Dead and Loving It

by MaryJanice Alongi

  She frowned. “You’re taking the fun all out of this. I’ve been looking forward to it for days. I need to see some major ass groveling, pal.”

  He didn’t speak.

  She sighed. “What, I gotta get out the hand puppets? You haven’t figured it out? Dick, you’re my family now. I never want to go back there. Cape Cod in the summer—yech! Tourists cluttering up the roads, the beaches, and the mall—and you get in trouble if you eat them. Can’t even take a little bite to discourage them from coming back—”

  “Janet.”

  “I’m serious! Anyway, if I stay with you, I don’t have to go back. I didn’t realize how unhappy I was with them until I fell in with you. I’m not pack anymore, I’m yours. I mean—if you want.”

  “Is this a joke?” he almost whispered. “Is it a trick to get even? Because while I wouldn’t blame you—”

  “Oh, hey, I’m a bitch, but I’m not, like, a sociopath! That’d be a rotten thing to do. I love you, you stupid fuck. I’m not going anywhere. Except, of course, for a few days a month. Think you can put up with that, you undead dope?”

  “I’ve been waiting almost a hundred years to hear those words. Well, not those exact words.” He reached out and pulled her down onto his lap. They sat on the floor while she cuddled into him like a bad-tempered doll. “Oh, Janet. I missed you so much. And I was such a fool.”

  “Yeah, a real arrogant asshole.”

  “Yes.”

  “Completely unreasonable and jerkish.”

  “And then some.”

  “And you’re really, really sorry.”

  “So unbelievably sorry.”

  “And totally unworthy of me.”

  “In a thousand ways.”

  “And you’re gonna buy lots of food and get a house in the country so I don’t have to hunt in the city.”

  “The refrigerator is full, and I already have a house in the Berkshires.”

  “Then that’s all right,” she said, sounding quite satisfied. She stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes. “Um…the steaks are getting cold.”

  “So am I.”

  She giggled and turned so she was straddling him and then hooked her ankles behind his waist and kissed him on the mouth. Slowly, she cupped the back of his neck and brought his mouth to her throat. “Hungry?” she purred.

  He thought he would have a seizure. She had come back—she loved him—she would stay—and now she was freely offering him her blood. Soon the Palestinians and the Israelis would make peace, and Janet would willingly enroll in charm school.

  He sank his fangs into her throat without hesitation—he couldn’t have held back if he tried. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest while her blood warmed him from the inside out. She was wriggling against him—now her fingers were at his zipper—now her warm little hand was inside his trousers, clasping him, stroking him. He groaned against her throat.

  “You did miss me!” She shoved him back and he was happy enough to lie down for her. He stopped feeding and licked the bite mark. Her glorious breasts were jiggling in his face, and he couldn’t recall ever being happier, not once in his long, long life.

  She seized his cock with delightful firmness and raised herself above him. His arms went around her waist as he guided her to him.

  Entering her was like slipping into luxurious oil. Her head tipped back, and she said “Ummmmm…that’s good. I missed that,” to the ceiling.

  He stroked her breasts, running his fingers over her firm nipples, marveling at the softness of her skin in contrast with her strength and stamina. She’d jumped three stories, and there wasn’t a mark on her—and he was certainly looking! Not a bruise, not a scratch. She healed almost as quickly as he did.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he said.

  “You’re just saying that to get laid,” she teased.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I am getting laid.”

  She snorted and then began to rock back and forth. He noticed an odd, sudden reticence about her and wondered about it—then suddenly realized she had likely been on top when she crippled her first lover.

  “For heaven’s sakes,” he said with mock disgust, “can’t you go any faster than that? Any harder? I’m about to fall asleep down here.”

  She was so astonished she nearly fell off him. Then she made the connection and smirked. “Okey-dokey, dead guy. Here we go.”

