Some Lycan Hot

by Michele Bardsley

  “Of course,” said his mother. She looked around the table, her expression calm but no-nonsense. “We will go home, won’t we?”

  Everyone agreed, albeit reluctantly, but Darrius knew they would go. “Thank you,” he said. He eyed his father. “Move over, Dad. I might as well have some pie. And one of those milk shakes.”

  Everyone started wiggling to the left.

  ALAYA PULLED INTO the driveway of her house and parked. She turned off the car and gathered her purse and the bag of groceries she’d purchased. It only took her moments to get to the house and turn off the alarm. She hung her purse on the hall tree, slipped off her shoes, and padded into the kitchen. She put away the foodstuffs and then opened a bottle of merlot. As she sipped the dark, fragrant wine, she thought about Treese’s attempt to drag her out into the night life.

  Alaya had barely escaped the spending the entire evening at Beautiful Beaux. She shuddered. Those poor strippers. She could just imagine what Treese would be like after a few Jell-O shots and exposure to sculpted masculine bodies. She wasn’t the most patient or prudent of humans on her best days. Give her some tequila and a reason to grope, and it was all over but the eulogy.

  Alaya was ready for a bath, a glass of wine, and a marathon of “Supernatural.” Despite the show’s anti-parakind themes, she was utterly addicted. Chiseled jaws, doe-eyed gazes, and all that boyish emoting—whew, she couldn’t get enough.

  She took her wine and went into her bedroom.

  Alaya sat on her bed and flicked on the nightstand lamp. The pocket of her jeans buzzed, and she nearly dumped the wine onto the carpet. Cursing under her breath, she put down the glass, and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. Shit. She’d forgotten she’d tucked in there.

  Looking at the call ID, she grinned. “That was fast, Treese. I figured it would be least two hours before I had to bail you out of jail.”

  “Ha, ha, you’re so funny. I haven’t left my house yet. I’m still deciding on which shoes to wear.”

  “Go for flats,” suggested Alaya. “They’ll give you an edge over those drunken women wearing heels. While they fall on their asses, you can skip right by and put $1 bills on the crotch of your choice.”

  “You are brilliant.” Treese paused and Alaya heard the thumps of shoes being tossed around. “Are you sure you don’t want to go? I can swing by and pick you up.”

  “No, thanks. Besides, I have a date with the Winchester boys.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! You’re going to spend the night mooning over fictional men when you could be getting naughty with real men?”

  Alaya laughed, but it wasn’t sincere. Her heart ached. For her, there was only one real man—one she could never have again. “You can have the sweaty dudes who’d been fondled by every Broken Arrow female over the age of 18. I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

  “All right,” said Treese, sighing. “One of these days, you’re going to tell me who broke your heart … and then apparently sealed up your vagina with Superglue.”

  “Treese!”

  “What? Oh! Speaking of men who make your womb hurt—I saw a man today so fine, he’d make the polar ice caps melt. Whew, babe. He’s gotta be new in town because believe me, I would’ve noticed him.”

  Treese was man-crazy, or she pretended to be. For all her talk, she had never really been in a committed relationship. Sex was easy for her … staying in love not so much.

  “What did he look like?”

  “Long dark hair, a chin that could cut a diamond, and an ass like a set of bongo drums.”

  For a moment, Alaya felt uneasy. Honestly, Treese tended to describe men with the same kind of adjectives. Still, Alaya couldn’t help but ask, “Did you see his eyes?”

  “I wish! I totally missed the ol’ windows to the soul. I was driving by when he sauntered out of the Café. Tomorrow, we’re going there for lunch and quizzing the hell out of Helen.”

  “You are such a horn dog,” said Alaya. “He was probably just a tourist who got tired of trolling the pier.”

  “I hope not,” said Treese. “Found ’em! The perfect pair of flats.”

  “Enjoy all that sinning you’re about to do.”

  “Amen.” Treese ended the call, and Alaya put down her cell.

