The King Of All Vampire Kings (Book 1) ✔️

|36|~Hunting The Hunter Beast~

Unedited.
Claire POV. The Lovely Mecca In Media.

It's Mecca.

The she-wolf is standing right in the doorway. Well, I'll be darned! She looks flawless, with not a single bruise or scratch in sight. She is wearing almost nothing—wrapped slightly in a wool blanket, the same blanket I loaned her a couple of days ago. Her long bronze legs are on full display, along with her kitten in the middle. Now, that most certainly needs to be shaved. In other words, Mecca is almost bare, hairy but bare. Her hair is shinier than I remember. Well, maybe that's because it's covered in blood.

Wait a minute, why is her hair covered in blood? Better yet . . . Why is she here? As a matter of fact, how is she even here in the first place? She looks like an avenging angel, basking in her hairy, bloody glory. She's a bloody, beast woman for sure. My gut is telling me that Mecca has been a naughty, naughty little she-wolf.

"You need to wash your hair," I tell her. "And, shave." I just have to add that.

She closes the door and sniffs the air.

"And you need to take a bath. I can smell the Cold-hearted King all over you." She tilts her head to the side." Where is your leech king anyway?" asks Mecca.

Typical beast woman. She can't help but be strange and creepy ole Mecca. Oh, how I missed her.

I rush to her side and give her a nice big bear hug, completely disregarding the fact that she doesn't have anything on. Weird, I know, but don't judge me.

Her eyes widen, surprised obviously. Shockingly, she hugs me back.

"I missed you, Mecca," I confess.

Yuck. Some icky blood drips from her hair onto my skin.

Weird ole Mecca decides to sniff my hair. Her body goes stiff, more alert.

"His scent is fresh. Where is he?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?" I ask her.

"The Cold-hearted King." She pulls away.

The Cold-hearted King? I believe she is referring to Xander. I keep forgetting that's what people call him.

"I can smell him all over you. Where is he? How long has he been gone," she interrogates. "You smell like you took a bath with him." Her face is crumpled with disgust. This time she starts to sniff my entire body, bending over and placing her nose dangerously close to my crotch.

Oh my . . .

"Bad doggy," I tell her, pushing her back slightly.

Mecca's eyes flash bright yellow.

Oops! Wrong choice of words.

She looks at me like she wants to kill me.

Gosh, it's not my fault that she is so goddamn strange.

"I'll let that slide this one time, human," she growls.

I cross my arms. Here she goes with that human word. In her defense, I did just call her a dog. Oh well, I have no filter.

"I'll let that slide this one time, dog," I retort.

She growls again, but this time she sounds just like the wolf she is—deadly!

I lift my head and continue to stare directly into her bright, highlighted yellow eyes. I will not show any type of fear, beast woman or not. Mecca should know by now that I'm not a coward. She doesn't scare me.

Apparently, my actions are amusing to her because she holds back her head, laughing like the madwoman she is.

There goes crazy ole Mecca again. I'm starting to believe she is bipolar.