Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  But I’ve got a job to do. And I’ve never let a little fear stand in my way.

  In the hazy moonlight I finally see it. Low to the ground and moving steadily though slowly toward us. A black shape. As it approaches I see the legs, each one at least five feet long and with a bend in it, raising the round furry body up a few feet above the ground. Its eyes suddenly glow red, and the hissing starts once more as it darts a few feet to the left, making my heart beat hard.

  I can see now that its body is covered in black and brown fur, like a giant tarantula. But the worst thing about it is the fangs, slippery and dripping and shining in the moonlight as it creeps ever closer.

  “Holy fucking shit,” whispers Leon. “Holy fucking shit.”

  Exactly.

  “Aiming now,” I whisper, lifting my tranquilizer gun. I have no urge to take this thing down by hand. Little by little I raise my weapon until I can aim, keeping my arms steady yet loose, and squeeze the trigger.

  It leaps to the side, as if it knew exactly what I was doing, and before I know it, the thing is scrabbling toward us fast, emitting a clicking hissing sound as it does.

  “Fuck!” screams Marcus, shooting at it, and next to him, Leon takes a shot as well.

  I’m about to fire again when I hear something behind us.

  Before I turn I know exactly what I’m going to see. Yet the shock of the hideous creature almost physically knocks me back. It’s a second spider, this one equally as large, with the same red eyes and shiny fangs.

  It’s about twenty feet from us but creeping nearer, eyes on me the entire time.

  “Got it!” cries Marcus from behind me, and I realize he’s talking about the first spider, which suddenly gives off a high-pitched screech into the night, a scream that dies out quickly as the tranquilizer takes effect.

  Pissed, the second spider pounces, airborne for a split second before it’s on me.

  The fangs. I need to stay away from the fangs. I remember Marcus’ warning that one drop of the poison from a J’ba Fofi can kill a grown man, and I know I’ll be dead in an instant if I get anywhere near its face.

  I duck underneath it so I’m below its thick, bulbous belly as it lands. The fur is dirty and sharp, prickling the skin of my face and hands. It smells like sulfur, so strong and acrid that I can barely breathe.

  “Focus,” I whisper to myself as the spider shifts on top of me, clearly surprised to find its fangs hadn’t sunk into soft human flesh just yet.

  As it shifts to get in a better attack position, I reach for my tranquilizer gun, only to realize I dropped it in the attack.

  Fuck.

  The spider’s off me, and we stand facing one another. I’m dimly aware of Marcus and Leon, somewhere behind, discussing shooting the beast but not wanting to shoot me instead, and I want to tell them to shoot us both; I’ll recover from being drugged, though I won’t recover from this venom. But I’m too focused on the spider to speak.

  As we stare at each other, the spider emits more of the disgusting clicking hissing sounds, saliva dropping from its mouth and hanging on the tips of its fangs.

  Slowly, I reach down, inch by inch, and push up the bottom of the jeans on my right leg. That’s where I keep my knife—always. Sometimes even when I sleep.

  But before I have a chance to grab it, the spider leaps again. I somersault toward it, knowing again that my only chance at survival is to once more avoid its mouth. I hit the ground, practically knocking the breath out of me. The spider miscalculated and didn’t anticipate my roll, and this time it misses me completely.

  I stand and spin around to face it again, grabbing my knife from the sheath on the way. Its bright red eyes shift away from me for a second, toward where I guess Marcus and Leon are. I hear the quick pop of the tranquilizer guns—once, then a second—but am dismayed that both shots miss.

  Jesus. You two are sorry-ass shots, I think, and promise myself I’ll give them hell about it later.

  But for now, my biggest concern is the giant spider as it attacks for a third time. My body is bruised and weak, damaged from hitting the ground twice already, and this time I feel like I’m being crushed alive as the horrid thing lands on top of me once more.

  It’s angry now, chittering and hissing and shaking. My arm’s numb and weak, I summon every ounce of energy I have and stab upward, into the spider’s thick scaly skin, twisting and shoving as hard as I can.