  For nearly seventy years, she had managed to steer clear of the royals—and in doing so, she had convinced herself that Darrius no longer cared about her. At least until Damian and Kelsey arrived at the last standing temple of the Moon Goddess. Damian’s reaction had told her all she needed to know—Darrius had not forgotten her.

  Alaya entered the master bathroom and ran a hot bath. She sprinkled lavender and chamomile petals across the swirling water, and added a few drops of Eucalyptus essential oil. Hopefully the aromatherapy would settle her emotions and dispel the heartache.

  As the tub filled, she disrobed. Alaya studied her naked self in the mirror. The facial scar she hid with scarves started at her right temple, just a thin line of jagged skin that turned into a gnarl of flesh on her cheek. Half her neck and her shoulder bore the twisted marks of the fire that should’ve taken her life.

  She tried not to take her days for granted. She tried to be grateful, tried to find the good in everyone. Yet, every day, she thought of Darrius, dreamed of their lives as they might’ve been, and grieved his loss.

  Alaya shook her head. Enough with the regret already! She smiled at her reflection, and then turned, slipping into the hot, aromatic water.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Meanwhile, in Broken Heart, Oklahoma…

  “IT’S JUST … I CAN'T spend my whole life killing rogue vampires and hunting monsters,” said Tamara as she stared into the coffee cup. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the importance of keeping the world safe. I do. But sheesh! I have to think about the rest of my life. And college seems like the next logical step. I’m a young human, you know? Not a werewolf. And I’ll never be a werewolf.”

  Anyone listening could’ve detected the small bit of longing attached to her last sentence. Dating preternatural beings could be difficult for humans, who sometimes felt lacking next to their stronger, longer-living partners. No matter how many muscles you had or how good you got at running, you would never match the strength and athleticism of a lycanthrope. Maybe Tamara was feeling less adequate now that her lycan boyfriend was older, stronger, and getting a reputation as one of the best hunters around.

  In the Broken Heart diner, vampires Jessica and Eva sat across the table from Tamara, who had graduated high school last year and spent the year afterwards training and hunting with Durriken. Durry was a Roma, a lycanthrope who only “wolfed out” during full moons. The Roma were the monster hunters of the parakind world, the ones who took out the supernatural creatures who tended to dismember first and ask questions later.

  Tamara had met Durry when she was fifteen, and they had been basically attached at the hip since then … until now, when 19-year-old Tamara wanted to go to college. And Durry, following the traditions of his people, wanted to marry her and have her join his nomadic clan.

  Tamara’s gaze implored her mother, Eva, and Jessica, who’d been a good friend to them both. “What should I do?”

  “What did Durry say when you talked to him?” asked Eva. She reached and clasped her daughter’s hands.

  Tamara looked down at her coffee. “Um … I haven’t actually talked to him. I was trying to get it all worked out ahead of time, you know?”

  “Are you afraid he won’t support your choice?”

  “I think he’ll be hurt. His family assumes we’re going to get married and get own our camper. Living on the road isn’t as fun as it sounds. I miss having a home—a place that doesn’t move. I think Durry and I might be headed in different directions … um, life-wise.”

  Eva and Jessica exchanged a look. First love was exciting, wonderful. First break-up … not so much.

  “I’ll be right back,” said Jessica. “Will order me some more chocolate cream pie? And chocolate ice c
ream?”

  “Topped with chocolate fudge?” Eva grinned.

  “You know me so well.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DARRIUS STOOD ON the porch of the 1920s craftsman house, his heart racing as though he’d run all the way here. Driving had been torture because he couldn’t get here fast enough—and yet he was terrified to arrive.

  He felt like a pup going on his first date. For a moment, he considered his dad’s advice: throw Alaya over his shoulder and take her to the nearest cave. She’d always brought out the primal in him, but she could handle his beast. After all, she had one of her own. He remembered well the damage they had caused to bedroom furniture—and more than a few oak trees.

  All the way here he’d thought about what to say. He’d crafted a dozen speeches—from “you broke my heart” to “why the hell did you leave me”? None of them seemed adequate to the task of communicating his fury and his grief and his hope.

