“Because our bathroom sink looks like the floor of a dog-grooming parlor, and your boyfriend...”
“For the five thousandth time, Tobias is not my boyfriend.”
“Since he’s your shack-up honey, then, I’m laying the ability of our bathroom to be braided at your feet.”
Chances of getting back to sleep: zero.
Chances of me being required to decontaminate the bath: higher than James Franco at a Snoop Dog concert.
I rolled out of bed, pushing sleep from my eyes and eking resolve into my determination. “And for the six thousandth time, I’m not sleeping with Tobias.”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
“Fine, we are technically sleeping together, as in we slumber in the same room. Rarely, when we’re both home and sleeping at the same time. And FYI: He makes his bed on the floor.”
In a discount dog bed I’d brought home as a practical joke and which he actually decided he liked.
The blonde cocked a hip and twirled a braid around her finger. “Send him to my room, then. I mean, really... Minus the fact that his personal hygiene practices are seriously deficient, and that he has some sort of obsession with dumplings that I’ll just never understand, why can’t the two of you get together? I know his wife died, but that was, like, a year ago. Even Puritans would roll their eyes at you.”
Cast the girl in one university production of The Crucible, and suddenly she thought she had a PhD in American history.
How could you explain to your huey roommate that the man who had been sleeping in your room since the beginning of the school year was a widower werewolf who would never love again, and that she stood as much chance of a hook-up with him as grapefruit taking on a semitruck? You didn’t. You just rolled your eyes, sighed, and repeated your boilerplate response.
“Tobias and I are only friends. It’s never going to happen between us, and most importantly, it’s never going to happen between the two of you either. So just let it go.”
Just as I turned to the coat closet to grab the bucket full of cleaning supplies, the front door opened and the werewolf with burning ears came in.
He was suspiciously unshaven.
“Ladies.” Tobias pushed a cardboard tray holding two cups of coffee toward us. I had never thought that werewolves were psychic, but could there be any doubt he’d foreseen Amy’s anger? “Mocha for Geri, soy milk latte with two pumps of mango syrup for Amy.”
Even a werewolf would flinch when a huffy, blonde New Yorker growled.
Amy snatched the coffee away in a fit. She pointed a finger in Tobias’s chest with her free hand. “This doesn’t excuse anything.”
And with that, she went in her room and slammed the door.
Tobias’s confusion drew lines in his forehead. “What was that about?”
A methodic sip of mocha with my eyes open and staring over the rim of the cup at the werewolf proceeded my answer.. “Did you shave last night before you left for work?”
“Yes, but I...” Memory called up guilt and invited it to the party. “Shite, I didn’t clean out the sink.”
Shoving the basket of cleaning supplies into his arms, causing him to drop the empty tray, I nodded. “Yet, Tobias. You mean you haven’t cleaned out the sink yet.”
A werewolf could pull off an amazing amount of reticence once you got to know them. Without further prompting, Tobias snatched the fallen coffee caddie from the floor, went to the bathroom, and began to excavate.
“Quickly, please!” I called at the door. “I just got up a minute ago, and nature is calling on speed dial.”
He paused to look at me back over his shoulder. “Do you think sometimes that there’s reasons hoods and wolves aren’t supposed to be bosom buddies? I don’t want to know about your toilet habits. We’ll never be that close.”
“This from the man who yesterday told me and Amy not to open Netflix until he got out of the pisser.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
He shrugged as the last bit of hair-flecked soap scum transferred onto the sponge. “Because I’m a guy.”
“And THIS is one of the reasons why hoods are matriarchal, because we clearly are the better sex.”
When I slipped back out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he took up the conversation right where it had left off.
“Speaking of sex...” Tobias grinned. “Guess who’s coming back on a midnight flight?”
Any ire within me faded in the wake of such a delicious tease. “He’s coming tonight?”
“That part will be up to you, won’t it?” Looking all smug and superior, Tobias nodded as he deposited the bucket back in the coat closet. “Got the word from Inga’s assistant last night. No idea if they found out anything, though. I don’t think Clark is that in the loop on his boss’s personal life.”
