As I sputter, trying to catch my breath, I move to stand. My bear is beyond mad. I rip off my shirt—my bear can have at him for all I care. Fur pricks through my skin, covering my body and my height extending about a foot before my vision finally dials in. I watch his blurry, but huge, form stride out of my apartment. He’s out of here as quickly as he got inside, except this time, the door is wide open. It’s probably broken and won’t shut.
Now I’m officially not getting my deposit back.
Stopping mid-shift, I force my bear back down. I’ll have to shift even sooner than I planned, since she’s all riled up now. Shifters have to shift often to keep their animals happy; it prevents them from completely taking over and never giving us control back.
Nola skitters past me to the kitchen, and I walk over to take in the damage done to my door. I don’t want to think about thedamage done to me. My throat is killing me. I’ll need to shift a couple of times to fully heal. The Moon Goddess made us so that we can heal from nearly anything if we have the conscious mind to shift and as long as we aren’t decapitated. I’ll have to wait until I get the movers to unload my stuff at the new place.
Shoot, how will I explain the bruising?
My stomach revolts with nausea, thinking of the attack. Now I must leave this apartment—I may have to leave this town. I shake my head. I can’t run forever. I’ll have to figure out how to handle this. I sigh, rolling my neck; my body aches everywhere. My bear is pounding in my head wanting to be let out. Can I even last much longer without a shift?
I bring my focus back to the broken door. I’ll try to get my door to shut, then go find somewhere in the woods nearby to shift a couple of times before the movers get here.
Dragging my hand along the edges of the door, the horrible paint job chips at my fingertips. My eyes stay on the mat, remembering it was one of the first things I purchased before I could afford any proper furniture or decorative pieces.
The dirty brown mat is crooked, and a white piece of paper sticks out from underneath it. I squat down grabbing the paper and unfold it. When did this get here, and how did the intruder not move it with his speed or ruckus?
My eyes don’t stray from the black letters as chills cover my skin, and my ears perk up. One sentence raises the hair on my arms and leaves me breathless. When did he have time to leave this?
Don’t feed the monster - G.
When Milo first died, I searched like crazy for his murderer, his body, something—anything—to prove I wasn’t crazy. I got notes with weird messages back then, too. Notes to stop searching, to leave it alone, to move on. This lasted a whole year before I had a big blowout with his family and my family,who staged an intervention of sorts. So, I listened to the notes: I stopped. I moved on.
But why a note? The intruder came inside to talk to me. Does he think that would’ve been a forgettable moment? Did he think I would’ve gotten the freaking message? What has changed since I moved here? Why is this happening again? The only real difference in my life is... Layla.
“Willow?” a shaky voice calls. Down the hall, I see Ms. Humming, and I let a small smile take over my face as my hand reaches my tender neck.
She’s the only neighbor who stopped by to meet me when I first moved in. She brought store-bought chocolate chip cookies and came in for a cup of tea. We had monthly meetings with cookies and tea. I guess I could say Ms. Humming was a friend of mine, too.
I was wrong earlier. I’ve made three friends since running from—no—since moving here. Our monthly meetings were nice. I enjoy her company, but I can’t burden her with my troubles. She lives a peaceful life from what I can tell, and now that Flora and Luxe know, there is no need to drag her into my messed-up life too. I’m going to miss those meetings, though. She is one of the few people I can sit in silence with.
“Hi.” My voice sounds harsh, and I cough to try to cover it up, wrapping my other arm around my body.
“A young man left that for you,” she says, walking closer, her cane in hand. She must be in her high hundreds. I’ve yet to meet a paranormal under three hundred who uses a cane. Shifters live for a long time, typically till we’re eight hundred.
But age doesn’t slow her down in the slightest. She loves the gossip that runs through these halls, and when we weren’t sitting in a comfortable silence, she was retelling the stories she heard about our neighbors.
Wait, she saw my intruder. Did they speak before barging into my apartment?
“Did you see his face?” I ask as the blood drains from my face and dread fills in its place. I don’t want to freak Ms. Humming out by telling her this person broke in and attacked me. He said not to do anything stupid, but what did that mean, and who did I anger to warrant this? I don’t think there is a need to worry her—this seems incredibly personal.
“Yup, a Hispanic-looking man. About, erm, this tall, and he was handsome too. He had that nice soft black hair and tanned skinned, not like Italians, but darker. Oh, he was gorgeous. Definitely a bad boy, though. Covered in tattoos, even on his neck. Willow, dear, what a sight he was. You know him? He stood here for quite a while?” She gestures with wide eyes and a slick smile with one corner of her lips turned up. She’s impressed by my intruder. The description is not helpful whatsoever, but it’s more than what I had before.
I didn’t want to scare the old woman—tell her I didn’t know him, and that she should probably stay alert if she sees him again. That would probably land Ms. Humming in trouble. She isn’t the type to back down.
“Yeah, he was a part of my life before I moved here, and, I guess, wanted to catch up. I can’t remember his name, though. Did he tell you by chance?” I needed something, anything more than his initial is the letterGbased on the note he left.
“Yes, he said his name was Ghost. The names these parents are giving their children these days blow my casket. Why would someone name their baby Ghost?” she says, turning down the outdoor hallway and back into her apartment.
I am left dumbstruck outside my apartment. Was Ghost the person behind the break-in too? It’s a stretch, and maybe I’m paranoid, but could he be correlated to Milo’s murder?
“Willow.” Ms. Humming peeks her head out of her apartment, calling to me again.
I raise my eyebrow in question. I don’t want my voice to giveaway that something is wrong. I can hardly move at this point. Thank the Moon Goddess I am moving today. I’ll have to make sure that I don’t directly lead Ghost to my new address. I have to go into hiding. I have to?—
“If you know this Ghost fella, I wouldn’t write him back. He’s cute, but you’re a good girl, Willow, and getting tied up in all that isn’t worth it if he’s not your mate. Don’t let anyone get in the way of finding your mate darlin’—it’s a lonely existence without one.”
All I can offer is a nod and a weak smile. I listen for the click of her door lock after she closes her door. She must not have heard our commotion, and I’m glad she didn’t. This is between me and Ghost, and maybe Layla.
