Exposed: A Book Bite

by H. D. Gordon

  “There’s another shooter,” I tell them. “He’s on the second floor. He’s got an AK-47.”

  Karen flashes me a look of hatred before exiting with her psycho son, who has been loaded onto a stretcher. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at her. Her precious baby had nearly shot me in the damn face.

  Gods, humans could be so fucking crazy sometimes.

  The swat team splits into groups, some taking the stairs we’d just come down, and others heading toward the other staircase.

  The rest of us file out the lobby doors, where the summer sun shines on indifferently. A few people are sobbing, while others look as shocked as an outlet.

  We are greeted by a host of red and blue flashing lights, guns pointing in our direction, and cops shouting orders.

  We comply and are soon deemed not to be a threat.

  Then there is nothing to do but stand there and wait while the police do their thing.

  Lucy joins me on the sidewalk across the street from our building, the only person who will approach me, as if I was the one toting a gun in the office. The two of us stand shoulder-to-shoulder, watching the rest of the situation unfold.

  More co-workers run out of the building, and Lucy and I sigh in relief as we confirm certain people are safe.

  Then, it hits me, and I feel like a shithead for not thinking of him sooner.

  Grayson is not out here.

  Which means he’s still inside the building.

  Maybe it makes me a real butthole, but other than Lucy, I’d trade any one of these people for Grayson James.

  I’d met a lot of people in my life, both humans and supes, and Grayson was among the most good-hearted of them all. He didn’t deserve to be gunned down by some vengeful husband and his brainwashed son.

  I’m not the praying type, but I send up a prayer to any God that is listening to please let Grayson James be safe. Take one of these other fools, but not Grayson—not sweet, loving Grayson.

  The time keeps ticking, and still Grayson does not emerge from the building. With every person that does who isn’t him, my anxiety increases.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Lucy says. “Probably found somewhere to hide.”

  But I can hear the doubt in her tone, and her face says she can hear it, too.

  After Gods know how much time, the swat team begins to emerge from the front doors, and just from the set of their shoulders, I can tell that they’ve cleared the building.

  Then anger rushes through me as I see them leading the other gunman—who is indeed Karen Stansel’s husband—out in zip-tie cuffs. The hatred on the man’s face is hot enough to scorch. I can feel it in my own soul.

  It’s amazing to me that these boys in blue can manage to subdue the shooter without lethal force, when my kind were getting shot during simple traffic stops what seemed like every other day.

  Fucked up ass world we lived in, that was for sure.

  And where the fuck was Grayson?

  The next people to exit the building are the medics—the ones rolling stretchers with bodybags.

  It takes everything in me not to rush up to them and unzip the bags to see for myself.

  One bag.

  Then two.

  Then three, and four.

  No way Grayson James was in one of them. No fucking way.

  The death toll continues to climb, not stopping until it reaches fourteen. I realize belatedly that even if the people in those bodybags are not Grayson, they are still people I know, people with whole lives and families who love them.

  The most chilling part of all is the ringing of the cellphones coming from within the bodybags. No doubt the news of the situation has spread—what with the vulture-like news crews already surrounding the area—and those ringtones are loved ones trying to get through to make sure their person is safe.

  But their person is not safe.

  The phones keep ringing and ringing and ringing.

  And then I hear it.

  A familiar whistle that I’d heard a hundred times before, when Grayson would get a text message.

  Coming from one of the bodybags.

  11

  4:35 p.m.

  Fuck this whole day and the horse it rode in on.

  I stare into my cup of tea, unable to make sense of any of it.

  Grayson James, along with thirteen other people, is dead.

  I sit on my couch in my sweatpants, wondering at the way life goes on after events like the ones today. The feeling takes me back to childhood, back to when I’d lost both of my parents in a feud between packs that had claimed not just their lives, but the lives of many wolves.

  A knock at my door startles me, my heart jumping out of my chest before I can grab a hold of myself. I stare at the door for a moment, and then sigh when I realize who the caller is.

  “Let me in, little wolf,” he says, speaking to me in the telepathic manner my kind share. It’s an adaptation that serves us well when we are in our animal forms, so that we can still communicate with words despite the lack of human vocal cords.

  I get up and open the door, looking rather pathetic in my huge socks and sweats, a gray blanket draped over my shoulders.

  Akim Algernon stands there, his handsome face as inscrutable as ever, but tension strings his wide shoulders. He looks down at me from his taller height, his muscular form filling the doorway, the simple black t-shirt he wears stretching over his chest and biceps attractively.

  The two of us have been mated since we were children, but I’ve always kept him at a distance, have never involved myself with him physically or romantically. I don’t care what tradition says; I don’t need a male to be whole, and I never will.

  So, sucks for him.

  Knowing this, Akim had backed off years ago, never pushing me, until I was pretty sure he was indifferent to the whole matter.

  But when something big happened—like the death of my parents when I’d been nearly thirteen—he always came by to check on me. No matter how much physical distance was between us, he could no doubt feel my distress through our mate bond.

