Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel (25 page)

Natasha waits by the door with her grocery bag and suitcase. I hand her the key. “Knock yourself out, but don't bother me. I don't like to be disturbed.”

She frowns. “Cindy said this would be a good time for us to make amends and become friends.”

I try not to roll my eyes. “Cindy is often wrong.” Opening the door wider, I indicate she can go. That's when I notice the draft. I glance toward the French doors leading from the balcony and see the drapes flapping in the wind.

“Were you born in a barn? First you leave my door open and then you open my balcony doors and leave them open? It's cold outside, you know?”

Natasha glances toward the open doors. “They were like that when I came in. I thought you were airing the place out or something.”

Prickly sensation at the back of the neck number two. I didn't leave my balcony doors open when I left. “Oh, I might have left them open now that I think about it. I had them open earlier when I burned something and wanted to get rid of the smell. You can go now.” I shove her into the hallway. “Good night.”

After I close the door, I lean against it and sniff the air. My gaze darts around the dark apartment, looking for a shadow that doesn't belong. The cold, crisp air washes away any scent from an intruder, but someone besides Natasha has been in my apartment. I'd sense that even if the doors had not been left open. It's just a feeling, a creepy one. My sanctuary is fast becoming a zoo. What kind of animal has been in my apartment sniffing around? And is it gone, or still here?

The heaviest thing in my beauty bag is the monitor I just stuffed inside. I take it out and grip it firmly, moving through the dark apartment. Sure I can switch on a light; but not only does that allow me to better see someone lurking in the shadows, it allows them to see me. Nothing looks out of place in the living area. I've already been in the kitchen. Nowhere to hide in there. My bedroom seems the most logical place that an intruder might lie in wait for me.

I creep into the hallway leading into my room. The bedroom door is open, which is the way I left it. As soon as I step into the room, I catch a scent I have tried like hell to convince myself no longer exists.

The bed is a total wreck. It wasn't made when I left, but even in the darkness, I see that the mattress has been ripped up, stuffing everywhere. Not only do I smell the foul odor that belongs to Dog Breath, I smell urine. He's marked the mattress. I'll kill him! I see red. No, really, I see red. My eyes glow back at me from the dresser mirror. I didn't know they glowed red in the dark. Creepy, but not nearly as horrible as what has taken place in my room.

I've been defiled. Rage builds inside of me and I let it come. If he's still here, hiding, I'll need the fuel to make a transformation. My teeth don't ache. My skin doesn't itch. My fingertips do not sting. He's not here or they would. As angry as I am, I have the sense to make certain. I switch on the bedroom light.

The carnage infuriates me further. He's not under the bed, in the closet, or in the bathroom shower. But nothing takes away from the fact that he was here. He did this to taunt me. To let me know he's still alive and stalking me. It's worse than if he'd waited around and attacked me. It's worse because he knows I'll worry about when he's coming back.

While I'm full of rage, I throw down my beauty bag and the monitor and use my freakish upper body strength to grab the mattress, haul it through the apartment, take it through the open doors of the balcony and pitch it over. Gus will freak out when he sees it lying on the grounds tomorrow and have it immediately hauled away. Next I go to the kitchen, find the air freshener and use the whole can when I return to the bedroom. I retrace my steps to the kitchen, get a pair of rubber gloves, and go through the apartment picking up stuffing that fell out of the mattress; then I return to the balcony and pitch that over, as well.

Once I close the doors and lean against them, I've used all my rage and I shake uncontrollably. True, it feels about twenty degrees in here since the doors have been open, but I know that isn't why I shake. Dog Breath is alive. He's done worse than attack me, he's invaded my space. He's defiled my property. And I'm scared shitless. I hate that more than anything. I'm on the verge of tears when a soft rap sounds against my front door. I don't think Dog Breath would bother to knock after what he's done, but I'm not ruling it out. I remember the door isn't locked anyway and he'd come on in or bust it down, so I go and answer it.

Natasha stands outside. “Is everything all right in there? I keep hearing you bang around. It sounds like you're rearranging your furniture.”

