Free The Night Has Teeth by Kat Kruger

after I shed
my shoes and jacket to crawl beneath the sheets, he still stands
like a guard dog at a prison.
    “Goodnight, Connor,” Amara says, glancing at
Arden, who doesn’t budge.
    “’ Night,” I reply, turning off the
nightstand lamp.
    Finally, he shuts the door behind him and I see the
light go out in the hall. I toss around for what feels like an hour
before I’m finally able to shut down the anxiety in my brain.
Especially the fears that defy logic. I drift into sleep. When I
get up, the time on the bedside clock glows 5:08. As I crawl out of
bed, the memory of the night’s experiences seems distant now, and
I’m starting to wonder if I didn’t imagine everything after I left
the club. I’m still exhausted and consider changing into my pajamas
before getting back into bed. First, I need to pee. My bedroom
doorway is in the middle of the hallway. On opposite ends of the
short corridor are a bathroom and the master bedroom. My goal is to
creep quietly across the floor, making a minimal amount of noise,
so as not to disturb Amara and Arden. I think I’m successful.
    When I turn off the bathroom light, it takes a
moment for my eyes adjust to the darkness. As I inch my way back, I
see their bedroom door is wide open at the end of the hall. I can
make out their forms in the pale streetlight coming in from their
window. Amara must be under the plush duvet, but her dog is
stretched out across the top of the blankets. I stop in my tracks.
The animal is not only wearing the same gold chain and ring as
Arden, it’s also bandaged in exactly the same way. All my questions
from earlier flood back in like a tide. Then, more horrifically, I
notice its amber eyes are on me. That is, Arden’s amber eyes are on
me, staring. And they are unmistakable. I race away, taking the
corner into the main living space too quickly, and bang into the
edge of a wall. The sharp pain doesn’t stop me from breaking into a
sprint. I skid across the flat, bounding toward the door as Amara
calls out my name. But I’m out the door. And I run. I run as though
the first time was just practice.
     
     
     
    7.
Crazy
     
    W hen I get outside, I’m in a complete state of panic. My
mind still has a hard time believing what my eyes have seen. Arden,
a wolf? Really? It’s impossible. I consider calling someone, like
the police, but that’s crazy. Or at least that’s what anyone would
think of me if I tried to explain what just happened. What did just happen? And what is Arden,
exactly, some kind of tame werewolf? Can a werewolf so easily
control when he changes back and forth? And what am I thinking
anyway? That’s ridiculous! No, it’s totally insane! What else could
it be, though? Maybe someone slipped some kind of drug into one of
my drinks at the club. People do that, right? And maybe this is
just one really bad trip. Thankfully, I’m still wearing the clothes
from Club Cin-Cin, because it means I’ve still got my wallet in the
back pocket of my pants. Even still, I’d rather not be running
around Paris without shoes in the dead of night. Then again, I’d
also rather not have something deadly and possibly supernatural
chasing me down either. While I’m no stats genius, I figure my
chances of out-pacing a wolf on foot are somewhere in the range of
slim to none, so I flag down a cab and go to the only other street
address I can think of: Madison’s.
    Once en route, I keep glancing back at the road for
signs of the wolf that is Arden. In the rear-view mirror all I see
are the eyes of the cabby. And me. I’m cagey, sweaty and winded.
Under normal circumstances he’d probably be thinking they’re all
signs that point to a fare he wished he hadn’t stopped for. The
last thing I need right now is to be left on the side of the road
in an unfamiliar neighborhood, so I try to get it together. Which
is just as well, because I need my wits about me. My attempts at
small talk are met with non-communicative grunts, and, after I’ve
paid my