  “How are you?” he asks, deep voice low and eyes roaming over me in search of injuries.

  I shrug, stepping to the side in a silent offering to let him in.

  A bit of surprise flashes across his face before it returns to its unreadable default. I’ve never invited him into my apartment before.

  But I’m so drained today, and though I’m too prideful to admit it, I don’t really want to be alone right now.

  I take a seat on the couch, folding my legs beneath me and reclaiming my teacup. Akim takes the chair across from me, ever respectful of the unspoken boundaries I’d placed between us long ago.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asks.

  I can’t help a little smile. Among all his other talents, Akim is a great listener. Short spoken himself, he is known throughout our pack for being someone who can be confided in, and who will offer sound advice no matter the situation.

  “My friend,” I say. “He died today. He didn’t deserve to die.”

  Akim settles back in his chair, silent as he waits for me to continue.

  I wrap the gray blanket a little tighter around my shoulders, recalling the whistling sound of Grayson’s cellphone coming from that bodybag. I fight back a shiver.

  My throat goes tight. I swallow, searching for more words and finding none that don’t threaten to open a floodgate. I settle for a shrug.

  “We’ll light a candle for him tonight at Hera’s and Henry’s mating ceremony,” Akim says.

  I nod. I can’t dislodge the stupid lump in my throat. My cousin’s damn mating ceremony. With all that was going on, I’d forgotten about it entirely. I check the clock on the wall behind Akim. I need to leave here in an hour if I hope to make it on time.

  Ugh. FML. Like, seriously.

  “I can let everyone know you’re not up to attending,” Akim says.

  I almost tell him to do just that, but Hera is my favorite of my rowdy
ass cousins, so I peel myself up from the couch.

  “No,” I say as I stand and stretch. “I’ll go. Thank you, Akim.”

  My apartment is one large open space, with the living room flowing right into the kitchen and bedroom. It’s too big to be considered a true studio, but the only segregated room is the bathroom. I figure Akim will see himself out as I hop in the shower and turn the water to burning-ass hot.

  As it turns out, no matter the temperature, the water can’t wash away the foul stench of the day. Still, I spend half the hour I have to get ready under the spray.

  Akim was right; I’d light a candle for Grayson, and that would do a little to soothe my soul.

  Wolves believed that lighting a candle under the full moon in the name of the departed ensured that you’d see your loved one in the afterlife. I’d lit candles for my mother and father when they passed, just as Akim had suggested all those years ago.

  I think maybe I’ll also get tipsy tonight. Drink a little moonshine before running under the full moon.

  These thoughts have soothed me as much as they are able as I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself. I wipe down the fogged up mirror over the sink as I stand in the lingering steam, peering at my reflection.

  Look here, I tell myself. All you gotta do is get through today and tomorrow. That’s all you ever have to do.

  These are words Akim said to me just before my parents’ funeral, when I hadn’t been sure I could face the people, the pyres, the knowledge of it being the last time I set eyes on my mother and father.

  And I’d clung to these words through the years, had repeated them to myself a thousand times on nights when the world seemed too cruel to want to live in.

  People like Grayson James had shown me that the world could also be kind and beautiful. And that was something to be celebrated, to be grateful for.

  This mental exchange of negative thoughts for positive ones is also something Akim taught me.

  I open the bathroom door and see that Akim has not seen himself out. He sits in the same position as the one I left him in half an hour ago.

  And as his dark gaze roams over me, over my moist and exposed skin, I see the predator that will one day head our pack, the alpha that other wolves will bow to.

  12

  5:06 p.m.

  Heat spirals low in my belly.

  I can’t help it.

  The wolf in me responds to the wolf in him. She always has—the lusty little bitch—despite my insistence that ain’t nobody got time for that.

  I swallow and move over to the closet where my sparse wardrobe hangs, picking out a black t-shirt and ripped jeans. I feel Akim’s eyes on me as I toss the clothes on the bed and move over to my little dresser, where I pull out under garments. I toss those on the bed as well.

  I keep my back to Akim while I finish drying off, but his gaze is like a touch on my skin. I’m trying to put on my bra and thong when I feel the heat of him behind me. I swallow again.

  Damn, a bitch’s throat is hella dry all of a sudden.

  Go figure.

  I turn slowly. Akim has seen me naked a thousand times. Wolves are not as shy about that sort of thing as are humans. When we shift into our animal forms, we have to get naked, anyway, or risk ripping our clothes, so pretty much everyone in the pack has seen each other’s bare flesh at some point. It really isn’t that big of a deal.

  But this is different from when we shift together.

  In fact, somehow, this is different from anything between Akim and me before. Usually, I have little trouble resisting him. I’ve got a casual thing going on with a human dude that keeps my more baser needs at bay, and I know that once I cross that line with Akim, there will be no turning back.

  Now, a wolf never likes to think of herself as vulnerable, but since they are my own damn thoughts, maybe I am a little vulnerable at the moment. Can you blame me? It has been a long ass day, and the shit isn’t over yet.

