and yes, I have been doing it most of my life. I've made up stories in my head for as long as I can remember, and I am thrilled to be able to bring those stories to life, and share them with you. If you want to be the first to know when the next book is released, or be in on some fun giveaways, join my list here: https://catedeanwrites.com/join-my-list. You can learn more about me and my books at my website: https://catedeanwrites.com I look forward to meeting you. :)

Book preview

One

It could have been worse.

Yes, it could have—I could have been stuck with Lance Rayner for the biggest, most important English assignment of my high school career. He had the sense of a rock, and dirt was smarter.

Instead I was partnered with Misty Corwin. The Misty Corwin—Prom Queen, cheerleader, class president, and airhead extraordinaire. I had already chosen my book for the project, To Kill a Mockingbird, and was 99.9% certain she’d never even heard of it. I was doomed.

And Misty cemented that fate by losing my notes three days into the project.

~ ~ ~

What do you mean, you lost them?

Misty tossed her waist length blonde hair over one shoulder, five feet ten inches of perfect lounging against the decorative arch leading into the school quad. She looked calm, but I could see the panic in those sky-blue eyes. I, you know, misplaced my backpack.

Who does that?

I took a deep breath, let it out, promised myself a new toy for Red if I didn’t punch her. Do you remember where you misplaced it?

Um. Now the panic spread across her face. This was not going to be pleasant. I got on the bus near, she looked around, as if some nefarious gossip was waiting to jump on every word. Yeah, I like words like nefarious. Sue me. You know. The house.

The house. My hands itched, wanting so badly to shake her until she started making sense. She lost the notes, my notes on the project. Notes I had spent months on. She was going to be accountable. If the small, angry part of me I only let out once in a leap year had its way, she’d be paying in pain. And that would be which house, out of the, oh, twenty thousand or so in Emmettsville?

Misty raised one perfectly shaped blonde eyebrow. Sarcasm is like a second language to you, isn’t it? I looked at her, startled, and I have to say, impressed. I didn’t think she even knew what sarcasm was. The McGinty house—it’s the closest bus stop to my gym. I must have set the backpack down when I was getting change for the bus. I didn’t mean to, Alex. She did the pretty little pout that worked with every teacher at school. I was, thankfully, immune. This assignment is important to me, too.

Okay. I let out a sigh, partly because I knew she meant well, and partly to ease some of the desire to choke her blue. Let’s go see if it’s still there.

But I have practice! She bounced off the arch, ready to cheer for her right to avoid this. We have a game on Friday, and as head, I have to—

You’re going with me. I may be short, but I have this—tone. Mom calls it my creep out the children voice. Misty cringed like I had threatened her with imminent death. We will hunt down the backpack, and you will not touch the notes again. Are we clear?

Misty seemed to shrink with every word. "Yeah. Can we go? I want to have some practice time."

I didn’t mention the fact that I would be missing dance class as I slung my messenger bag over one shoulder. No one at school knew that I was a dancer—and I didn’t want that to change now. I like having parts of my life separate, to avoid the pointing and laughing.

I clamped my hand on her wrist, to keep her from sidetracking on me as we went past her fellow cheerleaders, and made her walk to the McGinty house. Where there was no backpack to be found.

You’re sure it was here?

Misty flipped her hair back, a sure sign she was irritated. I was just here. This morning. She spoke slowly, like I was an idiot, and pointed across the street. My gym is right there. The same gym I go to three times a week. Good enough?

I pushed hair off my face, limp strands sticking to my skin. Walking here may have been punishment for her, but it didn’t do me any favors. The humidity coming off the ocean two blocks away made me long for air conditioning. Welcome to October in Southern California.

I’m going to check in the yard, I said. Maybe some kid threw it over the fence.

You’re not—you’re going inside?

It’s just a house, Misty.

She moved closer to the street, rubbing her arms. The McGinty house was the cliché that every neighborhood seemed to have—an overgrown, abandoned house that was, of course, haunted. I’m far too practical to believe that random spirits hang out in a dirty old house, waiting for some kid sneaking in on a dare.

I handed her my messenger bag. Try not to lose this one. I’ll be right back.

She took it. "Alex—I don’t think you should—ˮ

I’ll be fine. Stay here.

I opened the rusted wrought iron gate, which naturally squeaked. Inside, the wide lawn was overgrown with some kind of vine, spreading across patches of dry, dead grass, the mess covered by the first drop of fall leaves, and piles of trash. The sidewalk was cracked, and buckling under the pressure of the tree roots demanding more room.

I scanned the side of the yard closest to me, looking for a backpack-shaped object among the trash, leaves and vines. Nothing.

Pushing down pointless anger, I kept looking, forced to move deeper into the yard. Closer to the house, the trash piles got bigger, denser. With a sigh, I pushed up the sleeves of my hoodie and resigned myself to getting dirty.

Ten minutes later, all I had for my efforts were filthy hands and a nasty gash on my left forearm from a rusted can. Terrific. Tetanus shot time for me. I had a handkerchief in my messenger bag, and it was time to give up on the backpack, and my months of work.

I could cobble the notes together again from the research on my computer. Unfortunately, most of them had been handwritten during study period, when we aren’t allowed near the library computers.

Please, don’t get me started.

I know—I should have scanned them in, made a backup copy. I just didn’t expect anyone else to be touching them. Backups were number one on my new to do list.

With a sigh, defeated, I started to turn toward the street—and I spotted it, a green bulk in the shadows of the porch.

