Page 7 of Howl for Me (Moonlight Magic Studios #1)

Chapter Six

Cassidy

I run.

As fast as my legs will carry me, I bolt through the front door and out into the street. The place is way too far from anything. There are no cabs and no subway. The damn bus stop is blocks away. I had to walk forever just to get here. What the hell did I walk into?

Monster porn. What the actual fuck even is that?

My legs pump harder, my lungs burning, but I don’t look back.

I can’t. Not when my brain’s screaming and my heart’s slamming against my ribs, like it wants out.

I’m too trusting and way too na?ve. A small-town idiot dropped into a fast, freak-show city.

Panic claws its way up my throat, squeezing tight, tighter, until it’s hard to breathe and harder to keep running. I hear the door slam open behind me.

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

Footsteps. Fast ones.

I stumble to a stop, chest heaving. My lungs feel like they’re on fire. Fumbling with my bag, I dig around until my fingers wrap around the pepper spray. I have no idea how this thing works, but I rip it out, spin around, and hold it up like a weapon.

He’s already close. Too close.

“Stay the fuck away from me or I’ll use this!”

Johnny freezes, one hand flying to his chest. His eyes flash gold again, just like before.

“Don’t,” he says, voice low and strained.

I back up a step, still pointing the spray at him. “I will if you come any closer.”

His chest rises and falls, and he rubs his nose like he’s trying to scrub something out of it. “Your smell—just… don’t fucking run.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I snap.

I glance down at myself. I don’t smell anything. Okay, yeah, maybe I should’ve showered this morning, but it’s not that bad.

“My smell?” I scoff. “Gods, you’re an asshole.”

He moves toward me again, slow this time, careful, and I raise the spray higher.

“I mean it. Leave me the hell alone.”

He growls low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through the air. “Trust me, doll. I can be a lot worse if you run. Your scent is choking me. Your fear, its thick and strong, and if you run again, I won’t be able to stop myself from chasing you. And if I catch you…”

He cuts himself off, shaking his head like he’s trying to snap out of a trance. His golden eyes stay locked on me.

“Just calm down,” he says. “Let me talk to you.”

One more step and he’ll be close enough. Close enough for me to spray him and bolt.

He takes that step.

I press the button.

Except… instead of him screaming and clutching his face, it’s me who goes blind.

I sprayed myself right in the fucking face.

“GOD DAMN IT!”

It burns. Oh hell, it burns.

I drop the canister and clutch at my eyes, blinking against the fire spreading across my face.

“Oh shit,” Johnny mutters, and then I hear it; his shocked little chuckle. The asshole’s laughing.

“I hate you,” I manage to grind out through clenched teeth, stumbling backward with one eye squeezed shut, the other tearing up like it’s mourning my dignity.

“Yeah?” he drawls, stopping just shy of my reach. “Could have guessed that, what with the chemical warfare and all.”

“Don’t come near me,” I snap, holding my arm out while trying not to panic.

I can barely make out his blurry form as he raises his hands in a mock innocent gesture, “Hey, I’m not the one who sprayed myself in the face. That was all you, sweetheart.”

“Call me that again and I’ll—”

“Blindly flail? Try to run into traffic?” He clicks his tongue. “You’re a mess. Come on. Let’s rinse your face before you lose your vision and what little pride you’ve got left.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I snap, even as the world blurs and my knees start to shake.

He sighs. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

And just like that, I’m off the ground. One arm under my knees, the other cradling my back. He lifts me like I’m made of air.

“What the hell! Put me down!”

“I am. Eventually.”

“This is kidnapping!” I yell.

“This is basic first aid, drama queen.”

I slap at his shoulder. He doesn’t even flinch. “Tell the truth, baby, you like being this close to me.”

“Your ego is staggering.”

“Yeah, so’s your aim with that pepper spray.”

I kick my foot against his side, and his grunt of pain pleases me for a moment.

He shoulders the door open, kicks it closed behind him, and carries me into a bathroom with obnoxiously clean tile and obnoxiously bright lights.

He sets me gently on the counter like I’m something fragile, which only pisses me off more.

“I bet you’re enjoying this.”

“Not even a little. You’re heavier than you look.”

“Excuse me?”

