“You’re – what?” She looked him up and down, arms folded smugly over nascent bosom. “You haven’t even got hair on your chest. Or like, sideburns!”
He scuffed a foot on the carpet, spattered with sparkles. Jesus, he thought, girls’ rooms are so – girly!
“It’s not about hair,” he explained with a hint of frustration, “It’s all about the attitude!”
“Being a werewolf is about HAIR!” she insisted, playing with the curls of her Bratz.
“Well, I’ll probably grow more hair, when I’m older. LOTS more hair. If you like that kind of thing.”
He thought he heard a thump.
“Are you sure your parents are out?”
“I wouldn’t have said they were if they weren’t, now would I!”
Such long eyelashes. Such fluffy pink socks. Such – moronity. If that’s a word. Still, she’d invited him here, and they were all alone. So she said. He absentmindedly picked a blackhead, trying to decide if he should make a move.
“And that’s another thing,” she said playfully, to the doll. “Werewolves are supposed to have sharp teeth. And really big muscles.” She looked disparagingly at the freckled, boyish biceps emerging from his short sleeved shirt.
“They do,” he explained patiently, “when they’re WOLVES. When we’re in human form, we’re just like anybody else. Only more – magnetic. You know, alluring. To girls.”
She laughed, a high-pitched snort.
“You sure do have attitude – for a werewolf. But you’re cute in a way. Want to kiss me?”
He cleared his throat. Now or never. And leaned in for the kill.
This is the second of five ‘dark fantasy’ stories, to celebrate the fact that my novel, DEEPER, is on Amazon FREE for the next FOUR days. Join me if you feel in a fey mood, and I’ll link. Talking about links, PostModern Single has got a very intriguing list of questions over on her site. What do you consider the most overrated virtue? When would you lie? Go over and have a go – it’s very thought-provoking (plus, she is also advertising some good books).