Yes. Forgetting the blood, and the filth coating my fingers, I moved to the steps. They looked—decrepit, but I wanted what was inside the backpack enough to risk it. Besides, the heavy leather of my motorcycle boots would protect me if I went through.

I tested the first step. The wood screeched under my weight, but it held, so I took a chance. The screech became a squeal. I held my breath, ready to jump at the first crack. The squeal subsided to a grumbling moan. Encouraged, I moved to the second step. It got me close enough to reach for the strap.

That was when I heard the growl.

A feral dog—no surprise, since the house had been abandoned for years. I was already headed for a tetanus shot; I didn’t want stitches on top of it.

Slowly, I straightened, feeling for the edge of the step. The growl escalated, turned into a vicious snarl. That snarl came from the half open front door, and somewhere above my shoulder.

Whatever crouched in the shadows was huge.

Heart pounding so hard I felt it in my throat, I clutched the splintered rail, felt blood slide down my hand, drip on the step. Great. If the dog was hungry, the smell of blood would just make it a nastier opponent.

I braced myself, my muscles tense, ready to spring. When I moved, it would have to be fast. And probably not fast enough. But standing here was a guaranteed lose-lose. At least if I ran I’d have a chance.

I took in a shaky breath, bent my knees—and froze at the sound of footsteps behind me.

Did you find it? Oh, there it is. Misty bounded up the stairs, barely making them squeak. How did she do that? Being ten inches taller than my barely over five feet, she had to weigh more than me. I’ll get it and we can—

Misty, no—

I shoved her on to the porch just as the snarling shadow bolted through the doorway, leaping over the stairs. Misty’s scream snapped me out of my panic.

With the rabid animal outside, I took our only option: I dragged her inside and slammed the door behind us. The warped wood caught on the threshold, leaving a wide gap.

We both backed away as a huge snout pushed through that gap. Misty screamed again. I clapped one hand over her mouth and pulled her further into the dark house, hoping to find a back door, a broken-out window—some kind of exit. Hell, I was ready to kick out a wall if necessary.

Keep quiet. I stood on tiptoe and whispered against her ear, waited for her to nod. I’m going to try and find another way out. I glanced down at her feet, and the three-inch heels she wore. Take off your shoes.

She stared at me, her eyes dilated. She was terrified, but she nodded, slipping them off. To my surprise she set them on the floor. She was leaving them behind.

We moved into what looked like a formal dining room, and the front door slammed open. Misty jumped, but kept quiet, her gaze on me. I closed the door, noticed the blood trail I left behind me. We didn’t have much time.

My gaze skated around the room, spotted the far window. It had been completely blown out, and was big enough to climb through with minimal damage.

I motioned for Misty to go first, keeping myself between her and the door. Whatever stalked us had my scent, and the convenient spatter of my blood to lead it straight to us.

Misty reached the window, and the way was still clear. I let out my breath, smiled at her.

The tap of claws on wood warned me a second before the creature exploded through the door.

I backpedaled, running into Misty. She let out a shriek and dropped to the floor. I swallowed, watching the creature stalk across the dining room.

It looked like a mutant wolf—until it stood up on its hind legs, extended claws as long as my hand, and smirked at me. Yes, smirked. Seven feet of snarling, smirking black fur, with teeth that could rip my arm off without any effort.

I crowded Misty against the wall, her whimpers almost as loud as the constant growling of the mouth-breathing monster.

Panicked, I searched the floor around us for a weapon, any weapon, doing a mental head slap when I remembered my Swiss army knife in my back pocket. I froze mid reach when the creature stepped closer.

It stank, like sweaty dog, with an odd, coppery stench that I finally recognized as blood. Horror coiled around the panic, and I pushed Misty along the wall, until we conveniently trapped ourselves in the corner.

The creature turned its head, following our retreat. I swore that smirk turned into a grin. A nasty grin. It was toying with us, playing with its food. I was insulted, and relieved. The game gave me more time to figure a way out of this alive.

I reached behind me to find Misty, and my fingers hit up against something metal. It pressed into my palm, and I realized Misty was handing it to me. I closed my fingers around it, recognizing the shape.

A curved iron leg, like the kind off an old woodstove. We had one in our family room, complete with lion’s paw feet. If nothing else, I could surprise the creature, maybe give us enough time to get out the window. It was better defense than the three-inch blade in my knife.

I felt Misty ease up behind me. Good—she was getting ready. Now it was my turn.

Stepping forward, I pressed the makeshift weapon against my leg.

Hey. The creature tilted its head, dark, red rimmed eyes studying me. I’m guessing its food didn’t talk back all that often. I’ve got something for you.

Before I could rethink my stupid move I swung the iron leg like a bat.

It slammed into the left front leg—and the creature let out a howling scream that threatened to burst my eardrums.

I didn’t wait around to see the results. Grabbing Misty, I bolted to the window and shoved her out headfirst, following so fast I landed on top of her. We untangled limbs, and I hauled her upright, ignoring the burn from my gash.

My dash for freedom was brought to an abrupt halt by her pained gasp.

My hair is caught, she whispered. Tears slipped down her face. I’m sorry.

I followed the line of her sleek blonde hair, pulling my knife out of my pocket. It was caught, all right. In the jagged corner of the windowsill.

Hold still. I set the iron leg still in my hand on the ground. How I managed to hold on to it was a discussion for another time. When I could breathe without terror squeezing my lungs. I tugged at her hair. It didn’t budge.

I took a closer look, aware that the creature could burst through the window at any second. Long strands were tangled around the wood, wedged between the sill and the wall.

I caught her hand, pulled her closer. I’ll try to get it free.

