Bite the Big Heartache (Monstrana Paranormal Romance 2)

She glared out the window at the ramshackle home with the giant two-bay garage attached to the side. Large sheets of multicolored corrugated metal had been used as siding and the garage doors appeared warped and beat up. A big pickup with a smashed-in hood lingered in the driveway. The front yard desperately needed a manicure and there was a half-dead old pine leaving a carpet of brown needles on top on his peeling roof.

It was the last place she’d expected to run into Billy again. A man who couldn’t be loyal to a friend if he tried. She’d learned once what confiding in Billy Finley meant. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

What a nightmare.

“Let’s find a hotel,” she said with a cleansing breath, turning back to her brother.

Anything to take her mind off that painful reunion.

She’d refused to bring a guard along for her trip and agreeing to take her younger brother along was the only way she could placate her parents. Any chance to get out of the castle without their royal parents was a win for him. She’d warned him profusely that this was a serious job and that under no circumstances was he to ruin it for her.

Despite his promises, she still had her doubts about his ability to control himself. He’d only been a werewolf for two years now, since his lunar ceremo

ny, and young werewolves had a terrible reputation for being reckless. Still, she needed a driver to get around Molodoy. At thirty-five years of age, she hadn’t found the courage to try for her license. Something about having complete control over a giant metal piece of machinery scared the skittles out of her.

“Okay, Sis.” Maxim shot her a wolfish grin and shoved the stick into DRIVE. “Whatever you say, Sis.”

He peeled out onto the street and Stasia had to grasp the armrest to steady herself. Cursing under her breath, she glanced at her cameraman, Vinny, snoring loudly from the back seat. The abrupt movement of the car hadn’t even stirred him from his sleep. It hadn’t taken Stasia long to learn that he wasn’t a man of many words and to not expect a lot of chatter from the older werewolf.

“I see a motel up ahead,” her brother said, squinting through the windshield.

They drove down Main Street, a collection of old brick buildings consisting of a town bar, a convenience store, and a few odds and ends. At the end of the street was a quaint single-story motel that had at least six rooms with outside access and a cheery sign above the lobby office that said Molodoy Motel Welcomes You in bright pink cursive lettering.

“Fabulous,” Stasia said as they pulled to a stop in the parking lot. “Get us each a room and unload the luggage. I’ve got somewhere I need to check out.”

Maxim groaned and pierced her with his blue gaze. “I didn’t sign up for this trip to be your bell boy.”

“It’s too late to back out now, brother of mine.”

She looked down at her watch. It was well past supper time and the weekend was just beginning. If she knew anything about small towns, it was that now would be her best chance of gathering information on Billy from the locals. Despite knowing what she knew now about this case, her resolve had only hardened to get the job done. And she had to utilize her time here wisely.

Her brother rubbed a hand over the beginnings of a scruffy beard on his chin and sighed, but didn’t argue. Stasia left him to it and hoofed it over the broken sidewalk toward the heart of downtown. Her first stop was the convenience store, which would be closing in ten minutes. A bell tinkled when she strolled through the door and a woman with long silver and brown hair greeted her from the counter.

“Can I help you find anything today?” she asked, a warm smile on her face.

“Um...no that’s okay.” Stasia picked up the nearest thing within her grasp, which happened to be a pair of wool socks, and went to plop them on the counter. If she knew anything about being a reporter, it was that information didn’t come free. “I’ll take these.”

The woman’s gaze ran from Stasia’s gladiator sandals and up her blue cotton dress that hung off one shoulder. She looked at her questioningly and held up the socks. “Planning on doing some hiking?”

“No, my feet get cold,” Stasia lied, nibbling on her bottom lip. She hated to fib. She had no talent for it and it made the contents of her stomach start to swirl.

“Okay, honey.” She punched a few buttons on the register and it dinged. “Thirteen forty is your total.”

Stasia tugged her wallet out of her back pocket and handed over the cash. When the woman handed over a plastic bag with the socks inside, Stasia leaned casually on the countertop and looked down at her fingernails that she’d chewed down to the beds on the ride over that day.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about Billy Finley coming back to town? Or why things didn’t work out so well with his new pack?”

The air in the room suddenly went cold and Stasia glanced up to see the smile melt from the woman’s face.

“I don’t know no Billy Finley,” she answered, although the hardness in her eyes said otherwise.

“Alright.” Stasia held up her hands and backed toward the door. “Thank you for your time.”

There was no warm goodbye. The cashier watched her like a hawk until she was well out of the shop and past the large front windows. Even the hot evening breeze couldn’t chase away the chill of that meeting. Stasia shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms, working her way down the street.

Getting information was going to be harder than she thought. A small community like Molodoy could wrap itself around a member tighter than plastic cling on her sister Renata’s famous iced sugar cookies. It was no wonder Myra had such trouble getting information from her sources. Billy’s community must’ve shut down any whispers of his presence and stonewalled anyone who dared prod for answers.

The image of Billy standing in that doorway flashed in front of Stasia’s eyes again, hitting her like a punch in the gut. The man who’d answered the door was a far cry from the gangly and awkward seventeen-year-old boy she remembered. He’d grown at least six inches in the past eighteen years and filled out in all the right places, taking up nearly the entire doorway with his muscular and hardened body. His face had lost the roundness of youth and, from what she could see under that scraggly beard, grown angular and strong. Still, his eyes were the same — sea green and piercing. As if he could look right through her.