The Girl Cried Wolf 30 Not Like You

Ash saw that the man had tattoos on his knuckles: hearts, diamonds, clubs, spades. The tattoos were all in black, the symbols for the suits in a deck of cards. The man was their driver, and he also doubled as a body guard.

A Cadillac CT6 with a shadow metallic exterior came around the corner to pick them up. Not that Ash knew or cared about cars: two years of seeing luxury vehicles come and go at SBA's parking lot had little to no effect on her appreciation for expensive four-wheeled transport. For Ash, vehicles were only cla.s.sified into visually identifiable categories: size and paint color. As far as she was concerned, the Cadillac CT6 was just a "s.h.i.+ny black car."

Once inside, she did notice something about the car's very light cashmere with maple sugar accented interior: it was spotless. Ash had lived in an orphanage for most of her life and the clean interior only signaled one thing: no kids.

Whoever purchased this car did not have young children in mind as possible pa.s.sengers. Young children were the natural enemies of white and light-colored interiors. A toddler with a juice box would have made a mess of the pristine backseat in the time it took a caretaker to buckle the kid's seat belt.

M City was the capital of S country. From the airport, it was a 30-minute drive to the Guzman Estate.

Ash took in all the sights and didn't say much. Every so often, Hunter would lean over and press his head against hers, trying to see what she was looking at, but he never asked. He wasn't actually interested in seeing what she was looking at: he had lived in the city his whole life and he had seen all of it. He leaned on her only because he wanted to feel her close to him. He needed her to know that he was right there with her.

The driver's name was Fernan and he made small talk with Hunter as they drove through the city. Hunter complimented Fernan's suit. Apparently, the Senior Guzman would have suits tailored for his staff as he didn't like to see them wearing uniforms.

Ash thought it was an interesting choice for the Senior Guzman to have his staff wear nice clothes: it seemed progressive that a rich man did not flaunt his status via uniformed servants. Though it was also possible that the old man was just showing up his rich peers by foregoing the usual staff uniform: perhaps he was declaring his wealth by showing that he paid to have his staff dressed so well. Ash would have to meet him to decide for herself what kind of man Hunter's father really was.

When they were nearing his home, Hunter put his arm around Ash.

"We're nearly there," he said, leaning close to her.

Ash nodded.

"Are you nervous?"

Ash nodded again.

"Don't be. My parents will like you."

"But, I'm not like you," Ash said. She meant that she wasn't rich like Hunter and his family were. She was afraid that they wouldn't like her because of that. Or worse, that they would think she was a desperate social climber who was out to get their son and marry into a rich family.

"But you are like us. You are exactly like us," Hunter said, kissing her on her forehead. He meant that she was a werewolf, just like him and his father.

To Hunter, it was the only thing that mattered. And he was very happy. He had finally brought his mate home.