by Alisha Rai
“Then shut up and play.” Eli sent her a wink, and she felt brave enough to wink back, despite the fact that her husband didn’t seem to love that either.
Ana took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll start. Never have I ever…left the country.”
Both men drank. She had some vague plan of at least trying to keep the rounds PG-rated before getting into the more serious stuff.
The next four rounds were relatively innocent. Ana drank one shot, the men each putting away two more, which Ana found was definitely enough to loosen Eli’s tongue. After his third shot, he glanced at Ana with a wicked smile. “Never have I ever been spanked with a Ping-Pong paddle.”
She didn’t know if the heat that suffused her body was from the alcohol or from mortification. She could see Taylor leaning forward, prepared to speak out in her defense, but she stopped him by simply raising her hand. Lifting an eyebrow at Eli, she picked up her glass…and drank.
Eli’s eyes sparkled, and he leaned back in his seat as if he’d just had something he was dying to know confirmed.
As she poured the next shot, she noticed the muscle in Taylor’s jaw was twitching. Never a good sign. Damn it, she didn’t want to upset him that much. She was about to put a stop to the game, but he spoke. “Never have I ever wanted to be spanked with a paddle.”
His voice was low and deep, brushing over the skin of her arms and leaving goose bumps in its wake. He locked his gaze with hers, those green eyes stripping away her defenses. She didn’t look away when she belted back the shot, the liquid warming her belly.
She blinked when the room suddenly seemed to become a little fuzzy and crooked before it righted again. What, three shots? Bah. She hadn’t been such a lightweight in college.
“Ana?”
Taylor’s voice gave her something solid to grasp onto. She gazed at him, becoming misty-eyed. Oh. She loved this guy.
Lightweight is probably an understatement.
Yeah, she really loved him. But why the hell couldn’t he have been honest with her from the start? Why did some stranger have to tell her exactly how crazy her husband’s past had been? Why did they have to play these stupid games? She opened her mouth, the words tripping over themselves as they rushed out. “Never have I ever had a threesome.”
The room was so quiet Ana was fairly certain she could have heard a pin drop. She wondered if any of them were even breathing, and they were all as still as statues.
Eli was the first one to break the frozen silence. He reached for his glass, picked it up and belted back the shot.
She turned to Taylor. And waited.
And waited.
He didn’t make any motions.
Tears prickled at her eyes. “Taylor?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “What?”
“Do I need to explain the rules of the game to you again?” Please say yes. Please don’t tell me you’re actually lying to me.
“No.”
“Then drink.”
Tension covered the table. Eli could have been in Timbuktu for all Ana and Taylor noticed. Their eyes were locked on each other.
She was so attuned to him she catalogued every movement his body made, from the tick in his jaw, to the clenching of his hand around the glass. His lips were tight, barely moving as he spoke. “How did you know?”
Her laugh surprised her. She’d never heard anything so hard and bitter come from her own mouth. Pain rose in her chest as she said the words, “Not from you, that’s for sure.” There’s the rub. Taylor should have been the one to tell her about his past exploits, not some anonymous individual with a throwaway email address.
“Sweetheart, what exactly do you know?” Eli sounded like he was tryin to coax a particularly skittish filly. She couldn’t look away from Taylor.
“I know what I saw.” Suddenly restless and needing to show him what she’d been wrestling with, she stood so fast her chair crashed to the ground, and darted to their room. Taylor was calling her name, but his voice faded as she raced through the luxurious home. She had surprise on her side. It took barely a minute to find what she sought in the zippered compartment of her big tote bag, a handful of glossy photos she’d printed up off their home computer.
The men were in the living room by the time she got back, arguing, it appeared. Filled with frustration and anger, she flung the photos at her husband’s face. “This. This is what I saw. How dare you keep this from me? Worse, how dare you lie to me?”
He barely winced as the photos hit him, though he glanced down at them when they settled to the floor. He stiffened as he looked at the most damning one, which had conveniently landed right at his foot. “What the fuck is this?”