  Its shriek is inhuman, and like no animal I’ve ever heard. It’s filled with rage and surprise.

  Footfalls sound as both Leon and Marcus run over. I hear the pop of their guns. For a few seconds the spider struggles, and then it falls, heavy and wet, on top of me.

  I hear Marcus and Leon struggling with its body, and when it’s finally off me, I stand, wobbly at first, and look down at myself. I’m covered with the spider’s blood. I can’t tell the exact color in the dark, but it’s thick and hot. Also? It’s really, really fucking nasty.

  “It’s dying. Maybe already dead.” Marcus is close to the creature, examining it.

  “I need my knife.” Leon helps me push it onto its back so I can pull my knife out of its stomach.

  “I don’t want them dead, Thea. You know that!” Marcus is pacing back and forth in front of the creature.

  “You what? That thing almost killed me, and you’re upset that I did what I had to do to survive? It’s not like we don’t have another one right over there waiting to go back to the lab.” Fuck you, I want to say. But I don’t have the energy. Instead I head to the van to get the cages ready to be loaded.

  “You’re right. I don’t know why I said that. Thea.” Marcus stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Look at me.”

  I turn around to face him in the dark night. “What, Marcus? I’m tired and I want to go home. Let’s get this done.”

  “I’m sorry. You know how much I value you. I . . . I’m stressed. And about to shit my pants. And I’m sorry. All right?”

  “Fine.” I turn back to the van to get stuff ready. I’m glad he apologized. But I keep feeling like I trust him less and less.

  We load each spider into a cage, even the dead one. You never know for sure with cryptids. Dead doesn’t always mean dead.

  The ride back to The Center is almost silent. We’re all exhausted, physically and mentally. If Marcus wasn’t here, I’d talk to Leon. But I have nothing to say to Marcus right now.

  Back at the lab, Marcus looks at me as we stand outside the back door while Leon gets the gurney ready. “Look. I’m really sorry.” He runs his hand through his hair and looks down at the ground. “Forgive me. Please.”

  “Yup.” I nod and scratch at the ground with the tip of my leather boot. I smell horrible—the spider blood is drying but its scent is even stronger than before, like I rolled around in a vat of rotten eggs.

  “You want to stay? Keep Leon and me company while we get them inside?” He’s trying to make peace.

  But I’m not that easy. “Nah. Gotta go clean up.”

  “You are pretty fucking rank,” says Leon, as he comes out the back door with the cart. He grins at me.

  “Fuck off.” I smile back at him. “See you guys later.”

  And I head home to wash the spider blood away.

  The water runs hot, steaming the bathroom and turning my skin bright red. It almost hurts. But it also feels fucking amazing.

  I stand in the cascading shower for a long time. I have no idea how long, and I don’t care. I know it’s a waste. I know I should get out. But right now, I can’t.

  After probably fifteen minutes, I reach for the shampoo, the cheapest brand I can get my hands on, and lather up my hair. I run my bubbly hands over my body, letting the shampoo serve also as a body wash. Same difference, right?

  I rinse all the shampoo from my hair and work in some conditioner. I usually don’t take the time for that, but today I want any excuse to stay in this shower.

  A screech in my head.

  Fuck. My hand flies to my forehead. That hu
rt!

  It comes again, but softer this time, like the creature trying to contact me is purposefully being gentle. Sending me a message. Letting me know it’s here.

  Foster. A swirl of desire tickles my stomach, and I quickly rinse the conditioner out of my hair. Then I shut my eyes as water cascades down over me and make my mind blank. Once it’s clear, I imagine a light, dim at first but stronger and stronger, sharp and far-reaching, traveling through my skull, on and on until it reaches him.

  And it’s received, as though someone put up a hand and grasped it. Let me know it arrived.

  This is fucking insane. I’ve been able to sense creatures before, and I know they’ve sensed me as well. But this? This is much more purposeful. Like actual communication. And it occurs to me that it might not end here. Maybe we can cultivate our skill. Practice. Be able to share information and insights and emotions. What if we could actually talk to each other mentally?

