Someone touched her shoulder, and Maggie turned around, thinking Harper had returned. But it was him.

“Hey,” Eric said. “You made it.” He’d obviously been at the party awhile. His eyes were glassy, speech slurred.

She smiled, not sure what to say.

“Come with me,” he said, dragging her by the hand.

Soon she found herself in a laundry room making out with him. He reeked of pot and stale beer, and her eyes kept going to the dirty laundry piled in the basket on top of the dryer. She pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” Eric slurred.

“Nothing, but this isn’t how I—”

He grabbed her by the arms, pushing her against the wall. He jammed his tongue into her mouth. With one hand, he managed to hold both of her wrists above her head. With the other hand, he started groping her breasts.

“Stop,” Maggie said, yanking back.

But he didn’t. He kept her arms pinned. The fingers of his large hand squeezed her wrists together, both arms against the wall. It hurt and she was scared. And his other hand managed to slide down, unbutton her pants. Panic enveloped her.

She looked him in the eyes. They were nothing like earlier at the Center.

They were dark.

Wolfish.

“I said, stop!”

Another wave of terror coursed through her. Of all the horror stories her father had warned her about—exaggerated fears of a man who couldn’t bear another loss—here she was. He would be so disappointed in her. And she was in herself.

But there was one positive that had derived from all of Dad’s fears: he’d made sure his children were prepared if they ever encountered a monster. Self-defense classes, role-playing, emergency planning.

Maggie steeled herself. “Slow down,” she said, softer. “I’ll let you, but what’s the rush? Take off your shirt.”

He released her arms, yanked his hand from the waistband of her pants, then clumsily tugged off his shirt and threw it on the floor. Unexpectedly, he unbuttoned his pants and they dropped to the floor around his ankles.

“Touch it,” he said. His rank breath wafted over her.