Page 42 of Cursed: Ride or Die
“I’m ready.”
While Slade headed outside, Noah changed into a pair of running shorts he’d packed to wear on full moon nights until he got to his destination. He stretched out on the bed in shorts and a T-shirt.
Slade reentered the room, carrying a case by the handle. “Relax. I need a few minutes to set up. You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”
“Why would I be? And how would I know? Should I be afraid?”
“What about when the doctor gives you shots?” Slade’s gaze met Noah’s. “Oh, you haven’t gotten shots. Can you catch human diseases?”
“No, based on what Paul said.” Paul, Noah’s source of information for all things werewolf.
Slade used a disposable razor to remove the hair from Noah’s ankle, then cleaned the area with green soap. He spoke as he worked, keeping his voice low. “What happened to his pack? Why did he leave?”
Noah stared up at the ceiling to distract himself from the feeling of Slade’s fingers, so gentle, on his ankle. Hard to imagine someone so intimidating capable of such tenderness.
“Paul fell in love, the pack was against them joining, so they ran away to the human world. Had three pu… kids. He came home one day to find them all dead. Nothing taken but his family.” Noah blinked back tears, recalling how distraught Paul became while telling the story. “Eventually, he went back to his pack. But they were all dead too, so he kept running.”
“How’d you two meet up?”
A mechanical whirring began in the vicinity of Noah’s ankle. He didn’t even flinch when the needle touched his skin. “He was staying in a cabin in Michigan, went hunting, and smelled blood. Wolf noses can scent more than a human one. He searched and found me. He thought maybe I was four or five at the time, covered in blood. He took me home and raised me.”
“Covered in blood? What happened?” Slade paused his work to ask.
“Not mine. We don’t know whose it was, and he couldn’t find my pack. He got fake paperwork for me.”
“So you could go to school? Don’t you have to have shots?”
“I’ve never been to public school.”
“You’ve never been to school?” Slade resumed work on Noah’s ankle.
“Paul taught me to read and write, bought me school books, did his best. Mostly, he taught me to survive.” Like how to manage money, how to disappear. How to get fake IDs.
“Tell me,” Slade said, a look of intense concentration on his face. “All the things about werewolves in movies. How much is true?”
“I’ve never seen a movie except for the ones I’ve seen on this TV.” Noah nodded toward his primary source of entertainment. “Nothing today with werewolves. I’ve read books, though.” Although Noah loved books, he and Paul used to laugh at the bad portrayals of their kind. If humans were so fascinated by shifters, though, why hunt them?
“Okay, how much do the books get right?”
“Mostly, that the full moon affects us, we shift into wolves and heal fast. Enough about me. How about you?” Only fair for Slade to share, too, right?
Slade kept his eyes on his work. A strange smell came from his direction. Must be the ink. “I graduated high school. Went to art school for a while. Got messed up with drugs, went into rehab a few times.”
“I never used drugs.”
“Good choice. My brother said I’d still be showing my paintings in galleries if I wanted to, but something about painting on canvas makes me want to use again, you know? Like a trigger.”
“Tattooing and painting helmets doesn’t?” Noah kept his gaze fixed on Slade.
Slade shook his head, which appeared a lot less shaggy than at their first meeting. “Nah. I’d given up drugs by the time I began my apprenticeship.”
Apprenticeship? “Now you travel the country, tattooing, filming videos, and helping wounded werewolves.”
Slade barked out a laugh. “You might say that. Now, the outline might hurt a bit.”
Was the man kidding? Nothing compared to getting shot. “Bring it on.”
“That’s my boy.”