I never thought I'd see the day when I was glad to see Natasha Somethingorother. It has arrived. Instead of offering an explanation, I step out into the hall and pull the door closed behind me. “Hey, do you mind if I crash on Cindy's couch? I can't get that burned smell out of my apartment no matter how hard I try. It makes me sick.”

She shrugs. “Okay. Don't you want to get some pajamas?”

Cindy is the only person I know who sleeps in leather. “Actually, I like to sleep in this. Let's go.”

Natasha eyes me oddly but doesn't question my decision. I follow her into Cindy's apartment, glad to see the TV switched on and no signs that she's ready to go to bed despite the late hour. A bag of pretzels and a cup of yogurt sit on Cindy's sofa table. My favorite. Dog Breath might kill me, but he'll never kill my appetite.

*   *   *

The werewolf freak might not have killed my appetite, but he killed my ability to sleep. I don't want to examine the fact that I could hardly bring myself to return to my apartment this morning. I hate to give him credit for that. I love this apartment. At some dark point during the early hours just before dawn, I even found myself thinking I should move.

Like hell I will. I also thought that I should call Terry and tell him my apartment had been broken into, and that I know who it was, and he cannot cross the werewolf killer off his list of people to worry about. I'm reconsidering that, as well. Terry would insist I stay somewhere else. His place? I'm thinking he'd be too smart to offer me that option.

I made myself coffee earlier because it was a normal thing to do. Now I sit on my couch that thankfully has not been peed on, and sip the rich brew, wondering what my next move should be. The first thing I did when I came home was go out on the balcony and look below. Just as I predicted, no sign of the defiled mattress or any stuffing. Gus is good. How can I move when Gus is so good? I can't. If I move, Cindy will have to move and she likes it here as much as I do.

I'm still not happy with her for letting Natasha stay in her apartment while she's gone, but I guess if she hadn't, I wouldn't have had someone to sit up and watch TV with last night. Someone I hardly said two words to. I can count being upset over having my apartment broken into, my mattress peed on, and the confirmation that denial does not make something so or not so, as consolation I wasn't being totally rude. A little voice inside my head argues that I would have been rude regardless.

So Natasha likes pretzels dipped in yogurt as much as I do? That's hardly reason enough to forget she slept with my man. And why am I dwelling on this when I have so much else to dwell upon? That's a no-brainer. I don't want to think about the other. But I have to.

Setting my cup aside, I rise and move to the balcony doors. I'm sure they weren't locked. I don't expect someone to scale the side of a building to the tenth floor and slip into my apartment to murder me or trash my stuff when I'm not home to murder. My thinking has to change. So do my doors. I get the phone book and call one of those security door places. I'll have iron barriers on the other side before nightfall.

I'm fairly certain that Dog Breath won't try getting into the building from the front entrance. He has to either have a code to punch in, or a doorman would have to let him in. Neither would. I'm also fairly confident the five locks on my door will keep Dog Breath out. The only other way I know to be safe … is to kill him for good. There's only one way I can kill him. I have to be one hundred percent certain I can do a complete transformation.

Ready or not, I must venture to Queens and see if my life being threatened will turn me. Of course if it doesn't, I'll be in deep shit. I need a superhero as a sidekick instead of a lesbian.

My phone rings. I answer. It's sort of a superhero. “Hi, Terry.”

“Thought I'd let you know the woman you wanted me to check for bite marks was released from the hospital before I could have her neck looked at again. But we got another body last night at the morgue. Woman with her throat slit. Happened in Queens. The coroner who did the autopsy confirmed what you told me. There were bite marks.”

I'm not surprised and see no reason to act like I am. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Off-duty stakeout,” he answers. “Thought I might head over to Flushing, 147th Street along Northern Boulevard, where a lot of gang action has been going on. I want to check it out for myself. I'm not about to tell my captain I think vampires are murdering these people, not gang members. And really, it has to be some type of ritual thing. I mean, there aren't really vampires.”

So Terry likes to visit denial as much as the next person. “When are you going?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Can I come?”

