Молли Харпер - The Art of Seducing a Naked Werewolf

“Have you been watching soap operas again?” I demanded.

“It’s actually not that bad of a plan,” Cooper said. “And if he goes around telling everybody he saw you turn into a wolf, he’ll just get laughed at. It will discredit him. People will think he’s loony.”

My chest ached a little at the thought of Nick being mocked by locals. But I had to admit it wasn’t totally misguided, as plans went. It was far better than Samson’s idea for getting us out of trouble when we knocked over Mom’s china cabinet, which centered on faking a robbery by carnies. “There are four steps in your three-step plan,” I muttered.

Samson brightened, and tossed Nick over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Would you be careful with him?” I yelled.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to save your truck, Mags,” Cooper said, trying to distract me from fluttering around Nick’s unconscious form like an overwrought soccer mom.

I sighed, prying the tailgate open, knowing that my scent, mixed with Nick’s, was now billowing out of the truck full-force. My face flushed hot, and Cooper pretended to be fascinated by some moss on a nearby tree.

“I don’t think there’s a wrecker on earth that will be able to haul it out of here,” I said, grabbing my bag. I rescued the necessary paperwork from the glovebox and claimed a couple of CDs from the floorboards. I took my dad’s Saint Edmund medal from its honorary spot on the rearview mirror. The lot was stuffed in my emergency bag. I slid my still-damp boots onto my feet, as it seemed we would be walking home human. I stood at the edge of the ravine and stared at my former transportation. It felt as if I was losing my last connection to my dad.

“It’s OK, Maggie,” Cooper said, wrapping his arms around me. “I’ll get you an older, shittier truck when we get back to town.”

“Ass.” I coughed to cover the sniffle caught in my throat and punched his arm.

“Can we get going?” Samson demanded, shifting Nick’s weight. “I’ve got things to do.”

“No, you don’t,” I scoffed.

“We’ve got to get Samson a girlfriend,” Cooper said. “Speaking of which, what exactly happened between you and Dr. Girlie Face last night?”

“Nice attempt at a segue, but it’s none of your business.”

“But you’re, you know, being all careful with him. Being protective. You don’t do that.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a monster, Coop.”

“Maggie, you once left a date at the emergency room with appendicitis because you didn’t want to miss the previews for a Steven Seagal movie.” I glared at him. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s sort of nice to see this softer side of you. But, uh, Maggie, please understand, this is a conversation I never, ever wanted to have with you, but Samson was right. That guy’s scent is all over you, and vice versa. You two obviously got . . . pretty close last night. And it seems like we interrupted something when we showed up.”

“No comment.”

“Thank you,” he said, shuddering. “It’s just you’ve always said you were going to . . . you know, with another wolf. I just want to make sure you’re not rushing into anything. Of course, keep in mind that I don’t have a lot of room to throw stones here, since I pretty much leaped into a relationship with Mo without even thinking of looking. And you’re my baby sister, so I prefer not to think of you even doing that until you’re, oh, eighty or so. Or when I’m dead. Whichever comes first.”

“Cooper, stop.”

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“No, you’re right. You interrupted something. And it would have been a mistake. I realized that as soon as I snapped out of the haze I was in. I let my hormones and all that ‘we almost died’ adrenaline get the better of me.”

“He seems like an OK guy,” Cooper admitted. “I mean, I have to hate him a little bit, because it’s my brotherly duty. But as guys who want to nail my sister go, I guess you could do worse. Like Lee.”

“Nice.”

“So, are you going to see him again?”

I shook my head and chewed on my bottom lip. Nick was changing me, making me weak, distracting me. Making me irresponsible and putting me this close to making life-altering decisions on a whim and a whiff of pheromones. I hadn’t even thought about my family the night before. I didn’t worry about whether my mother was worried about me or if Pops’s heart-cath results had come back from Dr. Moder yet. All I could think about was Nick. That was unacceptable. I had people counting on me. People I loved and to whom I owed far more loyalty than some random guy I’d know a few weeks. I shrugged, trying to give Cooper my most convincing nonchalant sigh. “No. I’m done. This is over.”

CAMPED OUT IN the uncomfortable waiting-room chairs in the Grundy clinic, I stared at Nick’s face for most of the night. Dr. Patterson, who spent two days a week at the Grundy clinic, assured me that the “blow to the head”—Samson’s dumb-ass idea—probably didn’t do any long-term damage. The masochist in me wanted to take in as much of Nick as I could while I could, because what I was about to do would keep me away from him for the foreseeable future. I kept thinking of a passage in the final act of Romeo and Juliet, something about “Eyes, look your last!”

Devoting any thought to the words surprised me, since I’d loathed being forced to read about two spoiled, lovesick kids in high school. But I think I finally got why Romeo was so desperate and unbearably whiny while crouching over Juliet’s body, even if my own situation was far less emo. He was trying to savor what was no doubt a scary, extremely crappy moment, because he didn’t know what the future held.

“I don’t need deep thoughts right now,” I moaned, pressing my fingers to my temples.

“My head.” Nick whimpered, the paper underneath him crinkling as he squirmed on the clinic cot. “What happened?”

“I was driving us to your place, and I lost control of my truck.”

He blinked at me a few times and then gingerly nodded his head.

“We rolled into a ravine,” he said, moaning as I handed him a glass of water. I had Dr. Patterson’s number, but I held off on calling him back to the clinic just yet. Nick sipped the water and carefully tilted his head back to the pillow. “You OK?”

“I’m fine.” I nodded. “And you hit your head on the window.”

“No. You hit your head,” he said, squinting at me. “I had to keep you awake. Kissed you. And when I woke up, you’d changed. I woke up, and you were a wolf.”

“You must have hit your head pretty hard, huh?” I said, forcing myself to give him a sympathetic smile.

He blinked at me, frowning. “What?”

“You hit your head in the accident. You must have had some crazy dream.”

“It wasn’t a dream. You were there. We spent all night talking. And Cooper was there, eventually. And Samson.”

“And the Tin Man and the Scarecrow, too?” I asked, struggling to keep the wry smile on my face. This hurt. It hurt so much to make him feel crazy, stupid, anything less than the sweet, brilliant man who kept me awake to prevent my brain from leaking out my ears.

“Don’t try to play this off, Maggie. You’re a werewolf.”

I burst out laughing. “No, Mo’s the werewolf. Oh, wait, no, it’s me. I’m the werewolf. Or maybe it’s my mom or Great-aunt Tilda.” I sighed, fighting to keep my expression placid.

Of course, Great-aunt Tilda was one of the most intimidating specimens of geriatric wolfdom you could ever come across. But that was beside the point.

“Nick, this whole thing with werewolves has just gone too far. I humored you at first, because it was kind of quirky and charming, but it’s just weird now.”