“That’s what I want to know.” Lower your voice. It was gaining volume, dangerously close to a scream. But she couldn’t. After the past few weeks of constant self-doubt, rising desire and worrying, it felt so damn good to simply let go.
If I’d never gotten those photos, I would have stayed safe and happy in the bubble we’d created of a gentle, easy marriage. The caustic words reverberated in her mind. Though logically she’d come to accept that it was better to know about this than be in the dark, her heart and emotions had temporarily taken over command central. So it made perfect sense to her that this was all. His. Fault.
If she hadn’t gotten those photos, those deep, secret desires would have stayed hidden.
And she wouldn’t have gotten those photos if he hadn’t participated in making them.
Making them with some nameless, faceless woman. Oh yeah, the blonde’s face was blurred out in each print. But Taylor and his best bud Eli were more than recognizable.
Anger like she’d never felt before made her body shake. It was one thing to have hidden this from her. She’d assumed he’d had some sort of reason, plus she’d had the sneaking suspicion that he thought she was too innocent to welcome his desire for bondage and submission and sexual games, but to lie about it?
Heaven help him. ’Cause he was about to get an earthly reaming he’d never forget.
He’d stooped to gather the photos. When he glanced up, she distantly noted that his face was pale under his natural tan. Eli, who stood behind him also staring at the pictures, looked more than a little sick himself. “Where did you get these? Who gave these to you?” Eli demanded.
“I don’t know. They were in my inbox a few weeks ago.”
Taylor shook his head. “I swear to God, Ana, I didn’t know these existed. They’re…they’re old. Almost two decades old.”
She sneered. “You think I don’t know that? The haircuts gave it away.”
Eli cleared his throat and raised his hand. “In our defense, that style was very in at the time.”
“Defending your fucking hair isn’t important right now.” Taylor’s tone softened. “Ana, honey, let’s talk about this.”
Her rage left her as suddenly as it had come. She didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt the wetness on her cheeks. Depression hit her so hard, she barely noticed the small, pained noise her husband made. “Why bother? You’ll just lie again.” Her voice didn’t sound like hers.
“No.”
“I thought we shared everything.” She nodded to the pictures. “And yet you never shared any of it with me…and then you lied to me.”
“Ana…”
“Just leave me alone.”
She left the room in a hurry, certain her heart was breaking loud enough for everyone to hear.
His chest hurt. He rubbed at it as Ana left the room. The crinkle of paper had him looking down, surprised to find the damning photos still in his hands.
Eli cursed long and viciously as he grabbed the pictures and went through them one by one. “That vicious, heartless, cruel little bitch.”
“Lucy.” He didn’t even have the energy to make it a question. His tone was about as dead as his soul.
“Who the fuck else?” Eli bit off another curse as he came across probably the most graphic shot, a picture of him and Eli dou
ble penetrating the anonymous woman, who was completely gagged and restrained. The face was blurred out, yeah, but that blonde hair up in a bouffant and the killer body identified her to both of them. Man, even as a sex-crazed adolescent he’d known he and Eli should have found someone else to have a good time with. “I am so sorry, man. I had no idea how she took these pictures or that she would lose her shit so severely as to send them to Ana. She had to know I would find out and deal with her.”
Had it been anyone else, Taylor might have felt a moment of sympathy for the way in which Eli would deal with Lucy. But since she’d helped punch a hole through his marriage, he couldn’t spare much thought for her.
No. Place the blame where it belongs. On you.
“Are you just going to stand there?” Eli asked, shoving him slightly.
No, no he wasn’t. Driven by fear and desperation, he ran after her, coming to a stop at their closed door. He didn’t need superhuman ears to detect the noise of weeping inside the room. In the two years he’d known Ana, he’d never heard or seen her seriously cry. A few tears at a sappy commercial or movie, sure. Not this bone-deep misery.
