Diary of a Bloodmarked Werewolf
Chapter 2: Mute
I lost Evan somewhere between Luka pissing off the sheriff and the rest of the group hurrying through grabbing their food, taking turns darting around like panicked little rabbits terrified of abandoning Ella guard duty for too long.
Except Luka.
He didn’t dart. He stormed. And I didn’t let him get away from me, gluing myself to his side, watching him for stray sparks of temper as I bought a pile of pastries and he got meat-wrapped meat on a stick.
Luka’s wolfy sneer probably traumatized the ten-year-old that blocked our path, and I slipped the meat-wrapped meat dude an extra tip for not bursting into tears at Luka’s low growl of, “No horseradish?” But I had enough confidence in Luka’s ability to not kill Jason just to watch Sheriff Fuck cry, I let my chance to fake a freakout and break up the evening early slide by and followed Sydney toward the roped-off pen that was the food truck fest VIP Volunteer seating section.
Based on her expression, the girl manning the rope to enter the VIP area—Kendal? Kennedy?—thought Sydney leading six non-volunteers into the reserved section held the same horror as flip-flops at a black-tie gala, but she let us pass.
“Grab another table.” Paige set her paper bowl of nachos on a four-seat table, issuing the instruction to Andre and Jason after they’d already started doing just that.
No one acknowledged it.
“Look at the view from right here.” Paige took my shoulders, pushing me from behind, steering me to the far side of the table. “You can really see how lively the festival is from this seat.”
I pasted on a preemptive smile, ready to compliment whatever Paige wanted to show off, but she pulled out a chair, planted me in it, and moved on to Jason.
“This spot’s great for long legs.” She put him in the seat next to me on one side, then dove into the chair on my other side. “Doesn’t everyone’s food look great!”
Andre took the spot opposite Jason with Sydney right across from me.
Luka’s anger lost its bite as he took the last chair, his lips pressed together, his eyes flickering with the kind of humor you usually see in parents when their kid pulls some hilarious shit they’re morally obligated to not laugh at.
Good.
Keep breathing, buddy.
“This is such a great table, Sydney.” Paige beamed around at our party of six, her grin barely tightening at Luka.
Party of six.
Party of six.
“So that seat works for you, Paxman? You’re sure?” Luka asked, not quite hiding his smile.
Party of six?
“Yes, thank you,” Paige said.
Shit, shit, shit.
Fuck.
“I lost Evan!” My words came out like a little yelp.
Luka shook his head at me, his lips clamped into a micro-thin line, a faint rumble of laughter in his throat, because Paige’s Three Little Bears seating plan was just the warm-up act for me losing my fucking date.
I leapt to my feet, spilling precious drops of my salted caramel iced coffee, knocking my chair back.
Lots of people passed by. Lots of students.
No one with Evan’s perfectly swooped, cartoon prince hair.
“Fuck. Fuck.”
“Where did you last see him?” Andre stood, furrowing his brow.
“He’s not a lost wallet. He could have wandered anywhere.” Paige swirled her fork in the air. “He’s fine. He’ll turn up.”
Teeth-grinding silence slammed over the table.
Jason froze. Sydney froze. Andre froze.
Then Paige’s eyes widened in horror, and she froze, too.