The man at the bar withdrew a little, but his hand was still on my knee. “You going to claim her here and now, buddy?”
Behind me I could feel Ben stiffen. “We don't plan a public claiming,” he said. “We're waiting for Mabon night, not that it's any of your Goddess-damned business.”
The man chuckled. “Oh, I think it is my business—see, I like this little lady a lot. Either claim her in front of these witnesses, or make a formal challenge.”
“I will not claim her here!” Ben answered, his hands tightening painfully on my shoulders.
My harasser's faded blue eyes narrowed. “Challenge it is then, pup. Unless you're scared?”
I became suddenly aware that the entire bar had fallen silent and was listening to their tense conversation. All heads were cocked our way, and all eyes glued to our little corner of the bar. It was so quiet that you could actually hear the lyrics to “Free Bird” coming out scratchy and hoarse over the cheap speakers.
There was a scent in the air like male musk and the same coiled tension I had felt around Ben the night before. I wanted to say something and couldn't. My tongue felt frozen to the roof of my mouth, and when I tried to take a deep breath, my lungs wouldn't expand properly. I was terrified, and I didn't even know exactly why.
The bartender was the first to break the silence. He came forward to stand in front of our little tableau, his hands flat on the bar. “An offer of challenge has been extended.” His voice was flat, but it filled the entire bar. He looked at Ben. “Do you accept, or will you claim this female as custom dictates?”
From somewhere in the crowd a low, murmuring chant began. One man started it, and then another took it up, and then another, and another, until the whole bar was repeating it. It took my numb ears a moment to decipher what it was, but finally, I got it. “Fuck or fight…Fuck or fight,” the crowd was chanting. I looked up at Ben, feeling all the blood rush from my cheeks, leaving me white and pale. What would he say? What would he do to me?
“I choose the challenge,” Ben said, and the bar erupted into cheers. I stared at him and saw a fierce light burning in his brown eyes. He raised a hand for silence, and the entire bar went quiet again, waiting to hear him speak. “I have one condition. This will be a challenge of the first nature, not the second. The first man to change forms forfeits—no deaths.” He looked down at the man with the faded eyes who had finally taken his hand off my knee. “I don't want your blood on my hands,” he snarled, sounding more animal than human.
With an inarticulate roar, the man rose from his bar stool in one smooth motion. Standing, he was shorter than Ben, but considerably heavier, despite my partner's linebacker build. It was going to be like a Bulldog fighting a German Shepard, I thought, and then wondered why the canine analogy had popped into my mind.
“You think you can hold off the change better than me? C'mon then, pup. And may the best were win,” the man shouted, striding toward the small area at the end of the bar, which I was beginning to realize was no dance floor. Ben stripped off his jacket and started to follow him. Finally my paralysis broke, and I grabbed his arm and yanked on it until he bent down to look at me.
“Ben,” I said through numb lips. “Don't do this—you don't have to. Let's just get the hell out of here. Okay?”
“No, Dani. It's not okay.” The light was back in his eyes, and this time I was sure of it—they were glowing. His voice was low and frightening.
“I don't…don't understand,” I faltered, looking up into those strange, yet horribly familiar eyes.
“No,” he said bitterly. “You don't. There's no going back now. You see, Dani, either I fight that son-of-a-bitch and wipe the floor with him, or I have to fuck you in front of all these people. Now which would you prefer?”
I recoiled from his ugly words, as though he'd slapped me.
One corner of his mouth twisted violently downward. “That's what I thought,” he said. He stood up and pulled away from me, wading into the crowd to get to the fight.
I thought someone, maybe the bartender, might referee the fight but no one bothered, and it must have started as soon as Ben stepped onto the floor. From then it seemed to go very quickly. I say “must have,” and “seemed to” because I couldn't actually see what was going on. Even in my three inch heels, there was no way to see over all the broad backs surrounding the fighting floor, and there was no pushing through the solid wall of bodies either. I heard the solid meaty thwack every time either Ben or the other man landed a punch and the roar of the crowd when it happened. One or twice I saw a horrific spray of blood, but I couldn't tell whose it was. I jumped and hopped, trying to get a view, before it finally occurred to me to climb up on a table. But by then it was almost over.
