In Love With The Wild

CHAPTER2

I bolted out of there and ran as fast as I could all the way home, my skin still buzzing from his touch, images of his golden eyes flashing through my mind with every step.

It was only when I was in the comfort of my small, cold apartment, that I relaxed and tried to make sense of what had happened tonight.

What did he mean when he said his wolf was listening? Was he referring to his pet dog or an actual wolf? Was it really a

wild animal responsible for the killings? That’s exactly what my editor had said to me. But that didn't explain the full moon timing of the killings. Wild animals don't need the full moon to attack. Unless...it was a werewolf! But werewolves aren't real. But I had seen his eyes turn gold. Was that bartender a werewolf? That would explain all his poise and assertiveness of a god. I had felt the beast in his stillness, in the sheer, predatory control of his movements. Was he going to attack me? What have I gotten myself into?

A sob caught in my throat. I was in over my head. I was just a girl, chasing shadows that could lead me to my own grave.

Three sharp knocks on my door cut short my self-pity party and drew me out of my reverie. It did not sound like the friendly knock of a neighbor.

Maybe if I stayed quiet and pretended not to hear, whoever was on the other side of my door would go away.

But the knocks came again.

I crept to the door and peered through the peephole.

A man stylishly dressed in a black well tailored suit stood there. He flashed a badge, quick and professional. Detective Malik.

“Can I help you?” I asked on opening the door a c***k. The chain lock still on.

He aptly scanned my face like he could coax my deepest secrets out of me just by mere looking at me. His eyes swept past me, taking in the tiny, threadbare flat that had seen better days.

“Neve Whitmore. The killings beside the river. You’ve been asking questions.”

“Yes. It’s my job as a journalist to find answers.”

“Then your job is about to get you killed.” He stepped a bit closer, the chain lock still in place prevented him from coming any closer.

The scent of gun oil clung to him. “Stop looking into The Glass Den. Forget about Caspian Vane. Or….the next body that will be pulled out from the river will be yours. He doesn’t protect humans, Miss Whitmore. He feeds on them.”

He left immediately without uttering more words, his warning firing off blaring alarms in my head.

I crumpled to the ground and hugged my knees.

This was too much for me. I should have listened to my editor and forgotten about the case. I should have never gone to The Glass Den.

After a few more minutes of beating myself up, I went to bed fully convinced I was done with my fleeting career as a detective. It wasn’t worth the risk.