The Hunt (By Kiss and Claw #2) - Melissa Haag Page 0,3

a chance and lost her nose ring.”

I winced on the poor, unknown brownie’s behalf and finally spit even though Piepen’s nasty taste wasn’t gone.

“Piepen, who did you hook up with? Brownzilla?”

His face went from pleading confusion to perfectly blank.

“I love you, Eliana. But, I can’t let you talk about my girlfriend like that.”

I wanted to roll my eyes at him. Instead, I vigorously swished more mouthwash. However, minty rancidness continued to coat my tongue. If the alcohol could kill bacteria, certainly it would kill whatever was floating in my mouth. I gagged even as I thought it and quickly spit in the sink.

“What advice, exactly, are you looking for?” I rasped.

“How do I make Dewy less jealous?”

“Well, coming here won’t help.”

“She doesn’t know I’m missing. A friend is filling in for me.”

My brows arched in surprise, and he immediately looked offended.

“Not like that. He’s just sleeping next to her. She likes to snuggle.”

I shook my head. For a creature so earnest about being loved, Piepen was clueless about giving it.

“First, stop letting your friend sleep next to her. That’s not what a boyfriend does. It should be you next to her. And if you don’t want her to be jealous, stop showering your attention on other girls. Show Dewy that she’s the only one you’re interested in.”

He sighed, nodded his head, and reached down to stroke himself thoughtfully. Again, I gagged, but this time at the flaring scent of his lust.

“It’s time for you to go, Piepen.” I shooed him from the bathroom and followed him to the window. “Please stop visiting me.”

“I’ll try. Thank you for sparing my life tonight, Eliana. You truly are a goddess. My mark couldn’t have gone to a more worthy woman.”

He zipped out the window into the predawn light, and I quickly slammed it shut.

“A goddess trying not to throw up,” I mumbled as I hurried back to the bathroom.

I brushed. I flossed. I gargled. No matter what I did, the acrid taste didn’t fade in the slightest.

Desperate, I went to the entertainment room and searched for chocolate. However, thanks to Mom’s inconsideration, the refrigerator was empty. So was the box I’d hidden behind the TV. She’d even found the single bar I’d stashed behind one of the portraits of Oanen’s feathered ancestors.

I debated texting Mom to see what else might remove the nastiness from my mouth, but I

already knew the answer. She’d tell me to feed on a more appropriate creature. I stomped my foot in annoyance then hurried downstairs. Every accidental swallow was torment.

Searching the cupboards for some non-chocolate possibilities, I found a bag of organic jalapeno chips. The handful I ate set my mouth on fire but did nothing to dim Piepen’s nasty taste. Tossing the bag aside, I went to the fridge for the lemon juice. A mouthful of citrus was only marginally better than Piepen’s flavor. And as soon as I swallowed it, the skunk taste returned twofold.

Blindly, I stared into the refrigerator, remembering the mark on my chest and how Fenris had noticed its lingering scent. Was I doomed to taste Piepen forever?

A large container caught my eye. It was the Death by Chocolate cake I’d made with Ashlyn almost a week ago. I didn’t care if it was old; I needed the taste in my mouth gone. I seized the container, tossed the lid aside, and shoved a handful of cake in my mouth.

I let the chocolate coat my tongue and exhaled a ragged breath from my nose as Piepen’s skunkness faded. Saliva pooled, forcing me to swallow and mash more cake into my mouth.

“Eliana?”

Turning my head, I met Mrs. Quill’s shocked gaze.

“Biff ident wa id uck ike.” Chocolate fell from my mouth as I spoke, and a hint of Piepen returned. I took another handful and stuffed it in.

“Sweetie. Stop. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

The container disappeared from my fingers and reappeared, empty, on the counter.

My wail of despair was muffled by my mouthful of cake, and I quickly swallowed.

“No, you don’t understand. I wasn’t eating the cake. I was trying to—”

I stopped myself from admitting I’d fed on a brownie. Better that she thought I was still craving chocolate than feeding on the wrong species. Or worse, that I was interested in feeding directly on “sprinkles.”

A full-body shudder shook through me.

“Eliana, what’s wrong? You’re worrying me.”

“Nothing.”

Mrs. Quill gave me a disappointed look wrapped in a layer of motherly concern. At one time, I would have rushed to reassure her worry. Now her expression only