BATHE ME IN RED

  MONSTERS AMONG US: HARTFORD COVE

  BOOK TWO

  L. L. FROST

  BATHE ME IN RED

  Copyright © 2022 by L.L. Frost

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by L.L. Frost

  Book design by L.L. Frost

  Printed in the United States of America.

  First Printing, 2022

  CONTENTS

  Synopsis

  The What-If Death Spiral

  The Modern Age

  The Line to Cross

  Just Call Me Daddy

  Focus on the Future

  Align The Chakra

  Pulse of the Music

  Chicka Chicka Bang Bang

  Magic In My Blood

  Static Filled Brain

  A Few Loose Screws

  Trigger Happy Leader Boss

  Scarier Than a Soup Can

  All Part of the Plan

  There Better Be a Bathtub

  Boil Me Alive

  Not A Viable Food Source

  The Stealth-less Ninja

  Trip Without A Problem

  Raccoons and Sea Unicorns

  Food Babies and Weapons

  Hit and Miss

  Taking Care of Rowe

  Movie Time Talks

  How Rowe Falls Apart

  What Feels Right

  Too Much To Bear

  The Boob Bulge Issue

  Hop, Skip, Jump Away

  In Need Of Answers

  Not Doing This Again

  Here For You

  The Bad Guy

  Road Games

  Whose Mate is Whose?

  One Mate for Another

  No Strings Attached

  Give Me My Gun

  Know Your Rowe

  Any Witch Would Do

  A Story for a Story

  Brain Sparks and Ideas

  Be My Guinea Pig

  Stab Me For Love

  The Curse And Me

  Small Thing Like Death

  Life Outside the Box

  Bonus of Being Cursed

  The Witch in My Head

  A Feud to Bury

  Also by L.L. Frost

  About the Author

  SYNOPSIS

  The story of the Wendall witch is written in blood.

  Hartford Cove was supposed to be a safe haven. Instead, Rowe discovered a family legacy steeped in magic and wolf shifters. The hallucinations she grew up with weren’t tricks of her broken mind. Her toaster is fully functional–thank you very much–and the real world is more wonderful and horrifying than she ever imagined.

  Too bad, in Rowe’s life, all good things come to an end. A single act of violence sends Tris and her fleeing, afraid for their lives. But one door closing allows another door to open, and while in hiding, long-held feelings ignite, giving Rowe a second chance at happiness.

  Running can’t last forever, though. The darkness Rowe tried to escape finally catches up, and she finds herself isolated and tortured, her mind pushed to the breaking point.

  When help arrives, it comes from an unexpected source. The huntsmen are the boogeymen of the wolf shifters, but are they the villains she's been led to believe? Or is there more than one side to the story of their ancient feud?

  It seems that Rowe can’t escape her part in this twisted tale. Centuries ago, it began with death. Will the next lines of the story be written with Rowe's blood?

  THE WHAT-IF DEATH SPIRAL

  Shivers wrack my body as I pull the thin hotel blanket higher around my shoulders. I haven’t stopped crying since Tris forced me to pull over a few miles outside of Hartford Cove and took over.

  He’d driven us to the nearest town twenty minutes down the highway and pulled into the first motel we came to.

  Luckily, it was on the right side of shady, and the man behind the counter didn’t question Tris’s near-nudity or me sobbing in the passenger seat. He just took our money and gave us a key to a unit at the back facing the forest, where anyone passing by won’t be able to see our car from the road.

  Tris had deposited me in the room, closed all the blinds, then left again to find supplies.

  I wanted to beg him to stay, the fear of him vanishing almost crippling me, but I managed to restrain myself. He needs clothes, and we need food and water. Then, we need to figure out where to go from here.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force the tears to stop, and the vision of Haut tearing into Owen paints itself across my eyelids. Only, this time, imagination takes it a step farther and his claws rip into my gentle mate, blood flowing like a river that will never stop.

  How could things have turned so fast from bright and hopeful to destroyed? What-ifs play through my mind. If I had just left Tris sleeping on the couch, the misunderstanding would have never happened. If I had just worked harder on bonding with Haut, his wolf wouldn’t have had reason to freak out. If Owen hadn’t stepped in Haut’s way to spare us his rage.

  If, if, if…

  So many small things could have stopped events from escalating and spared Owen his life.

  Another sob rips out of me, tears leaking from between my tightly clenched eyes. How can so many tears exist? An ocean of them lives inside of me, but even an ocean will run dry at some point. I’m a small person. There shouldn’t be tears left inside me.

  The lock clicks, and my eyes fly open, fear shooting through me.

  Has Tris been gone long enough to be back already? Or has Haut tracked us down? We should have gone farther. Driven until the gas ran out hours away from the one place I dared to think would be my home.

