Who's Afraid Too

By: Maria Lewis

‘It’s about time we had another kick-arse werewolf heroine – can’t wait to find out what happens next!’

New York Times

bestselling author Keri Arthur

‘Gripping, fast-paced and completely unexpected, Who’s Afraid? has more twists than a tornado. I loved this story! Maria Lewis is definitely one to watch’

New York Times

bestselling author Darynda Jones

‘The next True Blood’

NW Magazine

‘Journalist Maria Lewis grabs the paranormal fiction genre by the scruff of its neck to give it a shake with her debut novel Who’s Afraid?’

The West Australian

‘It’s Underworld meets Animal Kingdom’

ALPHA Reader

‘Truly one of the best in the genre I have ever read’

Oscar nominee Lexi Alexander (Green Street

Hooligans, Punisher: War Zone, Arrow, Supergirl)

‘Lewis creates an intriguing world that’s just begging to be fleshed out in further books’

APN

‘If you haven’t heard about Maria Lewis’s new urban fantasy novel Who’s Afraid? you must have been living under a rock’

Good Reading Magazine

‘Definitely worth reading over and over again, as well as buying multiple copies. Great stocking stuffers, those werewolf books’

Maria Lewis’ mum








Chapter 1


It was a peaceful view. The cluster of flats looked down on an old cemetery that was mostly used as a park by local families. The youngest grave dated back to the early 1900s. Many of the tombstones were much, much older. The more beautiful headstones were at the centre of the space, whereas the forgotten ones – the ones falling into disrepair – lined the perimeter where thick foliage attempted to claim them as their own. Vines snaked along the crumbling arms of a grey angel that was resting on a mass of large bushes. Within these bushes sat two men, still and silent.

They were practically invisible as they watched the couple in the flat above go about the tedium of their daily lives. Dressed head-to-toe in black, they seemed to bleed into the darkness of the surrounding night. A bat went to land at the top of the bush and, upon sensing their presence, quickly made for a tree further away.

The nursery was on the second floor of the building and painted in traditional blue. The woman bent down to kiss the baby boy as he squirmed on the mattress. Tiptoeing from the room, she left the door half open so she could come and check on him later.

Another hour passed before the two men in the bushes even began to think about moving. They were waiting for their moment. One moved his head to the side, catching the eye of the other. They nodded in unison. Soundlessly they crept forward and out of cover. There was nothing remarkable about their clothes: black and practical. It was their faces that were more interesting. Both men were relatively pale and the shorter of the two had dark hair cut into a tidy style. As the faint light cast from a distant street lamp crossed his face, two thick scars could be seen running from his temple to his chin. His left eye was white and grey, blind to the world and whatever was happening within it. It didn’t seem to affect him though. He moved with more grace and precision than someone else might with four eyes.

The taller man was sporting a heavy beard that acted as a mask, almost completely covering the bottom half of his face. Black, beady eyes peered out from under caterpillar eyebrows and the rest of his hair grew out in trimmed, fuzzy agreement. All it took was for them to reach above their heads and pull themselves up the old brick wall of the cemetery before they were level with the Maentells’ balcony. The sliding door was even left slightly ajar. Ignoring it, they craned their necks and looked directly up at the window of the nursery above them. Dropping to a crouch, the men tensed before launching themselves in the air and up the wall. You could barely hear a noise as they scaled the side of the building, pausing only at the window to the nursery as the taller man wedged it open effortlessly.

They slipped into the room and landed with a tiny thump on the carpet next to the cot. The short man walked to the door and listened. Satisfied with what he heard, he returned to the cot. The tall man was leaning on the wooden rail and starring down at the sleeping baby. Both men lost themselves for a moment as they watched the rise and fall of the child’s chest. There was no parental pride or longing in the identical stares, only hunger. The tall man shook his head slightly and bent down into the cot, scooping the baby up and wrapping it tightly in the cotton blanket.

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