The Goodnight Kiss

by Gwen Rivers

  He takes my hand and places it over his pants. I feel something there, something hard and squeeze eagerly, hoping it is another candy bar.

  He groans then mutters. “That’s it, sweet thang.” His hands fumble for my nightdress, skin touching my own.

  I spring up and shout “Nein,” again, ready to run back out and lose myself in the forest. No candy is worth having his hands on me.

  Only he has my dress gripped firmly in both hands. I struggle, but he holds me easily, shoving me down on the pallet and pinning me beneath his massive weight. He’s still talking as he gropes me, his words a hiss in my ears. He slides the fabric of my clothing up over my dirty knees.

  I begin to cry. Tears streak down my face as I shake my head from side to side. My small hands ball up into tight fists, but he pins them both in one of his massive ones.

  My tears save me, though not through any decency on his part. He kisses them away, licking the salty wetness from my cheeks, then covering my mouth with his own to capture my screams.

  His body bucks once, but it is not with the frantic need from before. He convulses on top of me. I scream even louder as his eyes roll in his head and a trickle of blood dribbles from his lips onto my face.

  And then he goes totally and completely still, eyes glazing over with the fog of death.

  I struggle and pant as I work my way out from under his heavy weight. Heart pounding, more tears mingling with the blood on my face. As soon as I am free I head for the door, but don’t go far. One of the trees nearby has a hollow beneath it and my small body burrows inside like an animal going into a den to hibernate. I keep an eye out for the other man, the one with the blue knit cap, knowing instinctively that he will come back to collect his companion.

  When he returns, he is not alone. Officials wearing similar clothes—uniforms I discover later—along with people from the newspaper. They swarm the house likes bees on a hive. More people show up. Some of them have food. From my hiding place, I see them eating. Food is my weakness. They catch me when I try to steal an apple from a woman’s pack.

  I reread the first line of German, my mind automatically translating. Raised by wolves? What I once thought was a fanciful description on the part of the writer, now seems like an eerie prediction. Is it possible that somehow, I was raised by wolves or werewolves? Is that how Aiden knows me? Had I once been part of his pack?

  A thud downstairs snags my attention. I slam the book shut and place it back inside the trunk before flying to the stairs. I’m halfway down when I hear the noise again and realize the security alarm is going off on my phone.

  Someone is trying to break in.

  Chapter 4

  Cursed

  Slowly I creep to the door. It rattles in its frame as though something heavy slams against it, trying to knock it down. I don’t have a weapon, I don’t need one. Whoever is attempting to break in should be more afraid of me than I am of them.

  Another thump and then all falls quiet. I reach for the handle, positioning my body so the door will conceal me long enough to leap out and plant a wet one on the intruder.

  Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heartbeat. I yank the handle.

  When no knuckle dragger barges into the house, I peer around the door.

  “Hey there.” Aiden is standing there, naked and wet, one arm holding his left side. Blood oozes out from between his fingers. “Thought I’d drop by, see what was new.”

  “What happened to you?” I’m curious despite myself.

  He takes a hesitant step forward. “May I come in?”

  Now he asks? After trying to knock the door down? My gaze shifts from him to the tree line and I swear I see something move. “Is there something else out—?”

  Aiden shoves me aside, barges in and slams the door. “Don’t let them see you.”

  “Them? There’s more than one?”

  My phone blares Hamster Dance once more. Chloe, probably freaking out about the alarm notification. I reset it and then answer, not taking my eyes off Aiden. “What?”

  “What’s going on?” Chloe barks. “Do you need us?”

  Something brushes my arm. Aiden’s hand. Our gazes lock. He shakes his head, slowly, mouthing one word and for a moment I can almost hear him in my head. No.

  “Nic?”

  I have a choice. Trust the shape-changing stranger that claims he wants to help me or the aunts that have kept me in the dark for most of my life. Chloe and Addy are my wingmen, they’re the ones that help me dispose of the bodies. Literally. But never have they spoken a word about why they help me, why they accept my deadly ability and my inborn need to hunt.

