Page 13 of Howl for Me (Moonlight Magic Studios #1)

Chapter Eleven

Johnny

I hate these things.

Too many bodies and too many fake-ass smiles with teeth too white.

The music is pounding like a hammer to the skull.

Hector said it’d be good for me to get out.

“Remind people you're not just some brooding beast who fucks for a living. No one wants to work with you anymore because you’re so damn cold.”

The joke’s on him. That’s exactly what I am.

I tuck myself into the darkest corner of the room, a whiskey glass sweating in my hand and I don’t even taste it.

It Doesn’t matter, nothing hits right anymore.

I used to enjoy this, the parties, the drinking, the hunt. A blur of skin and teeth, no strings.

Now?

All I smell is desperation. And it’s fucking loud. And she’s not here.

Cassidy.

Goddamn Cassidy.

It’s been five weeks since that night. Since she walked into my house, dropped the script on the table, and vanished like it was just another errand. Like she hadn’t heard me in the shower panting, groaning, moaning her name like a starved fucking animal. Fuck, I hope she didn’t hear me.

I didn’t see her. Didn’t hear the door. But I smelled her. The second I stepped out of the bathroom, I knew she’d been there. Her scent was everywhere; warm skin, adrenaline, that soft sweetness that drives me insane. It clung to the couch and hung in the hallway.

If she heard me, she never let on that she did.

She showed up the next day with the same attitude like I’m her burden.

She still doesn’t know that her scent betrays every snarky comment and eye roll she gives me.

Every shoot, I tell myself to focus. I run the lines.

I stay in character. I try not to let my eyes drift to her or breathe too deeply when she passes by. But it doesn’t make a difference.

She’s always there. In the room and in my head. And worse; under my fucking skin.

A woman approaches with legs for days, tits practically gift-wrapped in glitter. She’s laughing before she even gets to me.

“You’re Johnny, right?” Her voice is sticky and sweet. “I’ve seen your work.”

I grunt.

She runs her nails down my shoulder. “Wanna get out of here?”

I turn my head and catch her scent and—

Fuck.

Too much perfume. She smells like chemicals. So rancid I nearly gag.

This is a new development. I thought I was imagining it in the car with Stacy the other day, but nope. Other women smell disgusting to me now. It’s making my job even harder and my dick softer.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I've heard of scent-matches. Heard of shifters finding their mates and being ruined for anyone else. But that wasn’t supposed to be me. I was never wanted or ever claimed. I was good at my job because I didn’t need anyone.

But ever since Cassidy walked into my life, all fire and no fear, I’ve been rotting from the inside out.

“You stink,” I mutter, eyes still on the woman.

She blinks, then laughs, flipping her hair like I’m just being flirty.

“That’s one way to say hi.”

I shove off the wall, and the room tilts sideways.

I’m drunk, but not drunk enough to forget her, my mate, and not drunk enough to forget the way she smells when she’s angry.

Or the way her lips part when she’s about to tell me off.

I make a stop in the bathroom to snort the last of the coke I have so I can stay awake long enough to make it home. Can I make it home?

The next part’s a blur.

I stumble out the door, but I don’t remember the parking lot and don’t remember turning the key. My hand was on the wheel. My foot was on the gas. That’s all I know.

I’m blinded by red and blue flashing lights with sirens inside my skull blaring, and I can't turn them off. Suddenly, it’s all cuffs and cold metal and piss-stained cement and me slumped against the wall in a jail cell, head pounding and heart twisting.

I must have passed out because I wake slightly to the sound of footsteps.

A sharp sound, clicking fast. Too fast to be Hector. Then I hear her voice.

“Johnny.”

I groan and crack open an eye. Cassidy. Hair pulled back. Face tight. Arms crossed like she’s keeping herself from wringing my neck. Hector must have called her. Why the fuck did he call her?

“Why are you here?” I snap, but my words come out in slurs.

“Yeah, well, somebody has to drag your sorry ass out of here.”

She steps forward and squints at me. “Jesus, you smell like a brewery and a corpse.”

“You smell… good,” I slur.

She freezes. “What?”

“You always smell good,” I whisper, trying not to slouch too far. “Like… like home. Like mine. My mate .”

Fuck. Did I say that last part out loud?

Shut up. Shut up, you idiot.

She’s staring now. Her expression is unreadable. Then another voice cuts through the tension like a blade.

“Well, that was pathetic,” Hector says behind her. “He’s lucky I didn’t let him rot here overnight.”

Cassidy whirls around. “You could’ve just picked him up yourself.”

