Alex Finch: Monster Hunter

  She bit her lip, but nodded. I kept moving forward, both hands on the iron leg. This time I was aiming for that smirking snout. I needed to do enough damage to give me time to reach the sidewalk. That was my get-out-alive goal.

  I just hoped I had enough left to cause the damage.

  My arm had been bleeding steadily since I cut it, with no time to do anything but pretend it didn't hurt like hell. Closing my stronger right hand over my left, I moved forward, taking slow, even breaths.

  Claws scraped across cement. It was on the walkway--I hoped--leading up to the house. Please, God, don't let it be on the sidewalk outside the fence.

  I took a chance, peeked around the side of the house. And let relief loosen the knot in my gut. The creature sniffed along the middle of the cracked walkway, its back to me. I knew I wouldn't get another break like this.

  Shouting in my head, I ran forward, raised the heavy iron leg and bashed it against the creature's right flank.

  "Go, Misty!"

  I saw her in my peripheral vision, dashing across the lawn. I scrambled backward, keeping the furious, snarling creature in my sightline.

  Without warning it leaped forward. I cried out, ramming into the fence left side first. My injured arm bounced off the wrought iron. The pain shot through me, going straight to my legs, which happily gave in to it, dropping me to the ground.

  All my pain-blurred vision saw was a black shape filling the sky. I covered my head with my right arm, made myself as small as possible and braced for tearing agony.

  Instead, a startled whine nearly deafened me. Something wet and icy splashed over my right arm, followed by a pair of calloused hands that dragged me up and out of the yard before I could take in a breath to scream.

  "Alex!" Misty's voice pierced through the brain fog. "God, are you okay? Get her away from the fence, Sam. That nightmare could still reach through and--"

  "He won't be hurting anyone, Misty." Oh, no. Please, let me be hearing things. "You're safe, Alex. I promise you."

  No--not hearing things. That deep, quiet voice belonged to Sam Emmett--yeah, those Emmetts, as in Emmettsville. I've had a secret crush on him since the first grade. I can count on one hand the number of times he's noticed me. After today, I'll have to start using both hands--to hide my face every time he walks by.

  "Alex?" Misty's soft fingers pushed the sweaty, blood tacky hair off my face. "You're really scaring me here. Look at me, talk to me, tell me I'm an idiot."

  A snort of laughter escaped me at the last comment. I couldn't help myself; who knew Misty was actually funny? After a quick pep talk, I raised my head, and stared into the clear grey-blue eyes that had haunted me for ten years. "Hey, Sam."

  "Are you all right?" I made an attempt at a smile. It felt ghastly. Sam actually looked concerned, crouched over me, his wide shoulders blocking my view of the house--

  Panic had me trying to stand. "Where is it? We have to--"

  "He can't hurt you." Sam closed both hands over my shoulders. I don't think--nope, he's never touched me like this before. I didn't know if my heart could take the added stress. "Alex." One hand cupped my chin, and I didn't have any choice. I had to look at the gorgeous face. Up close, in touching distance. God, I might need a medic. "What did you see?"

  "Are you kidding me?" Misty's screech threatened to blow out my eardrums. "She saw what I saw--a giant, hairy thing with teeth as big as my arm!"

  Sam ignored her--he ignored the most knock out beautiful girl in school!--and kept his gaze on me, waiting. I swallowed, horribly aware of the blood staining my green hoodie, my faded jeans, my hair, and probably every inch of exposed skin. I felt sticky, disgusting, and about as attractive as a corpse on a hot day.

  "Alex." His fingers cradled my chin, the skin rough but warm, and so gentle his care tightened my throat. Please, don't let me cry. Do not let me cry. "Tell me what you saw."

  "You said he." It just clicked. Sam was talking about the creature. "The wolf-thing--you know." I stared at him, not able to say the words. You know what he is. Sam nodded, once, and let me go. When he stood I finally saw what he used to get the hairy nightmare to back off.

  A silver walking stick.

  Liquid slid down the intricate, carved length, the same shiny, slick silver as the stick. I looked at my arm. Dots of silver marked my hoodie, my skin. It wasn't mercury, because according to some of the odder websites I've come across while trolling late at night, mercury didn't work against werewolves . . .