  Aiden’s green eyes are pleading and for a moment I think I hear his voice in my mind. Trust me.

  If I’m wrong about the naked stranger, I can always kill him later.

  “False alarm,” I say, and Aiden’s shoulders relax about an eighth of an inch. “I think it was a raccoon or something. The trash was tipped over by the back door.”

  “You’re sure?” Chloe asks.

  No. I think. “Yes,” I say.

  “Okay, well, we’ll be home in a bit.” In the background, I hear the animals yowling and making a racket. Chloe and Addy will most likely wait out the storm there.

  I end the call and Aiden murmurs, “Thank you. I’m not their favorite person.”

  “You know Addy and Chloe?” Although why this surprises me I can’t say.

  “Mostly by reputation. Can I get a towel or something?” He shivers.

  Right. He’s naked and bleeding and in my space. “There’s a blanket on the back of the couch. Go sit by the fire.”

  I leave him long enough to retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom, along with a towel and a pair of gray sweatpants from Addy’s closet. She’s the tallest out of the three of us and the most likely to own anything that will fit him.

  Aiden has the quilt draped over his shoulders, holding his hands out to the fire.

  “Thanks,” he murmurs when I hand him the pants and towel.

  Our gazes lock and heat creeps up my cheeks. Am I blushing? Impossible, I don’t do embarrassment. His nudity doesn’t affect me at all. It’s simply the heat from the fire.

  Then why are you staring at him?

  I turn my attention to the fire, giving him time to dry himself and pull the pants on and myself the opportunity to collect my wayward thoughts.

  “Okay,” he clears his throat.

  I turn back toward him and almost smile at the sight. The pants are like clam diggers on his tall frame. The elastic bottoms ending halfway up his calves, but at least his man parts are no longer swinging freely in the breeze. His jaw clenches as he places the towel over his wound.

  “Let me see,” I order, unwilling to chance his refusal.

  The towel lifts and I scoot closer, taking in the deep gash along his side. I reach forward to probe the injury and he hisses.

  I withdraw my hand and look up into his pinched face. “I’ll have to clean the wound. It’s deep and will need stitches as well as a course of antibiotics. What happened?”

  “You know how to do all that?” Judging by his tone, I’ve impressed him.

  I shrug, noting that he’s dodging my question. “Addy’s a vet. I’ve picked up a few things.”

  A smile tugs the corners of his mouth up. “A vet? Maybe I should change back into a wolf.”

  “Then I’d have to shave the fur away. It would take too long.”

  His gaze searches my face, the skin crinkling between his eyebrows as he reads my expression. “It was a joke, Nic.”

  “I don’t do jokes.” I rise and move to the kitchen to heat some water. “There are some painkillers in the first aid kit.”

  “Painkillers don’t work on me,” he grunts and turns to see what I’m doing. “I metabolize them too fast. Same is true for alcohol.”

  “Sucks to be you.” With the water on in the kettle, I have nothing to do but wait. “So, who’s out there?”

  I’m prepared for another d
odge, another change of subject so he takes me off guard when his eyes grow distant and he murmurs, “the Wild Hunt.”

  I stare at him, again, that free-falling feeling of time lost. The Wild Hunt is a myth about a fearsome host of creatures from hell. Depending on the story’s origin, it’s a force of damned souls or perhaps unearthly creatures, an unstoppable army that snares unsuspecting mortals and enlists them into its ranks.

  And Aiden thinks they are prowling beyond my front door? I don’t know whether I should believe him or not. I don’t want to believe him. In legend, the Wild Hunt claims evil souls.

  Like, oh say the soul of a teenage serial killer.

  I grip the countertop hard to keep my hands from shaking. My kiss can take down a full-grown man but against an army of the dead or otherworldly beings? I’d be no better off than a normal.

  My stomach churns and I feel as though I might be sick. This is fear. The realization is unwelcome.

