Not werewolf, she sighs.
I ignore her and run into the bathroom and grab a towel, then throw it over the blood. Then I dig out my phone, and with the call on speaker, I pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt.
"Come on, come on," I chant, knowing he won't pick up. Unless I leave a detailed message and mention my health, he rarely calls me back.
Which is why I'm surprised when there's a gruff, unfamiliar "Hello?" on the other end.
"Hello? Dad, is that you? Oh my god, I need to talk to you. Are you—"
"Miss? Is this Mona, Paulie Gresser's daughter?"
"Who—who is this?"
"This is Detective Alvin. I'm with the 9th precinct. Is there somewhere we can meet?"
"What…" My words trail off and I turn in a circle, cold dread snaking down my spine. My words stutter, palms instantly clammy. "Where's my dad?"
"Miss—"
"Where is he? Is he okay?"
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your father was attacked last night. He… I'm so sorry, but he didn't make it. If you could meet us at the station, or give me your address and we'll come to you, we'd like to ask you a few questions."
"He'sdead?"
Silence, for a beat. Then, "Yes."
My head swims as I collect my thoughts. "Was—" I clear my throat, "was he bitten?" I ask.
"Bitten? Uhh, no. He was—look, why don't we meet—"
I hang up the phone. This can't be happening. Tears burn in my eyes. My father is dead. This can't be real. A wave of nausea washes over me. The panic, that never really went away, digs in deeper, taking root, but that voice in my head snaps at me.
Must go north.
"What the fuck is north?"
My gut gives a tug, then she repeats,North.
"No. I need to clean up this blood. Then we need to get out of here. He might come back. My dad—"
She helps me refocus, but it's like putting burn salve on bubbling skin. There's just too much to fix. In a frantic rush, I hurry around the apartment and clean the mess, trying not to think of my father. Then I pack a bag.
Staring around at the mess of my apartment, I wonder what I did in another life to deserve this.
A strange, keening sound spills from my chest. Like a whimper. With it, a wave of anxiety washes over me. And the oddest, most intense urge to burrow under the blankets on my bed and hide from the world takes over. It's me, but not me. Though, hiding under the blankets does sound really good right now.
Your omega, the voice in my head, provides.
"What the hell is an omega?"
Chapter 5: Mona
FEBRUARY
"Listen, Beep, if you don't shut the fuck up, I'm going to—" I growl, then look up at the wide-open sky and let out a scream.
Be quiet. Too loud.