  Oh, sweet God in Heaven. The truth my mind kept grabbing on to every time I looked at the creature slapped at me, ugly and all too real.

  Those grey-blue eyes studied my face, watched every emotion flash over it. I'd make a lousy poker player.

  "He's not what you think." Sam's quiet voice cut into my thoughts. "And I'm sorry for what happened."

  He helped me stand, one arm around my waist. If I weren't so disgusting and already more than a little loopy from the pain, I would have been in crush heaven. Instead, I simply leaned against him, staring at the backpack in Misty's hands, then at the now empty front yard.

  It hadn't been a dream, or a hallucination. I had the wounds to prove that. Just what the hell attacked us, and what Sam was protecting--those were questions he'd answer. Even if it took every last nerve I had to confront him.

  2

  They both escorted me home, Misty chattering like the airhead I always pegged her as. Now I knew better. She kept glancing over the front passenger seat at me, like I'd die between one sentence and the next.

  How did she manage to look movie star tousled after that, even with a couple of inches chopped off her hair, when I ended up as appealing as a zombie extra?

  "Alex." Sam's quiet voice jerked me out of my thoughts. "We're in your neighborhood. Which house is yours?"

  "Take the first left, then the first two rights. It's the big yellow and white Victorian on the left."

  Misty stared at the mix of Victorians, Craftsman style cottages, and bungalows. "I didn't know you lived in the historic part of town. This is so cool."

  "My mom inherited the house from her grandmother. She's been renovating it ever since."

  "Impressive," Sam said.

  Did they really care about where I lived? Sam lived in a mansion outside of town, for heaven's sake. And Misty's dad had a custom house built at the edge of their own private beach.

  I snuck a look at Sam. He drove, calm and quiet, studying the houses with Misty. The only thing giving him away was his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. I didn't know how I was going to pry the truth out of him, when it took all my courage to look him in the eye when I passed him in the hall at school.

  Yeah, I know--I just attacked some seven foot hairy monster. I wasn't secretly in love with the monster.

  Letting out a sigh, I closed my eyes, and leaned my head against the seat. Sam took the time before we left to tear up his t-shirt, wrap part of it around my forearm, and the rest on Misty's feet, stripping it off without even a hint of warning.

  If I hadn't already been distracted and in pain I'm certain I would have passed out. Instead I got a long, up close look at lean, sculpted muscle, lightly tanned skin--and odd, narrow scars running over his left shoulder. Old, faded scars. Like claw marks.

  I added them to my list of questions. It kept getting longer.

  Now he wore a well-used, torn Emmettsville High sweatshirt, rescued from the floor of his SUV. Yeah, even the school was named after them. Half the town, since his ancestor claimed the piece of land as his own little kingdom, and decided that he needed subjects to be king. Ready built businesses and homes were his bribes--owned by him, of course.

  Most of it was still owned by the current Emmetts. For being the multi-great grandson of a megalomaniac, Sam was pretty well-adjusted.

  "Here we are!" Misty's too chirpy voice yanked me back to the moment. "Home at last."

  I let out a relieved sigh as we pulled into the long driveway running along the side of my house. Mom wa
sn't home yet.

  "You can just drop me off--"

  "Not on your life." Misty pushed at Sam when he didn't say anything. "Tell her we're not leaving her, bleeding and traumatized, on her front doorstep."

  Sam glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "What she said."

  Wow--I felt all warm and fuzzy inside. "It's okay. I've done worse to myself." I started to open the door. Sam beat me to it, moving faster than I expected.

  "Give me your hand, Alex." He eased me out of the SUV, while Misty ran ahead with my keys to open the front door, my messenger bag and the backpack slung over her shoulder. Her feet only had a few shallow cuts; she'd shed the makeshift bandages in the car.

  I tried to talk them out of bringing me inside. I didn't want them to witness my meltdown when what I'd done finally hit me. Plus I wanted to clean up before Mom got home, to avoid her meltdown if she saw so much as a scratch. I could hide everything with a shower and one of my hoodies. I think.

  Sam's arm slipped around my waist, again. This time I was aware enough to feel the tingle, to feel the blush spread over my cheeks. Hell.

