by Mark Henry
“How’s your mother?” To Scott’s credit, he was just about the only one in my life who saw through Ethel’s bullshit.
“Still a vampire.” I shifted in my seat, drawing one leg up under the other. “You know, she’s really twisted Gil around her finger. He’s blind to her batshit insaneness.”
“Is that a word?” His eyes crinkled at the joke.
“Shut up. You know what I mean.”
“Things change.” Two words, and so much behind them I could barely stop myself from jumping out of the car.
I shut down the chatter with a stare.
It didn’t matter that I’d just had to fend off an attack from the chicken-skinned beast of morbid obesity, or that my car had been repoed, or that I had to put up with my mother’s mind-fucks, or even that I was forced to take a job with the seediest wood nymph in reality TV—Scott was clearly moving into an “us” talk.
“Your timing is for shit.”
He slouched in the seat, dashboard glow bluing his disappointment like an exclamation point.
“I really like you, Scott. What I’m not too fond of is the insecurity and this clinging to some antiquated idea of commitment. You’d think you’d learn that all this…” I waved my hands around (possibly too frantically to appear serious) “…is transient, by now. What are you expecting to do? Settle down? Get me pregnant? Have a couple of kids in the suburbs? A fucking Plymouth Voyager?”
“I expect you to warm up a bit. Give a little. Just one tiny thing that shows that you actually care. You spend so much time and effort putting this bitch face forward to everyone you meet, you forget that you don’t have to do it with me.”
He sighed, turned his head to gaze out the window. Leaning forward, I caught the droop of his lids, the corners of his mouth slack with discontent.
God. I’m an asshole. 19
Of course he doesn’t think we’re going to ever be normal. Scott was no idiot. He may have been a pretty boy—and pretty he was. Even then with his blue eyes sullen and him chewing the inside of his cheek, he was gorgeous.
The problem was…he was just as beautiful inside, like actually nice, a constant reminder of how much I wasn’t.
But was I cold? I supposed, certainly in that dead room temperature way, but was I emotionally flat? Distant? Frigid?
Instead of answering, and fucking the situation up even more, I slipped my hand into his. We drove the rest of the way to my condo in silence. Occasionally, he’d squeeze, to let me know we were okay.
I hoped that’s what it meant.
There was a boy on the couch next to Honey, who was sitting far too properly, with her knees pinioned and hands crossed in her lap, to be after anything other than trouble. Her dead brother, the ghost of my dear Mr. Kim, hovered nearby, awash in a disapproving purple aura, his nearly opaque arms crossed vehemently. I didn’t have to hear a word to know what was going on.
Both Honey and Mr. Kim lived in the condo, though the ghost had begun wandering farther from me in the past few months, spending time haunting bookstores and movie theaters. Ever since I’d turned Honey zombie, the girl focused almost entirely on boys and relationships and not just for food. Occasionally she’d get the idea she’d found “The One” and bring him home for me to set his lungs with virus. I’ve never actually given in to her requests, but that didn’t stop her from trying.
I really was going to have to sit her down and discuss the whole sexual aspect of having a zombie guy around. Unless they could afford penile implants, unsatisfying doesn’t begin to cover that part of a zombie couple’s relationship.
This boy was certainly attractive, though, a little emo-banged skater type, younger than Honey by a year, maybe, with a thin nose and zipper-covered parachute pants. They were a striking pair, especially considering Honey’s Versace slip dress and blond extensions. The whole scene sprang from a tragically ironic high-fashion editorial spread. I wondered if it were intentional, to throw me off. Honey knew how I loved intentionally posed candids.
The boy eyed me and stood up awkwardly, nearly bowing. “Hello, Ms. Feral. I’m Stoney.”
“Stoney?” I glanced at Honey, raising my eyebrow. “Is he a Jonas Brother?”
She smirked, yet held back on her regular witty comeback.
“Honey said you were gorgeous.” His eyes were saucers, as though in shock. “But I guess I didn’t know what that meant until now. You’re amazing.”