  He knocked on the door, and before he could even take his next breath, Alaya had opened it.

  She was digging in her purse, and uttered a triumph, “A-ha! Here’s a twenty, Leroy, and I don’t need—.” She looked up, her smile flat-lining the instant she recognized him.

  Alaya screamed, and jumped back. Slam! He heard the deadbolt snick and the security chain rattle.

  Stunned, Darius stared at the door. What the hell!?

  “Yo, dude.”

  Darrius turned and saw a skinny guy standing on the porch steps. He wore a green hat that touted “Pete’s Pizza.” He held an extra large pizza box and a confused expression.

  “You must be Leroy.”

  “Yeah. Who are you?”

  “The guy paying the delivery boy. How much?” said Darrius drawing out his wallet.

  “Thirteen bucks and forty-eight in change.

  Darrius exchanged a fifty for the pizza box. “Keep the change.”

  “Awesome, dude! Thanks!”

  Leroy ran to his moped, plopped on a helmet, and took off.

  Darrius held the pizza, and knocked on the door.

  “Go away, Darrius!” Alaya yelled.

  “No,” he yelled back. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Too bad. I’ve waited seventy years to see you again, and I’m not going away until I do.”

  Silence. He knew she was thinking about his words, weighing them carefully. Alaya was fair-minded. At least, she had been.

  “I have your pizza,” he added.

  “Put it down and back away slowly,” she said. “Nobody has to get hurt.”

  “Forget it. I’m holding the pizza hostage.”

  “Fine!” she cried. “But if you die, it’s your own fault!”

  He heard her stomp away, muttering obscenities, and then she stomped back. Snick. Rattle.

  The door opened.

  Alaya stood there defiantly, her hands fisted. She dressed in a light pink sweater and faded jeans. Her feet were bare, her toes painted a vivid blue. Her dark hair, with its reddish highlights, drifted around her shoulders in damp waves. The most remarkable item she wore, however, was the crocheted throw draped over her head.

  “Give me my goddamned pizza,” she growled.

  “Okay,” he said, and stepped through the threshold, forcing her back. He looked around the living room. It was decorated in browns and bronzes. The tan couch, accompanied by two matching chairs, was contrasted by the cherry wood coffee table and end tables. The place was warm and inviting, much like the Alaya he had known.

  She stood still as he placed the pizza box onto the coffee table.

  “Take off the blanket,” he said.

  “I can’t.”

  “I know about your scars, Liebling, and I don’t care. Don’t hide from me.”

  “I’m not hiding from you.” She paused. “Technically. I’m protecting you. Please, Darrius, just leave. You can’t see me.”

  “Bullshit.” He cheated by using his lycan speed. He ripped off the blanket and tossed it onto the couch.

  “You ass goblin!” she yelled. Then she spun around and faced the wall. “Look, I made a bargain with a goddess, okay? If you see this face, you die.”

  Darrius put his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve looked at your face for the last three days, Alaya. I’m still breathing.”

  “You’ve been here for three days?”

  “Yes. And I’m telling you I’ve seen your face. Your whole face. Multiple times.” He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. The gesture was so familiar. His heart leapt. “Please. Turn around.”

  She inhaled a deep breath and turned. Her eyes were squinched shut. “Are you dead?”

  “Nope.”

  Alaya opened her eyes. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Good question.” Darrius cupped her face and his brushed his thumbs over her cheeks. The fire had left its mark. Her cheek and neck were gnarled flesh, and he realized the physical damage was too much for her lycan healing abilities to handle. It didn’t matter to him.

  She was beautiful.

  “Tell me about the bargain,” he said.

  Tears formed in her eyes. “You came back to the village. I was fighting Nefertiti. Her blades were poisoned—werewolf’s bane. You rushed in front of me—and she stabbed you instead. You died.”

  “I don’t remember any of that.”

  “Making you forget was part of the bargain,” she said softly. “Nemesis heard my keening and came to me. She said I could choose your love or your life.” Tears fell, her gaze filled with grief. “I choose your life. She healed you and transported you to the woods. I tried to get out of the village, but the fire got to me first. Two priestesses found me and took me to the temple.” Alaya’s hands crept up his chest. “Don’t think I’m not happy, but why are you alive? Did Nemesis lie to me?”

