Beauty And The Feast: A Not So Urban Fantasy (Wendigo Girl Book 1) by Kaye Draper

Author:Kaye Draper [Draper, Kaye]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-06-20T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

I drove Tommy home Sunday afternoon, per our agreement. He had sucked up enough Tess mojo, and I had borne about all the together time I could stand.

News flash—I’m really not a people person.

When I returned and pulled into my driveway, I almost felt light-hearted. I was alone. I could have some peace and quiet to brood in.

I should have known better than to be so sickeningly optimistic.

Night hadn’t yet begun to fall. I was learning my lesson about driving home before dark. But the sun was beginning to set. My raven was sitting on the railing and he croaked at me nervously. I frowned at him, but he didn’t seem to be freaking out like when my dark visitor had last attempted to eat me. And my ever-present buzzard herd was quiet in the pines.

I opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Funny, I could have sworn I had locked the door….

Something moved in the living room—a shuffle of noise and a shadow that spread across the carpet as whatever it was came closer.

Fear nearly paralyzed me as visions of being dragged by my hair through the woods assailed me. The voice in my head laughed distantly.

But anger won out. The son of a bitch was in my house. My sanctuary!

I crouched down, my senses sharpening and my throat beginning to burn with hunger and fury.

Then I swear to God I hissed a challenge at the thing in the living room, my hands curled into claws, ready to rend and tear.

“Tess?” my good for nothing, shit for brains, waste of a father said as he shuffled into the kitchen.

His blood-shot blue eyes widened. “What’s the matter with you? You look like shit.”

I stood up straight and un-clawed my hands. My dad. It was just my dad.

I would have preferred the wendigo.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I blurted. Then I held up my hands to stop his answer—I knew what he was doing here. He was here for the same reason he always was. He only called or stopped by when he had managed to drink or gamble away every last cent of his social security check.

Most times it was a phone call asking for money. The fact that he was here in the flesh meant he either owed someone money or his electricity had been turned off for non-payment.

He shrugged and took a sip of V-8. My V-8! “No TV at home,” he said, confirming my suspicions. Then he ran a hand through his coarse gray hair and gave me a sheepish grin. “And George won’t leave me alone about the hundred bucks I owe him.”

I put my face in my hands for a moment and just breathed, noting absently that it stank in my house. My life fell apart and I had to at least pretend to be a functioning adult. My family dies and he gets to go off the deep end and be a complete jerk waste of space. It just wasn’t fair.

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