Page 6 of How to Flirt with a Hellhound
By the time I came up for air, the sun was setting, my stomach was growling, and my whole body felt stiff. I closed my computer and wandered into the kitchen, opening the fridge. There was nothing good to eat. I closed it and opened the freezer. Frozen vegetables and frozen meat that I’d cook someday. Maybe. I checked the pantry. Still some chips left, and I took off the chip clip and munched on them as I opened the fridge again.
Because, you know, maybe something had magically appeared in the thirty seconds since I’d last checked.
Nope. Fridge was still sadly devoid of anything resembling a meal.
I sighed, picking up my phone to take a look at what was available on the food delivery app, only I got mildly distracted by the little red circle with the number of unread emails listed. I hated when it got into the double digits. I may not be able to stock my fridge, but by god I could keep my inbox cleared out.
I clicked my email and deleted half the messages—sales, store updates, and some random health newsletter I swear I never signed up for. I totally didn’t think beet juice was the miracle cure for all my ailments. Oh, one of my author friends had a new newsletter out. That would be fun to look at.
Then I saw a random email to my author account. Sometimes fan emails were awesome, but sometimes it was someone critiquing my work or telling me something was wrong, and I wasn’t sure if I was in the mood for that tonight. I put the chips down and sat down at the kitchen table, debating leaving it for tomorrow. Of course, the suspense would probably keep me up all night if I didn’t open it.
Once I clicked on it, I skimmed it over, wincing a bit the further I got. I went back and read it a second time, even though I felt nauseous.
Fuck. This was from a “fan” who had caused me some issues, and I’d thought removing him from everything and blocking him had taken care of the issue.
Apparently not.
The guy had started off after my first book as a fan—he’d been in my Facebook group and followed all my socials. Then the messages had started. They’d been ok at first, if a little presumptuous. He’d told me stuff that was wrong with my book, like that my characters shouldn’t have done this or that, and did I know I’d gotten some aspect of mythology wrong in my book?
It was slightly infuriating—like, dude, I writefiction. I could make up whatever I wanted to. That was what made writing so awesome. If I wanted Medusa to be a guy who had a bad hairdresser experience, then that was totally my prerogative. But I’d taken the advice of my PA and just replied with a simple “Thanks for the feedback! I’m glad you enjoyed my book!”
Only apparently that wasn’t enough for this guy, because he’d gotten more and more hostile, eventually critiquing my sex scenes and asking me when the last time I’d had anything up my ass had been. That was the point at which I’d blocked him from all socials.
He’d sent me an angry email—he was my biggest fan, and how could I do that to him, and blah blah blah. So I’d blocked his email, and I had figured that would be the end of it. I wrote under a pen name, and no one knew my real name, where I lived, or how to get in touch with me. Sometimes people sucked on the internet, and I thought this guy was just an example of that. I’d almost been ready for him to blast me in other groups or post bad reviews, and I’d been relieved when I hadn’t heard anything.
Apparently my relief was premature.
This email was the most toxic so far. He made some long comparison about how he was like one MC in my book and I was like another. It scared me a little that he compared himself to theslightly unhinged MC who kidnapped the other MC. Of course it all worked out in my book and they fell madly in love, but that was because it wasfiction.
Stalking and kidnapping in real life were totally not sexy. I didn’t think I needed to put that disclaimer on my books, but maybe I should start? Like “Hey folks! Please don’t try this at home! Consent is important!”
I was spiraling, and maybe hyperventilating a little bit. I focused on trying to calm down my breathing.
He was just a rabid fan. He didn’t know where I lived. I kept my address private and had everything sent to a PO box. He wasn’t actually stalking me—one crazy email did not equal a stalker like I wrote about. Josh was always telling me I blew stuff out of proportion, and I’m sure I was doing that here. This guy was just creepy as fuck and had to have the last word.
I just really hoped this was the last word from him.
Chapter 4
Dexter
Istared at the hammer on the table by my front door. I knew Toby was up—I’d seen lights and heard his footsteps, but he hadn’t had coffee and breakfast delivered this morning.
Would it be weird to return his hammer and bring him some coffee?
I wished I knew more about humans, aside from how breakable they were.
I usually didn’t mind that I was so disconnected from the human world. My parents were good people, but they were first generation hellhounds that were content with just each other. We were constantly moving around hunting evil, and I felt like a third wheel more often than not. It wasn’t until I’d almost reached maturity that I’d been given to Wilder to raise, and that was when I’d finally found my pack and where I belonged. We weren’t a conventional group—I suppose hellhounds never were—so I never really bridged the gap between me and humanity.
Not everyone in my pack was so awkward with humans, however. If Jude were here, he’d know exactly what to say and how to talk to Toby. Jude had grown up thinking he was human, and he knew the most about the human world.
I supposed I could call and ask him. My pack was scattered right now, all of us in different areas taking care of sending hopeless souls on to the afterlife before they could do more damage on the mortal plane. We hadn’t had a central location to call home since we’d had to leave Wilder’s last compound. Humans tended to notice when you didn’t age, and it had probably been a decade since we’d all had a home base. We were constantly on the lookout for one, but no place had felt quite right to any of us.
Paradise Falls felt weirdly welcoming, though. When I’d first pulled into town, a sense of rightness had filled me, and I’d immediately looked into buying a house.
Then I’d seen a demon in town. Then another demon. Then an angel. So many afterlifers in one area usually spelled trouble, and hellhounds generally tried to avoid afterlifers since the first gen had left hell for the mortal plane.
Only… None of them had paid me any attention at all.
