Hair, Greg - Werewolf 01 Read Free Page B

but I love him. I realized that last night. So being with you actually served a purpose, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”
    “A purpose? I thought we really connected.”
    She could see the hurt on his face.
    “I’m sorry, Landon, I really am. I didn’t mean to do this to you,” she said, tears trickling down her face into her fresh makeup.
    “Don’t worry about it. Hopefully, I won’t see you around.” He slammed the door as he walked out.
    Morgan ran outside saying, “Where are you going? Your car’s not here. I didn’t say I wouldn’t drive you somewhere.”
    He just walked away and kept walking.
    Landon set his pint glass down on the table as “Am I Wrong?” began to fade— goodbye, lay the blame on luck . Drinking was how he initially learned to deal with being what he was and seeing what he saw, the ugliness in humanity. Now, the drinking was a part of him. He exited the bar as the cold rain fell on his face and walked toward his car.
    That’s when he noticed a group of guys making their way down the sidewalk, keeping to the shadows of the trees. He counted three of them. He could hear their whispering and smell the alcohol on their breath. The plan was to pass him, then attack from behind.
    Normally, he would give them the opportunity to walk away, to save themselves. Tonight, however, he was drunk and belligerent. He was looking for a fight.
    Letting them walk past, he looked them in the eyes and nodded. One carried a beer bottle. They nodded back and gave a slight chuckle. Then it happened. Landon felt the bottle crash against the back of his head, and he went down.
    The men pulled him into an alley between the bar and a house and started kicking. They stopped, however, when they heard something they surely hadn’t expected—laughter. Their victim was laughing. Then the laughing morphed into a low growl.
    Before their minds had time to think and react with the impulse to run, all three were on the ground, their intended victim now standing above. He remained in the shadows, as they had, except for his glowing red eyes. His claws extended, and he swiped at one of the men’s legs. They backed up quickly, crawling like crabs, until they hit the side of the house.
    Then it occurred to Landon that he had been down this road before. There had been another night when he had been drinking and was angry, a night when something terrible happened.
    “Get the hell outta here,” he scowled. “Go before I really get pissed off.”
    Two of the men stood and helped the third to his feet, blood rushing down his leg. They scampered down the alleyway and out of sight.
    Landon retracted his claws, continuing on his original path toward his car. He climbed in the BMW, squealed the tires as he pulled away, and headed home.

4
     
    Turning the key to his apartment door, Landon heard the usual trouble brewing upstairs. The young couple living above had moved in a little over a month ago, and the fights began almost immediately. They were practically on a daily basis now. What was so interesting was that the girlfriend, who was a waif of a young woman with her brown hair in a pixie cut, was typically the one to start it. It seemed as though she would often pick fights out of thin air.
    She would come in from wherever she worked, a diner Landon thought based on her uniform, there would be some muffled dialogue, and glasses would suddenly start breaking. Landon imagined that the couple was probably limited in their choice of drink ware at the moment, and he did his best to avoid the altercations and stay out of their business, primarily because he never heard the boyfriend fight back.
    Landon’s own apartment was devoid of any decoration. The walls were as unremittingly bleak and white as a landscape plucked out of an arctic wasteland. He had furniture—a couch, a chair, and a table.
    In fact, the furniture was as white as the walls. It was designed so that, when he came home, he walked into a blank slate and