She shook her head, glancing at my knife. Just cut it. Hurry.

I snapped the blade out and sawed at her hair, flinching every time she whimpered. After the last strands were cut, I picked up the iron leg, and moved away from the window, checking our escape options.

We were at the back of the house, trapped by an eight foot version of the spike tipped wrought iron fence. McGinty must have been one paranoid man. And we weren’t getting out that way.

Before I could stop her, Misty disappeared around the corner. The creature didn’t follow us out the window, like I expected, so it could be anywhere—and that included waiting for us to run out front and straight into its sharp claws.

Misty! I tried not to shout her name, but I needed her to hear me. I skidded around the corner and ran right into her. She clutched my injured arm; the pain almost buckled my knees. God—

Sorry. She snatched her hand away, and saw the blood-smeared gash. Oh, Alex, she whispered. That thing didn’t—

Rusty can. I caught my breath, cradled my throbbing arm. Leaning in, I kept my voice as low as possible. The creature probably had the keen hearing of a wolf, and had already pinpointed our position. I’m going to go first. If I tell you to run, you run. No hesitation, no looking back.

What about you? Her concern left me feeling—odd. No one at school ever... Never mind.

I’ll be right behind you. Promise, I said, when she gave me the skeptical eye. Are you okay to run?

We both looked down at her feet, at the bloody footprints in the dirt. Glass littered the ground, and she had obviously found her share of it.

I’m good. The pain’ll come after, I’m sure. She tried a smile, failed miserably. I appreciated the effort. Miss Prom Queen kept surprising me. Don’t play the martyred hero. I really, really don’t want to do the project on my own.

Before today, I didn’t want to do the project with her at all. Now I wanted to live through this, just to see what kind of awesome we could create. And I don’t use that word often—especially with anything relating to school.

Just for you. I hefted the iron leg, my muscles already burning from the weight. Ready? Misty let out her breath, nodded. Wait for my signal, then run like the chess club is after you.

That got the smile out. The chess club adored Misty, and let her know, in all sorts of creepy, stalkerish ways. Meet you at the bus stop, she whispered. Seriously. You better show.

Got it. I inched along the side of the house, Misty close behind, but out of swinging range. I had seriously underestimated her brain capacity. The stench of wet dog hit me before we reached the corner. I touched Misty’s wrist. When I say go, you hit it. Hard and fast.

She bit her lip, but nodded. I kept moving forward, both hands on the iron leg. This time I was aiming for that smirking snout. I needed to do enough damage to give me time to reach the sidewalk. That was my get-out-alive goal.

I just hoped I had enough left to cause the damage.

My arm had been bleeding steadily since I cut it, with no time to do anything but pretend it didn’t hurt like hell. Closing my stronger right hand over my left, I moved forward, taking slow, even breaths.

Claws scraped across cement. It was on the walkway—I hoped—leading up to the house. Please, God, don’t let it be on the sidewalk outside the fence.

I took a chance, peeked around the side of the house. And let relief loosen the knot in my gut. The creature sniffed along the middle of the cracked walkway, its back to me. I knew I wouldn’t get another break like this.

Shouting in my head, I ran forward, raised the heavy iron leg and bashed it against the creature’s right flank.

Go, Misty!

I saw her in my peripheral vision, dashing across the lawn. I scrambled backward, keeping the furious, snarling creature in my sightline.

Without warning it leapt forward. I cried out, ramming into the fence left side first. My injured arm bounced off the wrought iron. The pain shot through me, going straight to my legs, which happily gave in to it, dropping me to the ground.

All my pain-blurred vision saw was a black shape filling the sky. I covered my head with my right arm, made myself as small as possible and braced for tearing agony.

Instead, a startled whine nearly deafened me. Something wet and icy splashed over my right arm, followed by a pair of calloused hands that dragged me up and out of the yard before I could take in a breath to scream.

Alex! Misty’s voice pierced through the brain fog. God, are you okay? Get her away from the fence, Sam. That nightmare could still reach through and—

He won’t be hurting anyone, Misty. Oh, no. Please, let me be hearing things. You’re safe, Alex. I promise you.

No—not hearing things. That deep, quiet voice belonged to Sam Emmett—yeah, those Emmetts, as in Emmettsville. I’ve had a secret crush on him since the first grade. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s noticed me. After today, I’ll have to start using both hands—to hide my face every time he walks by.

Alex? Misty’s soft fingers pushed the sweaty, blood tacky hair off my face. You’re really scaring me here. Look at me, talk to me, tell me I’m an idiot.

A snort of laughter escaped me at the last comment. I couldn’t help myself; who knew Misty was actually funny? After a quick pep talk, I raised my head, and stared into the clear grey-blue eyes that had haunted me for ten years. Hey, Sam.

Are you all right? I made an attempt at a smile. It felt ghastly. Sam actually looked concerned, crouched over me, his wide shoulders blocking my view of the house—

Panic had me trying to stand. Where is it? We have to—

He can’t hurt you. Sam closed both hands over my shoulders. I don’t think—nope, he’s never touched me like this before. I didn’t know if my heart could take the added stress. Alex. One hand cupped my chin, and I didn’t have any choice. I had to look at the gorgeous face. Up close, in touching distance. God, I might need a medic. What did you see?

Are you kidding me? Misty’s screech threatened to blow out my eardrums. She saw what I saw—a giant, hairy thing with teeth as big as my arm!

