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The Better to Bite(5)

By:Cynthia Eden


I nodded. “Trust me, if I see a wolf coming at me—” I’m hauling ass. “I’m out of there.”

He exhaled and some of the tension finally seemed to drain from his body. “Good. Wolves are vicious. They’ll turn on you in an instant.”

Just like people. We both knew just how deadly humans could be. After all, mom was barely cold in her grave.

Dad went inside and started cooking dinner. I stayed on the porch, and my gaze turned back to the dark wall of trees.

It might have been crazy, probably was, but I could have sworn as I looked…

Something looked back at me.

I could almost see the eyes, bright yellow, locked on me.

“Anna?”

I jumped and glanced over my shoulder.

My dad frowned at me. “You okay, baby?”

I nodded. What else was I going to do? I’d learned six months ago that there were some things my dad couldn’t fix, no matter how hard he tried.

So I turned away from those woods, I pushed aside the gnawing in my gut, and I went inside.

Whatever was out there…it could just wait.





Chapter Two


The first day of school. Is there a day more dreaded? Doubtful, for a teenager.

But here I was, getting dropped off in the sheriff’s car of all things. Right, way to score points as the new kid. But at least I wasn't starting in the middle of the year. This was Day One fun for everyone.

“Come by the station when you’re done,” my dad said, leaning toward me.

I nodded. After school care at the cop shop—what else did I know?

I turned away and my eyes swept over the school. Much, much smaller than my old school had been. Haven High looked like it had seen better days. Like, a lot of better days. A line of orangish-yellow school buses waited on the side, and students piled out of them. I knew the kids were bused in from a few close-by towns to attend the school.

“Anna…” I heard the sigh that was my name, and I glanced back. “Try to have fun this year, okay? Things can be different,” my dad said.

No, I’m different. But I didn’t say the words. What was the point? I threw him a smile. “Dad, I’m wearing my fun clothes, how could I not have a party?” I was half-serious. I’d actually dressed to impress. Semi-short skirt. Not too short cause I didn’t want my dad to freak, but short enough to show off the fact that I had pretty good legs. I wore a top to match my eyes—a few guys had talked about how pretty my eyes were, um, when my dad had let the guys in question get close enough to talk to me.

Over-protective much? Yeah, that was my dad. But with the things he’d seen, he had reason to be that way.

For a moment, my gaze locked on my reflection in the back seat window. My hair was twig free today and combed into the usual sleek style that I liked to wear—a straight shoulder length bob, parted on the far right side. I’d even gone so far as to put lipstick on today. And a little blush.

Jeez, I was trying. Couldn’t he see that?

“Don’t raise too much hell,” my dad said, pointing a finger at me.

Ah, right. I’d forgotten that part. A girl gets into a few scrapes at her old school and suddenly she’s a hell-raiser.

Maybe not so suddenly. “I can’t make any promises.”

I thought he laughed at that, but I was already turning away. School rule: You can only talk to your dad for so long—in the sheriff’s car—without getting weird looks.

I pushed back my shoulders, clutched the strap of my backpack a little too tightly and headed up the chipped stone steps. A bell rang just as I reached for the door. The warning bell. Five minutes until homeroom started.

I can do this. Everyone else did normal every day. I could manage it, too. At least for a few hours.

I found my locker instantly. Big surprise. I didn’t even look at the lock as I spun the combination. It was that whole not-lost thing again. I can’t get lost, and nothing can be lost from me. So there’s no forgetting a locker combination for me. I just spin and it feels right and bam—the lock snicks and opens.

My gaze darted down the hallway as I shoved some books inside the locker, lightening my bag. Voices rose and fell, laughter followed. Some girls in skirts way shorter than mine sauntered down the hallway. One glanced my way—a girl with curly blond hair—and her eyes narrowed a bit as she assessed me.

I tried a smile. She didn’t really smile back. But then, she didn’t glare at me, either.

Progress? Maybe.

A few jocks ran down the hallway then, pushing other kids out of their way. No, they weren’t wearing giant signs that said “Jock”—but they might as well have been. Big guys, too much I-own-the-world attitude, and they were already talking football. I barely controlled an eye roll. Again, me—not so athletic.