  They ruined the carpet. They didn’t care. Toward the end, she was screaming at the ceiling and he could feel his spine cracking—and didn’t care. Her legs were around his waist in a crushing grip, her arms around his neck, cutting off his air—and he wanted more. He told her so, insisted on it, demanded it, and then bit her ear. He could actually feel the temperature change within her as she reached orgasm, felt her uterus tightening around his shaft. That was enough to tip him dizzily over the edge.

  They weren’t able to speak for several minutes until Janet finally managed, “Oh, cripes, I think that should be against the law.”

  “It probably is, in at least three states.”

  “My supper’s cold,” she complained, making no move to stand up and get the tray.

  “So I’ve got a microwave. Why did I even cook it? I doubt you’d have minded it raw. A werewolf,” he mused, stroking her thigh. “Even after I saw the truth with my own eyes, I could hardly believe it.”

  “That’s because you’re kind of a dumb-ass sometimes.”

  “I have to take this from a foul-mouthed tart like you?”

  She pounced on him and nibbled his throat. “I’m your foul-mouthed tart, so there.”

  “Excellent.” He kissed her nose. “So…how do you feel about being an undead werewolf?”

  She groaned. “Let’s talk about it in ten years, all right? Let me get used to the idea of not being pack anymore first.”

  “It’s a date. Will they come after you?”

  “I have no idea. No one’s ever voluntarily left before. I doubt the boss would really mind—he’s softened up since he got hitched—but I s’pose I should tell them I’m not dead.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

  “We’ve made our own pack, Jane. We’re two monsters who do as they like, when they like. Everyone else had best stay out of our way.”

  “Ooooh, God, I love it when you talk like that…”

  “How about when I do this?” He leaned down and nibbled on her impudent nipple, running his tongue over the velvety bumps of her areola.

  “Oh, God.”

  “Or this?” He sucked hard and nipped her very, very lightly.

  “Ummmmm…”

  “I love you.”

  “Ummmm. Me, too. Don’t stop.”

  He laughed and bent to her warm, lush flesh. “Not for a hundred years, at least.”

  “We’ll figure something out.”

  Epilogue

  From the private papers of Richard Will, Ten Beacon Hill, Boston, Massachusetts

  I’m in love! No entries of late—too busy. Too much to do just to keep up with my lovely monster. She’s everything I ever wanted and, even better, I appear to be everything she ever wanted.

  “No more time to write today—we’re breaking in a new chef. He’s used to catering large office functions, so he should be able to keep Janet satisfied.

  “I suppose I’ll give up this journal very soon. I realize now I wrote in it as a way to stave off my loneliness. No need for such distracting tricks any longer.

  “Must go—my bride has just playfully tossed a marble bust at my head to get my attention. I think I’ll chase her down and spank her.”

  There’s No Such Thing as a Werewolf

  Chapter 1

  As any werewolf knows, smells and emotions and even raised voices have colors and texture. And as any blind werewolf knows (not that there were any besides him to the best of his knowledge), you could take those smells and emotions and conversations and do a pretty good job of seeing. Not a great job, comparably spe
aking, but enough to get around. Enough to have a solid sense of the world.

  “But I can’t be pregnant,” Mrs. Dane was saying. “There’s just no way.”

  “There’s at least one way.”

  “But I’m infertile! The clinic said!”

  “Accidents happen,” he said cheerfully. He knew she was stunned but pleased. And as soon as the shock wore off, she’d be ecstatic. He could have told her that her fallopian tubes had managed to unblock themselves over the years, but that would raise awkward questions. After all, he was just her G.P. He wasn’t treating her for infertility.

  “I’d say you’re”—Thirty-nine and a half days along—“about six weeks pregnant. I’m going to write you a scrip for some prenatal vitamins, and I want you to take two a day. And the usual blandishments, of course—ease off alcohol, don’t smoke; blah-blah-blah. You know all this.” Mrs. Dane was an OB nurse.

  “Yeah, but…I never thought I’d need it.”

