It was dark inside, the light of the moon filtering in through the wood framed glass walls. She was quiet for several seconds, listening for any sign that someone was around, but it appeared she was alone.
Laughter from outside the spa had her scrambling for a hiding spot. She ducked under a counter just as the door swung open.
“Ren! Just give me a second, okay? I forgot to lock up,” a female voice managed through a round of giggles.
“I don’t want to give you a second, Bethy.” The response was male and husky with desire.
Clara rolled her eyes. Damn it all. If she got stuck in here waiting for some stupid couple to finish making out, she was going to barf.
“Layna’s watching Rhys and every time I see you standing here in this place…” An odd sound erupted from his throat. Like a cat purring, but rougher. The soft sounds of kissing drifted to Clara’s ears. “This is where it all started,” he whispered. “I fucking love seeing you in here. I want you now. Like this. Against the counter.”
God, no. Please, no.
The woman moaned and Clara crossed her fingers that they weren’t about to get it on with her right there in the room.
“Renner…” The plea was followed by a yelp and more giggling.
Good god. Didn’t these lovebirds have a curfew?
A sharp whoosh indicated the door opening.
“Shit,” the man cursed. “Damn it, Eagan. Ever think about knocking.”
“On the spa?”
Clara froze. It was the man from the kitchen. The one with beautiful eyes. Stormy eyes. The one who’d been chopping the onions. The one who’d seen her.
“No. I can’t say it ever occurred to me.”
“Well, maybe it should occur to you next time.”
“Maybe next time, you should get a room.” There was a loud hiss and then Eagan laughed. “Just saying.”
“What are you doing in here?” the horny guy asked.
“Thought I heard something. Just thought I’d check.” He sounded disturbed, and Clara realized he’d probably thought the noise was her.
“Oh, no,” the woman murmured concerned. “Was it the thief again? Have things gone missing?”
Clara’s stomach cramped. The thief. They were talking about her.
Eagan with the stormy eyes hesitated. “Nah. No, I’m just keeping my ears open lately. You guys see anything?”
“No,” the woman said. “Nothing since the meeting last week. Magic said we should watch out, but everything seems normal around here.”
Clara couldn’t breathe. He’d lied. Why? Why hadn’t he given her up?
“Do you…” her boyfriend began, sounding confused. “Do you scent… doe?”
Shit. The hunting attractant was useful as long as she was in and out quick. But trapped in a room…
“Oh, uh… yeah,” Eagan laughed. “It’s this notebook.”
Notebook. Clara scrunched her face up. The shit just kept hitting the fan.
Please don’t let it be mine.
“It smells like a deer?” the woman asked, skeptically.
“Yeah. Weird, huh?”
The other man grunted. “What is it?”
“Something for the lost and found,” Eagan muttered. “You guys locking up or what?”
“Yep,” the woman said. “Let’s go.”
There was some rhythmic electronic beeping and then the door clicked shut and Clara could hear their fading conversation down the hall. She counted to ten, just to be sure they were gone. And then she rushed to shrug her bag from her shoulders.
Please, oh please…
But right away her fears were confirmed. The thin material of her backpack was gaping on the bottom right corner. She’d caught it on something. Or maybe it had ripped when the cook grabbed her.
“Damn it,” she breathed and then smacked her palm over her mouth. No talking. Not even a whisper. If there was a cat man around, she couldn’t chance that he’d hear her. And with the purring and talk of scenting… maybe they were all cat-men. And women. Maybe she’d stumbled onto a different realm. Like The Labyrinth or something.
Stop it. Stop thinking crazy. You aren’t crazy. Being alone doesn’t make you crazy.
Clara nodded to herself. She wasn’t crazy.
Digging in her backpack, she found one of her notebooks. But sure enough, the other was missing. A sinking feeling came over her and her hands shook as she peeled back the cover to see which one she’d lost.
Today was a good day…
No. No, no, no.
Tears pricked her eyes, threatening to overspill and run down her muddy cheeks.
This was her journal. This was the least important of the two books. She needed that other book. Without it… without it she couldn’t live with herself.