  Terror sends me scrambling off the bed, into the narrow space between the mattress and the wall, and I struggle to hold my breath. But nothing can silence my racing heart. The way it pounds feels like it’s trying to hammer straight out of my body. And why wouldn’t it? It’s already broken, so what does it matter if it shatters the rest of me with it?

  “Rowe?” the worried voice fills the room, accompanied by the rustle of plastic bags.

  Unsure if my mind is playing tricks on me, I peek under the bed skirting and see an unfamiliar pair of brown boots.

  Whimpering, I crawl under the bed and wedge myself under the headboard, where the side of the nightstand offers further protection.

  The sound of a door opening fills the room, and the bed shifts as the person crawls across it, springs sagging with their weight.

  “Rowe, sweetie, I can hear your heartbeat.” The shoes appear once more, followed by a pair of jean-clad legs, then a body. The bed skirt lifts, and Tris’s worried brown eyes find me in the shadows. “You sound like a hummingbird under there.”

  I wipe at my puffy, burning eyes, and squint at him. “I don’t like your new shoes.”

  He lays down on the floor facing me. “Should I return them?”

  I rest my head on my hand as my heartbeat begins to slow. “Do you like them?”

  “Not if you don’t.” He uses his toe to take one off and kick it away. “I can go barefoot.”

  “Don’t do that,” I protest, my voice thick from all the crying. “You could hurt yourself.”

  “I’ll heal.” He tries to get the other boot off the same way before reaching down to untie it, his eyes never leaving mine. “If they make you unhappy, they’re out of here.”

  I watch him struggle. “You’re being silly.”

  “Says the girl under the bed.” He gets the other boot off and kicks it away before eyeing my hiding spot. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to fit under there, too, even in my dog form.”

  “Wolfdog,” I correct as tears leak from my eyes once more, running over my nose and down my face to puddle on my hand.

  He shakes his head, his sandy-brown hair flopping across his eyes. “We don’t say that word anymore.”

  My bottom lip trembles. “What word?”

  “Exactly.” Tris reaches above his head and pulls a bag into view. “Now, I got you orange chicken. Do you want to try chopsticks or settle for stabbing your grocery store Chinese with a fork like a barbarian?”

  I try to grunt in response, but it burst out of me on a sob.

  Tris’s face crumples, and he pushes the food away. “Okay, orange chicken no longer exists, too.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t exile orange chicken. It doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Even grocery store orange chicken?” He makes a face. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t any orange in the sauce. It doesn’t even qualify, anyway.”

  I shake my head again.

  Tris sticks his arm under the bed, wiggling his fingers toward me. “Can you come closer? I can’t hold you when you’re way back there.”

  Nodding, I crawl closer, then roll so my back lands against his front. His arm curls around me, tucking me closer, and his h
ead settles on top of mine.

  We lay like that for a while, until the tears stop trickling down my face, and my pulse slows to match his strong, steady heartbeat.

  He smooths the hair off my damp cheeks. “You want to tell me why you’re under the bed?”

  “I wasn’t sure it was you coming back,” I whisper.

  “Under the bed is the first place bad guys always check in the movies,” he counters. “You should hide under the sink next time.”

  I tilt my head back, and the stubble on the underside of his chin scratches my forehead. “You didn’t immediately look under the bed.”

  “That’s because I’m not a bad guy.” He shifts to kiss the top of my head, then pulls back. “You taste like dust. Did you know dust is primarily dead skin particles? You’re coated in the skin flakes of all the people who rented this room before us.”

  A shudder runs through me. “You couldn’t just let me enjoy my cave in peace, could you?”

  “We can do better for a cave.” His arms tighten around me, and he scoots backward, dragging me back into the dim lighting. “Come on, dust monster, we’ll clean you off, then you need to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I mumble as I let him haul me to my feet.

  “I know you’re not.” Bending, he lifts me into his strong arms, and my cheek settles over his heart as he strides for the small bathroom at the back of the room. “But I went out and hunted for your dinner. The battle was fierce, and I almost lost. So, you’ll take at least one bite, right?”

  I curl a hand into his new T-shirt. “How fierce could the battle have been?”

  “It’s the lunch rush at a superstore.” He turns on the light with his elbow. “You have no idea how crazy it can get.”

  “It’s only lunchtime?” I peer back toward the front room. “Really?”

  It feels like so much more time has passed, but bright light peeks around the curtain, confirming his words.

  “Just barely.” He bends to set me on the closed toilet, then turns the tap on the sink. “They were still filling the cases when I finished grabbing clothes and changing. Thirty minutes earlier and I would have had to wait.”