I stepped up onto a chair, wobbling in the three inch spike heels and was in the act of climbing onto a table when a masculine voice shouted, “First change!” The entire crowd took up the chant as they had earlier. “First change! First change! Forfeit!” I finally managed to balance in the ridiculous heels and look over the heads of the men surrounding the fight floor.
At first I couldn't understand what I was seeing. Ben was still standing, although his face was bloody and his bare, muscular upper body was splattered with crimson. The other man appeared to be rolling on the ground, writhing in some kind of agony. His skin seemed almost to be bubbling somehow, and he was bloody—so bloody that I wondered if Ben had gone too far. I remembered him saying, “I don't want your blood on my hands.”
Then Ben looked up and saw me staring. Our eyes met over the crowd and his were glowing brown orbs in a mask of blood. Someone threw him a towel, and he used it to wipe off most of it. He tossed the bloody rag away and waded through the crowd toward me, leaving the other man thrashing on the floor. The crowd murmured in discontent that the fight was over so quickly, but no one put out a hand to stop him.
Something very strange was going on with the man with the faded eyes. His body seemed to be shifting, changing in a way that seemed subtly wrong. I blinked, trying to make my brain understand it, but I couldn't make sense of the bloody heap twisting over the dirty tiles. I wanted to watch more, but suddenly Ben was there, standing in front of me. He reached up without asking and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me down to the floor to face him.
The crowd's focus shifted from the man Ben had beaten to a bloody pulp to the two of us standing in the middle of the bar. Slowly, a new chant began to rise from the collective throat of the crowd. “Claim her…Claim her…Claim her…”
Ben grabbed my upper arms and dragged me up until I was standing on my tip-toes, face to face with him. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hot light in his eyes that scared the hell out of me. The aura of tension that had been following him for the last few days like his own private thundercloud seemed ready to explode. I could feel it jumping between us like electricity between live wires. I was scared to death and yet somehow more excited than I had ever been in my life.
“Claim her…claim her…” the crowd urged him on.
“Ben,” I managed to say through trembling lips. “Whatever they're saying, don't do it. Please don't.”
“I have to.” His voice was so deep I felt it rather than heard it. It was like a pounding in my blood. “I need to, Dani.”
“You don't have to do anything,” I told him, but he shook his head.
“I need to at least do this,” he rumbled. He pulled me closer, so close I could see the blood drying in his stiff, black hair and smell the hot, coppery fragrance of violence hanging around him. I put up a hand to stop him, but that was as far as I got before his lips covered mine, taking my mouth in the most brutal, delicious kiss I had ever experienced. He bent me backward over his arm and ran his other hand roughly up my cheek to bury his fingers in my hair and hold me in place. I gasped and his tongue was suddenly there, exploring my mouth, tasting me, owning me in a way I had never known was possible.
My brain felt numb—could this really be Ben? Sweet, gent
le Ben who went out of his way to never make sexist remarks or tell off-color jokes? Could this really be my mild-mannered partner of five years ravishing my mouth with a savage intensity that was making me hot and cold all over? I didn't even know this man—did I?
My body reacted helplessly to his. My nipples stiffened into tight peaks under the slick vinyl bustier, and the cleft between my thighs got wet and hot and slippery in a breathless second. It was crazy to think, but it was almost as though I needed this, as though my body had been waiting for it all along.
I don't know when or how I started kissing him back, but I moaned into Ben's mouth, a low animal noise I hadn't known I was capable of making. Suddenly his hand left my hair to roam all over my body. I felt his fingers tugging at the top of the bustier, peeling it down to bare my breasts. He pinched my nipples, using a gentle twisting motion that belied the fierce possession of his kiss, and I gasped and arched my back, wanting more despite myself.