He laughs. “Absolutely not. It's dangerous over there. It wouldn't be safe for you to tag along.”

“How about coffee before you go? I need to talk to you about something.” There. I have to tell Terry Dog Breath is still alive, even if I might not tell him exactly how I know that. I need time to come up with a story.

“Okay, I'll pick you up and then drop you back home before I go. Around eight?”

“That will be fine.”

“See you then. Stay out of trouble.”

I hang up. Trouble has suddenly become my middle name. Which reminds me of Morgan. I give him a call. As usual, he doesn't pick up and I get his machine. “Morgan, this is Lou. Found anything? Feel free to leave the information on my machine.”

I'm not going to the club again until I figure out if I can transform and what happens when I do. Maybe Dog Breath wasn't there when I went with Karen, but I strongly suspect that he was, and I know he has picked up at least one woman there. And killed her afterward.

In the next two days I plan to Dog Breath–proof my apartment, have the carpet in the bedroom replaced, and buy a new mattress. If I get too desperate for company, there's always my new next-door neighbor. It'll have to be a cold day in hell before I stoop to visiting Natasha. By six-thirty that evening, I declare it a cold day in hell and go next door. Natasha looks surprised to see me. She should be. Something wafting from the apartment into the hallway smells delicious.

“Are you expecting company?” I ask. “I smell cooking.”

“No, I cook for myself. I get tired of takeout food.” She leaves the door open and heads toward Cindy's kitchen. I'm not sure Cindy even has dishes or pots and pans. I guess she has pots and pans or Natasha wouldn't be cooking something that jump-starts my salivary glands.

Neither Cindy nor I can cook worth a damn. That's why we eat out so much. I make sure I lock the door before following Natasha.

She lifts the lid of a big pot and stirs. “Do you want to eat? There is plenty.”

I take a seat at the bar. “You sure you're not expecting someone? That's a big pot.”

Looking over her rather broad shoulder, Natasha laughs. “I come from a big family. I never learned to cook for one. I usually eat a lot of leftovers.”

“When did you come to America?”

“I was fifteen,” she answers. “I came as an exchange student, but didn't want to go home once I graduated. I got in with an agency in Los Angeles, did some modeling for them, became an American citizen, and moved to New York.”

“Do you ever miss living in Russia?”

She shakes her head. “No. But I miss my family. Someday I'll make enough to bring them all over to live. In the meantime, we write letters.”

Okay, I feel a little guilty for joining in the fun when Karen gave Natasha a hard time about looking like a dyke. I know how it feels to be separated from your family. Of course, there's still the Stefan issue between us.

“He wasn't worth it.”

I glance up and catch Natasha staring at me. “What?”

“He wasn't worth having all the other girls hate me.”

“Who, Stefan?” During uncomfortable moments, always pretend confusion over the conversation topic.

“I thought if I slept with him, it would make me one of you. I would be allowed into your snotty club. I wanted to belong.”

Damn her. I can relate to that, too. My dislike of Natasha fades. If the food is as good as it smells, it might cinch the deal. “I can see where sleeping with him would make you believe you were one of the crowd,” I say dryly. “It was the gloating part that got you in trouble. It would have been better if you did what everyone else who sleeps with Stefan does, pretend you haven't.”

“Ah.” Natasha nods and turns back to her big pot. “No one tells me these things.”

While she stirs, I reconsider hating her.

“Do you still have a thing for him?” I ask.

Natasha moves from the stove and takes two bowls from the cabinet. The bowls are plastic. “I never had a thing for him. I only wanted to be accepted. I thought that was the way.”

I withhold judgment until Natasha dishes me a big bowl of what appears to be goulash. She hands me a spoon. I take a bite. After closing my eyes and savoring the combination of meat, noodles, garlic, and tomato sauce, I swallow and say, “Natasha, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”

She smiles. Her bowl brims to the top. Another girl who likes to eat is always welcome in my club. Even if there's something odd about Natasha. Any model who has never had a thing for Stefan is not a normal red-blooded straight girl.