Fifty-One

Isobelle

There had to be something in the cabin I could use to defend myself with — one of Alex’s butcher’s knives, a meat cleaver, or a heavy-weighted rolling pin. Maybe Lucas had a lump-hammer in his shed, or maybe I would fall lucky and stumble across a secret room with a stash of weapons.

My mind was still reeling, knowing that Peter Munroe wasn’t the good guy I thought he was. He sure had me fooled with the whole nerdy professor act, spinning me tales about living with his grandmother and their cute little Chihuahua. How long had he been keeping tabs on me? Did he put two and two together and come up with quads? Did he connect the dots all by himself, or did he eavesdrop on the gossipers that day in the coffee shop?

So, that's why he wanted a blood sample from me. What a cunt!

A loud rasping knock on the door scared me shitless and I clamped a hand over my mouth to muffle a scream. But then the ending credits to Shifter Valley rolled and my face contorted with horror.

Shit . . .