The reminder that Inga Rosenthorn was the center of WWL gossip as having a boy-toy lover, i.e., my boyfriend, Caleb Helsing, and that she regularly whisked him away to exotic, foreign locales, burned in my gut. Even though I knew the rumors were nothing, and that Caleb himself admitted that, for once, he didn’t enjoy his sex-god reputation, the fact that that woman put her fangs on him regularly to drink his blood and keep herself alive still smarted.
“It’s about freaking time. They were only supposed to be gone for ten days. I want to know what the hell they were doing for a whole month.”
“I can draw you a chart of the mechanics, if your mother never gave you the talk.”
My fingers pinged his rock-hard chest. “They are not sleeping together.”
“Why shouldn’t they be? After all, you and Caleb aren’t.”
“Oh, I see. ‘Toilet habits’ you want nothing to do with, but my sex life is open grounds for analysis.”
“You don’t have a sex life, Geri. You have to actually have sex to have a sex life.”
I crossed my arms in the perfect act of childish petulance. I could tell the werewolf that Caleb and I had actually decided we’d make the beast with two backs when he came back to town, and that that, in part, was why his being gone so much longer than anticipated was so annoying, but why should I? “And just what makes you think we’re not sleeping together?”
“Because you don’t smell any different.”
“I’m not going to believe for a second that makes any sense. Got any other theories?”
I almost dropped my coffee when Tobias put his arms around me and pulled me to him. Within moments, my body went into high alert, an echo of hood impulses and the ability to sense wolf emotions swirling with carnal awareness. My breath hitched when Tobias lowered his mouth to mine, just inches away from kissing me. He might be an ass sometimes, but he was, in fact, a very sexy ass (with a very sexy ass) who loved to tease me with his looks. With his shoulder-length brown hair tied behind his head, his biker-inspired stubble, and a body that set off the tingles, the werewolf’s human form could make a nun give up her vows.
A knowing smirk pulled taut the corners of his mouth. “Once you’ve been with him, I won’t be able to do this to you.”
I tried to keep myself in control, even as little demon voices called out inside me. Kiss him. Take him. Be with him.
“I’m not a wolf, Tobias. I won’t bond with him that way. I won’t have what you and Kara had.”
The reminder of his slain mate’s name loosened a bit of his hold on me. Still, his hands stayed on my waist as he tried to shake off the sadness. “If he doesn’t at least make you feel like you should, then you shouldn’t be with him to begin with.”
Just at that moment, Amy’s door opened as she emerged with a backpack slung over her shoulder. As soon as she caught sight of us, instead of going all squeaky with delight at our proximity, she just rolled her eyes and huffed.
“Oh, my god, will you guys just fuck already and get it over with? This will-they-won’t-they thing is getting really tedious.” Without giving me a chance to respond, Amy pushed a plain white envelope into
my face. “Here.”
I broke away from the werewolf to take it. “What is this?”
“Your tickets.”
“Tickets?” Tobias said, moving to the fridge to grab a pint of milk to chug. We’d given up on coaxing him into using a glass months ago. “Tickets for what?”
“For my play,” Amy said. “Remember? My senior performance for my drama minor? You two said you’d come cheer me on.”
Nervous chuckles filled the room as Tobias and I exchanged manufactured smiles. “Oh! That’s tonight? I must have forgot to put it on my calendar. But, yeah, looking forward to it.”
“I’m not, but I’ll be there.” Tobias winced when I elbowed him in the side. He quickly got the hint and corrected his rudeness. “I mean, I don’t like being in tight, packed crowds. Of course, I’ll be there, Amy. It’s the least I can do to thank you for letting me move in.”
Amy admonished him with a glare. “The very least. Especially since I didn’t let you move in. In fact, I remember the promise being ‘it’s only for a few weeks until he finds a new place.’ Curtain time is seven-thirty. I have to go. We’re sneaking in one more dress rehearsal before show time. See you tonight.”
