Page 123 of Ice Wolf
While they started talking, I slipped from the room, closing the door with a soft click.
The nightmare was real. Demons would soon be coming to drag me straight to hell where all good little she-wolves belonged.
“Would you not look at me that way? Please?” Vicky was frozen as if she’d stepped into a dry ice machine.
I was afraid to touch her for fear she’d crack into a thousand pieces.
I’d begged her to meet me at a bar. I’d worn sunglasses inside, had yanked my hair into a knot on my head, and was wearing baggy clothes. Just to try to disguise who I was.
What was there in life if you couldn’t tell your best friend the most horrible secret in the world?
“I’m sorry. I was just trying to picture you in fur and not mink.” Vicky’s reply wasn’t meant to be comical.
“I don’t shift. I don’t growl at your door in the middle of the night. Oh, please. Let me in. I’m so cold. Don’t worry, I won’t eat you.” I changed my voice to that of an old hag, which finally made Vicky laugh.
But I could tell the woman thought I was nuts or had grown terrified of what I was capable of.
As round two of the drinks was plopped down, I sucked on the ice getting every last drop of the first one before I dared give the waitress the glass.
Vicky was being cautious, glancing around the bar since I was acting as if I was some 007 on assignment.
“A real wolf compound?” I thought the girl might pass out.
“Yep,” I answered, popping the p. “I hear there are some pretty frisky activities on the weekends in full fur regalia.”
“Like what, shuffleboard and pickleball?”
“Try kinky games and cooking outdoors in the buff.”
“Oh, now I just can’t.” She crossed herself before laughing.
I shook my head. The entire situation was unbelievable. At least the alcohol was helping. To a degree.
“Do you really believe all this… mess?” she finally asked.
“I don’t know what to believe, Vic. How could I? All I know is that Saint and I are connected at the hip. Three days ago, I hated the man. Now, I want to ride his cock like a wild cowgirl every time I see him and twice on Sundays.”
She choked on a sip. “That’s called infatuation. Old-fashioned lust. We’ve all been there before.”
“Are you kidding me? Do you really think Damien evoked that kind of desire?” Oh, my God. My voice had lowered to a deep baritone when husking out the last word. Then I growled. I actually growled.
She giggled. “I see your point. It’s just difficult for me to believe.”
“Imagine what I’m thinking.”
“Let’s concentrate on your feelings for Saint. I know he’s arrogant, but he did give you an awesome ring. I mean awesome.”
“No offense to his grandmother, but I’m certain this was rather inexpensive and was just lying around.”
“Give me your hand. Did you forget I used to work in a jewelry store?”
“Yes, I did. You’ve had how many careers?”
She smacked my hand. “Stop. Three. I worked at Diamond Sellers for almost four years. I worked closely with the gemologist because I really enjoyed the work. If I hadn’t been caught in a compromising position with the man inside the store, I’m sure I’d still be working there.”
I coughed, spitting margarita all over the table. “You never told me that.”
“A girl must keep a few secrets.”