Sam ignored her—he ignored the most knock out beautiful girl in school!—and kept his gaze on me, waiting. I swallowed, horribly aware of the blood staining my green hoodie, my faded jeans, my hair, and probably every inch of exposed skin. I felt sticky, disgusting, and about as attractive as a corpse on a hot day.

Alex. His fingers cradled my chin, the skin rough but warm, and so gentle his care tightened my throat. Please, don’t let me cry. Do not let me cry. Tell me what you saw.

You said he. It just clicked. Sam was talking about the creature. The wolf-thing—you know. I stared at him, not able to say the words.

You know what he is.

Sam nodded, once, and let me go. When he stood I finally saw what he used to get the hairy nightmare to back off.

A silver walking stick.

Liquid slid down the intricate, carved length, the same shiny, slick silver as the stick. I looked at my arm. Dots of silver marked my hoodie, my skin. It wasn’t mercury, because according to some of the odder websites I’ve come across while trolling late at night, mercury didn’t work against werewolves...

Oh, sweet God in Heaven. The truth my mind kept grabbing on to every time I looked at the creature slapped at me, ugly and all too real.

Those grey-blue eyes studied my face, watched every emotion flash over it. I’d make a lousy poker player.

He’s not what you think. Sam’s quiet voice cut into my thoughts. And I’m sorry for what happened.

He helped me stand, one arm around my waist. If I weren’t so disgusting and already more than a little loopy from the pain, I would have been in crush heaven. Instead, I simply leaned against him, staring at the backpack in Misty’s hands, then at the now empty front yard.

It hadn’t been a dream, or a hallucination. I had the wounds to prove that. Just what the hell attacked us, and what Sam was protecting—those were questions he’d answer. Even if it took every last nerve I had to confront him.

Two

They both escorted me home, Misty chattering like the airhead I always pegged her as. Now I knew better. She kept glancing over the front passenger seat at me, like I’d die between one sentence and the next.

How did she manage to look movie star tousled after that, even with a couple of inches chopped off her hair, when I ended up as appealing as a zombie extra?

Alex. Sam’s quiet voice jerked me out of my thoughts. We’re in your neighborhood. Which house is yours?

Take the first left, then the first two rights. It’s the big yellow and white Victorian on the left.

Misty stared at the mix of Victorians, Craftsman style cottages, and bungalows. I didn’t know you lived in the historic part of town. This is so cool.

My mom inherited the house from her grandmother. She’s been renovating it ever since.

Impressive, Sam said.

Did they really care about where I lived? Sam lived in a mansion outside of town, for heaven’s sake. And Misty’s dad had a custom house built at the edge of their own private beach.

I snuck a look at Sam. He drove, calm and quiet, studying the houses with Misty. The only thing giving him away was his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. I didn’t know how I was going to pry the truth out of him, when it took all my courage to look him in the eye when I passed him in the hall at school.

Yeah, I know—I had just attacked some seven foot hairy monster. I wasn’t secretly in love with the monster.

Letting out a sigh, I closed my eyes, and leaned my head against the seat. Sam had taken the time before we left to tear up his t-shirt, wrap part of it around my forearm, stripping it off without even a hint of warning.

If I hadn’t already been distracted and in pain I’m certain I would have passed out. Instead I got a long, up close look at lean, sculpted muscle, lightly tanned skin—and odd, narrow scars running over his left shoulder. Old, faded scars. Like claw marks.

I added them to my list of questions. It kept getting longer.

Now he wore a well-used, torn Emmettsville High sweatshirt, rescued from the floor of his SUV. Yeah, even the school was named after them. Half the town, since his ancestor had claimed the piece of land as his own little kingdom, and decided that he needed subjects to be king. Ready built businesses and homes had been his bribes—owned by him, of course.

Most of it was still owned by the current Emmetts. For being the multi-great grandson of a megalomaniac, Sam was pretty well-adjusted.

Here we are! Misty’s too chirpy voice yanked me back to the moment. Home at last.

I let out a relieved sigh as we pulled into the long driveway running along the side of my house. Mom wasn’t home yet.

You can just drop me off—

Not on your life. Misty pushed at Sam when he didn’t say anything. Tell her we’re not leaving her, bleeding and traumatized, on her front doorstep.

Sam glanced at me in the rearview mirror. What she said.

Wow—I felt all warm and fuzzy inside. It’s okay. I’ve done worse to myself. I started to open the door. Sam beat me to it, moving faster than I expected.

Give me your hand, Alex. He eased me out of the SUV, while Misty ran ahead with my keys to open the front door, my messenger bag and the backpack slung over her shoulder. Her feet only had a few shallow cuts; she’d already shed the makeshift bandages from the rest of Sam’s t-shirt.

I tried to talk them out of bringing me inside. I didn’t want them to witness my meltdown when what I’d done finally hit me. Plus I wanted to clean up before Mom got home, to avoid her meltdown if she saw so much as a scratch. I could hide everything with a shower and one of my hoodies. I think.

Sam’s arm slipped around my waist, again. This time I was aware enough to feel the tingle, to feel the blush spread over my cheeks. Hell.

He glanced down at me, and smiled. Don’t be afraid to lean against me. I think I can handle it.

Did I mention he was tall? Yeah, about a foot taller than stumpy me, so it felt like he was wrapped around me as he led me up the sidewalk.

I took him up on his offer and leaned into his support, moving slowly, savoring every second. I knew it would be the only time I ever got this close to him, and I wanted to remember every sound, every scent, every touch, so I could relive it in private. After he started ignoring me again.

Bruises and scrapes started complaining as we climbed the steps to the porch. By the time Sam and Misty got me to my bedroom upstairs, my body was in full on rebellion.