  I step out of the shower, pulling the two-day-old towel from the hook around me.

  “Thea?” There’s a knock on the bathroom door.

  “Fuck, Foster! How many times do I have to tell you not to break the fuck into my apartment?” My hair’s dripping down my chest and shoulders, the water soaked up by the towel around me. Steam still swirls about, and I slowly open the door just a crack and peak out.

  He shrugs, grins. “Sorry.” But he doesn’t mean it. And we both know that.

  “Asshole.” I push past him, heading to my bedroom.

  “That was fucking cool, wasn’t it?”

  “What was?” I pull open my closet and grab the first black T-shirt I find. I need fresh jeans, since the ones I was wearing are covered in crusty dried spider innards. I grab a pair of worn pale-blue Levi’s from my dresser. Underwear and a bra from the top drawer. I throw everything on the bed.

  “That mind thing we just did. While you were in the shower and I was, uh, breaking in to your apartment?”

  “The mind thing? Cool. The breaking in? Not something you can ever do again. Got it?”

  “Got it.” That cocky grin again. He’s inside my bedroom, leaning on the doorframe as he watches me assemble my clothes on the bed.

  “I captured a J’ba Fofi tonight. Killed another.”

  Foster lets out a low whistle. “Those things are assholes.”

  “You’re telling me. One bled all over my jacket. Ruined it too.”

  “That’s too bad.” He’s staring at me, his gaze so intense that my heart pounds hard.

  I need to tell him to leave. Now. But for some reason I can’t. Instead, I stand next to the mattress, clutching the towel that wraps me in my fist, staring at him.

  “You should go.” My words are really soft. There’s nothing behind them except desire. Fuck.

  “Should I?” He takes a step closer, his eyes glinting in the darkness. Another step, and he’s just a few feet away from me. He smells fresh, like soap and a hint of cologne. And something feral too, something dangerous. Like the way it smells just before a storm: ozone and minerals, sultry and fresh and, somehow, ancient.

  I can sense that this is it. I can draw the line, and it will stay there between us, frail yet uncrossable. We might be allies, but nothing more.

  I should do that. But I can’t.

  He crosses the space between us. His eyes search mine, looking for answers. “Tell me to go and I will.” That voice. So low. Predatory. Not much more than a growl.

  “Stay.” The word is a whisper.

  He pulls me toward him, crushing our bodies together. A snarl vibrates through his body, like he’s claiming something. I’m not an object to be taken, to be someone else’s. Yet my stomach swirls in anticipation and desire as he lifts me—light as a feather!—and deposits me on the bed, on top of the pile of clean clothes I was about to put on.

  In one quick motion he pulls apart the towel I’ve been wearing, and I’m naked before him.

  He stops, as though breathing in the sight of me. “Fuck, Thea. You’re fucking perfect.”

  “And you’ve still got your clothes on.” I sit up in front of him and play with his belt buckle before rising up on my knees to pull his T-shirt up and over his head.

  He helps, tossing it aside. His chest is sculpted, like he spends hours in the gym, but I know from stalking him that’s not exactly the case. Still, he’s a perfect specimen that I’m dying to touch. While he watches, I place my palm on his stomach, feeling the hard muscles underneath my hand. Higher, I feel for his heart beat, and I look up into his eyes.

  “It beats more slowly than yours, Thea.” There is a strange sadness in his eyes, and I look away.

  His skin is cool, but otherwise feels human, and I take my time exploring the hard muscles of his chest and, lower, his stomach.

  Through his jeans, I feel his thickness, hard and ready.

  He reaches down, his fingers grazing over my right nipple. Such a simple touch, yet it makes me breathe in hard and close my eyes as my head falls back.

  His hands are cold, and my nipple grows rock hard.

  “Do you want to kill me?” I whisper. He’s a vampire. I’m a human. At least part of him must desire my blood.

  He pushes me down on the bed, trapping me underneath him as his mouth hovers above mine. “Yes.” His breath is cool and minty, and his lips travel to my neck, where they stop.

  One second. That’s all it would take. He could pierce my jugular. End of story.