The second the apartment door closed, Tobias spun on me.
“Okay, two things. One, please tell Amy about Caleb so she stops trying to make you and me happen. And two: please, please, don’t make me go to this.”
“I can’t tell Amy about Caleb. Officially, Caleb doesn’t exist, remember? He’s contraband. And two, I’m not making you go. I’m going to support my friend.”
His knuckles blanched as his hands became fists at his side. “And de facto, that means you’re making me go.”
“It wasn’t my decision for your alpha to order you to ensure I never went outside without a supernatural escort at night. Believe me, having you walk me to Caleb’s apartment, then waiting for me outside isn’t my idea of convenient.”
“Well, at least we can come together on that,” he huffed. Tobias leaned against the wall, disguising a yawn with the back of his hand.
“Go to sleep. Comfortably.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you told me no more sleeping in my wolf since that time Amy almost walked in on me?”
I waved a dismissive hand. “You heard what she said. She’ll be at the theater the rest of the day. I’m just going to take a run and spend the rest of the day studying. I can’t believe I only have one more final exam and then I’m free.”
“You’re an ex-hood who’s likely on the kill list of a fifteenth-century Transylvanian vampire prince. Free is the last thing I’d call it.”
“Dr. Taylor’s threat to my long-term wellbeing seems more imminent at the moment. I’ll grab my things from the bedroom so I don’t have to come in and disturb you later.”
“Actually, then, that sounds like a right good thing.” Tobias’s hands went to the row of buttons running down his shirt, starting at the top, opening a pathway my eyes longed to tread. Suddenly, he paused, meeting my stare. “I thought ‘all the better to eat you with’ was my line.”
I shook my head and stuttered through embarrassment. “Sorry. I just...”
A catch of sorrow crept into his voice. “Yeah, I know. You miss your boyfriend. But maybe hold that heavy-lidded-eyes-and-parted-lips thing for Caleb. He’ll appreciate it more. Now, weren’t you going to take a run?”
I clapped my hands and rushed into my bedroom to ferret out two sets of clothes. “Yes! I definitely need to take a run.”
And then, maybe, a cold shower.
TWO
The show starts in three minutes. Where in the hell are you?
Walking.
“Walking” is a verb. The question I asked can only be answered by a NOUN.
Bloody Chicago.
Bloody? Did you have to use that word? You do know I have a legendary clutch of vampires who want to kill me, right?
Keep it up, and there’ll be a werewolf too.
Just tell me when you’re going to be here already. Or should I wander the streets unprotected and look for you?
“Don’t you fecking dare, Geri.”
Mesmerized. I was freaking mesmerized. The werewolf who had just walked into the theater lobby had two fashion modes: security uniform for when he was at work at WWL, or blue jeans and tees when he wasn’t. Three, if you included fur as a mode. What Tobias did not do, or at least had not done in the time I knew him, was formal.
Where he got the three-piece suit from, I couldn’t begin to imagine. The things I actually could begin to imagine, however, were not appropriate for a woman with a boyfriend. The man defined the term “rugged hot.” His ever-present stubble combined with the dark navy of his slacks and jacket to present a rock-star-at-the-Grammys feel.
The illusion of him as a confident, easygoing playboy melted away, however, as Tobias observed the packed theater lobby. Werewolves were creatures who favored wide open spaces or forests. Crowds distressed them. Suddenly, I realized how much I was asking Tobias by being here. His heavy breathing wasn’t from rushing over; it was born of anxiety.
I wrapped my hand around his, and flinched when his grip tightened. “Just a bunch of hueys. No threats. Focus on me.”
“I’d focus on you better if you had dressed up like I did.”
“Tobias, no one is dressed up like you.” I pulled him towards the entry, digging the tickets out of my pocket.
“I’ve never been to an actual theatrical performance before. This is how everyone dresses for the annual Royal Variety Performance they have on the telly back home each year.”
