Wicked Hungry
Instead, I just kind of sniff him, then turn and sniff Enrique. Friends. These are my friends. My pack.
But Enrique doesn’t want to be friends. His back is arched, his hair is sticking up as he opens his jaws and gives me this low, throaty roar.
I stare him down. He’s going to jump any minute. At me. Or at Jonathan. I leap onto him instead, knocking him to the floor in a confusion of furniture. But the radio keeps playing somehow.
I hold him down, and bite his neck. Just a little nip. Not even breaking the skin, but he relaxes underneath me. The jaguar rolls over, exposing his underbelly.
Friends. We are friends. Not enemies.
But it’s too late now. We’ve battled, the two of us. He’s let me dominate him, but will it last? Can cat and wolf run together?
We face off, looking at each other.
“Dude,” Jonathan says, in a whisper. “I thought you two were going to kill each other.”
He hasn’t changed. Well, maybe a tiny bit. With my wolf senses I can smell a fox smell about him, and maybe there are some whiskers around his face.
There’s loud knocking at the door again.
“‘Rique? It’s me, Esme. What are you doing in there?”
I freeze. Enrique freezes. I growl, low and menacing, at Jonathan.
Jonathan looks at the big cat, then at me, the big bad wolf. What is he going to do?
“‘Rique?” Esme shouts through the door. “Your mom says if you don’t turn down the music she’s going to open the door with her key and do it herself. Or let me do it.”
Adrenaline rushes through me. I want to jump through the window, get out of there.
There’s one more knock, then we hear Enrique’s mother. “¿Hijo? You’ve scared your cousin. Ten seconds, and we are coming in.”
Ten seconds is barely enough time to change, but it’s enough time to go through an eternity of pain.
Esme is in first. She looks around fourteen, skinny but with wide hips and the beginnings of a nice bust and bottom. Her eyes are a beautiful green, and they are open wide with shock.
“Oh my God,” Esme says with a smirk.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Jonathan says, covering himself with a shirt from the floor.
“It really isn’t,” I say, hiding behind a desk. Although I have no idea what this looks like. No, wait—are there teeth marks on Enrique’s neck?
“Stanley,” Enrique says, rising, not even bothering to cover himself. “Meet my cousin Esme.”
“What are you doing?” his mother asks. “Cúbrete, menso.”
“We were changing, all right?” Enrique says, picking up a shirt to cover himself.
“And knocking over all the furniture?” his mother asks.
“We knocked,” Esme says. “We knocked like fifteen times, I swear.”
“We couldn’t hear you over the music,” Jonathan says. “It was really loud, and—”
“What, you were all dancing naked?” Esme asks, biting a fist.
“Esme, let’s go,” Enrique’s mother says. “I’ve seen enough.”
“Not me,” Esme says. “This is really interesting. Hey, Enrique, what happened to your neck?”