Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase (Spooky Boys #3)

Which was fair.

Normally I wouldn’t.

Normally I’d shred my clothes—because I hated them—and shift into my wolfskin to avoid conflict just like this. But…for some reason, I didn’t. Maybe it was because I’d already made my choice, and I knew in light of that, communication was important.

Harry had always been nosy, but ever since we’d started negotiations with the pack outside Elmwood he’d been kinda…insufferable? Always asking me where I was and why I wasn’t home. I felt bad for saying that about him, seeing as he was my brother—and he was technically doing my job, but still. Two things could be true at the same time.

Or was that three?

There was a weird snapping sensation between my fingers and?—

Fuck.

I broke the damn Pop Tart.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Oh well.

Tasted the same way like this, right?

Crumbs fell to the floor, and I eyed the exits, trying to figure out if I could sneak out without Harry catching me first. I caught the pieces before they could fall, huffing in annoyance. Surreptitiously, I edged toward the front door to our small house, broken Pop Tart in hand.

This place wasn’t half bad. Reminded me of our childhood home, but smaller, and smellier because we were all adults now. Jules had an unhealthy obsession with Kimchi, and the scent of Theo’s lemon bars mixing with it in the air was less than pleasant.

“Out where, Mutt?” Harry repeated.

“Out…?” I tried to come up with something plausible, but couldn’t. “Out.” Harry raised a perfectly manicured dark brow, his scent sparking with surprise a second time, though his face never stopped looking annoyed. I offered him the crushed pastry in my hand, at a loss for what else to do. “Pop Tart?”

Distract him.

Escape, escape, escape.

“I don’t want a Pop Tart. I want answers.” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose like I was the most frustrating person he’d ever talked to—which was fair. He opened his mouth like he was about to speak—probably to say something smart and cutting, or worse—point out the fact I still smelled like sex.

I shoved the pastry in my mouth, cheeks puffed up, eyes wide.

Don’t do it, don’t do it.

“For example…why exactly do you smell like sex?” Harry asked. Dammit. “Where have you been going? Why are you acting so sneaky? Who are you sleeping with? Are you okay? Do you like him? You can’t like him, Mutt. Fuck. Does Dad know? Does Mom know? Are you using protection? I know you don’t need it—but humans expect you to be prepared. Does the human know what you are?” Harry’s eyes widened with fear. “Did you tell him? You can’t tell him. Oh my god. Do we need to have the talk? I am not prepared to have the talk. I left my binder at home.”

So many questions.

Too many questions.

I could barely keep track of the first one. Partly because there were too many, and partly because I didn’t want to. I didn’t intend on answering any of them. Denial was the name of the game, after all.

I shook my head, flushing bright red, the Pop Tart growing pasty inside my mouth. I didn’t swallow, for fear that the second I did he’d start interrogating me again.

Save me, Butters. Save me—I pleaded at my other brother, who was sitting on the couch playing some weird matchy-matchy game on his phone. He’d been sitting there since I’d left to follow Jeffrey to open-mic night, and I wasn’t certain he’d ever moved. Not even to pee. All six-foot-something of his massive frame was sprawled out, one hand tucked inside the hem of his sweatpants, his shirtless chest on full display as he played on his phone.

Save me, save me.

I edged a little closer to the door.

Harry had called me home, but I officially realized what a mistake this had been.

“Why do you smell like sex?” Butters repeated, throwing me under the bus curiously as he twisted to look at the both of us, his lavender eyes wide. He set his phone down, clearly more interested in Harry’s interrogation than he was in his game. He stared at me, then my clothes—eyes narrowing. “Hey, aren’t those mine?—?”