“Well here, on the northside of Chicago at the WCU Arts Complex, jeans are just fine. Not that any woman here between the age of eighteen and eighty is going to complain, mind. But where did you get the getup?”
“I called Igor to ask where I could get a suit on short notice. Twenty minutes later, there was a tailor at our door. Seems like being rich lets you do things like make all manner of manservants magically appear. We should definitely try being rich sometime.”
The usher guided us to our seats in the third row, stage left, right on the aisle. Hopefully having access to an escape route would ease Tobias’s nerves somewhat.
“If I were still a hood, I could wield silver, and make us very, very rich. Not as rich as Igor, I’m willing to bet, but comfortably cozy.”
With a newfound revelation, his head swiveled in my direction as he settled into his seat. “Bullocks, I’ve never thought of that. Why aren’t all hoods rich, then?”
“Discipline. Values,” I answered. “We can’t make silver, so what we do have, we hoard. Besides, you can’t exactly toss a few ducats up on the counter to pay for things, can you?”
Other theatergoers milled around. As expected, women eye-screwed Tobias as they walked by. It was nothing new. Women were drawn to the wolf, and I frequently got acidic glares from those who thought I was touring hot property out of my price range. Normally, I’d just ignore the fact, but today, when he was already nerve-wracked from being enclosed on all sides by hueys who liked Arthur Miller, chancing anything setting off Tobias’s protective instincts seemed like a bad idea.
I unlaced our fingers and drew back my hand, only to have him snatch it back and wrap the back of my hand in both his paws.
“Please.” He stroked my knuckles like he was petting a cat’s ears. “If it’s okay?”
“It’s okay.” I leaned into him, easing the strain on my arm on the armrest. “Only you’re going to have to put up with my head on your shoulder or my hand’s going to go numb.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“A numb hand is a terrible thing.”
He coughed a laugh as the house lights started to lower. “Always ready with a quip, aren’t we?” Before I knew what was happening, and done before I believed it, Tobias turned and kissed my forehead.
The next hour and a half was the longest of my life. He never let go of my hand, and I never picked up m
y head. That was, at least, until the end of the third act.
I couldn’t recall if Amy had shared with me many details of the play in which she was starring. For example, I didn’t remember hearing her say she was, in fact, the star. Her ability to pull off the part of the deceptive, selfish, manipulative Abigail Williams astounded me. The character Amy played was the antithesis of her own. I wondered if her ability to render the role so believable was just her doing the opposite of what she herself would do. Except for the part where she wanted to sleep with John Proctor so bad. That was full-on Amy Popowitz.
Tobias leaned down to me, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve seen the film version of this at least ten times. I don’t remember fog.”
I shrugged. We’d read it in high school in our stilted teenage awkwardness, but I couldn’t stand Winona Ryder in anything. “Everything’s more dramatic with a fog machine.”
As the billowy clouds filled the stage, however, the growing worry on the faces of the acting company suggested the fog was assuming an unwritten walk-on role. All about the stage, college kids dressed up as Puritans looked on with utter bafflement as the low-pressure system entering stage left stole the scene.
Amy shook away her confusion, trying to recover her character and get the cast to do the same. “Oh, Mary, this is a black art to change your shape. No, I cannot, I cannot stop my mouth; it’s God’s work I do...”
My roomie’s hands went to her throat as another of the cast members shouted out her complicated line, “Abby, I’m here!”, followed by a guy I knew to be a freshman wearing a gray wig adding, “They’re pretending, Mr. Danforth!”
Amy fanned herself, the fog thickest around her. “Oh, please, Mary— Don’t... Don’t...”
When Tobias yanked back his hand and stood, my first impulse was to bemoan the loss of my headrest. A moment later, the actors themselves began to scurry around the stage. The fog cleared for just a moment, and what the fuss was punched me in the stomach. There, nearly doubled over, stood Amy, her hands on her throat, her face red, the other members of the cast attempting to pull away the white collar of her costume, as she gasped and coughed.
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