Bloodsick (Scarlett Bernard 0.5) by Melissa F. Olson

Author:Melissa F. Olson [Olson, Melissa F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

12. Astrid

By the end of August I have had enough.

I am done with this goddamned life: done with hauling boxes around during my early-morning shift at Target, done with having all the women in the pack hate and fear me because I won’t submit, done with crying myself to sleep because the pain of healing so quickly overwhelms me. Mostly, though, I am done with Luke, with the violence and the pleading, the attempts to own me and the entreaties for me to roll over and show him my belly. I have lasted as long as I could, but werewolves live a long time, and I can’t spend the next eighty or ninety years getting shredded by a demented alpha werewolf.

I decide to kill Luke or die trying.

I have fought him before, of course, and I know that he is bigger, faster, and stronger than me. But every time we fought, I was on the defense—usually in human form, but occasionally in wolf form too. If I ambush him, maybe there’s a chance I can win.

I want to hedge my bets, though, so one afternoon I drive to Minneapolis and start hitting pawn shops until I find what I want: an eight-inch letter opener plated in silver. I buy it and keep going, stopping at more pawn shops until I find a second, mismatched one, nearly six inches from point to hilt. I want a backup, just in case.

Using silver against another werewolf is considered the equivalent of putting poison in your best friend’s coffee: it’s sneaky, disgraceful, and cowardly, but I am way past caring about any of that. I’m not trying to take over the pack, or win the approval of my packmates. All I care about is surviving.

I buy thick leather gloves on the way home from the Cities and spend hours honing the edges of the two letter openers until they are both sharp enough to cut through a loaf of bread without squashing it. I hide one in a metal vase of silk flowers in the entryway, and the other above the ceiling tiles in my living room. Now all I have to do is wait for Luke to make one of his surprise visits.

It doesn’t take long: the very next night I hear Luke’s car in the driveway shortly after sundown. My duplex isn’t air-conditioned, so I am panting in the heat as I run to get the letter opener from the vase, taking my position right next to the door frame. I’ve rehearsed this in my head, and I know I have maybe one good thrust before he realizes what I’m doing, so I plan to aim the letter opener straight up his gut, going for the heart under his ribcage. If I can pierce the heart or even just keep the blade in long enough for the silver to do its work, I’m home free. If he gets the blade away from me, I’ll retreat to the living room, get the second blade, and try again.

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