“Well, I will!”
“Fine!”
“Okay.” Beat. “You wanna put some money on that? And no fair tipping Pat off in advance so he can turn up the therm to a balmy sixty-two degrees.”
“David, you know I never gamble! Anymore.”
“I thought you guys weren’t friends,” Jenn said, puzzled but smiling.
In unison: “We’re not.”
Once that issue was put to bed, and they themselves were put to bed, after assuring their hosts that they didn’t require anything else, Jenn shut off the light and left them in darkness, thinking.
Well, Annette was thinking. She had no idea what David was doing.
“Are you awake?” he stage-whispered.
She snorted. “You know I am. It’s been…what? Fifteen seconds since the light went out?”
“Oh. Right.”
Has this case just turned into a slumber party? I think it’s turned into a slumber party. Certainly Dev and Caro must think so.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have the bed?” She’d lost the argument, but now that David was actually trapped in the thing, he might see reason.
“No, that’s okay. This is fine.”
“Sure it is.”
“Well, it is,” he snapped.
“Where’s the bar? You’re lying on it, aren’t you? You’re lying on it right now. Admit it. Admit you’re lying on the bar.”
“…Yeah.”
She laughed. “Your friends are nice.”
“Yeah.” But he sounded pleased.
“Could I ask you some personal questions?”
“Sure.”
“How did you lose your parents?”
He snorted.
“If you don’t want to talk—”
“It’s not that. I’ve always thought that euphemism is just dumb, is all. I didn’t misplace them. They died. My dad of cancer when I was fourteen, Mom of liver failure when I was in college.”
Liver failure. Cirrhosis? Alcoholism?
“I’m sorry. I misplaced mine when I was young, too. Permanently,” she added over David’s chuckle. “So your father died, and you started spending time with your neighbors?”
She could hear him shifting in the sofa bed, trying to get comfortable. “Yeah. My mom had to take another job to pay the bills, and I ran a little wild.”
“Roaming the countryside searching for maple syrup to dunk into your coffee?”
“Naw, back then I was all about making chocolate milk with Hershey’s Syrup. You start with a cup of milk, and then you add a cup of syrup, and—”
“Good God. I’m getting a cavity just hearing about it.”
“I’ve got perfect teeth, so back off.”
“I’ll bet,” she purred, then immediately covered her face with her hands, feeling herself blush. What the hell was that supposed to be? You sound like an amorous dentist!
Judging by the pause, David was a bit taken aback as well. “Anyway, Jim and I were good friends, and Jenn’s family had moved into the neighborhood just before my dad died, and long story short—”
“But I like long stories.”
“—I was careless and Jim saw me shift. And he was half in love with Jenn already, so he told her, and…”
“Yes? And?”
“And I waited for the world to end.” His voice, coming at her from the dark, was deep and amused. “The worst thing had happened, right? Even worse than my dad’s death, to hear some of the adults tell it. Exposure. Potential annihilation. Everything was over—my life, my future, all gone. So I kept waiting for the government or, I dunno, assassins or evil Stable scientists or whatever to show up and kill me. Or kidnap me and vivisect me. Or put me in a zoo. Or shoot me with a silver bullet.”
“Sounds like you had all the bases covered.”
“And nothing happened.”
“And your mother?”
“Lost it. I had to tell her—warn her—and she was furious and terrified that I had exposed us to danger. And at first I thought it’d be okay, I thought she’d settle when nothing happened to us. But she didn’t relax when days and weeks and months went by and nothing happened.”
“Your friends didn’t do anything,” Annette guessed, because obviously, “They kept your secret.”
“Yeah. And probably because I was so young, I took that at face value. I didn’t question it and I quit worrying about it because I trusted my friends, but she never could, because she didn’t see Stables as people. She saw them as backward. Stuck. She was sure it was just a matter of time. I mean, she was positive that we were gonna be scooped up any day. She would have moved us, but she didn’t have the money and she couldn’t leave her job. Me, I thought we were just living our lives, but to her, we were trapped in a den we couldn’t leave.”
“I’m so sorry. That sounds unbearable.”
“More for her than me.”
“But hardly a picnic for you.”
“Well, like I said, I was never worried. But she never stopped listening for government agents or a pitchfork-waving mob. She was looking over her shoulder right up until the day she died. And that’s on me. And I knew it even then.”
Annette sat up in bed and had to stomp on the desire to cross the room and take him in her arms. “That’s not true. I think you acquitted yourself quite well under the circumstances. You were careless—what cub isn’t?—and then you were honest, and then you were vindicated over time. Living in fear… All respect to your mother, but that was her choice.”
She heard him sigh and shift around. “Maybe. But she was right about one thing. We’re all living on borrowed time. I don’t mean in terms of life and death, but…the world’s getting smaller every day, and everyone is walking around with supercomputers that double as recording studios that they occasionally use to make phone calls.”
“I literally can’t remember the last time I used my cell phone as a telephone,” she admitted. “Oh. Wait. It was yesterday.”
