by P. C. Cast
“Nope—it’s the same question, just with two parts. Kinda like some of those hellish essay questions you used to torture us with.”
She smiled begrudgingly at him, and decided to tell him the truth. “Because I find you interesting.”
“And maybe a little charming?”
“Maybe . . .”
“Then why not agree to see me again?”
“Justin, I’m forty.”
He waited, looking at her as if there had to be more to it than that.
She sighed. “Justin,” she tried again, “I’m forty years old and you’re—”
“Yes, I know. I got a C in English, but I did better in math. You’re fourteen years older than I am. You’re also smart and funny and easy to talk to and very, very sexy. Seriously, Candice. Try finding all those qualities in girls half your age. It’s next to impossible.” When she looked like she wanted to argue with him, he took her hand and said, “Okay, if our age difference bothers you that much, how about let’s not call it a real date? Let’s call it . . . an exercise appointment.”
“An exercise appointment?”
“You jog every day, don’t you?”
“Almost.”
“Will you be jogging tomorrow?”
“Probably.”
“Then how about we make an appointment to jog together tomorrow?”
“Okay,” she heard herself say. “I’ll jog by Wolf Creek at about sevenish.”
“You’re awesome! See you tomorrow.” He shot her a blazing smile, kicked into a youthful, athletic jog, and disappeared into the fading light of dusk around the curve in the road.
Awesome? She cringed. Like, wow. I am, like, totally awesome.
Laughing softly at her own silliness, she skipped lightly up the stairs into her house. Refusing to berate herself for being a horny middle-aged letch, Candice poured herself a cold glass of water. She had the whole day tomorrow to consider if she really was going to show up for their “appointment” or not. She wouldn’t think about it now. And anyway, her eye caught sight of the notebook and pencil sitting on her desk where she’d left them. She had homework to do.
Candice grinned.
She also had lines of poetry unexpectedly popping into her mind. Godiva had been partially right. Being in the presence of a werewolf had certainly unblocked her—even if an evening of conversation hadn’t been exactly what her witchy friend had been recommending. Eagerly, she sat down and put pencil to the unfinished page, taking up easily where she’d left off.
You ask, what now?
Well, love comes with the night,
in the most inexplicable places
leaving the most unexplainable traces.
Candice giggled, and kept writing.
You see . . . a wolfman is the man for me!
Hmm . . . maybe she would meet Justin tomorrow.
Four
He thought about her a lot more than he’d intended to. He was supposed to show up at a keg party in the forest—rumor had it that several of the not-so-innocent high school seniors from the cheerleading squad were curious about just how well werewolves could use their tongues . . . not an invitation he had declined in the past. But tonight it felt, well, wrong to be rolling around the forest with girls Candice had probably taught in English class—and not a decade or so ago.
Actually, if he was being really honest with himself, his life had begun to wear on him. Or, more accurately, to bore him. He hated the restaurant. His older brothers were already firmly ensconced in management positions—hence the fact that he had been relegated to making purchasing runs for them. Not that anyone expected more of him. He’d always been “that Justin—so incorrigible and handsome!” He’d never been taken seriously. But, then again, it hadn’t really mattered to him. He’d always been into having fun . . . feeling good.
When had that started to change?
He wasn’t really sure. But he knew he hadn’t been giving Candice a slick line tonight when he’d told her that she was smart and funny and sexy. Very, very sexy. And that he hadn’t found that combination of qualities in twenty-something girls. She challenged him. She made him think. And she turned him on. He’d had no idea what a lethal mixture those things were before he spent an evening in Ms. Cox’s stimulating company. He wanted to see her again. Badly. More than that, he wanted her to want him. If a woman like that could want him . . . what couldn’t a man accomplish if he won the love of a woman like that?
So tonight, instead of joining the orgy in the woods he was much more interested in searching the back of his closet for an old textbook from a freshman lit class he’d taken before dropping out of the Denver Art Institute. Funny . . . he hadn’t thought about his failed attempt at an art major in years. But those eyes of hers. They’d made him remember. They were mossy green—a color that cried to be painted.
Those eyes . . .
Justin grabbed the literature book and then flipped open his laptop. A few simple clicks took him to the website of Mysteria High School—Home of the Fighting Fairies. He smiled triumphantly. Sure enough, there was a complete list of faculty phone numbers.
Candice jumped when her cell phone made the little three-tone sound it did when she had a text message. She wiped her eyes, stuck her reading glasses on top of her head, and reluctantly took her nose out of Tanith Lee’s Silver Metal Lover.
“Why do you insist on reading and rereading this book? You know what happens, and you know it makes you cry. You,” she told herself sternly before blowing her nose, “are a ridiculous romantic. And you’re old enough to know better.” She sighed. Ridiculous or not, she truly loved the story of a robot finding his soul through loving a woman. Not that it could really happen. Even putting aside the fact that it wasn’t possible to make humanlike robots, it was an impossible dream that a man could really become . . . well . . . more simply through the love of an exceptional woman. After all, she was exceptional (wasn’t she?) and she had the unquestionable proof of ex-husbands one through five being total turds—despite her loving attempts.