  He glanced down at me, and smiled. "Don't be afraid to lean against me. I think I can handle it."

  Did I mention he was tall? Yeah, about a foot taller than stumpy me, so it felt like he was wrapped around me as he led me up the sidewalk.

  I took him up on his offer and leaned into his support, moving slowly, savoring every second. I knew it would be the only time I ever got this close to him, and I wanted to remember every sound, every scent, every second, so I could relive it in private. After he started ignoring me again.

  Bruises and scrapes started complaining as we climbed the steps to the porch. By the time Sam and Misty got me to my bedroom upstairs, my body was in full on rebellion.

  "Help her into the shower," Sam said. "And stay with her, Misty. She's lost too much blood to be left alone."

  "Where are you going?"

  He paused in the doorway. "To get something for that cut. I'll meet you downstairs."

  And he was gone. If I hadn't been so shell shocked, my mind would be screaming "Sam Emmett was in my BEDROOM!" But it came out as a whisper, and would soon be a long, detailed entry in my journal.

  "Okay, hero." Misty dropped the messenger bag and backpack next to my desk, led me to the bathroom attached to my room. Yep--being an only child does have its perks. "Let's get you undressed, see what the damage is."

  "That's all right." I tried to pull away from her. My body refused to obey. To my horror, it did the opposite--all but falling against her as my feet tangled themselves around each other. Huh. I didn't know they could screw up so badly. I'm actually quite graceful, thanks to ten years of dance classes and a low center of gravity. Being short does have some advantages. "Sorry," I mumbled, clutching at her. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

  "It's called shock, girl." Misty's voice was brisk, but the look she gave me was kind. And grateful. How am I supposed to handle grateful from the most popular girl in school? She's barely had more than two words for me since kindergarten, until three days ago. And I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Sam Emmett had been in my bedroom. No wonder my head was spinning. "Add in blood loss and that--monster." She shuddered, and I saw that under the smear of dirt, and now my blood, she was pale. "I'm surprised you're still upright."

  I knew I wouldn't be for much longer. Shock was setting in, and my body wanted the oblivion of sleep. That shock kept me from red-faced embarrassment when she helped me strip, carefully pulled the makeshift bandage off my arm, and guided me into the shower stall, closing the door for me.

  Don't get me wrong--I'm far from ashamed of my body, but next to her perky, curvy figure, I felt like a boy.

  The brief shower was an exercise in pain. I had bruises everywhere, and more than a few scrapes I didn't notice until the water hit them. I used the tiled wall as a support for my injured arm, to keep it out of the spray. It hurt enough.

  Once the water ran clear, I turned the shower off, and grabbed one of the towels hanging over the top of the stall to dry my hair. I wanted to pull it back, but with only one working arm that wasn't going to happen, so I let it drip down my back. I was not going to wear a towel on my head in front of Sam Emmett.

  I spotted the cleaning rag from under the sink on top of the second towel, and reminded myself to thank Misty for snooping. This time it was called for.

  Carefully, flinching from just the weight of it, I wrapped the soft cloth around my arm, hissing when it touched the still bleeding gash.

  I took the second towel, and carefully dabbed at my skin, flinching every time I hit a raw spot. Giving up, I wrapped it around me and pushed the shower door open.

  "Here you go--nice and cuddly warm." Misty stood in the bathroom, holding up a fuchsia robe I never wore. I mean--it was pink. I don't do pink. Ever. It was a gift from my favorite Aunt Agnes, which was the only reason it was actually in my closet at all. "Arm out."

  "Misty." She looked at me, smiling. "I hurt my arm, not my brain."

  She let out an impatient breath. "I know that. I'm just trying to distract you."

  "That robe did the job. I don't really ever wear--"

  "Are you kidding me? This is adorable."

  Before I could protest any more, she had my good arm in the sleeve. Resigned to looking like an idiot in front of Sam yet again, I clenched my jaw as she eased my injured arm into the wide sleeve, and gave me the privacy I needed to drop my towel and close the robe. She tied the lace trimmed belt. Lace. Really.

  I managed to not roll my eyes as she practically drooled over the girly detailing, and helped me down the stairs. I felt better after the shower, but I wasn't sure I could climb them again. I knew I didn't dare try it on my own.