  I keep hold of his shirt as he grabs a washcloth and runs it under the water. “I should have gone with you.”

  “It’s okay.” He wrings out the washcloth before wiping it over my face. It turns gray, and he gives a rueful smile. “A shower might be needed.”

  My hold on him tightens. Less than a day ago, I would have asked to shower together, but that kind of casual intimacy feels wrong after what happened with Haut. If Tris and I had a normal amount of distance between us, Haut’s wolf wouldn’t have freaked out.

  Eyes burning, tears well up once more.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Tris drops the washcloth and kneels in front of me, cupping my cheeks. His thumbs sweep away the new tears. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll find someplace else that will be even better, just the two of us.”

  I sniffle and change my grip on his shirt to his shoulders. “I don’t want there to be distance.”

  His brows pinch together in confusion. “We’re not that far away from Hartford Cove right now.”

  I shake my head and tug on his shirt. “This distance.”

  The corners of his mouth lift. “Even less distance there.”

  The tears flow faster, and I sob out, “But now I feel guilty for wanting no distance.”

  His smile vanishes, and he pulls me off the toilet and into his lap, his arms wrapping around me. “You have nothing to feel guilty for. None of what happened was your fault.”

  “But—”

  “No.” The sharp word cuts me off. “The only person to blame for what happened is Haut. None of it is on you.”

  “But if I—”

  Tris pushes me back and squishes my face until my lips pucker like a fish. “Stop it right now. You can’t let those kinds of thoughts consume you.” His hold gentles, and he leans forward to kiss my cheek. “You’re the best person in the world.” He kisses my other cheek. “The bestest best in the bestie universe.”

  I try to smile. “No, you’re the bestest best in the bestie universe.”

  He kisses the tip of my nose. “Who’s a little dust bunny?”

  My smile widens. “I’m a little dust bunny.”

  His molasses-colored eyes shimmer with amusement. “Are you going to eat the questionable orange chicken I braved the wilds to hunt down for you?”

  “Who could say no to questionable orange chicken?” Another wave of sadness and regret threatens to choke me, but I push past it. “You did, after all, risk life and limb for it.”

  “All the life and limb risking.” In an easy show of strength, he lifts me back onto the toilet and stands to grab the washcloth once more. “But first, we finish cleaning you off.”

  I lift my face for him. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  His expression softens before he turns away to run the cloth under hot water once more. “I’ll always be with you. No matter what.”

  As he turns back to me, I close my eyes, and he gently cradles my face with one hand as he wipes away the dust with the other.

  I don’t know what we’ll do after this, but I trust Tris to figure it out with me.

  THE MODERN AGE

  A wolf howl jars me from sleep, and I bolt upright, Tris’s arm falling from my waist to flop onto my lap.

  My heart pounds as I stare around the shadowed motel room, unsure if the sound is real or part of my dream. We’d been here for two nights already. The conversation about where to go next had been disrupted when I woke up the morning following our escape from Hartford Cove drenched in a cold sweat and shivering with withdrawals.

  When we ran, we didn’t have a chance to grab the rest of my medication to finish weaning me off of it. The complacency I felt about not experiencing the withdrawal symptoms that Dr. Lopez had warned me about rose up to slap me in the face with a vengeance. Going cold turkey turned out to be as bad of an idea as she had warned.

  At least I’d been down to half a pill and wasn’t coming off the full dosage.

  Shivering, I drag a hand down my face, and it comes away drenched in sweat. My clammy skin sticks my pajamas to my body, making me feel like I’m covered in a wet towel. I don’t know how Tris can stand to cuddle with me right now.

  I glance down at Tris, whose form waffles between a wolfman and a human as my mind struggles to impose reality over his magical body.

  Carefully, I slip from the bed and stumble to the bathroom, my legs shaking the entire way.

  Not wanting to wake Tris, I close myself inside before turning on the light. The blinding brightness makes me flinch, and I quickly shut my eyes, which only serves to increase my dizziness.

  When I crack my eyes open again, my pale face stares back at me, my skin sallow and dark circles under my eyes. My brown hair hangs limply over my shoulders and past my breasts, sweat darkening it around my roots to almost black. Even under the bright lights, I can’t make out the usual red highlights beneath all the grease. I imagine I look like a drug addict coming off of a bender.

  Do drug addicts have benders? Or is that strictly reserved for alcoholics?

  I shake my head to dislodge the thought. It doesn’t matter what I look like except that it’s not healthy.

  Looking away from the mirror, I stumble to the shower and turn on the taps. My hands tremble as I strip out of the clothes Tris bought for me from the superstore. He aimed for small, but not small enough, and they overwhelm my delicate frame, making it hard to escape them as my entire body shakes.