by Milana Jacks
Inside the loft, I throw on some clothes and nearly trip over my own feet as I scamper down the steps and onto the street, where I sprint all the way to the end, then cut a left, arrive at the beach, and jog back to the house, hoping like hell my old boss is still running the same way. Frantically, I search for him among the crowd. There! He’s sitting down, shoes off, wiping his sunglasses. Excellent.
I jog past him.
Oh, come on!
“Amy? Hey! Amy, is that you?”
Bingo. I pause to catch my breath, press my palms on my knees, and widen my eyes. “Oh hey, Roger.”
Roger approaches and shakes my hand. He sports a receding hairline, gray sideburns, and warm brown eyes. I like this man. He’s a good lawyer with a strong moral code, which is how he kept my demon on the leash. His style of practice didn’t allow for my straying ways, or I’d have lost my job. I lost my job anyway, but at least I walked away from it and didn’t get fired.
“I thought you left for the mountains,” he says.
“I did. Got back last night.”
“You’re staying or vacationing? My offer to buy your loft still stands.” He checks his watch. He’s not trying to be rude, but he’s a busy man. Still, I let him chat about the loft and subtly guide the conversation where it needs to go while I poke around in his mind for recent memories. While he talks, I’m processing both our conversation and his memories. It just so happens one of the lawyers involved in a case quit her job in pursuit of a writing career. Roger needs help, and I aim to fill the gap. “I moved back,” I say.
He checks his watch again. “Can you meet me at noon for lunch? Larnaca Lounge?”
“Sounds great. See you then.”
We part ways, and I jog back to my loft, a big grin on my face. I’ll get a job, persuade Roger for a five-thousand-dollar advance, and pay off Sevile. Done.
Pryus
Amy’s office is on the main street of our town. I park my bike, approach the window, and stare at the empty desk. She’s not in this morning. She should be. It’s Friday, so it’s a working day. The smell of jam-filled donuts awakens my hunger as Douglas from the bakery next door greets me. “Good morning, Pryus.”
My stomach growls. The aroma from his shop slipped out, and I didn’t eat this morning. I couldn’t sleep last night either, kept tossing and turning, thinking about Amy, my wolf wanting inside her house. “You seen Amy?”
“Mm-hm.”
“When?”
“Wednesday all day.”
“But not yesterday or this morning?”
He shakes his head. “Poor thing must be sick with a stomach bug. I make her fresh vanilla donuts every morning, but lately, she’s been asking for ham-and-cheese croissants. Today’s are still sitting on my counter getting cold.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll take the breakfast.”
I pay the man, drink Amy’s cinnamon vanilla coffee, and pack half a dozen croissants in my saddlebag.
I ride to Amy’s house and knock on the door. “Amy, it’s Pryus. Open up.”
Nothing. “Amy!” I bang harder.
Nothing.
Backing off, I kick in the door.
It flies off the hinges and falls on the floor. I stomp over it and into the house, my vision as sharp as my wolf’s, which tells me I’m sporting glowing silver eyes. I lift my nose and sniff. Citrus air freshener. I sneeze and put a hand over my mouth, then search the house. I peek into every room, including the bathroom and the attic.
Amy isn’t at home, but all her stuff is here. There are dishes drying in the sink and coffee in the coffeemaker. She didn’t skip town, but she isn’t home or at work either. I’ve asked the wolf patrol if they saw her last night, and they didn’t report her leaving town. So where the fuck is she?
I strip and go wolf. My nose is working the chairs, cupboards, her bed, her closet, all the fucking dresses, jeans, socks, bras, and underwear. I’m getting into every corner, nook and cranny. In the bathroom, I put my paws on the sink so I can sniff up there.
There’s a plastic object on the counter and nothing else.
I change into man and stare down at the strip with two lines.
My heart speeds up, my brain lagging behind in processing the item I’m staring at. I pick it up and bring it closer to my face as if I can’t see fine from a few feet away. I believe it’s a pregnancy test. I sniff and smell Amy. It’s her urine. I prop a hand on the counter because my legs might give out.