Of course, a little voice whispered through her conscience, maybe she hadn’t really loved any of them . . . maybe true love did have the power to create souls and make miracles.
“Please,” she scoffed aloud at herself, “grow the fuck up.”
Then, remembering what had interrupted her, Candice reached for her phone. Flipping it open she keyed up the one new text message.
Looking forward to our “appointment” tomorrow @ 7:00. J
P.S. you have beautiful eyes
She felt a rush of sweet excitement—a heady, intoxicating feeling she hadn’t experienced in years. No matter how ridiculous, she had a date with a twenty-six-and-a-half-year-old man.
It took forever for it to be evening. Candice had chosen, vetoed, and rechosen what she was going to wear. Then she’d cursed herself over and over. Why the hell hadn’t she agreed to a normal date? One where she could drive up in her chic Mini and meet him at a nice restaurant somewhere out of town. (Way out of town.) She’d have chosen her sexy little black dress that displayed all of her assets and hid most of her imperfections. Her makeup would have been meticulously applied. And her hair would have been Truly Big and Ready for Flirtatious Flinging About. She could have dazzled him with her experience and good taste in choosing excellent wine, and then ordered from any menu with the confidence and flair that can only be earned through maturity and experience. She, in short, would have had the upper hand.
Instead she was trying to figure out which of her rather old sports bras was the least tattered, and which cotton panties weren’t totally grandma-ish. As if there was such a thing as an un-grandma-ish cotton workout panty. Why, oh why hadn’t she bought new sports bras at the last Victoria’s Secret sale? Oh yeah, she remembered . . . they don’t have real, usable sports bras at Victoria’s Secret!
Oh, God. Would he see her bra and panties? Just the thought made her feel like she wanted to puke her guts up.
No! Of course he
wouldn’t see her panties! She was meeting him for a quick jog, not a quick fuck.
Regardless, somehow she found herself in the bathroom. Naked. Staring through her fingers into the full-length mirror at her body as if she was watching a horror flick.
Looking at myself totally naked and under fluorescent lights just can’t be healthy. But she continued to stare and criticize.
Sure, she wasn’t awful looking. Candice forced the shielding fingers from her eyes. Okay. She wasn’t really that bad. She’d been thinner and tighter, but her skin was soft and smooth, and she was definitely curvy. Maybe even lush. She shook her head, as if to clear the bizarre notions from it. “Lush” and “curvy” were not “young” and “tight-assed.” There was just no way she was going to get naked in front of and have sex with a twenty-six-and-a-half-year-old. No. Fucking. Way.
Maybe he wouldn’t be there. He probably wouldn’t be there. Why would he want to be there? He could have just been being polite yesterday. He probably was just being nice. She had misinterpreted. He hadn’t really flirted and come on to her. It was silly, really. He was so damn young. Sure, she was attractive, but please. She was almost fifteen years older. No way was he interested in her. Not like that.
“Hey there, beautiful.”
She’d told herself that she was ready to see him—or ready for him to stand her up. Either was fine. Really. Whatever. Who cared? But then he was there, calling her beautiful and smiling his sexy, boy/man smile, and she felt the same dizzying rush of excitement she’d felt when he’d sent her the message the night before. And, dear sweet Lord, he was even more handsome than she’d remembered. Had she been blocking? Was it temporary amnesia? How could she not have been obsessing all day over his height and the incredible width of those shoulders, and that amazing jawline. . . .
“Hi,” she said breathlessly, glad that she’d agreed to meet him at the creek so that she had an excuse other than just the sight of him to be breathing hard.
“How do you feel about trying something new today?”
His flirty smile made her stomach tighten. Oh, God, if only he knew.
Never mind. It was probably best that he didn’t know.
Be normal! Talk to him!
“What do you have in mind?”
His eyes sparkled as he jerked his head, pointing his chin away from the road and into the forest. Then, with a confident, deep voice he recited, “‘I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by.’”
He was actually quoting poetry to her. Again. Her cheeks felt warmed by more than the short jog through the graveyard. “A little Robert Frost?”
“A very little, I’m afraid. And don’t be too impressed. I freely admit to memorizing it this afternoon.”
“You know, I don’t remember you being this interested in poetry in high school.”
“Would it help if I made my voice crack and stared, slack-jawed, at your boobs?”
“Only if your intention is to scare me out of the forest.”
His smile was intimate. “That is not my intention.”
She almost asked what his intentions were . . . but she didn’t want to know. What if he gave her a blank look and said, “I thought we’d be friends”? She’d fucking die. But whether it’d be from relief or disappointment, she wasn’t sure. She only realized that she’d been standing there silently staring at him when his smile faded and his tone became more serious.
“Candice, if you don’t want to go off into the woods with me, all you have to do is say the word. I’ll understand. I just thought that you might like exploring a hiking path I know about. That way we could get our exercise and still be able to talk. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never mastered the talent of jogging and talking at the same time.”