  And, despite my resistance, Akim is one fine ass mother fucker.

  When I turn, I see he stands less than a foot away from me. Being the butt that I am, I glance down before I can stop myself, and I see through his jeans that he is ready for whatever I’ll accept from him.

  He looks down at me from his taller height, holding my gaze despite the fact that my body is utterly bare before him. His eyes are asking a question, a question he’s silently asked me a hundred times before only to be met with denial.

  If I deny him now, he will leave and not push the matter.

  My heart is beating fast, and I know he can hear it, same as I can hear the increase in the pace of his. I can smell it on him too, his primal desire to be with me.

  And I don’t doubt he can sense the same on me.

  He takes a small step closer, moving with the grace of a predator, but doesn’t touch me.

  And he won’t. Not until I give him the go-ahead.

  My core pulses, throbs pleasantly, and I know he can sense that, too.

  But I can’t do it. I can’t promise him anything. There are a million reasons why.

  Silence stretches between us. I look down at the massive length of him, hard as a rock, every muscle laced with power.

  Into my mind, in his deep, smooth voice, he asks, “Would you like me to make you feel better, little wolf?”

  My traitorous tongue darts across my lips. I say nothing.

  His dark hunter’s gaze remains locked on mine. His posture is easy, relaxed; a lion poised to pounce.

  “No obligations,” he adds.

  Sweet Lord, Mother Mary and Joseph. Now there is something he’s never offered before.

  I give myself a couple heartbeats to send up a prayer that I don’t live to regret the decision.

  Then, I nod.

  Akim moves, closing the distance between us so swiftly that before I can take my next breath, he has moved me to the bed and laid me down upon my back.

  Goosebumps break out over every inch of my skin, the air rushing out of my lungs in a gasp. Akim hovers over me, his form large and imposing, both hard and very, very warm.

  Wolves maintain higher body temperatures than humans, but alpha males like Akim positively burn. I wonder not for the first time what it would be like to have that hot strength inside of me.

  “Relax, little wolf,” he says. “You have nothing to fear.”

  The fuck I don’t.

  He slides down me slowly, kissing the spot between my breasts…then my stomach…my navel. Akim moves lower still, until I can feel him hovering just before that core part of me.

  When he places his mouth there, his tongue darting out to taste me, I arch off the bed and moan. He grips my hips and yanks me closer, my bottom now hanging off the edge of the bed, where he kneels on the floor in front of me.

  He places a thigh on each shoulder, chuckling lowly as he does so.

  He waits for a moment, his mouth so close to me that I can feel his warm breath there, and I want to scream at him to get the fuck back to it. His fingers grip the inside of my thighs and he kisses me there before blessing me with his tongue again.

  My body ignites as if in flames.

  My fingers clutch his head, sinking into his thick, dark hair, which is longer on top and cut shorter on the sides. A low growl rumbles in his chest, awakening the beast in me. His soft lips vibrate against my most sensitive spot as his growl becomes feral, barely contained.

  Speaking of barely contained…

  Good gods, think of something else before this is over too quickly, Harper! Like puppies or kittens or some shit!

  Nope. The place where Akim has put his mouth is commanding every bit of my attention. I open my eyes and watch the muscles in his wide back shift as he adjusts himself to a better angle.

  Damn if I don’t want him inside me. But if I tell him, if we take that step, everything between us will change. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet. If only he didn’t have such a wicked, wicked tongue.

  I find myself approaching
the edge of ecstasy before I can stop it, and then plunging over in wave after wave of pleasure.

  It ravages my body until strange colors are dancing behind my eyelids and I’m crying out, gripping the bedsheets and arching up off the mattress.

  Akim continues until he’s wrung every bit of pleasure out of me.

  I draw a few panting breaths. When I open my eyes, he rises from between my legs and looks down at me, the predator ever present in his dark gaze.

  My eyes travel down the hard planes of his chest, and lower, where I see he is still ready for me.

  Some feral part of me know’s Akim will always be ready for me.

  I sit up, engaged in a battle of will.

  He waits. He will not make a move until I ask for it.

  And I’m not going to ask for it.

  Not right now, anyway.

  Akim smirks and pulls away, as if he can read these thoughts in whatever expression is on my face.

  As if he’s known forever that it is only a matter of time.

  13

  6:03 p.m.

  Annnnnd that is how a mofo ends up falling asleep before the sun even sets, and missing social functions altogether.

  I do feel better, though, just as Akim had promised.

  And, somehow, I manage to get dressed and out the door without doing something I might regret.

  I feel a little bad for leaving him in his condition, but in true Akim fashion, he makes no fuss or mention, and by the time we are hopping on his motorcycle to head to the party, he’s reigned control over the beast that had been bulging in his pants twenty minutes ago.

  I wonder if he’ll go visit one of his female lovers later tonight to finish what we started. Though Akim has never brought another female back to the pack—from what I suspect is out of respect for me—I know that he has them. Sometimes, I catch the faint scent of them on him, and I know he’s caught the scent on me in regard to the males I employ to sate those particular needs.