  He heard her weight shift as she leaned forward and was ready for it when she flung her chubby arms around him in a strangler’s grip. “Thanks so much!” she whispered fiercely. “Thank you!”

  “Mrs. Dane, I didn’t do anything.” He gently extricated himself from her grip. “Go home and thank your husband.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Now she was brighter in his mind’s eye, glowing with embarrassment. “I read somewhere that blind people don’t like it when their balance is thrown off.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You couldn’t throw off my balance,” Not without a truck. “Don’t forget to fill this on the way home,” he added. He could write perfectly well, which was to say, his prescriptions didn’t look any less legible than a seeing doctor’s.

  “Right. Right!” She bounded off the table, nearly careened into the closed door, and left without her clothes. The gown flapped once as the door closed behind her.

  “I don’t think they’ll let you in the pharmacy dressed like that,” he called after her.

  “I’m just saying you should think about it,” his nurse, Barb Robinson, argued. “I hate the thought of you going home to an empty house every night. And it would—you know. Be helpful.”

  “Put a harness around a dog and expect it to lead me around all day?” He tried not to sound as aghast as he felt. “That’s awful!”

  “Drake, be reasonable. You get around fine, but you’re not a kid anymore.”

  “Meaning since I’m looking at the big four-o it’s time to check out nursing home brochures?”

  Barb’s scent shifted—it had been lemony and intense before, because while she was embarrassed to broach the subject, she was also determined. Now, as she got annoyed, it intensified until she damned near smelled like mouthwash.

  “Very funny,” she snapped. “Pride’s one thing. Your safety is another. For crying out loud, you don’t even use your cane most of the time.”

  “Will it get you off my back if I start lugging the stick around?”

  “Yes,” she said promptly.

  Oh, for God’s sake. “Fine. You may now refer to me as Dr. Stick.”

  “It’s just that I don’t want you to get hurt, is all,” she persisted. “You bugged me about moving to a safer neighborhood.”

  “Repeatedly?”

  “Oh, hush up. And you’d better get going—isn’t tonight another one of your big nights out?”

  You could say that. “It is indeed.”

  “Well…maybe you should take it easy. You look kind of worn out today.”

  “I was up late,” he said shortly. “Give me the damned cane.”

  He heard her rummaging around beneath the counter and then she tapped the floor in front of him. He snatched it out of her hand. “There, satisfied?”

  “For now.”

  “Also, you’re fired.”

  “Ha!”

  “Maybe next time.” He obediently started tapping his way to the front door, though he knew perfectly well it was eight feet and nine inches away. “See you Monday.”

  “And think about the dog!” she yelled after him.

  “Not likely,” he muttered under his breath.

  Chapter 2

  The small gang—two boys and one girl, not one of them out of their teens—followed him off the subway. Typical thugs—they needed reinforcements to rob a blind man. He led them down Milk Street and let them get close.

  “Just so you know,” he said, turning, “in about half an hour the moon will be up. So this is a very, very bad idea. I mean”—they rushed him, and his stick caught the first one in the throat—“it’s a bad idea in general. There are only about a thousand”—his elbow clocked down on the skull of the second—“more respectable ways to make a living.” He hesitated with the girl and nearly got his cheek sliced open for his trouble. He pulled his head back, heard the whisper of steel slide past his face, and then grabbed her wrist and pulled, checking his force at the last moment. She flew past him, smacked into the brick wall, and then flopped to the ground like a puppet with her strings cut. “Seriously,” he told the dazed, semiconscious youths. “You should think about it. And what are you up to?”

  “Nothing,” the other werewolf said cheerfully. “Just came down to see if you needed a hand. Christ, when was the last time these three had a bath?”

  “About two weeks ago.”

  “How’s it going, Drake?”

  “It’s going like it always does,” he said carefully. He had known Wade when they were younger, but it paid to be careful around pack.

