Page 37 of A Malicious Menagerie (Fangs & Fables #1)

The Costume

B efore long, the last vestiges of summer fade with a coconut-sunscreen-scented whimper into a whirlwind of falling leaves that gambol on the crisp autumn breeze.

Pumpkins pop up on stoops like prolific mushrooms beneath a moldering log, most carved into an eclectic mix of grotesque faces, sunny smiles, cats, and witches.

My own stoop bucks tradition with a wolf painstakingly carved and illuminated by buttery yellow candlelight.

On Halloween night, I don my costume with unbridled glee.

It was getting harder and harder to keep the surprise from Chase, who asked me more than once why I was being so squirrelly.

It was easy enough to convince him that I was nervous about the upcoming gala and our escape plan.

Despite his bravado, I know he’s nervous, too.

When I walk into the breakroom that night, John is already there throwing his usual white-plastic-bagged lunch into the fridge.

He’s taken to writing his name in three different places on his yogurt, but it still tends to mysteriously disappear.

He glances up at me as I walk through the door, and when he sees my costume, he scowls. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Well, hello to you, too,” I reply, ignoring him. Not even his doom and gloom can bring me down tonight. “Happy Halloween.”

“This isn’t a damn kindergarten,” he growls. “There’s no one here that’s gonna even see a stupid costume. ”

“Well, you’ve seen it,” I point out. “Colby even cracked a smile when he saw me, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen that man smile. Plus, I can see it, and it makes me happy.”

“Simple,” he grumbles under his breath.

“Life is best with simple pleasures,” I agree, ignoring that he was most definitely calling me simple.

What I don’t mention is that the costume is more for Chase than anyone. John still doesn’t know that I’ve been spending so much time with the werewolf, and I plan to keep it that way.

After tucking away my dinner and grabbing a walkie-talkie, I make my way to the woods, my feet unconsciously tracing the same convoluted path I take most nights now to hide the Halloween cookies and blood I’m carrying in my fanny pack.

Not wanting to ruin the full effect, I stop in the trees a few yards away from the wolf enclosure to sling off the pack and hide it in some thick brush.

That done, I fluff my blonde hair, which I usually wear up in a messy bun or ponytail but today took the time to curl and leave long.

Finally, I pull my hood up over my head, fussing with how it drapes over my forehead before continuing on with a sly grin.

Chase is waiting for me by the door like he usually is, gray sweatpants slung low on his hips.

He’s looking out the opposite way, his back turned to me, until he cocks his head at the sound of my arrival and glances over his shoulder at me.

When he sees my costume, a slow, heated grin spreads across his face. “Well, hello, Little Red Riding Hood.”

I flutter my eyelashes at him. “Hello, Mr. Wolf. Happy Halloween.”

“Guess I forgot my costume,” Chase muses, spreading his arms to indicate his half-naked state.

I snort. “Well, lucky that you have a built-in costume, then.”

This time, his grin is dominated by his savage fangs. “Good point.”

“Why, Grandmother, what big teeth you have,” I tease.

“The better to eat you with, my dear,” he rumbles, and all my humor promptly turns to lust at the hot look in his eyes. He crooks a finger at me. “Come closer, Little Red.”

“I don’t know,” I muse, tapping my lower lip thoughtfully and feeling a riot of butterflies in my stomach when his sharp gaze immediately tracks the movement. “You look like you want to lead me astray.”

“Only if you want to be led astray,” he promises darkly.

A little shiver of anticipation raises goosebumps over my bare arms as I tap my card to the sensor to let myself into his enclosure. He immediately prowls toward me, but I quickly sidestep him. “Anna,” he grumbles, his voice more wolf than man. “Come here.”

Ignoring his command, I take another step away, watching as he tracks my movements like a hawk sighting a rabbit. My heart kicks at my sternum in warning. “When we met— really met—you told me you’d chase me, if I like.”

Chase freezes, and I can see his thoughts whirling as he desperately tries to figure out if I’m serious. “Anna,” he growls, his voice low and eyes glinting sharp and metallic in the low light, “if you run, I will catch you. And I will devour you.”

“Promise?” I ask breathlessly. And, before he can respond, I spin on my heel and take off into the trees.

I hear his curse transform into a snarl before the solid tree trunks and brush fold me into their embrace and muffle the sound.