He smirks and grabs a washcloth, running it under cold water.

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” I mutter, but I don’t stop him when he steps between my knees and tilts my chin up. Somehow, the heat from my face seems to spread throughout my body, down to my core. It’s just the pepper spray, right?

The cold cloth hits my face, and I flinch.

“Hold still,” he says, voice quieter now, more focused.

The cloth presses gently to my cheek, and I suck in a breath. “Ah shit, that stings.”

“Yeah. That’s how pepper spray works.”

“Thank you, Professor. Do you offer a course in not being a total dick?”

“Not currently.”

His fingers are careful, surprisingly gentle as he dabs along the edge of my eye. “You got lucky. Most of it hit your cheek. Shouldn’t be permanent.”

“Great,” I mutter.

“Could be worse. You could’ve hit me with it.”

“I was trying to.”

His mouth twitches like he’s holding back another laugh. “Yeah. I got that.”

For a second, it’s quiet. Just the soft pat of the cloth, the drip of the sink, my stupid, traitorous heart knocking against my ribs like it’s forgotten why I’m here and who he is.

I feel him hesitate. His hand stills on my jaw. He’s too close. His scent curls around me, and I hate that it makes my stomach twist.

He clears his throat first, stepping back like he felt it too. “You’re fine now. You can keep hating me with full vision.”

“I was doing that before just fine.”

“You sure?” he says with a smirk, already halfway out the door. “Your scent says otherwise.”

I toss the damp cloth after him. I miss. Of course. My scent? He keeps talking about how I smell, and it's only grating on my nerves even more.

“Go to hell, mutt.”

“Already there, doll.”

The door clicks shut, and I’m left alone, face on fire, pride in pieces, and heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. I slide off the counter. My legs are a little shaky, not that I’d admit it. I turn to the mirror, bracing myself for the disaster staring back.

Yeah. Disaster confirmed.

My eye is still red and watery, the surrounding skin puffy and angry. The other half of my face isn’t doing much better, flushed and blotchy. I roll my eyes at the sight, wincing when it tugs at the raw skin.

“Gorgeous,” I mutter under my breath. “Just fucking perfect.”

But the thing that sticks with me isn’t the pain.

It’s the way I felt when he held me, solid, warm, like being yanked out of a nightmare and dropped into something just as terrifying, but.

..safer. That’s what makes zero sense. I should be scared out of my mind.

I should be running until my lungs give out.

But with Johnny?

I didn’t feel in danger. Annoyed, yes, but he’s not threatening, just an asshole.

If anything, I felt grounded. Like I was caught and anchored to something I didn’t ask for but didn’t hate, either.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, the humiliation, or the sheer audacity of that smug, infuriating werewolf and his stupid gold eyes.

A werewolf.

God. Even thinking about it makes me feel like I’ve gone off the deep end.

I mean, I always knew L.A. was different, but monsters?

Real, actual monsters? I’ve heard the rumors, the urban legends, but it was all conspiracy where I’m from.

But I saw him change his eyes. That was not a trick of the light.

Johnny Howler isn’t just a stage name. And if he’s real, if werewolves are real, then what else is? How deep does this actually go?

My stomach knots. It should be fear, but it’s not.

Not exactly. I rub my hands down my face, desperately trying to clear my head.

Think, Cassidy. Think. If I were in danger, I’d be dead already.

He’s had a hundred chances to hurt me, and not once has he even come close.

Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m the one making assumptions and expecting violence just because someone’s different.

To act like this, all because they’re not like me.

That's not fair. I’ve spent my whole life being told what to be, how to act, what box I should fit into.

I hated it. Hated how it made me feel. So who the hell am I to slap that same judgment on someone else?

Even if that someone is a six-foot-something werewolf with a mouth that could tear me apart and hands that made me feel things I definitely shouldn’t have been feeling.

I exhale slowly, square my shoulders, and stare myself down in the mirror like I’m about to walk into battle. I need this job. That’s the bottom line. And Johnny might be a cocky, brooding pain in my ass, but he has to listen to me now. I outrank him. Technically. And I’m going to use that.

I smirk at my reflection. “Game on, dog boy.”