Help her into the shower, Sam said. And stay with her, Misty. She’s lost too much blood to be left alone.

Where are you going?

He paused in the doorway. To get something for that cut. I’ll meet you downstairs.

And he was gone. If I hadn’t been so shell shocked, my mind would be screaming Sam Emmett was in my BEDROOM! But it came out as a whisper, and would soon be a long, detailed entry in my journal.

Okay, hero. Misty dropped the messenger bag and backpack next to my desk, led me to the bathroom attached to my room. Yep—being an only child does have its perks. Let’s get you undressed, see what the damage is.

That’s all right. I tried to pull away from her. My body refused to obey. To my horror, it did the opposite—all but falling against her as my feet tangled themselves around each other. Huh. I didn’t know they could screw up so badly. I’m actually quite graceful, thanks to ten years of dance classes and a low center of gravity. Being short does have some advantages. Sorry, I mumbled, clutching at her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

It’s called shock, girl. Misty’s voice was brisk, but the look she gave me was kind. And grateful. How am I supposed to handle grateful from the most popular girl in school? She’s barely had more than two words for me since kindergarten, until three days ago. And I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Sam Emmett had been in my bedroom. No wonder my head was spinning. Add in blood loss and that—monster. She shuddered, and I saw that under the smear of dirt, and now my blood, she was pale. I’m surprised you’re still upright.

I knew I wouldn’t be for much longer. Shock was setting in, and my body wanted the oblivion of sleep. That shock kept me from red-faced embarrassment when she helped me strip, carefully pulled the makeshift bandage off my arm, and guided me into the shower stall, closing the door for me.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m far from ashamed of my body, but next to her perky, curvy figure, I felt like a boy.

The brief shower was an exercise in pain. I had bruises everywhere, and more than a few scrapes I didn’t notice until the water hit them. I used the tiled wall as a support for my injured arm, to keep it out of the spray. It hurt enough.

Once the water ran clear, I turned the shower off, and grabbed one of the towels hanging over the top of the stall to dry my hair. I wanted to pull it back, but with only one working arm that wasn’t going to happen, so I let it drip down my back. I was not going to wear a towel on my head in front of Sam Emmett.

I spotted the cleaning rag from under the sink on top of the second towel, and reminded myself to thank Misty for snooping. This time it was called for.

Carefully, flinching from just the weight of it, I wrapped the soft cloth around my arm, hissing when it touched the still bleeding gash.

I took the second towel, and carefully dabbed at my skin, flinching every time I hit a raw spot. Giving up, I wrapped it around me and pushed the shower door open.

Here you go—nice and cuddly warm. Misty stood in the bathroom, holding up a fuchsia robe I never wore. I mean—it was pink. I don’t do pink. Ever. It was a gift from my favorite Aunt Agnes, which was the only reason it was actually in my closet at all. Arm out.

Misty. She looked at me, smiling. I hurt my arm, not my brain.

She let out an impatient breath. I know that. I’m just trying to distract you.

That robe did the job. I don’t really ever wear—

"Are you kidding me? This is adorable."

Before I could protest any more, she had my good arm in the sleeve. Resigned to looking like an idiot in front of Sam yet again, I clenched my jaw as she eased my injured arm into the wide sleeve, and gave me the privacy I needed to drop my towel and close the robe. She tied the lace trimmed belt. Lace. Really.

I managed to not roll my eyes as she practically drooled over the girly detailing, and helped me down the stairs. I felt better after the shower, but I wasn’t sure I could climb them again. I knew I didn’t dare try it on my own.

My heart flip-flopped when I saw Sam waiting for us in the living room. Sunlight filtered through the window, highlighting his shoulder length, sun streaked blonde hair—and a thin, pale scar on the left side of his jaw I never noticed before. Me—who studied every school photo I had of him for hours on end. How could I not have seen it before?

He distracted me by taking my good arm and lowering me to the sofa. I blinked when he pulled out a medical kit—no, a suture kit. I recognized it from the trip I took to the emergency room after I spun out on my mountain bike. The gash on my right knee took sixteen stitches, and the doctor used a kit exactly like the one Sam held.

He shrugged when he saw my raised eyebrows, opened the kit. My uncle’s a doctor, and I like to be prepared.

Prepared—in case a monster attacks someone he knows? Yeah—that list just keeps getting longer.

He sat on the slipper chair he’d pulled closer to the sofa, took out the instruments, and set them in a bowl of steaming water on the coffee table. Carefully—and with the ease that screamed experience—he peeled the cloth off my wound. I sucked in my breath, used all my control to keep from snatching my arm away. It felt like he was peeling off a layer of skin.

After setting the cloth on the coffee table, he rested my left forearm on a dish towel he laid over the arm of the sofa. Just as carefully, he cleaned the wound, using the sterile pads and antiseptic wash he must have found in my mom’s extensive medical stash. Hey—you have an active tomboy, you collect supplies.

Take these. Sam handed me three white pills. I recognized them—I’ve taken my share of pain pills, between dance class and my mountain bike adventures. He gave me a bottle of water, took it back after I swallowed them. I don’t have any way to numb your arm, Alex, so I’m afraid this is going to hurt. I nodded, prayed I wouldn’t do something embarrassing, like pass out. Misty, could you hold her still for me?

She sat next to me and held on to my good hand. I tensed, not entirely comfortable with all the attention. Never mind the touching. Don’t get me wrong—I’ve had dance partners who grabbed me in every conceivable spot, so I’m no stranger to groping.