  Behind me, the kettle starts to whistle, and the noise makes me flinch. I turn and fill a glass bowl with the hot water and let it stand on the counter. Aiden’s gaze follows my every movement as I lay out the supplies I’ll need and position a hardback chair for the best light.

  I wash my hands thoroughly and don disposable gloves, then gesture for him to come sit in the chair so I can kneel next to him. Up close that wild cedar and sage scent is overpowering, fogging my thoughts. Ideally, I’d have him flat on his back, but just the thought of him in that position makes me go hot and cold. Too many feelings in too short a time and me, ill-equipped to deal with any of them.

  I flush out the wound as best I can. He doesn’t react, though his stomach muscles pull tighter as though bracing for impact. My hands shake a bit as I lay my gloved fingers against his taut flesh. This will hurt him, I realize and for some bizarre reason that bothers me.

  I shake my head once. Why does it matter? He’s already injured and without treatment, the wound will become infected. I’m helping him, an oddity itself. So why should the thought of causing him further pain bother me?

  His hand covers mine. “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

  “It needs to be done.” I grit my teeth and make the first stitch to close the wound before either he or my own misgivings can talk me out of it.

  He doesn’t even twitch. I glance up, see his jaw is locked, though his gaze remains fixed on me.

  “Okay?” I ask, wondering why I care.

  Aiden swallows, then nods. “Keep going.”

  It takes twelve stitches to close the gash in his side, a deep cut that is too straight and free from crud to come from thorns or any nature debris on our property. It’s from a blade, I realize with a jolt. A knife or sword edge. Slowly, I stand and turn away to dispose of the water.

  “Thank you, Nic,” Aiden says. His face is white, brows pinched from pain. Some fine sweat sheens on his forehead. The beginnings of a fever?

  I strip off the gloves. “When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?”

  “Never,” he says.

  I don’t look at him as I dump the bloody water down the drain. “Are they after me? Because of what I am?”

  “And what are you?” One corner of his mouth quirks up. “A teenage girl? A blonde?”

  He wants me to say it. Say that I am a killer.

  I just stare at him. If he doesn’t know, I’m not going to enlighten him.

  Aiden stands, one hand over his freshly stitched wound and pulls back the plaid drapes with the other. “No, they aren’t pursuing you, Nic.”

  With nothing else to occupy my hands, I stuff them under my armpits to hide the shaking. “You sure about that?”

  His gaze roves over the night darkened landscape another moment before letting the curtain fall back into place. “They’re hunting me.”

  “You? Why?” And what sort of fresh hell did I invite into my home alongside him?

  “It’s a long story.” He winces and heads into the kitchen. “Got anything to eat?”

  Again, with the food. “Cooked quinoa. Green salad.”

  He casts me a dark look and heads to the sink to wash the blood from his hands. “That stuff will kill you.”

  Says the guy being stabbed by a myth. I pop up onto the counter while he prowls through the kitchen. He’s thorough, opening every single cabinet and drawer, taking stock of the contents before moving on.

  Watching him, so large, so shirtless in what I consider my space distracts me. It takes me a minute to figure out what question I most want him to answer. “You said you knew me from before. Did you mean another life? Like reincarnation?”

  He, at last, settles on the fridge. A batch of egg salad, half an avocado and a brick of cheddar cheese in his hands. “No and yes. Bread?”

  I point. “In the microwave. And what sort of an answer is no and yes?”

  The light in his gaze shifts back to that amused look he wore during Chemistry class. “An honest one. Why the microwave?”

  “We don’t use it much and it keeps the bugs away.” I’m starting to wonder if we’re playing some sort of verbal sparring game. I strike, he parries then goes in for a hit. The one that leaves the ring with the most information wins.

  I think about his last answer as he removes the rye bread along with a package of crackers. He snags a plate, going right to where they are kept in the cabinet next to the sink. Same with a knife. He slathers six slices of bread with egg salad, slices up the avocado and cheese and combines them with crackers and extracts an apple from the fruit bowl. After the way he attacked those M&Ms earlier, I half expect him to start wolfing—no pun intended—the makeshift meal down where he stands. Again, he surprises me. Plate prepared, he tidies away all the supplies, wipes down the counter with a dishrag and carries his bounty to the table. I follow him, grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge.