He laughed, then quickly sobered. “Discovery’s inevitable. We will get busted, and the world will see us. We have to be ready, we have to assume that it’s a certainty. Because the shocking part is that it hasn’t happened yet.”
“I wonder about that, too,” she admitted. She and Nadia had discussed the issue more than once. Every Shifter must have. Because he was right: it was hanging over their heads all the time. Some days, she could almost hear the ticking of the countdown. “It seems like there’s always another YouTube video of someone caught shifting, which prompts another round of arguments, and more and more people seem open to the possibility.”
“Yeah. And eventually, something’s gonna happen that people can’t explain away. Wouldn’t you rather get in front of the narrative? Instead of always worrying about damage control? I think it’s smart to prevent the mess, instead of always running around cleaning it up after the fact.”
Annette was silent. The thought of national—no, worldwide exposure—was terrifying. But David had a point. Maybe it was better to show themselves—all their selves—on their own terms. What’s the worst that could happen? Besides genocide?
But first things first.
“I’m going to abruptly change the subject now.”
“Yeah, I was wondering when you were gonna do that. You’re not subtle.”
“I’m the subtlest creature you’ve ever seen, so you can back right off. Now. We’ll go see the investigator—Brennan? That’s the name on the business card we got from Sharon. First thing tomorrow.”
“Yep. No point in making an appointment.” David yawned in the dark. “We don’t want to tip him, and if we’re in the building, we can find a way to get some face time with him, no matter what his receptionist says.”
“I don’t like being out of touch with Nadia.”
“It’s safer this way. The point was to k
eep her clear, right? If she’s running and hiding, too, she’s not much use.”
“Right.” Still, she fretted. Like Marge Simpson, it was her nature.
“Hell with this.” David sat up. “D’you want something to drink? Or a snack? I think I’ll be up for a while.”
“It’s the bar, isn’t it?”
“It’s the fucking bar,” he agreed. “Every single sofa-sleeper engineer designs the bar to press right up into the middle of the sleeper’s back all night long. Goddamned sadists.”
She laughed. “Come over here, then.”
“Really?” This in the tone of a man who couldn’t believe his luck.
“Just to sleep, understand? We both need to get some… Oh hell, and here you are already climbing in. Damn. I didn’t even hear you move.”
“Ahhhhhh, nooooo barrrrrrr,” he moaned, getting comfortable.
“Better?”
“Gobs.”
“Okay. Move on your side, I want to be the big spoon.”
“Sure.”
“Really? There won’t be a spoon-related argument?”
“Hey, I’m just happy to be here.”
She laughed, her breath tickling him between his shoulder blades, making him wriggle and giggle against her. Which was adorable.
Why can’t I have this?
But she knew why.
* * *
The upside: the table was all but groaning beneath her favorites: broiled rainbow trout stuffed with lemon slices, rare rib eyes, gazpacho, a platter of butter-basted morel mushrooms with thyme and parsley, a bowl of ripe raspberries and blackberries as big as her thumb, and all of them swimming in cream, Breyers vanilla fudge twirl,
(You have to special order that! It’s so hard to get!)
her mother’s homemade fried chicken
(even harder to get!)
scallops brushed with butter and lime juice, then skewered onto kebabs with cherry tomatoes and shallots, medium-rare venison backstrap with blackberry sauce, carbonara, fresh-squeezed lemonade, pumpkin pie, iced tea, passion-fruit pavlova, tres leches cake, grilled lamb chops, milk tea, and a go-cup of KFC gravy to wash it all down.
The downside: the loved ones sharing her meal were all dead—her parents, smiling at her while wearing the clothes they’d died in, her best friend from childhood, Willa Chapman, her nose in a book as she absently ate cashews, Opal Adway, whose heart shrank even as she refused food, the grandparents Annette had never met and only recognized from photos… They were all with her, which should have been comforting but wasn’t.
They never spoke to her. Only to each other. And they couldn’t hear her, either, because they always, always ignored her warnings. Soon enough, the food tasted like ash and one by one, each of them got up and slipped away, and she knew they wouldn’t return, and it was all pointless, really, as pointless as her work. What had she been thinking?
She couldn’t save Caro or Dev, she couldn’t save anyone and here was the proof, and it was ridiculous that this, this was the one lesson she could never learn, ridiculous that she kept trying—and to make matters even more aggravating, one of them must have cranked the thermostat on the way to their death because she was roasting, she would have sold every one of them for a pitcher of Thai iced tea and no matter how much of the lemonade she drank she couldn’t cool off, she could only boil in her own skin while guzzling glass after glass after glass…
…and then she was awake, quick as snapping her fingers. There was no gradual return to consciousness; one moment she was at the death banquet, and the next she was alone and trembling in the dark.
The den smells wrong! her brain screamed. Completely wrong, nothing like home, not a single familiar scent, and worse, the place was crawling with
(predator!)
Stables, but before she could investigate, or charge, she caught the scent of
(David)
another werebear
(David)
relaxed and snuggled close to her
(David)
so that was all right. She squeezed him back
“Muh?”
and got up, made straight for the kitchen, opened the fridge, seized the half gallon of skim milk
(ugh white water, but you know what they say about beggars and choosers)
drank half of it down, paused to take a deep, gulping breath, then finished it off. Set the empty container beside the sink
(note: offer to pay for that in the morning, don’t forget)
turned, padded back to bed.