But this was—uncomfortable, and exciting, and uncomfortable. Tingles radiated out from the contact point to every inch of my bruised and tired body.

Relax for me. That will make it easier on all of us. Sam did a good job of distracting me as he started to suture the gash. I heard you outprogrammed Mr. Deeter in class last week.

I blinked at him. You—heard about that?

He knew I existed last week? Oh, God. What was I wearing? Was that the week I tripped down the stairs because I was too busy watching him walk across the quad?

Are you kidding? He smiled, his gaze on my arm. Matt Kinski told me Mr. Deeter had a fit when you fixed the coding glitch.

It was more of a tantrum.

Sam laughed, the sound of it warm and deep, and—hell, I had to stop that thought train. He felt responsible for whatever happened, and was fixing it. The End.

I jerked when he got closer to the deepest part of the wound.

Sam paused. I’m sorry, Alex, I know it hurts.

Just—finish it.

He nodded, and kept going. Misty draped her arm over my shoulders, and I gripped her hand, tight. She didn’t make a sound, even though I knew it must have hurt.

Finally, he did the last suture and leaned back, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. I saw his fingers shaking, and realized he was nervous.

Now that the deed was done, my distraction was gone, and my mind began its wild speculations again. What was he doing at the McGinty house? It had been no coincidence that he showed up in time to keep Misty and me from becoming an afternoon snack. And how did an eighteen-year-old learn how to suture like a pro?

Yeah, eighteen. I like older men. I am a junior—okay, the youngest junior at Emmettsville High. So I skipped a grade, or three. Stop judging me.

Sam wrapped a bandage around my forearm, and taped it off. The tingles were less—tingly. I was getting used to him touching me. How would I face tomorrow, knowing it wouldn’t happen again?

His quiet voice pulled me out of my pity party. How does that feel?

Better. I stared at his hand, afraid every emotion racing around my heart would show on my face. Thanks.

Anytime. If only he meant that. Ready to go upstairs?

Yeah. I do happen to be a sparkling conversationalist. Just not around Sam.

Up you go, Misty said. She helped me stand—and my legs decided it was nap time. Whoa—

Sam caught me—and my heart stopped when he picked me up in his arms. I thought it would pound right out of my chest and smack him in the face when he carried me upstairs, settled me carefully on my bed.

Get some sleep, Alex. We’ll wait for your mom.

No—what— I tried to sit up. It didn’t take much effort for him to stop me. Why—

We’ll tell her you had an accident just after school. I’ll make sure she understands you’re okay.

I nodded. Mom would go into full nurse mode no matter what they told her. As long as I kept her from seeing the stitches, and the bruises, and the scrapes, I think I could keep the fussing to a minimum. The disadvantage of being an only child.

Hell, I’d be wearing long sleeves for weeks. Thank heaven for my hoodies. And the fact that fall was here. I never could have pulled this off during summer vacation.

Sam straightened, checking my bandage one last time. The pain killers he gave me must have kicked in, because I opened my mouth and my self-preservation filter failed.

How did you get the scars on your shoulder?

He stilled. What looked like panic flashed in his grey-blue eyes—it disappeared before I could be sure.

Old injury. I’ll tell you the story, when you’re not drugged and looking like a sea nymph—

He cut himself off. This time I didn’t mistake the shock.

A sea nymph? I knew what it was—my brain just wasn’t functioning at the moment.

A beautiful creature that lures men to their death—shit. He backed away from the bed. How do you do that? I’ve never told anyone... I have to get out of here.

He turned around—and halted when he saw Misty in the doorway, her blue eyes wide.

Hey, she said. Her gaze skated back and forth, and I saw the beginning of juicy gossip forming in her mind. Crap. Your mom’s pulling in the driveway, Alex. Thought I’d give you a heads up. She raised her eyebrows as she looked at Sam.

Right, he said. He walked past her, his shoulders stiff. I figured that was the last word I’d hear from him. Ever. But he turned around, staring at the wall behind me. This never happened, Alex. Tell anyone anything and I will deny it. That includes you, Misty. Nothing happened. He finally met my eyes, and the pain in his usually clear eyes stunned me. And it won’t happen again. I promise you.

He walked out before I could answer.

~ ~ ~

Mom treated me like I was a soldier coming back from the war—which in a way, I was.

She insisted on examining every inch of me, cursing over each tiny and not so tiny injury. The cover story that I flipped over my bike explained away my injuries. I was just glad I’d left my bike at school, because it would have revealed the lie, being as pristine as the day I bought it a year ago with my hard-earned savings, as a replacement for the mountain bike I pretty much destroyed.

And where is your bike, Margaret? I managed not to flinch at my given name. It was a warning; Mom wasn’t completely convinced. You didn’t leave it at school? Even damaged, such an expensive bike would be a temptation.

My friends took it to the shop for me. I look worse than my bike—it just got a few scratches. I tried on a smile. It’ll look good as new tomorrow. Yeah—laying another lie on top of the massive one I’d already told. Might as well go for the gold.

I’m afraid you won’t be as lucky. Mom let out a sigh, sat back in the chair she’d dragged next to my bed. If you need to stay home tomorrow, I can call school for you. She brushed damp hair off my forehead. I want you to promise me, sweetheart, that you will be extra vigilant from now on. My poor heart can’t take another shock like this.

From Margaret to sweetheart in less than a minute. A good sign—she wasn’t mad at me. Being a tomboy with a girly mom, we share, I’ll just say, a different view of approaching pretty much everything. It makes for an interesting life. At least from my side. Mom just clutches her chest if it’s beyond her understanding.