My skin was on fire with needing him. His big hands were everywhere, cupping and kneading my breasts, stroking my neck, and lifting my skirt to find their way to the hot, wet place between my thighs. I arched up to meet him, not caring about the crowd, not caring about anything but having this—having Ben in a way I had never allowed myself to realize I needed him before.
His fingers pushed my panties aside to spread me, and I opened my thighs, welcoming him in. He bent his head to lap at my throat, then bent lower to suck my nipples into his hot mouth, making me nearly scream with pleasure. Two long, strong fingers pressed into the hot, slick entrance to my pussy, thrusting deep to find my core, and I pressed back, helping him find it. I was so close…so damn close…
In the back of my mind I knew I shouldn't be doing this. We were in public and people were watching. We were best friends and partners—not lovers. We were probably screwing our carefully balanced relationship all to hell. None of the reasons my critical mind tried to give me had the least effect on my body. I wasn't myself. I was like a bomb that has been activated—helpless to do anything but tick and tick until I blew myself apart.
Ben was a completely different person too. Gone was the polite gentleman who always opened my car door and guided me through crowds with one large, warm hand at the small of my back. What was left in his place was a testosterone-driven animal, a beast that both frightened and called to me in some primal way I could neither deny nor ignore.
I don't know what might have happened between us if he hadn't picked me up and laid me down on the nearest table. But the hard wood was cold under my back, and the smell of spilled beer, yeasty and rank, invaded my senses and turned my stomach. I looked up and saw Ben looming over me, a dark shadow with fire in his eyes. His features blurred as my memory looped sickeningly back to a part of my past I'd tried hard to forget. Mitch! my mind screamed, and suddenly all the pleasure I'd been feeling turned to panic.
Ben leaned over me, maybe to kiss me again, I don't know because I didn't give him a chance. I struck out at him, beating at his chest and kicking to try and push him away. He was already between my legs, one hand on the fastening to his jeans, and I saw the startled expression in his eyes as I fought him.
“Dani—Dani, no, I'm sorry!” The light faded from his brown eyes, leaving anguish and concern behind, but none of it was registering with me. The only thing that registered was the smell of alcohol and the fact that I was pinned to the table with a large, heavy man on top of me. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't—the sound stuck in my throat like a bone that wouldn't come out. I fought him in silence, kicking, thrashing, slapping, and hitting with my fists. Hot tears were welling up in my eyes, and still I couldn't make a sound, even when they ran down the sides of my face.
“Dani, please don't. I'm not going to—” Ben reached down to cup my face in his palm, bringing his own face closer in the process. I saw my chance. Reaching up, I clawed at his face with all my might, digging my nails into his tanned cheek and dragging downward. Fresh blood began to flow down the side of his face in thin, crimson rivulets.
Ben stood up and stepped away from me, his hand going to the side of his face I had clawed, his eyes wide and wounded. I took the opportunity to scramble up off the table, yanking my bustier up and my skirt down in the process. The crowd around us booed, but I didn't give a damn. None of this had ever been about giving them a show, anyway. This was between me and my partner.
“Dani…” Ben looked at me, then at his hand, which came away bloody when he touched his cheek. Carefully, he wiped at the ragged gouges I had left in his flesh as though he couldn't believe I would hurt him.
I couldn't believe it either, to tell the truth. But I was so panicked and confused I wasn't sure what had just happened. Only one thing was clear to me—Ben and I had crossed a line. A barrier that had always been between us had been broken down, and I wasn't certain if that was a good thing. I had always felt safe around Ben—protected. Now I didn't feel that way anymore.
“Please,” he said and started toward me.
“Stay away.” I backed into the crowd, which parted to let me pass.
“Dani…” His eyes were anguished. “I didn't mean to…you don't understand what you do to me.”
“So this is my fault?” I demanded.
Ben's face hardened. “Yes, at least in part,” he said. “You call me up, tell me you're here—”
“I told you not to come down here!” I said, through gritted teeth.