Amy is pregnant. The first thing that goes through my mind is that I’m the dad. The hope is quickly squashed when I remember Amy and I broke off our fucked-up relationship about five weeks ago, and she could’ve… I stop the thought because I’ll bite my own hand off if I think about someone else touching Amy’s fine body.
I stare in the mirror. The silver eyes of my wolf stare back at me. Pregnant or not, she’s still missing. It hits me then that her toothbrush is gone. I run to the closet and rummage through Amy’s jeans. Two of her favorite pairs are gone, as are her tank tops. Bras are next. I search the drawer for the tan-and-black bra Amy loves wearing. I remember which clothes she likes and why she likes them, and when I don’t find her favorites, I know Amy skipped town.
I sit down on the bed and stare at the black curtains. It’s pitch-black in the room even though the sun burns bright outside. The plastic test thing tucked in the back pocket of my jeans says Amy’s pregnant. Does Natie know? I’m fucking sure she knows, and I’m sure she’s covering for Amy. Damn it! I grab a fistful of curtains and tug. They fall on the floor. The sun heats my face, and I stare at it until it’s blinding me. I close my eyes and imagine another man’s hand on Amy’s swollen belly. It’s enough to send me into madness and enough to propel me into hunting mode.
Chapter Four
Amy
Larnaca Lounge is walking distance from my loft. Almost everything is in this small community. Either I walk or I use my bicycle. For that reason, I don’t own a car. As I make my way down the street, I plot what I gotta do to land a job from Roger and get my five-k advance. My moral code is basically nonexistent, but I work hard to correct my demonic ways because a demon does only what benefits itself even at the expense of others. I consciously correct my decision process and steer myself into the path of light instead of doing something that could hurt another person. While I am gonna live the straight human life for the benefit of me and my baby, I also gotta survive long enough to deliver said baby. I decide I wouldn’t mind fuck Roger into giving me an advance. Unless, of course, he refuses after I ask.
Sounds great to me.
My sensible heels click the asphalt, and since I’m wearing a suit on a hot summer day, I take out a tissue and wipe the sweat from my forehead right before I cross the street. From a bistro next door, a man catches my gaze. I stop dead in my tracks. Collin Stars. Hollywood’s finest billionaire, a hot bachelor, and a rapist I defended. I drove his victim to tears believing she’d wrongly accused him, believing the man told the truth, without even once digging into his head. It was the last time I would do that. If I tried a case again, I would dig so deep into my client’s memories, I’d arrive at the moment of their motherfucking birth.
His eyes lock with mine and freeze me in place. It’s not him that can do this to me, it’s the guilt over viciously attacking the girl, making everyone believe she was lying, when, in fact, accusing a man like Collin took courage.
Collin stands and makes his way through the restaurant. He meets me outside, and we shake hands like old buddies. After the case ended, he came to my loft and told me he’d forced himself on that poor girl. He confessed, intent on praising me for my skills because I got him off. He offered me a full-time job, which I politely refused. Since I didn’t protest the confession, for all he knows, I’m indifferent.
“The best lawyer a man can have,” Collin says as he lets go of my hand.
I want to scrub it with bleach. It’s also noon, and I’m running late. But I can’t move. I’m caught in the beau
ty of his hazel eyes and a smile that shows his dimples. This is how he lures the girls. He might want to trap me too. I smile at the prospect of destroying him. “Hey there, handsome,” I say. “What brings you into my neck of the woods?”
“Stopped in for lunch. Wanna join me?”
My soul roars to life, a demon in need of collecting a debt. All debts to demons must be paid, and Collin’s soul owes me. He also happens to have a lot of money. “Absolutely,” I say and cast a glance at the restaurant across the street where Roger sits alone, checking his watch. I hook on to Roger’s mind as Collin leads me to our table. Eyes across the street, I latch on to the beach run from this morning and jumble up the small stuff, namely our lunch meeting. I exit Roger’s mind and smile at Collin when the shameless bastard orders for me even though he has no idea what I feel like eating.
