Predator Girl (A Paranormal Romance) (9 page)

I hated him for making me fall in love with him.

“If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to make yourself useful to me.”

I rolled my eyes. Now I was the werewolf’s slave? That was the price for saving my life?

After cooking myself another dry piece of rabbit, Ilume shooed the wolves out of the living room. They snapped and snarled as they went, not pleased about being disconnected from the TV. I counted them as they dispersed upstairs and down the hall—only five this morning. When I asked Ilume about it, she said most of the pack was out hunting or working.

Apparently the pack was split into three groups: the hunters, the workers, and the caretakers. Hunters gathered food. They caught the rabbits, deer, and salmon that took up most of the fridge. During the right seasons, they gathered fruits, berries, and nuts as well. Their travels also made them guardians of the home front, keeping an eye out for danger, fighting off rivals.

Workers were the somewhat normal ones of the pack. They held real jobs outside the mansion in small towns bordering the woods. They made money for the pack, turning over seventy percent of their profits to Rex. Sometimes they were the monitors. Spending most of their time among the humans, they could listen to the daily gossip, make sure no one was hiking where they weren’t supposed to, and watch out for threats like poachers. Because the journey to town and back was long and dangerous, workers only came home on the weekends. Ilume wouldn’t elaborate on what kind of danger when I asked.

Lastly, there were the caretakers. Most of them were women, anywhere from ages fifteen to fifty. They played the role of nurses and nanas, looking after the elderly, healing injuries, helping new mothers with their pups.

“We need more of caretakers,” Ilume explained. She was under the staircase, struggling to get an old vacuum out of the downstairs closet. “Later this week I’ll send you in to help Fawn.”

“Help care-take?” I didn’t hide my dislike. “I thought the point of me being active during hunting hours was so the wolves didn’t see me.”

“The
hunters
won’t see you. That’s the important part.”

With a final yank, the vacuum popped out of the closet. Ilume stumbled backward. On reflex, I reached out to catch her. Her hand hit my chest as she caught her balance. We both straightened up, blushing as we looked away from each other.

“Um, anyway, here you go.” She pushed the thing toward me. “Vacuum the living room first, then the kitchen tile.”

She disappeared down the hall. “Wolves,” I scoffed.

Dragging the old dirt-sucker into the living room, I hunted for an electrical outlet. One hid behind the leather couch, but the cloud of cobwebs—most holding dead things—hanging between the back of the couch and the wall made me iffy. Something black skittered into the shadows, something that looked like a spider the size of my hand.

Not happening.

I settled on the outlet behind the television. Standing up, I kicked the vacuum back. It squeaked like a door hinge, the bag drooping toward the floor. Using my big toe, I pressed the button. The thing roared to life, sucking up dirt like Peter sucked up a peanut butter malt. Threading the cord through one hand, I pushed the monster around the room, under the coffee table, around couches and chairs. It was a heavy pain in the ass, and it wasn’t long before my triceps started to ache. In minutes the floor began to change color. I realized the carpet wasn’t grey—it was soft blue.

I was two-thirds of the way done when the vacuum stopped picking things up. “Ah, crap,” I grumbled, kicking the button again. The monster fell silent. Turning it over, I searched the main airway. Something was probably lodged inside. Maybe that mega spider had left the couch.

I was picking at the wheels when footsteps caught my ear.

Aspen leaned against the counter, a Gatorade bottle in hand. He smirked. “That thing hasn’t been emptied in months,” he said. “Probably needs a new bag.”

I tried not to glower. Seriously, did he have to stand there and watch me make a loser of myself? Rocking to my feet, I went to the closet and found another bag.

Aspen snorted as I unzipped the ugly plaid cloth. I tried to ignore him. It was better to be viewed as a fool than an enemy at this point. I reached inside to pull out the puffed-up paper bag. It wouldn’t come loose. Frustrated, I yanked hard.

A loud ripping sound echoed through the air. In a puff of dog hair and dust, the bag exploded. I jumped back from the cloud, coughing and waving my hands. Dirt slid off my jeans, down through my toes.

Aspen let out a breathy laugh. “Oh, dude.”

“Ah, shit.” I pulled on the hem of my shirt. My favorite blue O’Neill tee was ruined.

Shaking his head, Aspen headed toward the stairs.

Temper in check, I shoved the vacuum over, the rest of the bag’s contents spilling on the floor. Ridiculous. Men were not made to vacuum carpets—that’s the
woman’s
job. Now I saw why guys got married. Men work and hunt to bring home the bacon. We do the dangerous stuff, the moneymaking stuff while the women cook and clean.

Aspen hopped back down the stairs, a grey and black wad in his hands. “Here,” he said, chucking the wad at me.

I caught it with one hand. As it unrolled, a pair of shorts fell out on the floor, an Element tee hanging between my fingers.

“They should fit.” Aspen pushed open the screen door, adding, “I’d recommend you save them for
after
cleaning.”

“Thanks,” I said before the door swung shut behind him. The porch steps lurched as he trotted down, heading into the woods.

Aspen had seemed pretty willing to hand me over to Rex yesterday. Was the clothing a way of saying “Hey, you lived, we’re square”?

Or maybe it was more like “Hey, fool, I feel bad for you. Take the clothes since you ain’t going to last long and I’ll get them back anyway.”

Setting the clothes on the television, I returned to the vacuum, thinking about escape. A good plan would take time to create.
First you have to learn your surroundings.
When Ilume or whoever took me into the woods, I would learn my surroundings while tracking the—what were they? The Jackals?
You need a compass.
I knew home was south-bound, but if I got a hold of a map I could plot our location, find the nearest town.