If I could have blushed, I wouldn’t have. I looked back at Scott, who sighed heavily and strolled past into the bedroom.
“Listen, kid,” I started.
Honey shot up. “Amanda. Before you say no, listen.”
I groaned. “Honey.”
“No, dude, seriously. He’s totally the guy for me, aren’t you, Stoney?”
He rocked from the balls of his feet to his heels, hands anchored into the back pockets of his jeans. Occasionally, he’d shake the bangs out of his face with a neck roll reminiscent of a facial tic.
“Seriously?” I asked. “Looks like a snack.”
“No way. We have tons in common.”
“Like?”
“Like…” Honey stretched the word out, searching for an answer she’d not given quite enough thought to.
“You’re taking too long. Don’t ask me to do something that’s forever, when you’re not even sure right now. I’m not turning him. I’ve never even heard his name before. You could at least try dating them for awhile.”
Honey slouched back on the couch.
“Now scram. Scott and I have some talking to do.”
“But!”
“No ‘buts’—you’re getting too old for this bullshit anyway. Goodnight, Stoney.”
Mr. Kim started in as I left the room. “What I tell you. I don’t know why you no find nice werewolf boy, like Mr. Scott.”
Scott flopped naked across my 1000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets from French Quarter in a big X, extremities reaching for the corners, as if I were readying the restraints for a bit of fringe play, which I’m totally not into.20He pumped his butt muscles a few times, inched up on his elbows and turned back to see if I was looking.
“Why are we together, Mandy?” He flipped over onto his back, exposing some particularly unmanicured landscaping.
“Ew. Don’t call me that unless you’ve got a sparkly gift. Also, we’re going to have to do something about that.” I waved my hand over the startling hair mound around his dick. “It’s like a forest.”
He propped himself up on his elbows. “I’m entering my au naturel phase. I’m being serious, though. Why are we?”
“So am I. I’m going to go get the clippers in a minute.”
He let out a frustrated grumble.
I spun back around. “Okay.” I had to think, usually not a good sign, but I was in no mood for an escalation, so I opted for diplomatic. “Let’s see. You are super-hot and completely obsessed with me in an unhealthy way.”
Scott’s face screwed up quizzically.
“And I really like that sort of thing. Find it completely endearing and adorable. Except for the big 70s bush you’re rockin’.”
“Oh.” He brightened. “I can live with that.”
“Good.”
I turned to get the clippers. Scott was up and pressed against me in a second. I’d never get used to his speed. But the warmth was unmistakably comforting. He nuzzled the back of my neck and inhaled in long deep lungfuls. I didn’t have to imagine the scent, earthy as loam, but could never quite understand the allure. Not that I should question it. Far be it from me to make those kinds of judgments with what I put in my mouth and all. Still, we right zombies have a kinship with the shapeshifters in our ability to track by scent, also in our ability to let the power of that scent get away from us and cloud our judgment. Scott’s heavy breathing rattled like a snarl.
“Whoa, mister. Careful with those drags.”
He huffed and circled my chest in his arms, nestling his hips and obvious arousal against the small of
my back, the ruined silk.
I pulled away. “Lemme get this off and hit the shower. The floor of the Hooch and Cooch left some pretty nasty memories on these clothes, plus I could use a brushing before we kiss.” I turned to see his eyes flinch, probably recalling of the trickle of prostitute running from the corner of my lip. He let me go, sneering a bit.
“Let it go.”
It wasn’t a full minute before he abandoned the repellant thoughts and slunk into the cloud of steam billowing from the walk-in shower. “You mind?” Scott dipped past me and reached for the body wash, and snagged the cap on the edge of his teeth and flipped it open, in an attempt to do über sexy gone horribly geeky. Still, it was better than…
“I’m gonna slip this all over—”
“Nope.” I pressed a finger to his lips. “Remember?”
He nodded, his lips parting a bit. I slid my finger inside and he sucked on it. Goofy fucker.
“Wash my back, lover.”