Really—I’m a tomboy, not a boy. Just because I like motorcycle boots more than heels doesn’t make me... sorry. Anyway, I skated through what could have been a long and unpleasant conversation.

One parent hoodwinked. Check. Second parent would be taken care of by parent one. Check.

Next on my list: prying the truth out of Sam.

Which meant I would have to talk to him again. Yeah. My tongue already started to tie itself into a knot at just the idea.

Three

The next day at school was so normal it was—abnormal.

Life went on like I’d never seen a hairy, razor-clawed, seven foot—yes, I’ll say it here—monster.

Misty bopped around like nothing had happened. She didn’t even have a visible scratch to show for her part in the adventure/trauma. Though she did move slower than her normal bounce, and had her glorious hair in a bun, to hide the ragged hunk I had to hack off to free her from the windowsill. Probably not enough time to make an appointment with her stylist.

And Sam? He was AWOL. Which left me out in the cold, needing answers, and—swear you won’t repeat this—I needed to see him. Needed to know yesterday had not been a dream, or a hallucination.

So I floated through the day, high on ibuprofen, the stitches in my arm itching like a bad rash.

And I almost dropped my bike, scraping it up for real, when I saw him parked on the street outside school, leaning against his SUV. He pushed off as soon as he saw me. I swallowed, my heart doing a fast rhumba in my chest. Dancer, remember?

How are you, Alex? You look better. He sounded eager to please, and that put my BS meter on high alert. Can I give you a ride home? We can just throw your bike in—

Why did you ditch school?

That threw him—enough that he took more than a few seconds to answer. Family business. He ran one hand through his hair, stared at the ground. Can we talk?

On one condition. He hunched his shoulders, like he already knew the condition I was about to dump on him. You tell me the truth.

With a sigh, he looked up, met my eyes. The remorse in his almost hid his despair. I can’t. I’m sorry, Alex—for everything. But there are some things I can’t talk about. I made a promise.

Can you at least tell me what happened yesterday? And how I can avoid it in the future?

To my surprise, he laughed. Yeah—some of it. I’d have to be happy with some. Any information was better than the scenarios that has been running through my head. The curse of an overactive imagination. Come on, he said, moving to the back of the SUV. I’ll stash your bike. We need to go somewhere private. Where we can’t possibly be overheard.

My heart switched from rhumba to a fast and furious tap number. Alone, with Sam. Again. I hoped my brain would keep functioning enough to hold a coherent conversation.

Okay, I mumbled.

Oh, yeah. Fantastic start.

~ ~ ~

Sam drove us to the park on the edge of town.

The park where seniors go to make out every weekend.

I tried not to think about that—a little easier, since it was broad daylight, and I was not in a making out mood. Yeah, you’d think I would be, with the stunning Sam Emmett sitting next to me, all muscular and smelling like grass. I love that smell, clean and fresh, and it’s always been associated with him. I’ve spent a lot of time face down in grass.

So not a substitute for the real thing.

He pulled up behind one of the huge oaks, so the SUV sat in the shade, and out of sight of the access road. I forced myself to hold his gaze when he looked at me.

I want to tell you again how sorry I am for yesterday. It was my fault—Jake was my responsibility, and I let him get away from me.

Jake... The light bulb went on. Wait—your cousin Jake? The one who got shipped off to the— I managed to stop myself before I blurted out insane asylum. But I might as well have shouted it; Sam’s reaction probably would have been the same.

He stared at the steering wheel, both hands clenched so tight his knuckles threatened to pop out of his skin. You can say it. Everyone does. There was a reason for the—cover story. He finally looked back at me, all the color gone from his face. Jake is—oh, hell. Jake is the one who attacked you yesterday.

He said it in a rush. Part of me completely expected it—that didn’t mean I wasn’t shocked. Or that I actually believed him.

So, let me get this straight. Yes, add in the sarcastic tone. I certainly did. Your cousin, who has been in the nuthouse for ten years, was the seven foot hairy nightmare that attacked me yesterday. What kind of pills are they feeding him?

Sam rubbed his face with one hand, the other still hanging on to the steering wheel. Like a lifeline. He never went to the nuthouse, as you so graciously termed it. I flinched, deserving the sarcasm in his voice. He was attacked ten years ago, in broad daylight, just like you. Only he was bitten, and clawed to pieces—so badly we thought we’d lose him. Instead, he... Sam swallowed, kept looking at me. Changed. Sweat slipped down his face. It only happens when he loses his temper, or when he feels threatened in some way. And on the anniversary of his attack. Which was yesterday.

I jumped out of the car before I could make a smart-ass comment. My left arm throbbed, competing with the constant itch for my attention. Cradling it, I headed for the path leading through the tiny forest and back to town.

Alex! Sam caught up with me before I reached the trees. Please—you have to believe me.

Why? I turned on him, angry and terrified fighting to be on top. Because I saw something in the McGinty house? Because I was attacked by what was probably a big, feral dog? Who could stand upright and track like a hunter. Keep on believing the lie, Alex.

You saw him. You know better. Sam refused to let me avoid. Gripping my upper arms, careful of my injury, he leaned in until I could see the pale gold flecks in his grey-blue eyes. You have to believe, Alex. Because there’s no going back from this.

What—what are you talking about? This whole conversation just took a turn I didn’t see coming—a scary, I-should-have-stayed-in-bed turn. All I did was run for my life—

You saw him. Sam let out a sigh. And I knew, in that moment, my life was about to change. That makes you a danger to my family.