I needed to get close to one of the workers. They would know the nearby towns and roads. The next time they came home, I could track their scent trails.

Perfect.

I saw a white piece of paper taped to the freezer door, titled JARED in big, bold letters. As I started on the list, washing dishes and scrubbing the repulsive kitchen floor, my plan came together. Getting out of the house would be the hard part.

I finished the first floor by mid-afternoon. I put away the dishes, scrubbed the sink, took out the garbage—a very gross job involving sour meat. I cleaned the tile floor until it was spotless. Using duct tape I pulled all the hair off the couches and pillows. The wolves better be happy. This was a damn good job for a guy who doesn’t even clean his own bedroom.

I moved upstairs, armed with a bottle of bleach and rubber gloves. Occasionally, Mom made me clean the bathroom at home, but I would choose dishes, laundry, anything over cleaning our bathroom.

When I made it back home, I would never complain again. The wolves’ bathroom made ours look like a five-star hotel.

Once upon a time, the bathtub had been white. Now, the sides were stained yellow, and the bottom was a breeding ground for daddy-long-legs. Heavy mineral deposits lined the sink and knobs. Ilume was right: the young wolves
did
scent mark their territory.

This particular job needed a lot more than bleach. And I needed some Advil. The scent of wolf urine had triggered another headache.

“Jared?”

I startled awake, opening my eyes. Ilume’s bare feet appeared in front of me. I followed them up her body until we were staring at each other. She blinked down at me. I shrunk back, figuring she was mad that I came and crashed after finishing the list.

Instead, she giggled. “Hard work, isn’t it? Trying to keep this animal house clean,” she said, slightly smug.

I dropped my head back to the dog pillow. “You could fill the Grand Canyon with the amount of dirt I sucked out of that carpet. Don’t even get me started on the hair—did you shave Sasquatch, eat his carcass, and leave all his fur behind?”

She laughed. “There’s no Bigfoot in our part of the woods. That was all pack hair, my pet.” She paused, gaze lingering on my chest. “I see Aspen lent you some clothes.”

“I didn’t ask. He offered,” I replied, then stretched and sat up. The Element shirt was a perfect fit, although the shorts were a little baggy. My own clothes were wadded up by my feet, reeking of bleach and dish water. “He brought them to me after the vacuum exploded.”

She glanced toward the door. “Come on. We’ve got salmon for dinner tonight.”

“It’s dinner time already?”

“Come on.” She waved a hand, heading out to the staircase. I rolled to my feet and followed.

We were not alone in the kitchen tonight. As we made our way down the stairs, I saw Aspen moving behind the counter. Flirty voices drifted into my ears, falling silent when Ilume’s feet hit the carpet.

“Lume,” Aspen greeted as we crossed the living room.

A girl with edgy hair stood beside him, bent over the counter. A plate sat in front of her, bits of raw fish cut up in squares. She popped them in her mouth as if they were Cheez-Its, brown eyes scanning me.

“So this is your new pet,” she said to Ilume.

I said, “More like slave. Don’t pets get to lie around all day? Have people to pamper and clean up after them?”

Aspen chuckled. The girl narrowed her eyes at me. Her eyes were small, oval with pointy corners, her complexion bronze. She might have been Vietnamese, or some type of islander.

“Be grateful, human.” She said my species like it was a dirty word. “Your body would be floating down some river right now, cold and limbless if it weren’t for little Ms. Alpha here.”

“Alpha?” I spun to look at Ilume.

“Yeah. So?” She strode to the counter, sitting on a stool.

I sat next to her. “You didn’t tell me that part.”

“Well, you didn’t ask.” She shrugged.

My stomach tightened. I made an unpleasant link. “So then . . . are you Rex’s mate?” Malice had crept into my voice. I’m not sure why I felt so strongly about her being with Rex. The two were total opposites, a relationship doomed for disaster. Plus, he was a jackass.

Islander girl said, “Not yet.” She popped another fish square in her mouth, eyeing Ilume seductively.

Ilume’s face was blank, but a growl rumbled in her throat. She stood up and circled the counter, pulling out the frying pan.

I tapped the counter, thinking. “So then are you, like, dating him right now?” Finders didn’t know much about the love lives of werewolves. We didn’t know much about the species period. Specialists who went out to research them got mauled, never returning to report what they’d learned. Did wolves date before they took mates, or was it more like arranged marriages?

“No,” Ilume said in a stern tone, signaling the end of the conversation.

Islander girl jumped back in. “The alpha male chooses who will be alpha female,” she said. “While omegas choose their women based on looks and compatibility, alphas seek out the strongest young woman of the pack. Usually it’s a multi-tasker, someone who excels at hunting and can work a job and raise a pup. Ilume can do all three.”

“So he picked her.” It made sense. Ilume was not only, you know, attractive but had the skills to survive and defend her own. She could become a fanged, ferocious hunter or a moneymaker or a mother—any role Rex desired.

Ilume slammed a fish slab into the frying pan. I jumped at the sound. “Can we change subjects now, please, Holly?”

Aspen stiffened, head snapping toward the window. His nostrils flared. “Would you like to talk about the fact that the hunters are home early?”

“What?” Ilume’s face drained of color. Leaving the stove, she and Holly moved to peer out the kitchen window.

Leaning back on my stool, I glanced out the screen door.

An array of dark figures appeared at the forest’s edge, spread out like a swarm. Although in human form, something about their fluid, stalking movements whispered of the animals they’d once been.

They were closing in on the house. Fast.