  “I doubt it.”Darrius rubbed her back. She felt good, right. She belonged in his arms, always had.

  “I remember the words exactly,” said Alaya. “The price for his life is his love. If he should ever see this face of yours again, his shall die.”

  “This face,” he mused. “Hmm. That’s specific.”

  “My face was different before I was burned,” said Alaya, following his line of thought. “So, I have a … a that face instead of a this face.” Alaya leaned back and gaze at him in amazement. “Could it be that simple?”

  “It appears so,” said Darrius. His gaze pinned hers. His heart turned over in his chest. His anger, his hurt, his confusion … nothing was greater than his joy.

  Alaya was alive.

  And he loved her still.

  NEMESIS SEETHED AS she watched the drama unfold between Alaya and Darrius. Her sword had many uses and powers; the blade could be used to peer into the mortal world.

  She watched Alaya break their bargain.

  So what if she used a technicality?

  Punishment was punishment.

  Nemesis screamed in frustration and stabbed the sword into the nearest statue. The blade embedded between the large breasts of the stone effigy. Having a spa day at the Mount Olympus in the Pampering Goddess Grotto had been a mistake. She’d spent too much time getting a facial, mani-pedi, massage, mud bath, and seaweed wrap. Seconds ago, she was feeling relaxed and stress-free. And then she checked on her little wolf toy.

  Shit, shit, shit! Appealing to Zeus or a gods’ council would do no good. They wouldn’t agree that Alaya hadn’t broken the bargain. No, they would point out that Nemesis had created a loophole. They would laugh, and shrug, and say, “Oh, well.”

  She hated to lose. She hated that her own stupid actions had created the loss. Gah! She pulled the sword from the statue’s rather impressive boobs, and paused. The sculpture was of Aphrodite, the goddess of love.

  Nemesis cackled. She knew exactly what to do. Getting vengeance on Aphrodite would be the wrath ice cream on the justice pie.

  All she needed was one bad apple.

  CHAPTER FIVE

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nbsp; DARRIUS CONQUERED ALAYA’S mouth with a slow kiss. His hand slipped around the back of her neck and he drew her closer. Her arms crept up to his shoulders, her fingertips resting like nervous butterflies on his collarbone.

  Her tears salted his lips.

  Darrius missed how she’d felt in his embrace. Her scent was as light as spring blooms, and her touch softer than flower petals. He had never wanted a woman the way he wanted her. She had imprinted his soul, so much so that no other woman could ever take her place.

  He understood that now.

  She freed herself from their kiss and then cupped his face in her hands. “We should probably stop. We need to talk.”

  “We will. But first … we finish this.”

  She couldn’t hold his gaze. He saw the guilt mixed with yearning, and there, too, the shadows of regret, of shame.

  “How can you forgive me so easily?” She released him and stepped away, putting the back of her hand against her marred cheek. “I’ve changed. I’m no longer the woman I once was.”

  She’d drawn his attention to her scar, but he knew she was speaking more about how she had changed inwardly.

  “I’m different, too,” said Darrius. He slid his fingertips down her neck, tracing the marred flesh. “You are beautiful, Alaya. Nothing changes that for me.” He paused, unable to keep his grief from showing. “I wish I’d found you sooner.”

  She shook her head. “I learned that you and your brothers had left Germany—and I took that as a sign. I would serve the Moon Goddess, and you … you would find another woman to love and to marry.”

  “No,” said Damian. He drew her back into his arms, where she belonged. “I cannot pretend I haven’t been with other women, but my relationships were brief. More physical than heartfelt. How could I love another, Alaya, when I’d found you?”

  “Seventy years,” she said.

  “A mere blink of the eye for our kind.”

  “I … there was no one for me, either.” She offered him a half-smile. “I had no room in my heart for another. You filled it completely.” She caught her lip between her teeth, and tears fell. “I have been such a fool.”