  My heart flip-flopped when I saw Sam waiting for us in the living room. Sunlight filtered through the window, highlighting his shoulder length, sun streaked blonde hair--and a thin, pale scar on the left side of his jaw I never noticed before. Me--who studied every school photo I had of him for hours on end. How could I not have seen it before?

  He distracted me by taking my good arm and lowering me to the sofa. I blinked when he pulled out a medical kit--no, a suture kit. I recognized it from the trip I took to the emergency room after I spun out on my mountain bike. The gash on my right knee took sixteen stitches, and the doctor used a kit exactly like the one Sam held.

  He shrugged when he saw my raised eyebrows, opened the kit. "My uncle's a doctor, and I like to be prepared."

  Prepared--in case a monster attacks someone he knows? Yeah--that list just keeps getting longer.

  He sat on the slipper chair he'd pulled closer to the sofa, took out the instruments, and set them in a bowl of steaming water on the coffee table. Carefully--and with the ease that screamed experience--he peeled the cloth off my wound. I sucked in my breath, used all my control to keep from snatching my arm away. It felt like he was peeling off a layer of skin.

  After setting the cloth on the coffee table, he rested my left forearm on a dish towel he laid over the arm of the sofa. Just as carefully, he cleaned the wound, using the sterile pads and antiseptic wash he must have found in my mom's extensive medical stash. Hey--you have an active tomboy, you collect supplies.

  "Take these." Sam handed me three white pills. I recognized them--I've taken my share of pain pills, between dance class and my mountain bike adventures. He gave me a bottle of water, took it back after I swallowed them. "I don't have any way to numb your arm, Alex, so I'm afraid this is going to hurt." I nodded, prayed I wouldn't do something embarrassing, like pass out. "Misty, could you hold her still for me?"

  She sat next to me and held on to my good hand. I tensed, not entirely comfortable with all the attention. Never mind the touching. Don't get me wrong--I've had dance partners who grabbed me in every conceivable spot, so I'm no stranger to groping.

  But this was--uncomfortable, and exciting, and uncomfortable. Tingles radiated out from the contact p
oint to every inch of my bruised and tired body.

  "Relax for me. That will make it easier on all of us." Sam did a good job of distracting me as he started to suture the gash. "I heard you outprogrammed Mr. Deeter in class last week."

  I blinked at him. "You--heard about that?"

  He knew I existed last week? Oh, God. What was I wearing? Was that the week I tripped down the stairs because I was too busy watching him walk across the quad?

  "Are you kidding?" He smiled, his gaze on my arm. "Matt Kinski told me Mr. Deeter had a fit when you fixed the coding glitch."

  "It was more of a tantrum." Sam laughed, the sound of it warm and deep, and--hell, I had to stop that thought train. He felt responsible for whatever happened, and was fixing it. The End.

  I jerked when he got closer to the deepest part of the wound.

  Sam paused. "I'm sorry, Alex, I know it hurts."

  "Just--finish it."

  He nodded, and kept going. Misty draped her arm over my shoulders, and I gripped her hand, tight. She didn't make a sound, even though I knew it must have hurt.

  Finally, he did the last suture and leaned back, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. I saw his fingers shaking, and realized he was nervous.

  Now that the deed was done, my distraction was gone, and my mind began its wild speculations again. What was he doing at the McGinty house? It had been no coincidence that he showed up in time to keep Misty and me from becoming an afternoon snack. And how did an eighteen year old learn how to suture like a pro?

  Yeah, eighteen. I like older men. I am a junior--okay, the youngest junior at Emmettsville High. So I skipped a grade, or three. Stop judging me.

  Sam wrapped a bandage around my forearm, and taped it off. The tingles were less--tingly. I was getting used to him touching me. How would I face tomorrow, knowing it wouldn't happen again?

  His quiet voice pulled me out of my pity party. "How does that feel?"

  "Better." I stared at his hand, afraid every emotion racing around my heart would show on my face. "Thanks."

  "Anytime." If only he meant that. "Ready to go upstairs?"

  "Yeah." I do happen to be a sparkling conversationalist. Just not around Sam.

  "Up you go," Misty said. She helped me stand--and my legs decided it was nap time. "Whoa--"