Erin Dameron-Hill Read Online Free Page B

through my fingers and down my arms.
    I inhaled her deeply and allowed that smell of serene calm replace the smell of death. Sheila’s vibrant, from-a-bottle red hair trailed over my face leaving hard, hair-sprayed curls landing with a thud on my smooth skin. In this kind of humidity, curling hair means lots of product and Sheila was living proof of that. And honestly, I’m surprised that her hair was still curled at three in the morning. She probably used more product than I originally anticipated.
    Her small hands wound their way around my back, massaging me lightly in an attempt at sympathy. I breathed her in one last time and turned around to face the remains of Clyde.
    As I looked over that torn and shattered body, I had to ask myself, What the hell am I doing here? I’m not a forensic scientist or a detective nor do I have a special license that makes me an expert at crimes scenes. I’m just a normal, everyday werewolf.
    “I’m sorry you had to see this,” Sheila said, “but Matt thought it would be best.”
    My eyes continued to roam over the battered and strewn corpse and I knew I didn’t belong here, “I don’t belong here, Sheila, I don’t even know if I can control myself.”
    She touched my forearm lightly and nodded, “I know how you feel, but we need you. Your talents…”
    “My talents?” I interrupted, “They disappeared the night I turned. I don’t have those talents anymore.”
    I knew I should never have told them about my past abilities, but we were family, and we don’t keep secrets from one another. So I told them how I had dreams and feelings and that whatever I dream or feel comes to fruition. Hence, my job as a psychic although now, I was more of a charlatan. I used to be able to read people, but I can’t anymore. All I can do now is lie.
    “We hoped they might reappear over something this dramatic,” she said.
    “Well, it’s not, and it won’t. The only thing I can offer to this pack is my loyalty and some money in case one of us needs medical attention. That’s all I can do.”
    I donate to my family because we have to hire a specialized doctor whose primary concern is the health of the preternatural community and who can keep our existence a secret. And trust me, he doesn’t come cheap. If there’s an outbreak of fleas or ticks, don’t expect us to run to CVS and pick up a flea collar. No, those are dangerous chemicals. The doctor is more of a shaman than anything and he uses herbs and the like to heal us. Therefore, health insurance is useless. What are you going to say on the form, outbreak of werewolf fleas? I’d like to see that explained to the plump nurse who now believes you should be in the loony bin.
    I looked back at Sheila through the flashlight haze of early morning and dimmed lights. Her eyes were begging me to divine something from the scene and I knew I couldn’t. The sixth sense that had plagued me since I was eight had vanished two years ago and frankly, I preferred it that way. And now I was being selfish and thankful that I couldn’t help my family figure out who killed one of my wolf-brothers because I was glad the gift (I use that word loosely) was gone.
    So, I was upset that I was here, upset that they had put so much faith in me. I couldn’t walk in here and get a feeling or dream about the murderer, instead, I just felt hungry and embarrassed that I lusted over the corpse. It’s really quite pathetic how tight I was getting and wet.
    “Please, Sophia,” Sheila began, “please try.”
    I sat down because my knees just didn’t want to stand anymore and they buckled under the pressure of the scent. Cross-legged, Indian style, my favorite sitting position was all I could do. As my eyes rested on the shredded remains I breathed deeper. I inhaled that intoxicating scent and felt the bristles of my own power crawl along my skin like tiny biting insects. It raced in-between my thighs and out through my mouth as a moan.
    My beast was stirring. I