(FREE TO READ) Bad Moon

chapter 18; afraid

All night, Felix slept at the foot of his bed—wolf, not man. At least this time, he'd had the courtesy to turn in the back yard—to the let Jaylin spray him down with the garden hose so he wouldn't leave a bloody mess in the house. 

Jaylin didn't know what they'd done with the wolves or the woman in the cellar. So long as he was safe from them, he didn't care. The day felt like a haunting and sleep didn't find himself long after the sun rose.

It was nearly four in the afternoon when he sauntered down the kitchen for a cup of coffee—startled in his tracks by the sight of Felix, slouched on the kitchen counter. His mother's tittering laugh came from the tiny breakfast nook—her cheeks a shade of pink when she finally turned and saw him.

"Oh, Jaylin. You didn't tell me you'd be having a friend over."

Surprisingly, Felix had dressed in his own clothing this time. He didn't stink of blood, but soap from the shower. Still, Jaylin eyed him while he reheated the stale morning coffee.

"I didn't plan for him to."

"I'm surprised you've never told me about him before," she said, her cheek in her palm. "He's a ham, isn't he? What a nice accent. You know, you sound just like Gerard Butler."

"Hear that?" Felix said with a grin. "Gerard Butler."

"She's just saying that because he's the only Scottish guy she knows."

"I should get dinner started," his mother said. She stood slow, the way she always did. Slow enough that Jaylin caught her by the shoulder and pressed her back into her seat.

"Let me do it."

"Actually," Felix said. "We've got plans. Lisa wants us back at the manor."

"What?" Jaylin asked, pouring his mug. "Lisa?"

"The Misses." Felix slid from the counter, long, lanky legs planting him firmly to the linoleum. "She's asked to meet for dinner."

"Now?" Jaylin asked. He was a mess—dressed in a baggy t-shirt and gym shorts, his socks each from a different pair. "Can't I shower first?"

Felix raised his arm, looking to the cracked face of his watch. "Ten minutes—then I pull you out and drag ye' there by the naked skin of yer arse." Then Felix bowed to Julia Maxwell, with the gentlemanly twirl of his fingers. "Was a pleasure." And he slipped around the kitchen, through the front door, before Jaylin could even take a sip of his luke-warm coffee.

-

Felix drove him to the Sigvard's the same way he'd driven him home—in a red Mustang with too much get-up and not enough AC. He was a strange presence and Jaylin still hadn't wrapped his head around the proper way to strike up a conversation, so he stayed quiet and watched the shedding cherry trees pass through the window.

After some time, he finally asked, "Who are you, anyway?" He wasn't part of the Sigvard's family—Jaylin knew that much. But he lived with them, didn't he? What did that make him?

Felix laughed. "Isn't that a question."

Jaylin looked around at the leather interior. "Is this your car?"

"Quentin's. Has a thing about cars. Buys 'em, breaks 'em, tries to fix 'em, breaks 'em twice. Managed to save this one before he could do much to her. '65 Mustang."

"Bet it's nice," Jaylin said, "being rich enough to buy yourself out of your own mistakes."

"Look a bit closer, laddy," Felix said. "And lose the rose-tinted glasses."