I walk back out and push the office door open like I wasn’t just crying with one eye and spraying myself in the face ten minutes ago. Johnny’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed like he’s been there for years instead of seconds, and Hector’s already mid-chuckle.

“Well,” he says, giving me a once-over. “I see you two are off to a great start.” Hector leans back in his chair, chuckling softly as he watches the two of us. He offers me the papers and a pen, and I briefly consider running again.

I grab the pen, already knowing what I'm walking into. Hector clears his throat and starts flipping through the papers, his voice serious but laced with that same undercurrent of amusement.

“You’re signing up as Johnny’s assistant, no surprises there,” Hector says, eyes flicking over to Johnny, who’s lounging by the door like he couldn’t care less about the whole situation.

“You’ll make sure he shows up on time, keeps his shit together, and doesn’t screw up the shoots.

Think of yourself as his... handler. You’ll keep him in check, and you’ll be the one to pick up the slack when he inevitably loses focus. ”

I raise an eyebrow at the wording, but keep quiet, not wanting to show just how much of a headache this whole thing already feels like.

“Can’t tell anyone about your job,” Hector adds, his eyes hardening.

“Not about Johnny, not about the studio. You work for the studio, period. Your life outside this room stays normal. No exceptions. No talking about us, or what we do. You will sign this NDA right here, just to make sure we are under a very clear understanding about that. ”

I nod, though I’m already trying to figure out how in the hell I’m going to explain this if I ever have to.

He slides a check across the paperwork without a word. I glance at it and freeze. The number nearly knocks the wind out of me.

“You’re serious?” I ask, blinking like the amount might change if I stare long enough.

“As a fucking heart attack,” Hector says, crossing his arms like he already knows the answer.

My fingers twitch. That number could cover three months of rent and then some. Hell, I could buy actual groceries. “Consider it hazard pay,” he adds with a smirk. “Johnny’s not exactly low-maintenance.”

No kidding.

“I’m in.” I say as I sign my name.

"How the hell do you expect her to keep me in line, Hector? She hasn’t even seen me shift yet. The second I do, she’ll be running scared."

I stand taller, annoyed. "I’m not scared of you."

Johnny raises an eyebrow, looking me over with a smirk. "Really? 'Cause that pepper-sprayed face of yours says differently."

I grit my teeth. "Oh, fuck off."

Hector steps between us, his voice cutting through the tension. "Enough. She knows what you are and what we do here, so don’t act like you have a choice. Be nice, or you’ll lose more than just your job."

Johnny shrugs like it’s nothing, then looks at me. "So, what? She’s supposed to follow me around all day, like my personal leash?"

Hector hands me a schedule. "Actually, yes. Stick around. Johnny has a shoot to make up today."

Johnny’s smirk falters slightly, and he shakes his head, mocking the situation. "Fine. But I can’t exactly stop fucking the broad to go chasing after you when you run off.”

“Just do your job and don’t worry about what I'm doing. Unless you can’t handle the pressure of someone calling you out on your shit.” I stand up to him, and he smirks.

Hector hands me a folder, his gaze sharp. “Get him to get ready, go over his lines, and no more refreshment tray for today.”

I take the folder, nodding. “Got it.”

Hector’s eyes flick to Johnny. “Don’t fuck up.”

Johnny, who’d been lounging casually against the wall, pushes off, glancing at me with that same cocky grin. “No refreshments my ass.” He storms out, and I'm left to follow him. Johnny chuckles, turning his head just enough to shoot me a look. “Let’s see how long you last.”

I don’t engage with him. No need to. I’m here to do a job, not to get into a pissing contest. As we round the corner toward the set, I feel a knot form in my stomach.

The thought of watching him shift, of seeing that wild, dangerous side of him, still makes me uneasy.

But I will not let him know that. Not when I’ve already made it clear that I’m not scared.

I already know I’ve stepped into something I’m not ready for.

Monsters are real, and they have sex with humans, willing humans.

Maybe it's the shock or the absurdity of it all, but I’m not running.

Looking around the place, it all makes more sense, the opulent surroundings.

This doesn’t look like a home that's lived in.

It looks too clean, with no family photos on the walls.

I know I should run, but curiosity has dug its claws into me.

I’m not going anywhere, and I'm for damn sure not going to let Johnny think he's gotten to me.