"Whoa—wait a minute. ME? What about your hairy, seven foot cousin? I’m not going around trying to eat innocent people—"

"No—you just saw what was trying to eat innocent people."

And Misty? What are you going to do to her? Panic had my voice jumping into eardrum-bursting range. Or is she exempt, because she’s one of you?

He blinked. What?

One of the populars, one of the pretty people. Not a geek, like me. I jerked free, surprised he let me go.

Alex. That quiet voice left goose bumps on my skin. I kept staring at the ground, focusing on the scratches that marked my boots. I really needed to pull out the leather polish again— I always admired your geek side.

I wanted to clean out my ears, have him repeat that. Several times. So I could record it.

You—the beloved athlete. You...admire me? My voice went all squeaky at the end. Sam smiled, and my knees just wanted to go, right there. I locked them in place, to keep from making a complete fool of myself.

You’re the smartest girl in school. You kind of intimidate me, Alex.

Okay—I had to sit down after that revelation. My legs wouldn’t let me do anything else.

Sam knelt next to me. I clutched at the ground, because my world had just lost any sense of balance.

Alex? Are you all right?

Peachy, I whispered. My voice got stronger as indignation slowly overrode shock. It’s just awesome discovering that everything you believed about someone you— Loved, lusted after, worshipped— Someone you’d known most of your life was a big fat lie.

Sarcasm always was one of your strengths. He stood, and I fully expected him to just walk away, leave me here, weighted down with the truth. Instead, he held out his hand. Come on. I stared at it, then at him. A smile tugged at his lips. I won’t eat you. That’s Jake’s gig. A laugh escaped before I could prevent it, and the smile appeared. I’ll just stalk you until you believe me.

That would be a change. I’ve been stalking him for years. He just never noticed.

Fine. I took his hand, let him help me up. Actually, I needed the help. My muscles were complaining about yesterday’s antics. Loudly and with great feeling. But I’m not joining any cult, or drinking blood out of a dead baby skull.

Laughter burst out of him. Where did you get those?

Late night monster movie marathon. And my incredibly overactive imagination. Did I say my mom was wrong?

Once I knew I wouldn’t keel over, I pulled my hand out of his. Yes, I did. I must have been temporarily insane.

Alex—

I really have to get home. My parents are worried enough already.

I moved as I talked, faster with each step, until I was running. Sam paced me, not even breathing hard.

He caught my right arm just before I doubled over the cramp in my side. Man—those hurt. I don’t get them very often. It also told me I still had some recovery time in my future.

He waited until I straightened, then turned me to face him. I know this is a lot of information coming at you, most of it on the unbelievable scale. But I needed you to know, so you didn’t think you were crazy, or hallucinating. And I... I really needed to tell someone. Someone I could trust.

My heart started doing the rhumba. Sam trusted me. Me.

I took a deep breath, tried to sound normal, casual. Jake hasn’t been home long, has he?

Sam flinched when I asked. No.

And you were his babysitter yesterday. He nodded, refusing to look at me. Nice job.

His smile eased some of the guilt I felt for putting him through this. If I hadn’t been so pissy about getting the backpack—

Some other innocent sap would have been attacked. Maybe killed. At least I took that off his plate. It was full enough.

He was supposed to be drug—asleep.

My advice? Up the dosage.

This time he laughed, and the thrill I got from it left me tingly again. Crap. He studied me, the laughter, and then the smile fading. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.

What if I forget? Or at least pretend to? My heart started doing the rhumba again, but for a different reason. This doesn’t have to go any further—

My parents know. Sam studied me, those grey-blue eyes dark. I’m sorry, Alex. You have to come with me.

I—what? I started to back away, braced to run if I had to. There’s no need—

To talk. That’s all. They want to be sure you understand. That you won’t spread—rumors.

I jumped from scared to insulted.

How long have we known each other, Sam? I crossed my arms. A side benefit of not having close friends is you don’t get disappointed very often. Sam just dumped enough on me to cover the rest of high school. I’m not like them. And you damn well know it. I also don’t curse often. At least, not out loud.

My parents don’t. He ran one hand through his hair. Look—I already talked to Misty, which was good enough for them, because they know her family. But they don’t know you, and they want to be sure you get how serious this is. You’ll be home before dark. I promise.

I took that to mean I wouldn’t be sacrificed for the greater good. At least, not tonight. Who knew what they may have planned after this little talk.

Fine. I waited for him to move, and followed after. I didn’t want him at my back.

It hurt to even think, but I no longer trusted him. I stared at his left shoulder, almost seeing the long, narrow scars through his t-shirt. Part of me knew—though I wanted to deny it, repeatedly—that Sam hadn’t told me everything.

Cousin Jake wasn’t the only one who had been attacked that fateful day ten years ago.

Four

Sam’s parents waited for us on the huge front porch of the family mansion.

I was as nervous as a girl on her meet-the-parents date. Only this wasn’t a date, and this meet with the parents could very well end with me never being heard from again.

Mrs. Emmett moved forward, both hands held out. Alex, it is a pleasure to finally meet you! The overexpressed happiness made me want to run far far away. The grip Sam had on my good arm prevented that—like he knew I would seriously contemplate the idea. Mrs. Emmett completed the trap by holding on to both hands. Behind the smile, I saw fear. Please, come in. I have some nice hot tea waiting for you both.

Surprisingly, she let me go. Sam took over the feeling of being trapped by wrapping his arm around me, and all but carrying me inside, past Mr. Emmett—who did not look happy to see me, and didn’t even pretend otherwise.

That was the non-welcome I had expected. After all, I had just