I want a ham-and-cheese croissant with cinnamon vanilla coffee. I doubt they have it in this fine bistro. I’ll eat a baked snail instead. Across the street, Roger orders and eats alone, clueless about ever agreeing to meet me there.
The lunch goes as well as expected. Collin and I converse as smoothly as old ladies over the finest Earl Grey tea. He’s telling me about his sister’s latest husband, their custody battle, and asks if I know someone who represents people in “one of those” cases. I pretend as if I’m thinking about a recommendation while I plot what to do about Collin. I’m too afraid of what I’d find inside his vile mind to even try poking in it. I tell him I’ve opened up my own practice. Not that far from the truth. In Forestvilas, I got a shabby office and a sign on the door. Supes came. Humans? Not so much.
But that’s about to change. Collin is in need of a gifted attorney.
“There might be another case coming at me,” he says. “I’m working on hushing up the girl.”
I compose myself so as not to gape at him. His open and unabashed honesty strikes my soul, the part of me that believes I helped him realize his dreams. He didn’t change his lifestyle. He’s raping women on a regular basis, and his confession makes me feel like we’re in this together.
Of course, at first, I refuse his offer, and we switch to negotiating my pay. I don’t ask for five thousand. It’s pocket change for this man and for my services. He passes me a piece of paper. I glance at it, pick up his fine pen, and add another zero.
Collin doesn’t blink. “You’re hired. Have dinner with me tonight,” he says.
He’s not asking me out, he’s telling me. What’s more, before I answer, he gets his phone and calls his assistant to ask her to cancel a dinner with someone named Skylar. The first thing that runs through my mind is that Skylar is young. The name is relatively new, and I’m imagining an eighteen-year-old girl with big dreams.
Better me than the poor thing. At least I can defend myself. Not that I believe Collin would go there with me. I’m too valuable for him to attack. Those girls mean nothing to him. He thinks they’re put on the planet for his taking and disposal. A serial rapist who will never stop. Jail isn’t the solution unless he gets life. And he won’t get life unless he’s tried for multiple counts. And even then, if he’s got a good defense, he can and will walk the streets again.
“I’ll see you tonight,” I say.
Pryus
Natie covered for Amy, and she wouldn’t have told me anything had I not showed my brother the pregnancy test. He guilt-tripped Natie into talking because, goddamn it, I have a right to know my mate is pregnant, and Amy has no right to run away from me. Reluctantly, Natie surrendered the whereabouts of Amy’s “super-cute” loft.
I stand outside the building. The mortgage on this thing must be super cute too. When we used to talk, Amy told me she owned a place in LA but not that it’s a Malibu Beach frontal property. These places must go for a million or more. No wonder Amy works two jobs and she’s always broke. She got a place she can’t afford, and I’d bet my left nut the renters she’d spoken of before only stayed for a short period of time. I guess she treats the loft as a seasonal rental property, which means, for the most part, she covers the mortgage on her own. Fucking A.
Two at a time, I climb the steps and catch Amy’s scent. I follow it to the second floor and sniff the doorknob just to be sure. Yup, fresh scent. I twist the knob, and when it doesn’t open, I take out the spare key I snatched from her sister. The door pops open, not a single security guy in sight. Quietly, I enter and inhale her scent. Calm washes over me, and my wolf settles into my subconscious. I found my mate. All I have to do now is bring her back with me.
The loft is a large open space with white furniture and white walls that make it appear even larger. Through the glass wall, the Pacific stretches for miles, and I stand in the middle of the living room, understanding why people pay millions for this place. It’s breathtaking. But not my thing. I’d rather smell the pine of an evergreen forest and get my paws dirty in the mud than sit at the beach sipping some girly drinks and chatting about the latest stock exchange trends.
I move around the loft, then snoop through her mail on the kitchen counter. Nothing unusual. Bills upon bills. All paid because, again, Amy works her ass off, something we’ll change when we get back together. And we will get back together for good this time. I’m done with spanking her, then letting her go about her business like I’m her piece of meat for whenever she feels like getting laid. In the future, that’s not how we’re gonna work.
