A Wolf After My Own Heart (BeWere My Heart #2) - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,2

IPA. Do you need the number?”

“I need to know what an IPA is. The phone number is secondary.”

“I’ll connect you.”

“God damn it! At least tell me what the acronym stands for. Important People Arriving? International Parasailing Accountants? Ow!” To the cub: “If you keep eating my hand, you won’t be hungry for lunch. Get it? Of course not, you’re a bear cub. Great movie, take my word for it.” Meanwhile, the deeply unhelpful person at animal control had made good on her threat to transfer; she could hear phone ringing. “Whatever IPA is, I hope they make house c—now what?”

Lila viewed the front door, on which someone had just knocked, with deep suspicion. She was new in town, and she hadn’t ordered pizza. The kids, maybe? Did they follow her back? The mama bear? No, an aggravated bear wouldn’t have knocked. Was it an election year? She’d honestly rather deal with a frantic mama bear than someone shilling for city council.

The cub, meanwhile, was mewling and butting her with its hard little black head, displeased at the lack of honey on Lila’s fingers. “Sorry, I’m cutting you off. You’ll thank me in the morning.” And, louder: “I’m coming!” She cast about for somewhere to put the cub, who had abruptly stopped being adorable and was now wriggling and scratching and bawling like a calf going through udder withdrawal. Lila could barely hold onto the ball of flailing, furry limbs. “Ow, shit! Okay, just…okay, I’m putting you down now—ow, Jesus, there, so you…uh…”

The cub rolled over and over, shaking its head and bawling and then

and then

and then

she wasn’t a cub anymore. If Lila had turned her head, she would have missed it. Where the cub had been now crouched a little girl with the cub’s coloring—long, wild black hair halfway down her back, and dark eyes with an upward tilt, with fair skin and golden undertones—who looked about ten. She was naked, so Lila could see how scratched up the

(girl?????)

artist formerly known as Cub was, and then something she could actually understand happened for the first time in the last twenty minutes: the child burst into tears.

“Never mind!” Lila shouted at whoever was still knocking. “If you’re IPA, it was a false alarm. If you’ve got pizza, I don’t want any.” This was a rather large lie. A deep-dish pie loaded with sausage and mushrooms would go down just fine with a beer or five. “If you’re stumping for a politician, leave the brochure in my mailbox. If you’re the two random kids from earlier, go home, it’s a school night. If you’re a bear, there’s no cub in here.”

There. That ought to cover everything.

To the little girl sobbing in the corner: “Hi, I’m Lila. Don’t worry, the noise and the situation definitely aren’t getting on my nerves or anything.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Calm. Calm-calm-calm. Project so much calm. Be fucking calm, dammit! “What happened? Should I call someone? Do you know your parents’ numbers? Are you friends with a great big wolf? Am I hallucinating? It’s okay if I am. You can tell me. I won’t be mad.”

The little girl sniffled and wouldn’t look at her.

“You’re shivering.” Because of course she was. The rental house was agreeably old, with lots of dark wooden floors and very little carpet, and the heater struggled, especially since it was only about fifty-five degrees outside. “Let’s get a blanket on you, and a sweatshirt, maybe? Are you hungry? I could get you something more substantial than honey.” That was another lie, she realized. The fridge held a twelve-pack of LaCroix coconut water, a box of Little Debbie Swiss Rolls (they were better chilled), a half-gallon of skim, and the ingredients for Flanders’s cocoa. The honey she used for her tea and random bear cubs was nearly empty. She’d planned to get groceries in the morning.

At least the knocking had stopped.

The child sniffled, wiped her nose on her forearm, leaving a shiny trail up and down her arm

(urgh)

and still wouldn’t look up.

“Look, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out—uh, whatever this is—and get you home. Wherever home is. And by ‘we,’ I mean someone in authority. Maybe a bunch of them.” She rooted around in a box marked Who the hell knows? Maybe the living room?, found a blanket, and draped it over the cowering kiddo. “There’s nothing to be scared of.” Most likely. But what the hell did she know? Maybe Lilydale was crawling with bear hunters. Maybe