You caused it. You fix it.
“Honey?” he asked and tried the knob. He hadn’t expected it to be unlocked, and it wasn’t. He gave a tentative knock. “Honey, open the door. I want to talk to you.”
“Go away.”
He knocked again, harder. “Ana, please.”
“No.”
That didn’t sound very promising at all. His fear rose. “Baby, didn’t we talk about how we’d never have locked doors between us when we got married?”
“I think there was something in there about always being honest with one another too, you jerk!”
Oooh. Snap.
“Just let me explain.” He didn’t know how he’d explain, but he’d do it.
The sound of her sobs got louder, gutting him. He rested his forehead against the door and swallowed. He might be a guy, sure, but he wasn’t stupid. The new super-sexy, willing-to-try-anything Ana? He had his explanation for that. “Why didn’t you just show me from the beginning?” he said hoarsely, not expecting her to hear. They could have talked it through.
If you can’t blame Lucy, you can’t blame Ana either. God, how could he have screwed up the best thing to ever happen to him? His forehead hit the hard wood with a heavy thud.
“Why don’t you just knock down the door?”
He snarled and looked over his shoulder, happy to find a ready outlet for his feelings of impotence. Eli leaned against the hallway, his expression that of a spectator watching a very interesting play.
“The door is solid oak and a hundred years old. Do I look like superman?”
“No,” Eli answered calmly. “You look like a werewolf.”
Chapter Eight
Taylor stilled. He turned to face Eli, his hands at his sides, fists clenched and ready to attack. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He didn’t remember moving, but suddenly his hands were locked around Eli’s neck and he’d pinned the other man to the wall. “Reynolds, the last time you called me that, I warned you what would happen if you ever said it again.”
“Did you? I don’t recall.”
He slammed his friend’s head against the wall, but it didn’t even seem to faze the bastard. “Say it again. I dare you.”
Eli’s eyes shifted to a point just over Taylor’s left shoulder before they returned to his face. He leaned in closer until they were nose to nose, their breaths mingling. “You. Are. A. Werewolf.”
A red haze covered his vision as he tightened his grip on Eli’s neck. The other man gurgled, choking.
Hurthurthurthurt… Hurt like you hurt.
It was the insistent tugging on his shirt and his name being called in a tear-filled voice that brought him a modicum of sanity. He blinked sweat away and glanced down to find his wife by his side.
Not for long though. Ana took one look at his face and backed away. Fucking backed away, her eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth. In horror. “Taylor. Your eyes.”
He averted his gaze and tried to talk through the overwhelming compulsion to inflict some sort of pain. “Get back in the room. Lock the door.”
He expected her to run. But she spoke again. “Let go of Eli.”
What? No. Don’t let go. Hurthurthurt…
“Taylor. Please, he’s turning blue. If you let go of him, I’ll go back in the room.”
He paused, trying to force whatever had overtaken his brain to consider the exchange.
Don’t hurt Ana. Get her out of the way.
He nodded curtly and released his hands from around Eli’s neck, backing away lest he be tempted to resume choking the guy. His friend instantly sank to the floor, rolling to his knees and coughing. Taylor didn’t look at his wife. He couldn’t look at her. “Go. Now.”
She was so small her footsteps barely made any noise on the carpeted hallway. Still, he could hear her scurry back into the room as if the hounds of hell were after her.
Apt analogy.
Taylor didn’t budge when the door slammed shut, or when he heard the scrape of the lock in their bedroom door. He’d wanted her to run, to get away from him, and still it hurt like a motherfucker that she’d done so. Why not, though? He didn’t blame her. He had run from himself for years.
He slammed his fist into the wall, not at all surprised when the plaster and paint gave way under the pressure. His heart felt like it was in the same condition.
Ana sat curled up in the plush armchair in their room, watching the sun rise over the trees, distilled by the flurries of snowflakes that filled the air.