She met his eyes. His gaze was open and honest—vulnerable, even. Could he be as nervous as she felt? And then came the startling revelation—he had to be more nervous. She was almost fifteen years his senior and his ex-teacher. She was more experienced and more confident. She could reject him with a neatly turned phrase and a patronizing, disdainful look. She definitely had the high ground, even if she wasn’t perfectly coiffed and perched on a posh chair at an elegant restaurant. Disregarding the rather ridiculous question of whether or not this was a real date, Justin had put himself in a position where he could be thoroughly humiliated and ultimately rejected by her, yet here he was, with a sweet smile on his handsome face, looking for all the world like a man who was doing his best to woo a woman.
“Do you remember the rest of the quote?” she asked, smiling softly at him.
“The Frost quote? No—I just memorized that far.” His cheeks flushed a little with the admission.
“Frost concluded it, ‘I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.’ How about we take your path—the one less traveled by?”
Refreshingly, he didn’t attempt to hide his relief with a suave turn of phrase or a knowing look. Instead he just smiled and said, “I promise that it will make all the difference.”
Justin took her hand and led her into the forest.
Five
“All this time I’ve been jogging by the creek, and I had no idea a hiking path like this was so close.”
“That’s one good thing about being a werewolf. I have definitely gotten to know these woods.”
He’d spoken nonchalantly, but she could feel his look and the expectant silence that screamed, “I’m waiting for you to freak out because I’m a wolf!” So she didn’t respond right away. Instead she picked her way carefully over a large log that had fallen across the trail.
“You’re right. Knowing the secret paths in the woods is one good thing about being a werewolf. What’s another?” she asked, matching his nonchalant tone.
He hesitated only a moment. “The physical power.”
“You mean when you’re in your wolf form?”
Justin slowed down and studied her face. “Do you really want to know, or are you just making polite conversation?”
“I’m intrigued,” she said honestly.
“There’s physical power in both forms, and in both I can tap into the magic in these hills pretty easily. In this form I’m stronger than a human man. And not just physically. My senses are more acute. My memory is better.” He grinned a little sheepishly. “I guess that means I should have made better than a C in your class.”
“Nah,” she said. “You weren’t a man then. You probably hadn’t attained all of your”—she paused and made a vague, fluttery gesture at him with her hand—“uh, Spidey senses yet.”
His infectious laugh rolled around them. “Spidey senses? On a werewolf? Are you thinking I might be a hairy Peter Parker?”
“Oh, God, no!” she said with mock horror. “If I was going to fantasize about walking through the woods with a superhero it wouldn’t be one that was really just a dorky kid. Let’s try Bruce Wayne, shall we?”
“How about a happy medium? How about walking through the woods with a grown-up superhero who is modestly employed—I don’t exactly have Batman’s resources.” The trail took a sharp upward turn and Justin stopped, pulling her gently back to his side when she started to climb ahead of him. “Want to test my superhuman powers?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Does this involve either: one, me being unattractively carried away by any type of a creature who has more than two arms, or two, your having the ability to see through any article of my clothing?”
He rubbed his chin, considering. “No and no.”
“Then fine. I agree to the test.”
“Okay. You have to hold totally still.”
He walked a tight circle around her and Candice instantly noticed the difference in the way he moved. His body language was once again that of the man who had entered the clearing the day before—the warrior god who had not known who she was. He positioned himself behind her, standing so close that she could feel him
draw in a deep breath. Then he bent, and whispered huskily into her ear.
“You don’t wear real perfume.”
She started to turn to answer him, but his words, which were spoken hot against her neck, stopped her.
“You must hold totally still.”
She froze, whispering back. “What do you mean by not real perfume?”
“You don’t buy that packaged and bottled stuff other women like so much and spray too much of on their bodies. Not you. Instead, you put drops of pure lavender oil behind your ears, on your wrists”—he drew another breath, then exhaled the warmth of his words against her neck—“and between your breasts. Am I right?”
“Yes, you’re right.”
Slowly, his hand rose to lightly, lightly caress her hair before he gently fisted it and pressed his face into it, taking a deep, hot breath. She focused on not trembling, and thought how glad she was that she’d conveniently “forgotten” to pull it up in a ponytail.
“You never blow-dry your hair. You let the air dry it. And you prefer the night air to the warmer, daylight breeze.”
This time she was truly amazed. How the hell could he know that?
“Am I right?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she whispered. “How did you know?”
“Your hair smells like moonlight and shadows, and I know those scents intimately.” His hands were still in her hair. “Why do you prefer the night air?”
“It’s something that started when I was a little girl. In the summer I’d wash my hair at night and then sit on the porch with a flashlight and read. My dad used to laugh and say that the moonlight made my hair wavy like the tide. I guess it’s a habit that stuck.”
“I’m glad. I like moon wavy hair,” he said.
“Do you?”
Justin gently nuzzled the ear he was whispering into. “Yes.”
His breath sent chills down her body that lodged in her thighs, making her legs feel wobbly and semidrunk. She was relieved when he took his mouth from her ear and moved back around in front of her. Smiling, he was once more just a handsome young man.