“And what would you have done if I hadn't?” he growled back. “You think you could've managed all by yourself?”
“I…” I didn't have an answer. It was true that he had saved me from the man at the bar—I didn't have a problem with that. It was what had happened afterwards that had shaken me to the core.
“Didn't think so,” Ben snarled. Someone in the crowd handed him a wet cloth, and he wiped at the scratches I had made on his face again. I stood there, staring at him, caught between outrage and gratitude. But as I opened my mouth to say something else, my eyes returned to the side of his face, and the words died on my tongue.
“What?” Ben must have seen my eyes grow wide because his own eyes narrowed.
“Your…your face,” I managed to get out. Before my eyes, the long, jagged gouges I had made on his tanned cheek were healing. I could actually see them closing—see the flesh and skin knitting back together until at last there was nothing left—not even a scar.
Ben reached up to touch the side of his face again, realization dawning in his eyes. “Dani—” he began.
“Who…? What are you?” I breathed. He started to answer, but I held up a hand to stop him. “No, I don't care anymore. Just stay the hell away from me.” I turned and pushed my way to the door and out into the night, running as though my life depended on it.
Chapter Eight
Ben
I found her trembling against the side of her car, her arms crossed over her chest in a way that pushed her breasts up and out of the slick, red bustier like ripe fruit. I hated myself for noticing something like that, but it seemed like I couldn't help it. Couldn't help remembering the way her full breasts had filled my hands and the salty taste of her skin on my tongue when I licked her neck and sucked her nipples. I could still feel the slippery heat between her thighs and smell her rich, delicate scent. God, I wanted her so much—more than ever now that I knew I had lost any chance of ever having her.
“Here, I thought you might need this.” I held out the big, leather knapsack purse she had left behind in the bar. I had stopped to retrieve it as well as my grandfather's leather jacket before following her out into the night. I figured she might like a little time away from me—like maybe a lifetime.
“Thanks.” She snatched the purse from me at an arm's length as though I might bite her if she left her hand out too long. She fumbled in it for what seemed like a very long time before finally coming up with the large metal ring that held her keys. It had been a gift from me—something chunky and clunky so she wouldn't keep losing th
em in her purse. The ring itself was big enough to be a bracelet and an inch thick. It was made of solid steel, and the keys were hung on smaller rings around it.
The keys jingled musically as she searched for the right one. Her car alarm was broken, something I'd been meaning to get fixed for her for some time, so she couldn't use the automatic beeper to unlock her doors. I watched her try to put the key in the lock twice, her hand trembling so hard she nearly dropped it, before I moved to take it away from her.
“No!” Dani dropped the keys on the pavement with a jangle before I could get too close. Her green eyes were wide, and the look of fear on her face was like a knife in my heart.
“Dani,” I said softly, trying to make my voice low and gentle even though the moon was still dragging at me unmercifully. “Please—let me drive you home. You're in no shape—”
“I'm fine,” she cut me off. She held out a hand. “Give me back my keys.”
I saw the way her eyes kept flickering to the place on my cheek where she had clawed me. I still didn't understand why she had done that—what had happened to change her mind. We'd been all over each other, finally expressing the need that had been locked inside for so long and I knew, I knew she'd been responding to me. Why had she stopped? What had frightened her into fighting me? Was it just that she had finally realized what we were doing? Or had she somehow sensed the other beneath my skin, pulsing like a second heartbeat, waiting to be let out?
“I owe you an explanation,” I said, still holding her keys.
“You don't owe me anything.” Her voice was almost pleading now. “Just please, don't…”
“Don't what?” I demanded. “Hurt you? Rape you? Eat you up like a little girl lost in a fairytale with the big bad wolf?”
She recoiled from my tone, but then her chin lifted and she stared me in the eye. “Isn't that what you almost did back there?” She jerked her head in the direction of The Cloven Hoof where the regulars had gone back to their drinks. We'd been barely a half hour's distraction for them—the worst half hour of my life.
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