“Ow!” Forgot about the sofa bed.
“Muh? ’Nette?”
And the werebear sleeping in it. Wait, he was sleeping in the other bed. Her bed. Her temporary bed that smelled like Stables. Good. She crawled back beneath the covers and was about to give David a firm nudge to get him to scooch over
(blanket hog)
when he rolled over on his back, and his warm, sleepy scent washed over her, and for a couple of seconds he smelled like comfort and safety and sweetness, and before she knew it, she was kissing him, horrified at her utter lack of control and thrilled to be giving in to urges denied far far too long, and joy of joys, he was sleepily kissing her back.
Until he wasn’t. “Annette? Are you all the way awake?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Because you’re talking about lamb chops.”
“Mmm…no. I’m callin’ you a lamb chop.”
“Oh.”
“I really, really like lamb chops. And you too.”
“Thanks. It’s mutual.” His hands had come up like they were going to grasp her waist, but he didn’t touch her; he just lay there, holding air. “You’re sure you’re awake?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her fingers went to skim under his T-shirt just as she remembered he was shirtless, because David Auberon was a clever, clever man. The tips of her fingers brushed over his nipples, and he sucked in a sharp breath as she leaned in to nuzzle at his collarbone.
“Oh my God. That’s… Oh…”
She hummed and kissed his throat.
“Annette, are you saying ‘nom-nom-nom’?”
“Uh-uh.”
“And you’re definitely awake.”
She sat up, straddling him; her eyes had adjusted enough so she could see him blinking up at her. “Did you want to give me a field sobriety test? I’m awake! Should I stop?”
“It’s not that. I just—”
“Oh. Oh,” she said, mortified. “You’re not… You don’t want this.” This. This was why she never did things like this. The fleeting pleasure did not outweigh the humiliation. She could feel the blood rush to her face as she started to climb off him, but he seized her by the waist and yanked her back down. “I’m sorry… Ack!”
“Dear God, no!” He lowered his voice. “Uh. I mean, I am one hundred and fifty-five percent into this, and you can do whatever the holy hell you want to me. I just wanted to make sure you… Oof! Jesus.”
“That’s mathematically impossible,” she said, and kissed him again. “Can’t be more than one hundred percent.”
“Disagree,” he gasped when she licked his nipple. His hand slid into her hair, careful not to pull, but as she trailed kisses lower and lower, his other hand fisted in the sheets. “Oh Christ.”
“You’re so sensitive here.”
“Am I?” he gasped.
“And you taste so good,” she marveled.
“Thanks,” he managed. “Can I… I want to touch you, too.”
She pulled back long enough to tug the borrowed nightgown over her head, then stretched out on him again, topless.
“The murder and the attempted murders are bad,” he croaked, hugging her so tightly to him that she squeaked, “but this is turning into a fucking great week.”
“So sweet.”
“Can
I… What are we… Okay, I’m down for anything you want. Anything.” As he spoke, his hands roamed everywhere he could reach—her back, her breasts, her waist, finally cupping her ass and squeezing her still closer to him—and then he kissed her, which was excellent. “But we haven’t talked about this. How far, and birth control, and…we haven’t. Not even hypothetically. Since we’re not dating. Not even hypothetically. I didn’t think… Ow.”
She nipped his shoulder again. “If you’re coherent and using words like ‘hypothetically,’ I’m doing a terrible job of seducing you.”
“No. You. Aren’t,” he said fervently. “I just…I want what you want. Whatever that is. And wherever that goes. Just for tonight, obviously.”
“Obviously?”
“Yeah, you don’t have to worry. I don’t have any. You know. Expectations.”
No, of course not. A disappointment, not a surprise. But at least they both knew what they wanted from the evening. “It’s fine,” she said, sitting up, taking his hands and placing them on her breasts. The bitten-off gasping noise he made was deeply gratifying. “I’m not in season, but even if I was, we’re staying strictly above the waist. Yes?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Whatever you want. Or don’t. Anything.”
She then proceeded to wring several more gratifying sounds out of him, and to her delight, she found his voice got even deeper the more she aroused him; it wasn’t unlike playing a double bass. A sentient double bass who smelled divine and kept gasping her name. He returned the favor, and they kissed and teased and touched, and at one point David started to slide off the bed and she had to haul him back up, shushing his giggles, trying to stifle her own, and hoping his Stable allies were heavy sleepers with piss-poor hearing.
After a while, she had to wrench herself away from him because the urge to shred his briefs, seize his cock (which had been a hot, firm weight against her hip the entire time they moved against each other) and unceremoniously stick it inside her was getting hard to ignore. They both separated and lay on their backs, only their shoulders touching, panting and staring at the ceiling.
After a while, when she could talk without begging him to kindly fuck her already, she whispered, “It’s fine if you want to excuse yourself and, ah, use the facilities. For whatever.”
Bears Behaving Badly Page 19