“Oh, I could’ve. But this is a team effort now.”

He tosses her a set of keys.

She catches them, confused. “What are these?”

“Johnny’s car.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He smiles, all smug-like. “Congratulations. You’re his new chauffeur, roommate, and babysitter. Effective immediately.”

“What?!”

“You’re moving in. You’ll make sure he gets to set rehearsals and promo interviews. You’ll make sure he eats. Doesn’t kill himself or anyone else.”

“I am not doing that. That’s not in my job description.”

Hector shrugs. “It is now.”

“You can’t just assign me to live with him!”

“I can and I did.” He pulls a folded piece of paper from his jacket and hands it to her.

She unfolds it. Her jaw tightens. “What is this?”

“Your new salary.”

She stares at the check. “This is a bribe.”

“It’s compensation. You’re free to walk away if it’s too much.”

“I didn’t sign up for this, Hector. This is too much.”

“No,” he says evenly. “You’re the only person he listens to and, honestly, his last hope.”

She’s breathing hard now, face flushed with frustration. Her hand is still clutched around the check.

I’m still slouched on the floor, blinking up at her like a dog that’s been kicked too many times.

“You can go,” I mumble. “I’d leave too.”

She looks down at me, jaw clenched, brows drawn tight. Her face is a storm. And then she lets out a breath, sharp and angry.

“Fuck,” she mutters.

She crouches beside me and grabs my arm, tugging me up with more strength than I thought she had. I sway and she stumbles but catches me. I don’t want to puke, but the mixture of coke and booze has my world tilting. I just want to go home.

“Can we go home?” I sound pathetic.

Her eyes narrow. “Yeah, you big mutt. Let’s get you home before I change my mind.”

The ride is a blur of lights and sounds. I jolt halfway awake to the sensation of someone yanking on my arm like I’m a toddler throwing a tantrum in a store. The world outside my eyelids is too bright, too loud, too cold, and her voice cuts right through it like a knife.

“Come on, Johnny,” Cassidy snaps, breathless. “Get the hell up.”

Her fingers are wrapped around my bicep, tugging like she thinks she’s gonna move me by sheer will. I groan and shift just enough to make her grunt in frustration.

“Why are you here?” I slur, eyes still mostly closed. “Didn’t you get the memo? Babysitting time’s over.”

She yanks harder.

“I swear to god, Johnny, if you puke I will kill you.”

“M’fine right here,” I mumble, settling deeper into the seat like it’s a five-star hotel mattress. “Leave me. Let me rot.”

“Not a chance.”

“Persistent,” I mutter.

“Stubborn,” she fires back, already halfway hauling me up by the arm.

I give a grunt of effort and sit up too fast. The world spins sideways, becoming a funhouse mirror and the driveway an uphill marathon. I stumble forward with all the grace of a dying moose, Cassidy trailing behind like a pissed-off chaperone she is.

We reach the front step. I fumble through my pockets, slapping each one.

“I have your keys,” she says, catching me by the elbow and shoving me back against the house so I don’t face plant the ground. My shoulder hits the wall and I sag there, boneless.

“Fuck. Which key is it?” she mutters, holding up the set Hector gave her.

They jingle like bells echoing in the night.

I watch her fumble with the keyring, her lip curled in concentration, and it hits me all at once, blonde curls, wild and loose around her face, cheeks flushed with effort and anger.

“I love that foul mouth of yours,” I slur with a crooked grin. “All blonde curls and profanity.”

She doesn’t even look at me. “I’m really about to cuss you the fuck out if I don’t get this door open.”

A second later, the lock clicks and gives way. She shoves the door with her shoulder and guides me inside like she’s done it before. Like she belongs here. I trip into the dark living room and crash onto the couch, face-first.

The sound of cabinets opening and closing drifts from the kitchen. She’s rustling around, doing something domestic and entirely unwanted.

Then she’s back beside me, setting something down on the side table, water, painkillers, a trash can, I don’t know. I don’t look. I just reach for her, my fingers curling around her wrist before she can pull away.

“Why won’t you just leave?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t shake you.”

She rips her arm from my grip like I burned her. Her eyes blaze.

“Yeah, you’re welcome, asshole,” she snaps. She grabs the keys from the table and storms out.

I hear the door slam, and then the engine outside coughs to life. Headlights sweep across the ceiling. I try to lift my head, try to stop her. But the exhaustion slams into me like a brick wall and pulls me under.

And just like that, she’s gone.

And I sleep like the dead.