5

I felt the deep, bone-aching tiredness from a double shift. Leo’s absence meant I’d been on my feet since school ended, and the clock on the town square had just chimed eleven. The streets of Elmhurst were deserted, the quaint shops and cafes now dark and silent. My only company was the soft thump-thump of my worn-out sneakers on the pavement and the frantic typing in my notepad as I tried to capture the day’s high before it evaporated completely.

Asher Hayes knows my name. He smiled. He asked for my notes. He has a tiny mole below his lips. I sighed, a ridiculously dreamy sound that echoed in the quiet night. My glasses slipped down my nose, and I pushed them back up with a grimy finger.

Then I heard a low, rumbling growl.

My entire body went rigid. “No,” I whispered to the empty street. “Oh, please. Oh, God, no.”

Slowly, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, I turned.

It wasn’t a dog. It was a beast. A furry, four-legged behemoth with eyes that glowed like hellfire in the dim light of a streetlamp. It looked like a wolf that had been crossbred with a small bear and then fed a steady diet of steroids and pure malice.

My lips began to tremble. Of course. This made perfect sense. Asher Hayes had talked to me. I had used up a lifetime’s worth of luck in a single, glorious two-minute conversation. The universe was now demanding payment, and the currency was my terror.

A sob caught in my throat. The beast took a step forward, its claws clicking ominously on the concrete.

I took a shaking step back. “Why?” I whimpered to the uncaring stars. “Why now? I’m too young to be a chew toy!”

The beast, I decided to name him Cujo Jr. let out a sharp, booming bark that shattered the peaceful night.

I jumped a foot in the air, letting out a pathetic “Eeep!”

Then, with a terrifying lack of warning, Cujo Jr. charged.

A blood-curdling, soul-leaving-my-body scream ripped from my lungs. “AHHHHHHH!”

I spun on my heels and ran. I have never, ever run so fast in my life. I’m pretty sure I left a cartoon-style dust cloud behind me. The wind whistled past my ears, and my glasses bounced precariously on my nose.

“Please, someone, save me!” I shrieked, my voice hitting octaves only dogs should be able to hear. “I’ll be your slave! For my whole life! I’ll do your homework! I’ll name my firstborn after you! Just make it stop! AHHHH!”

I could hear the thunder of paws gaining on me. Desperation took over.

“Go away! I’m not even tasty! I have no meat! I’m all skin and bones and crippling social anxiety! AHHHH!”

My mind, in its panic, reached for the divine. Or, more accurately, every divine being I could vaguely recall.

“Hail Mary, full of grace. Oh God, it’s so fast! Our Father, who art in heaven please let there be a tree! Hare Krishna, Hare Rama! Buddha, lend me your speed! Oh, mighty Zeus, smite this beast! Thor, I need your hammer! Someone! Anyone!”

And then I saw him. A figure up ahead, leaning against a lamppost, shrouded in a grey hoodie with the hood pulled up. I didn’t care if it was a vigilante, a serial killer, or an off-duty elf. He was a potential savior.

With a final, guttural scream, I put on a burst of speed I didn’t know I possessed and launched myself at his back, scrambling up him like a squirrel up a tree in a hurricane. I locked my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, clinging for dear life.

“SAVE ME! SAVE ME! OH, MIGHTY WARRIOR, SAVE ME!” I yelled directly into his ear, my eyes squeezed shut. “IT’S A HELLHOUND! IT’S GOING TO EAT MY FACE! PROTECT ME, NOBLE STRANGER!”

The guy stumbled forward from the impact, letting out a grunt of surprise. He was surprisingly solid. For a terrifying second, I thought he might shrug me off. But then, he steadied himself.

I dared to crack one eye open, peeking over my savior’s shoulder.

Cujo Jr. had skidded to a halt a few feet away. He was no longer a slavering beast of doom. He was… wagging his tail. His tongue lolled out happily, and he let out a playful little “woof.”

The guy in the hoodie sighed, a long-suffering, deeply annoyed sound that I felt rumble through his back. He reached up and, with a strength that suggested he was not a stranger to the gym, peeled my death-grip from around his neck, untangling me from his back and unceremoniously dropping me onto my feet. My legs promptly turned to jelly, and I wobbled precariously.

He pulled his hood down.

My heart, which had just started to slow down, promptly tried to escape through my throat.

Blond hair. Green eyes. A face currently twisted into an expression of utter, profound disbelief.

Jax Ryder stared at me, his gaze flicking from my trembling form to the now-friendly, tail-wagging “hellhound,” and then back to me.

“You,” he said, his voice flat. “Of course it’s you.”

The giant dog trotted over and nudged Jax’s hand with its head, begging for pets.

Jax scratched behind its ears without taking his eyes off me. “This,” he said, gesturing to the furry monster, “is Tank. My neighbor’s Labrador. He escaped again. He thinks anyone running is inviting him to play chase.”

A Labrador. A freaking Labrador.

I stood there, disheveled, breathless, my glasses crooked, having just promised a lifetime of servitude to my worst nightmare. I had recited half the world’s religions while attempting to scale him like Mount Everest.

The last of my dignity packed its bags and fled the country.

Jax looked me up and down, one eyebrow arched. “So,” he said, the smug, cocky tone returning to his voice, but now laced with a new, bewildered amusement. “You’re not tasty and you have no meat, huh?”