Things that Go Bump in the Night

Chapter 3: It Rhymes with Hate.

Chapter 3:

“Why don’t you sit on the porch Cheyenne while I speak with our guest? Maybe go look in the garden to see if we have any tomatoes left?” I asked her, latching onto her arm and pulling her out of the door. She nodded her blue eyes still wide with fright and practically ran around the side of the house.

I took a quick breath and stepped over the threshold of our little shack. I paused for a moment, listening to the floor boards creak underneath my feet before I marched into the kitchen. I assumed whoever it would be would be waiting there. We didn’t really have any other rooms.

                As soon as I rounded the corner any doubts that I had about having a werewolf in my house were blasted away. The monster that sat at my kitchen table was a muscle bound male with dark hair and a clean cut jaw. His presence made the tiny kitchen look even smaller with someone of his size, cramped into the space. There was also the issue of his clothes. They were nice, clean business looking clothes that I had not seen on a regular human in years.

“How may I help you sir?” I asked, keeping my voice calm and even.

If there was one thing I had learned from living under werewolves, it was no matter what, you add in an honorific when addressing them. Even if it kills you emotionally to call one of these flea ridden beasts “sir” it beats being killed physically. The man looked over at me with a narrowed expression, but I did not meet it, avoidning looking into his eyes. That was taken as a challenge and I was not going to challenge him unless provoked.

“Your sister failed to come to school today and another faculty member caught her in the dinner across the street from campus. This is the eighth time she has been absent Miss Olden and it is considered truancy.” He stated in a deep voice that made my teeth lock together.

“I was unaware that she had missed so many days sir, I will make sure that she does not miss any more.” I told him, only somewhat lying through my teeth. Of course I knew that she hadn’t gone. But since when did any of the werewolves care if a human didn’t show up? They only feigned at giving humans an education so that they could claim we were treated as equals. Why the sudden change of heart? She practically skipped a whole month last year without a single monster making a special visit.

“She told me that she did not come today because you failed to wake her before school, is that correct?” he asked. His statement struck a nerve at how much of a whinny tattle tale my sister was, but I ignored the thought determined to yell at her about it later.

“I thought she was old enough to wake herself up. But if she cannot find the willpower to get herself up for school I will make sure to wake her up from now on sir.”

I would carry her there on my back if it kept werewolves from showing up in my house and sitting in my kitchen.

“Sean.” He stated.

“Excuse me sir?” I asked, not quite following.

“My name is Sean Blakewell not sir.” He clarified. I gritted my teeth harder to resist making a furious face.

“Is there anything else I can do for you then Mr. Blakewell?” I asked feeling as if something in the whole visit was weird. In the handful of times a werewolf had bothered to speak to me it had been a clipped and purposefully impersonal encounter. Never had any of them insinuated that I could call them by their first name.

Something was up.

“You could look me in the eyes while I’m talking to you Miss. Olden.”

My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach.

There were only two reasons why a werewolf wanted you to look them in the eyes. And I was not going to take the bait for either one of them. I was not going to die like my father and I was not going to become like Norma either.

“No.”

It was silent for a moment and I could feel the tension begin to build within the room.

“No?” he echoed, his tone both disbelieving and slightly irritated.

“Making eye contact is a sign of disrespect. And I have learned that it is never good to disrespect a werewolf sir.”

“Sean.” He corrected again but I didn’t comment. “Look at me.” he commanded.

“My sister should be coming back soon with vegetables from the garden to start diner. If you don’t have any more reasonable requests I would appreciate it Mr. Blakewell if you would leave now. Cheyenne will be at school on time from now on.” I told him, in a calm tone even though I was about to explode inside. Every inch of me was ready for his advance.

What could I do?

Shoot him?

Someone would hear. And forcing me to look at him was not grounds enough for shooting him. He would have to touch me for it to be considered acceptable to defend myself. And even then I wasn’t supposed to have a gun. I would have to settle for one of the kitchen knives that lay on the countertop behind me.

“You are avoiding my request Miss Olden. Are you going to make me force you to look at me?” he asked as he got up from his chair.

 I took a step back, my back hitting the counter top.

“If you touch me against my will in my own home when I have done nothing against the law I am within my rights to defend myself. And I will defend myself. You have relayed your warning on Cheyenne’s truant behavior. Your presence here longer is unprofessional.” I informed him, my voice still amazingly calm for how anxious I felt.

And then he laughed, actually laughed at me and the sound of the monster’s laughter made my blood boil.

“Such a feisty vixen.” He chuckled in a way that made my boiling blood run cold. I didn’t like the terms in which he describe me. It made the two reasons for him forcing me to look into his eyes move from the death category to the worse category. “But you are quite correct Miss Olden; you do have the right to try to defend yourself.”

He started to move toward me and my hand automatically clasped the handle of one of my kitchen knives and flung it at him, sending it flying end over end in a flash before it sunk into the wall directly beside his head. I grabbed another knife already, ready to throw.

“Get out, sir.” I told him somehow still eerily calm.

He stood there for a moment and I guessed that he was staring at me in disbelief. I was staring straight at his shoulder, keeping my gaze there unwavering.

Suddenly he started to chuckle again. It was a darkly amused chuckle that made my whole body feel even more chilled if that were possible.

“Such a wicked female, do you believe a kitchen knife is going to scare me off my little mate?” he asked.

I felt my chest heave in panic and suddenly I no longer cared how much trouble I would be in or who heard anything.

He had just said the word I feared more than death, the word that disgusted me and made me have nightmares and cold sweats.

Mate.

He had called me Mate.

And before I could even think about it, my hands were holding a gun instead of a knife.