Had to give it up for the guy, as goofy as he came off, he was amenable to change. He started out as the filthiest kind of porno-talking bed buddy and, with the odd bit of backsliding, here and there, had turned into a pretty thoughtful lover. Occasionally. It was hard work weaning him of the habit. A pinch would suffice after a slip like “I’m gonna take you like a six-pack.” A hard pinch sure, and it’d leave a bruise, but he healed quick, so…
We still had to work on keeping our paranormal selves in check. After all, sex isn’t my only need and the smell of hot blood flowing through Scott sparked my hunger to feed, just as much as the adrenaline pumping through him triggered his urge to shift into a big hulking canine. No matter how cute Scott was, human or wolf-like, I had no intention of getting locked up with him and having to call in the reapers to separate us.
’Cause…ew. Seriously.
We kept it under control for the most part. It took a lot of focus, but the effort was definitely worth it. Even then, I was reaping the benefits of pushing down my nature.
Scott’s soapy fingers danced up either side of my spine, languorously manipulating the tension from my back, kneading their way up to my shoulders and pressuring my neck to release and give in to their command. Snaking around to meet my gaze, he pressed his lips to mine, his tongue darting in playfully before he pulled away and sank slowly to his knees, trailing kisses down my throat, the soft hollow between my breasts. A rare warmth crept from my core and yet I couldn’t allow my breath to go unmanaged, no more panting uncontrollably with each wave of sensation, lest the tendrils of viral smoke creep out in search of host.
I pushed the thoughts from my head and focused on Scott’s playful nips on my thighs. His hands followed the slim curves of my ass and spread my cheeks playfully, daring, until I tensed and his shoulders shook with a few laughs. He laid a row of kisses down either thigh before narrowing his intent and pressing his tongue against my folds, searching them, lapping at the hot water that streamed there, thumping a gentle rhythm against my engorging clit.
You know that moment when gentleness gives way to animal urges? Where the tide turns from being satisfied with a kiss to needing raw flesh pressed against the whole of your body? It’s my experience—and I’m not going to kid myself, I’ve been around—it’s like a switch in men. They get to a point where it’s too much to hold back and they surge.
Scott surged then.
He stood up bolt straight, planted his mouth against mine and lifted me against the wall, urging my legs around his hips. The marble wall was cool despite the steam and I couldn’t quite balance but figured he had at least a little control. He arched his back a bit and slipped his cock inside, with none of the gentleness he’d expressed just moments before.
“Slow down, Scott. Make it last.”
I looked into his eyes and wondered how I could have missed the fact that he’d moved into a shift. His pupils were blown out to a size not seen this side of a seizure clinic and his canines had split his lower lip. Fresh blood trailed down his chin and neck like hot grease.
I pulled my head as far away as possible, exposing my neck to attack if Scott was completely too far gone, but it had to be done lest I give in to my own carnivorous ways.
“Scott!” I yelled. “Back off!”
His thrusts were rapid and forceful, his thighs grown to haunches, a new crop of fur coating the flesh.
Holy shit, I thought. He’s going all the way.
I had to get off.21
Scott’s transformation could only end in blood. I slapped him, and grabbed him by the ears as I screamed, “Focus!”
And he did, thank God. His teeth receded, and despite a dull pop in my hip, the pounding became much more pleasant.
Much more.
It was as I came, with those welcome waves crashing through the last layers of tension, with me bearing down onto Scott, now mysteriously flat on his back—I have no clue how that even happened—covering the drain and creating a hot puddle, both literally and figuratively as his own orgasm washed over him, leaving him slack-jawed. It was that moment when I noticed my left leg jutting from my hip at an odd angle. Knee straight and inanimately disconnected.
“What the fuck?”
“Huh?” Scott lifted up onto his palms and took in the ghastly sight. “Oh shit. That doesn’t look good.”
“You think?” I glowered and tried to pull myself off Scott’s erection. “Still with the hard-on?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I could’ve probably gone again.”
“Oh, no. Jo Jo the dog boy has had his bone for the evening, now he’s gonna fix this fucking leg, before I get pissy.”
