Page 37 of The Chameleon

Or was it a dream?

Staring into the darkness, his body began to shiver.

Another noise.

What the fuck? Was someone trying to break in?

Matteo reached for the empty bottle, hoping it would act as a weapon if needed. If someone was trying to break into the cabin, they had a nasty surprise coming their way.

Creeping through the darkness, he made his way through the living room and approached the front door. Raising the bottle above his head, he waited to hear the noise once again.

“Looking for someone?” a voice whispered into his ear.

Matteo spun around, bringing down the wine bottle as hard as he could.

Whack!

The bottle connected with its intended target, striking a solid blow against his attacker’s arm.

“Ow! That fuckin’ hurt, Matté,” an angry man growled.

“What the?” His stomach sank as he recognized the voice.

Reaching for the living room light, he flicked it up only to reveal his worst nightmare standing before him.

Ares.

Rubbing his arm and looking all growly, Ares glared at Matteo.

“What the fuck, man?” Ares barked, walking past him and into the kitchen.

Angry and annoyed, Matteo followed his intruder into his kitchen and continued to glare at him.

“Hello? What the fuck are you doing here?” Matteo shouted, still in disbelief that the asshole had broken into his cabin in the middle of the night. Leave it to Ares to be so bold and disrespectful.

“Apparently, getting my ass beaten with an empty wine bottle. Seriously, Matté, how many bottles did you drink last night?” Ares asked, nodding toward the collection of empties sitting on the counter. “You suddenly becoming an alcoholic?”

“I… uh… that’s none of your business,” Matteo scoffed, stepping in front of the empties as though trying to conceal his dirty little secret. “You still didn’t answer my question. Why are you here? And why did you break into my cabin in the middle of the night?”

Ares dropped the sandwich he was making and turned to face his accuser.

“Well, first off, I figured you would be pissed at me if I knocked on your door at three a.m. I know how much you like your beauty sleep. Second, I would have slept quietly on your couch until you woke up in the morning, but some alcoholic Italian decided to pass out on it himself. By the way, you scratch your ass when you sleep.”

Matteo threw the empty bottle he was holding, narrowly missing the smug SOB’s head. The bottle exploded into a million pieces once it connected with the wall instead.

Ares smirked. “There’s that hot-tempered Italian I fell in love with.”

“Fuck you, Ares,” Matteo snapped, disappearing from the doorway and heading back into the living room.

He picked up a few logs of wood and tossed them into the fireplace. Ash and sparks flew up into the air, temporarily lighting the room in a murderous red—perfectly matching the mood Matteo was in.

Ares strutted into the living room and plopped himself down on the armchair like he belonged in the place.

Sandwich in hand, he took a bite and stared up at Matteo. “So? This is where you ran off to?”

Light from the reignited fire danced across Matteo’s angry face.How did he find him? And why was he here?

Matteo didn’t answer his unwelcome guest. Instead, he dropped down onto the couch and glared into the fire.

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