I climb the stairs and find a dark bedroom holding a king-size bed covered with white sheets. Long red curls are splayed over the pillow, and Amy is sleeping on her side. She’s curled into a ball, a spare pillow—which is mine for the taking—tucked between her legs. I imagine her full belly and a pillow serving as the cushion.
My dick jumps at the image, and I press it down with the heel of my hand. Amy has no idea someone’s inside her bedroom. I could’ve been anyone.
A gray suede padded footrest sits beside the bed. I plop my ass on it and take a minute to appreciate my mate’s beauty. Amy is a redhead. Her hair is long and shiny, and it drapes over the pillow and her back. I take a curl and thread it through my fingers. It’s as silky as I remember. My palm runs down her back. Her skin is cold. No wonder. She’s got the AC cranking, and she’s sleeping in her thong on top of the feather comforter.
I reach for her ass. It’s round and firm. I can bounce a quarter off it. Amy doesn’t stir when I grope her ass. I chuckle, thinking she must be feeling the early days of pregnancy. I hear women get tired a lot.
Thong between my fingers, I pull. It pops against her ass.
Amy scratches her butt but doesn’t wake.
I pick up the material again, pull back, and let it spring.
Amy groans and flips onto her back. She freezes, probably sensing.
A second goes by as I wait for her to look at me.
She doesn’t but, oooo, the demon is not an angel.
A migraine-force headache explodes inside my brain. I grip my head with both hands and grind my teeth, hoping my brain won’t come out of my nose. My eyeballs are gonna pop out from the pressure. It’s gone before I’m able to speak.
I open my eyes to a wide-eyed Amy sitting up on the bed.
“Holy shit, Pryus. What the hell are you doing here?”
If I feared my mate could get hurt alone in her apartment, she proved me wrong. I believe a human man’s brain would have turned to goo from what she just did to me.
I rub my temples, sorting through my brain for a response. It takes a second to remember why I’m here. I fucking hate that she went inside my head. I don’t want her to know I found the pregnancy test. I want her to tell me about it of her own free will and not because I found out. She owes me this. “You didn’t show up for your shift,” I say.
“I got someone to cover,” she says and pulls the sheets against her chest.
That does it. “Drop the fucking sheets,” I snap. I feel like I’m talking to a stranger. A hot, naked stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. I hate feeling this way.
Amy
makes a sour face but lets me see her tits anyway.
I rest my elbows on my thighs and lean in. “You missed your shift, then decided it’s okay to move to Malibu without telling me?”
“I didn’t move. I need a week off, and I covered my shifts.”
She covered a week, but it means nothing. Demon’s lies go undetected even to my wolf’s senses, which can often smell the change in perspiration when a person lies. I’m inclined to believe Amy needed to take time off, figure out how to approach me about the pregnancy or even what to do about it. She better not dream of anything other than keeping and delivering my baby. And it is my baby. Everything about Amy is also about me. She is mine, and even as I think it, I gotta feel it again. I gotta know we’re gonna be fine.
We watch each other for a bit. I’m trying to maintain eye contact, but my gaze strays to her tits. My dick is hard, and I’m wanting inside her pussy. I need to claim my mate. My wolf demands that I mark her and take her home. “Why do you need a week off?” I ask.
“Because. And why are you talking to me now?”
“Because.” This is going nowhere. She won’t tell me about the pregnancy if I’m a dick. I’ve always been pretty good with words, but words escape me today. I’m caught up in my drive to mark her. I don’t even check in with my humanity when I snatch her ankles and stand. She yelps but doesn’t struggle.
Amy and I have a well-established bedroom dynamic, our boundaries defined, our relationship simple and fantastic when we want to fuck. And I always want to fuck her.
I trap her ankles with one hand and lift so her ass is off the bed.
I tap her thigh first, and Amy grabs the sheets as I slide my hand down and behind her panties so I can poke my baby girl’s little wet hole.