She dragged the blanket closer, but it did nothing to dispel the chill that had settled in her bones. Her eyes were dry and gritty, both from crying and a lack of sleep.
Werewolf.
She shivered. No. She must have misheard. She’d known her husband was hiding stuff, but not that, because, well…that wasn’t real. Werewolves were creatures of myth and legend that showed up as killers in horror movies or bare-chested heartthrobs in teen novels. They did not show up in her life.
And yet…
Taylor’s eyes. She could explain a lot of stuff away, but not that. The way they’d looked yesterday…he couldn’t have popped contact lenses in to change their color. Why would he, anyway?
She almost wished he had knocked down her door as she’d heard Eli suggest to him last night. Then she could pepper him with questions and get some answers.
She sighed. Not that she’d done a great job in the whole talking department up ’til now. She’d heard him last night, outside her door. Why didn’t you just show me from the beginning? Why hadn’t she just flung the pictures at him when they’d shown up in her email?
Because you were immature and insecure that you weren’t satisfying your husband in bed.
There was ego mixed in there as well, the bitterness that she’d been carrying from the beginning. Damn it, he should have told of her of his own accord…she shouldn’t have to pull it out of him. So she’d played the game, and when he hadn’t been prepared to reveal all, she’d thrown a tantrum—and then received an even bigger surprise.
She set her jaw. Being even slightly in the wrong did not sit well with her. She would go talk to him, right now. The silent treatment never ended well, hadn’t Tía Lucía told her that? At the end of the fight, nothing was resolved and you still felt awful.
But then again, Tía Lucía had probably envisioned fights over keeping the toilet seat up, not whether half of the couple was a mythical creature. It was one thing to be mad at her man for holding back in bed or lying about his past sexual escapades. How the hell did you argue with your husband over the fact that he never told you he was a werewolf? Cosmo had definitely never written an article about that.
Ana stood from the chair, wobbling at the pins and needles that shot through her feet, asleep from being in the same position all night. As much as she wanted to hole up
in here forever, it wouldn’t help. She had to face Taylor sooner or later, and she figured it was kind of like ripping off a Band-Aid…better to get it off as fast as humanly possible.
Her natural optimism kicked in as she brushed her teeth, trying to get rid of the cotton-mouth feeling she had. Her clothes from last night—a flannel shirt, sweater and jeans—were rumpled, but she didn’t feel like changing them. Slicking her hair back from her face made her look, if not fashion-model material, at the very least presentable.
She’d misheard.
Yup. That was all there was to that whole werewolf thing. She’d misheard and the mishearing had played a trick on her brain to where she’d thought she’d seen her husband’s eyes switch colors. Yeah.
As she made her way downstairs, she was unnerved by the hushed silence in the house. Nothing was stirring, not even a mouse.
Concerned, she made her way to the kitchen. It was so quiet she jumped to see Eli standing in front of the kitchen sink, arms braced as he stared outside. He was shirtless, his golden skin looking far warmer than she felt.
She cleared her throat. He must have been lost in thought because he jerked before pivoting. “Ana. Hey.”
Whatever hope she might have had that the events of last night were the result of a tequila-fueled nightmare vanished when she caught a glimpse of his exposed neck. Bright blue bruises were plainly visible in shapes that appeared suspiciously like fingerprints. She winced just looking at them. “Does it hurt?”
“What?”
She lightly touched her hand to the base of her neck. He mimicked the gesture, rubbing his fingers over the wounds. “Right. No, not at all. They probably look worse than they are.”
Ana licked her lips. “I feel like I’m constantly apologizing on Taylor’s behalf lately.”
“Please. I knew the risk I was courting when I said what I did. I didn’t expect him to shake my hand when I revealed something that was really none of my business.”
She’d wondered who would open that door first. “So…why did you?”
His gaze was far more somber than she’d ever seen it. “Because I love Taylor and I like you, and I want your marriage to succeed. You can’t build a life together on half-truths.”