  He held out his hand and felt it engulfed by the younger man, who smelled like wood smoke and fried trout. Drake was a large man, but Wade had three inches and twenty pounds on him. If he wasn’t such a pussycat, he’d be terrifying. “Still keeping to your place in the country?”

  “Sure. This city is fucking rank, man. I only came in to stock up. The day got away from me.”

  “Try not to eat any of the populace.”

  “Yuck! Have you seen what they eat? I wouldn’t chew a monkey on a bet.”

  “That’s not nice,” Drake said mildly.

  “Yeah, yeah, pardon my un-fucking PC behavior. Humans, okay, and never mind what they originated from. No, really! They should be proud to be shaved apes.”

  “Tsk.”

  “Hey, I’m glad I ran into you—you should head out to the Cape, say hi to the boss and Moira and those guys. Did you hear Moira got hitched?”

  “I did, yes. To a monkey, right?”

  “Yeah, well…” Wade stretched; Drake could hear his ten-dons creaking and lengthening. Their Change was very close. Luckily, adolescence was far behind them both; they would stay well in control. “The new alpha gal, Jeannie, she heard about—uh—she noticed that none of the pack—uh—”

  “Was cursed with a devastating handicap?” he asked pleasantly. He tapped his cane for emphasis.

  Wade coughed. “Anyway, she hit the fucking roof when Michael told her the score, and they pissed and moaned about it for, like, a damn month, during which time our fearless leader was so not getting laid. Finally Michael said it wasn’t an automatic; it would be up to the parents. They both had to agree.”

  Drake was silent. For the pack, this was forward thinking indeed. Handicaps were so rare they were nearly unheard of, and when a pack member was born blind or deaf or whatever, it had been tradition since time out of mind that the sire killed the cub. The dam was usually too weak from whelping but was almost always in agreement.

  His sire, however, had died in Challenge before his birth, and his mother had wanted him. She had hidden him away at the time so the well-meaning pack leader, Michael’s father, couldn’t find him and kill him. She had raised him defiantly and heartlessly—absolutely no quarter given or asked.

  Drake had eventually left the pack on his own, made his way to Boston, and made a life among humans. Here, at least, he could hold his own. Humans didn’t care about Challenges. They didn’t even know about them.

  “Well, maybe I will pay them a vis
it,” he lied. “It’s been a long time.” Michael hadn’t even been pack leader when he’d left…Moira had been a precocious brat, one of the few who’d tried to talk him out of leaving.

  No. Done was done.

  “A long time?” Wade was saying. “Yeah, like about twenty years. It’s a little different now. Michael’s a modern dude. No one will fuck with you.”

  “Thanks for passing on the news. But I didn’t leave because I was afraid of being fucked with.”

  “You did win all your Challenges,” Wade admitted.

  “I left because I was never allowed to be myself.”

  “You think you’re allowed that here? In Monkey Central?”

  He shrugged. Loneliness was such a central factor of his life, he barely recognized it anymore. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, think it over. I know Jeannie’d like to meet you. If nothing else, to be proved right. She lives for that shit.” This was said in a tone of grudging admiration.

  “We’ll see.”

  Drake heard Wade inhale and stretch again. “Fine, be a stubborn ass, I don’t care. Better beat feet out of here. Gonna be a long one. Last night of the full moon.”

  “Happy trails,” he said dryly. “Again, try not to eat anyone.”

  “Again,” the larger man said, loping off, “don’t make me puke. Company coming.”

  “Yes, I—” He nearly fell down, right there in the alley. “I know.”

  “Jeez,” the girl said, coming closer. She glanced over her shoulder at the rapidly retreating Wade and then turned and glared at the unconscious gang. “You gigantic losers!”

  Everything was suddenly very bright, very sharp. The exhalations of the would-be attackers, Wade’s retreating footsteps, the girl’s perfume—L’Occitane Green Tea.

  He could see her.

  Not sense her, not get an idea of where she was and how she felt by her voice. See her. Everything around her was shades of gray, but she stood out like a beacon.