Then he let me go. I sagged against the wall. He stared at me, a snarl pulling at his lips. Sweat matted his dark hair to his brow. I tried to say something, but I didn’t know what I could say, and my throat was tight.
He turned and ran. He pulled off his shirt and threw it away as he rounded the corner. A sheen of slate-gray fur had sprouted on his back. He was gone.
I sat hard and pressed my face to my knees. Fuck fuck fuck. How had I gotten myself into this?
So. I didn’t talk to the vampires, and I didn’t quit the show.
“. . . all I’m saying is that if this is a cry for attention, you should maybe talk to someone, a therapist or something, about your need to act out your aggressions . . .”
I leaned into the mike. “Hey, who’s the pop-psychologist hack here? Frankly, I host a popular radio show. You think I want more attention? Next caller, please.”
My stomach had been turning cartwheels all evening. Before the broadcast, I was scared to death. Not of Carl or T.J., though I hadn’t seen either of them all week. Full moon was coming up. I didn’t know what I was going to do. Go to the pack and get my ass kicked. Or spend it by myself.
No, it was because I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen during the show. I got Ozzie to postpone the guest who was previously scheduled. I wanted the full two hours to deal with cleanup. I was going to open the line to calls, anything and everything. I was going to have to explain myself—over and over again.
It wasn’t so bad. It never is, I suppose. Anticipation is always the worst. Half the calls so far had been supportive, the rallying cries of devoted fans: “We’re behind you all the way.” I spent a lot of airtime saying thanks. Some disbelief, some threats, and some of the usual advice calls. Lots of questions.
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
Three different callers had asked that one. “No. I’m strictly a venison kind of girl.”
“How did you become a werewolf?”
“I was attacked. Beyond that, I prefer not to talk about it.”
“So it was, like, traumatic?”
“Yeah, it was.”
One girl came on the line crying. “I don’t understand how you do it. How can you talk about this stuff and sound so calm? There are days I just want to rip my own skin off!”
I made my voice as soothing as I could. “Take it easy there, Claire. I know how you feel. I have those days, too. I count to ten a lot. And I think talking about it helps. I’m not as scared when I talk about it. Tell me something: What do you hate most about being a werewolf?”
Her breathing had slowed; her voice was more steady. “Not remembering. Sometimes when I wake up, I don’t remember what I did. I’m scared that I’ve done something horrible.”
“Why is that?”
“I remember how I feel. I remember how the blood tastes. And—and I remember that I like it. When I’m human, it makes me want to throw up.”
I didn’t have to mince words anymore. I could answer her from experience now, which I couldn’t have done before last week. She probably wouldn’t have called me before last week.
“I think when we Change, a lot of human is still there. If we want to be a part of civilization, it stays with us. It keeps us from doing some of the things we’re capable of. I guess that’s part of the reason I’m here, doing the show and trying to lead a relatively normal life. I’m trying to civilize the Wolf part of me.”
“Is it working?”
Good question. “So far so good.”
“Thanks, Kitty.”
“One day at a time, Claire. Next caller, hello.”
“I knew it. I knew you were one.” I recognized the voice—a repeat caller. I glanced at the monitor, and sure enough.
“How are you, James?”
“I’m still alone.” The declaration was simple and stark.
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but how did you know?”