Werewolf Sings the Blues by Jennifer Harlow

Author:Jennifer Harlow
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780738739342
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2014-01-20T08:00:00+00:00

PART II

HOME

ELEVEN

“JASON!”

I jolt awake right as Jason literally rips my throat out. The light stings my eyes, and it takes seconds of blinking to clear them. When I’m capable, I glance around the large bedroom I find myself in. Definitely not the skuzzy motel in Ohio from the dream. Billowy white curtains on the bay windows. Handcrafted wooden furniture that matches the brown suede lounge chairs in the corner. Huge TV. California king bed with what I think are Egyptian cotton sheets. I’m alone too. We were making love, slowly this time. Painfully slowly. He barely moved inside me, maybe a millimeter a second for what felt like hours. Amazing hours. Just as he brought me to the brink, I felt him shifting. He wouldn’t release me, wouldn’t leave my body as the slime coated him. As the fur sprouted everywhere. As bone shifted. I screamed and screamed and scratched as his claws pierced my skin. As blood flowed from my back, as he ripped me open in more ways than one before delivering the killing blow, jaws clamping on my throat. I touch it now just to make sure I still have one.

Damn, my neck’s the one area that doesn’t hurt. My legs and arms ache from working the cage for so long. My stomach feels like it’s been punched, as does my jaw from the fall. My mouth and tongue are still raw from the bites. My splinted pinky throbs. Broken. The worst is my arm. The bullet grazed but still took a chunk out. Gonna leave a scar. It couldn’t be stitched for the five hours it took to drive from Pennsylvania to Adolphus. About a mile from the farm, Frank pulled over to provide basic first-aid. The pills he gave me must have knocked me out because the next thing I knew, we were pulling up to this huge gate, easily twenty feet tall, with floodlights along the top. After passing through that, we continued on the driveway about four hundred feet with RVs and tents setup on the grassy lawn like a shanty town. One or two people came out but most remained asleep. Good thing I wasn’t expecting a parade.

The main house wasn’t as grand as I imagined. Big, but not a mansion. Two stories with a mix of Colonial and modern architecture. The main house is symmetrical like a rectangle made of white brick, with a gabled roof, paneled door, and maybe two dozen multi-pained windows with shutters. A few more people came out to greet us, barraging Frank with questions at the get go. He handed me off to an African American woman who stitched me up, gave me more pills, and escorted me to the second floor master bedroom. The pleasant narcotic blur returned when I was in the shower. I stumbled to the bed, put on the clothes the woman must have brought, and passed out again. Cue nightmares.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. I’ve been asleep in this bed a little over twelve hours.

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