  “Do you want some?” he offers me the plate first.

  My stomach growls. He grins as if it’s conspired with him to take me down a peg. The quinoa and salad will keep in the fridge.

  I accept one-half of one of the sandwiches under his watchful gaze.

  He waits until I’ve taken a bite before murmuring. “Trusting. I could have put anything in that.”

  The mouthful of food gets stuck in my throat. I swallow thickly, downing a good portion of the water before gasping, “Did you?”

  Aiden shakes his head. “No. But it’s a lesson you need to learn if you want to survive. Don’t accept food or drink from anyone you don’t know.”

  He makes it sound as if I’m some sort of mentally challenged child. “The food came out of my refrigerator and I watched you the whole time.”

  “I know, I felt your eyes on me.” His voice is a low purr, making me sound like some sort of pervert.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Another uncomfortable flush. Is the thermostat broken? I refuse to entertain the possibility that he’s getting to me.

  “It only takes half a second for a skilled assassin to slip poison into a meal, a little sleight of hand and misdirection and you’re dead. From now on you make it yourself, or let me taste it first.”

  This amuses me. “So you can die instead?”

  The three sections of sandwiches are gone. He extends his hand and offers me the remaining half. When I shake my head, he downs it in two bites, sips some water and then mutters. “Poisons can’t kill me, at least not a small dose. Something that would cripple you might make me a little logy, but I’d shake it off. My metabolism burns through everything too quickly to let most toxins build up.”

  I stare at him a minute, thoughts racing. “What are you?”

  “Cursed,” his gaze falls back to his empty plate.

  “And what am I? I mean, what am I to you?” This wasn’t coming out well at all and I huff out a breath of frustration. “Why do you even care if I live or die?”

  His lips part but a sound at the door has both of us turning towards it. Over the wind I hear someone rapping crisply on the door, followed
by Addy’s voice. “Nic!”

  I stand. “My aunts.”

  Aiden glances from me to the door. “I’ll be close by if you need me.”

  “Nic, open the damn door!” Chloe this time. “It’s freezing out here.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “I won’t be far.” He hesitates a moment, reaching for my face and again, I swear I hear his voice in my mind.

  I’ll never leave you again.

  I jerk back before he can make contact, my heart racing. The knocking outside turns to banging.

  “Let them in.” His hand drops to his waistband. My eyes go wide as he shucks the borrowed sweats and then turns…to the fireplace?

  One minute he’s a man, the next the enormous black wolf stares at me with Aiden’s eyes. As I wonder how I’m going to explain the wolf to the aunts he steps into the roaring fire.

  And vanishes.

  I want to sink down onto the couch and get a grip, but the Fates are waiting.

  He disappeared into the fire. The words echo through me as though I’m trying to convince myself that it really happened. Only a trace scent like burnt cedar chips remains.

  I flick the deadbolt back and my aunts tumble inside, Chloe first and Addy who slams the door behind her.

  I study the two of them with a frown. Chloe’s manicure is completely wrecked, it looks as though she’s been digging with her bare hands. Addy’s clothing is ripped, her hair slipping from her no-nonsense braid. What looks like blood spatters her boots.

  “What’s happened?” I ask even as I think I know the answer.

  It was the same thing that went after Aiden, why I’d had to stitch him up.

  A shiver went through me at the thought of the words. The Wild Hunt.

  “Nic,” Chloe reaches me first, her face is devoid of color. “It’s Sarah.”

  I frown, taken off guard by her tone as much as the words. “What about Sarah?”

  Addy steps forward, grips me by the shoulders as though to keep me from toppling over. “There’s been an accident.”

  My blood jolts to a halt as though it flash freezes in my veins. “What sort of accident?”