Scott sucked his lips and tried to manage a position where it would even be feasible to extract his protracted boner from an undead invalid. I wondered what it would be like to be found like this. Not pleasant, I imagined. And by who? What would Honey think, particularly now, I thought, with my foundation washed off down the drain along with my dignity. Jesus, there’s Amanda’s dead body, naked and busted all to hell. How she ever found a living thing to bone her is nothing short of miraculous. She should be grateful for that, at the very least. But she probably wouldn’t even think that, but run screaming for Wendy, who’d no doubt bring Gil, who’d, of course, gather my mother, a few of her closest whores and anyone else who needed a good laugh to cram into my master bath and witness this complete atrocity.
I groaned. “Come on.”
Scott’s mouth spread into a silly grin, he snapped his fingers as though he’d contemplated important strategic scenarios and finally lit on the ultimate tactical response. “You’re going to have to lift yourself up a bit and then, I think if I bear down, I can slip out behind you. Easy peasy. How’s that sound?”
“I’ll give it a shot, but no promises. In the meantime, how about you think about dead kitties or whatever the hell it is that turns off werewolves.”
He clenched an eye and bit his lip, pondering playfully.
I leaned in close. “And if I find out you’ve been sneaking Viagra or Cialis or something, I’m going to kill you.”
“Well, if you keep up that kind of talk I’ll be flaccid for weeks.”
I balanced my torso over my hips and heaved up with my arms, just enough for him to slip out and drag himself, after a minor adjustment, out from underneath me. When I settled back onto the floor of the shower, I heard an eerie pop.
Scott knelt beside me. “You’re going to have to straighten out the good leg.” His face was serious, stoic even.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve said it yourself. You can’t afford another reaper bill.”
A chill passed through me when I realized what he intended to do, or maybe it was the icy water showering around me. I pointed at the nozzle. Scott twisted it closed and the room quieted to a few sporadic drips and Scott’s heartbeat. He waited for me to make a decision.
I couldn’t afford it. He was right. Of course, he was right. I already owed the bitches my first-born child—or a first-born chil
d—whatever the figurative breakdown of forty grand was. Probably triplets.
I slipped my working leg out in front of me and leaned back on my elbows. “Do it.”
Now, I don’t know where Scott got his training, but he knew enough to work quickly. He dropped back down on his knees, gripped the thigh of my dislocated leg in one hand and the back of my knee with the other and popped that fucker right back in place. In another minute, he had me on my feet and bearing a little weight.
“Good as new,” he said.
I took a few steps and although it was a little sore, didn’t seem any worse for wear. Except for a dark blue stain that ran from my crotch clear around to my asshole. Oh, the joys of death.
I threw my arms around Scott’s neck and gave him a big old sloppy frencher. “You, my gorgeous love slave, are certainly handy. You’ll have to tell me how you learned to do that trick.”
“You mean the one with my tongue?”
“Uh…no. But since you went there.” My mood changing in an instant. “What’s up with going shifty on me?”
“I don’t know. I just really lost it tonight.”
“Well. We’re going to have to put a moratorium on shower sex. How did we even end up on the floor like that?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You slipped,” a woman’s voice said.
My head nearly spun off, jerking toward the sound.
Wendy’s head jutted from a crack in the door to the separate water closet. She teetered forward on the edge of the toilet seat, a vexed grin plastered on her face, and a suitcase at her feet.
“What the fuck?” Scott covered his man bits and scurried from the room, leaving a track of wet footprints and an echo of curse words bouncing off the tumbled marble.
“Wow. Scott’s got a real case of winter body, huh?”
“What?” I hobbled over to the towel warmer and snatched one off.
“You know. Pasty. His hair pops against his white skin like a pencil sketch.”
Now, it doesn’t matter that Wendy’s statement was true. Scott could certainly use a tan, but I’m willing to overlook it considering I’d be like the albino being a pigment judger. “What the hell are you doing here, Wendy? I mean other than being a voyeur and pissing off my boyfriend.”