Instead, I’m left with the crackle of leaves and twigs under my feet and the rasp of my breath in and out of my lungs.

My heart is beating so strongly that I feel the throb of my pulse everywhere, from my pumping arms to my scurrying legs to the frantic ache between my thighs.

I know Chase will catch me. He has the hometown advantage, and besides, he’s a wolf.

The question is how long I can evade him.

My boots skitter and slide over the slick leaf litter as I dodge between trees and vault over low boulders.

I’ve never considered myself particularly athletic, but adrenaline is lending me strength and speed I could otherwise never claim.

I have a vague map in my head of Chase’s domain, and I zigzag my way around any big clearings that might give him a better opportunity of seeing me.

I’m just starting to change my mind and think that I might have a chance of winning this game when there’s a sudden burst of movement behind me. A massive figure darts between the trees to my rear, the breeze stirring my red cape as the wolf just narrowly misses bowling me over.

I emit an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak and redouble my efforts, my breath burning in my chest and muscles threatening to give out as I up my pace. There’s the brief sound of paws thudding on dirt before the figure slips to one side and disappears. An unnerving silence is left in his wake.

This is about the point when I realize that Chase missed me on purpose. He’s toying with me, showing me he can win at any time but giving me tastes of victory that I can’t resist diving for, like a cat batting a mouse between its paws.

More determined than ever, I turn sharply to the left.

There are some low brambles that I might be small enough to crawl under but that Chase definitely won’t be able to navigate, even as a human man.

Unfortunately, he must intuit my plan because he bursts out of the brush in front of me to block my path.

Not quite a wolf but not quite a man, Chase has turned himself into some unholy hybrid of the two.

He stands crouched on two powerful hind legs, his weight balanced on his clawed toes with his hocks raised like a wolf’s.

Short, glistening blue-black fur covers his skin but does nothing to hide his bulging biceps or the taut delineations between his abdominals.

His muzzle is blunted, though still lined with viciously jagged teeth, and the triumphant grin he gives me makes his amber gaze glint like the edge of a dagger.

Shaking off my shock—I didn’t even know that he could do that, halt the transition midway—I do an about-face and take off in the other direction, cursing my stymied plan.

My brain is still churning, trying to come up with another strategy instead of mindless flight, when the steel bars marking the wall of the cage come into view.

I’m careening through the woods too fast to stop.

I collide with the unforgiving metal with an oomph , what little breath I have wheezing out of me.

Before I can pull myself together enough to push off the bars and keep going, a hot, heavy weight comes up against my back, trapping me between steel and furred muscle.

Fueled by some innate instinct to fight , I wrap my fingers around the bars until my knuckles blanch and shove backwards with all my might, trying to buck him off me.

I might as well be swatting at an elephant for all the good the maneuver does me.

His thick arms come up on either side of me, caging me in, and his clawed fingers curl around mine to seal my palms to the metal poles.

Fear and arousal play tug of war with my heart like wolves with their kill until I have no idea which is winning.

Completely at his mercy, there isn’t much I can do except take quick, gasping breaths, trying to fill my overwrought lungs.

With every desperate inhale, the scent of pine and spice and warm fur floods my senses.

The werewolf— Chase , I remind myself, which eases my galloping heartbeat only a little—leans his head down, his whiskered muzzle brushing my cheek as he tips my head to one side with his nose and sniffs at my exposed throat.

Growling with satisfaction, he laves his tongue down my fluttering pulse and along the neckline of my modest black blouse, leaving a trail of damp heat in his wake.

The cape came with a low-cut velvet corset, but I wasn’t about to wear that to work and give creepy John a show.

“Chase,” I whimper, my voice high and breathy. He huffs a hot breath against my skin that coasts down under my bra to tighten my nipples.

A moment later, there’s the sound of bones snapping and tendons creaking.

I gasp as the black claws caging my hands transform into blunt fingers with rounded nails.

When Chase’s cheek brushes mine again, all I can feel this time is the rasp of his stubble.

“Told you I’d catch you,” he murmurs in my ear, prompting a shiver to crackle down my spine.

“And I also told you what would happen next.” Before I can respond, he spins me around by my hips until my back is to the bars and makes good on his promise.