  I should stop this now. But my survival instincts, always so trustworthy, don’t kick in, even as I feel his teeth biting down on my sensitive skin.

  A snarl escapes his lips as he bites harder. It’s agony, yet the pain mixes with the desire I feel, and I let him continue.

  Abruptly he stops, sitting back and glaring down at me. “Fuck, Thea. I do want to kill you.”

  “Then why don’t you?” My words are filled with challenge. If he hated me, my tone alone would push him over the edge.

  “Because I want to fuck you even more.” His lips are on mine again, but not just tasting this time. He’s feasting, biting my upper lip, then my lower one. And then his tongue finds mine, fights it, our mouths and lips and tongues battling, fucking, unable to get enough.

  My hands find his belt buckle and make quick work of undoing it. He sits back to finish the job, pulling off his jeans in seconds. The outline of his cock is huge through his boxer briefs. I reach out and run my finger up and down the fabric stretched over it, and Foster sucks in a breath.

  “Every time I want your blood, every time I smell it and think I can’t stop? I just imagine my cock inside you and I want that instead.” His voice is a low rumble.

  “Foster,” I whisper his name, a plea.

  He pushes me down on the bed and, oh so slowly, takes my breath away.

  6

  Foster’s skin is cool, but it feels good to be in his arms under my covers. A strange, sublime mix of heat and cold. Kind of like that fine line between pain and pleasure. We’re in my bed, and I’m recovering from the best sex of my entire life.

  He rolls away from me suddenly, taking a deep breath.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Just need to cool off. You’re hot, Thea.”

  “Yeah. I know.” I smirk in the dark.

  “Smartass.” He rolls back to kiss me hard on the lips, lingering for just long enough to make desire swirl in my stomach again. “You are fucking hot as hell. But I mean hot hot too.” He sits up, pushing the comforter off so he’s naked in the cool air of my bedroom.

  “Sorry.” It’s not my fault our body temperatures aren’t compatible, but somehow, I feel like I need to apologize. And I hate to apologize.

  “I’m too cold for you anyway.” He gets up, naked, and heads to the window. Streetlights provide a dusky glow to the room as he pushes aside the curtains and looks out.

  I watch his lean, muscled body. The way his ass flexes. How his thighs look hard as steel. The dark shadow on his planed jaw as he stares outside.
<
br />   Our differences are taking over in the aftermath. Fuck. I hate awkward.

  “You should probably get going.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I even know it. It’s my usual line for guys I’ve screwed. But this time? I don’t want the guy to leave. I want Foster to stay. I just don’t know how to keep him. Or if he even wants to be kept.

  “Yeah.” His clothes are on in seconds.

  Am I just tired or did he move exceptionally quickly? Does he always use his super-human strength and speed or only when he needs to? Or wants to? I have so many questions. And I don’t even know where to begin getting the answers.

  “Thea.” He’s leaning over me, his lips frosty on mine. A growl emanates from his chest.

  “You could stay.” I’ve never spoken those words to a man before.

  “I can’t.” His fingernail scratches down the soft skin of my neck. He’s saying: I want to kill you, Thea. He’s saying: The line’s too fine. He’s saying: I’m not sure I can hold back. I don’t know if I can do this.

  I nod.

  He’s gone. A flash in the bedroom doorway, then I hear the front door open and close.

  I shiver and pull the comforter tight around me.

  I work from home. Except I don’t do anything. I type up some notes about tracking Foster and send them to Marcus. Of course they’re all bullshit. I keep adding hot coffee to my mug. Black. I stop by Mrs. Bachman’s apartment, just to make sure she’s okay.

  “What do you want?” She sticks her head out into the hallway, frowning at me. “I heard noises on the stairs at all hours of the night. Can’t an old lady get some sleep around here?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bachman. I was just checking on you.”

  “What? You think I’m going to just drop dead or something?” She scoffs and slams the door in my face.

  I text Leon around noon. Can you turn off the breakers for me tonight? I don’t want to explicitly mention Floor Zero or our Big Plan. Leon can always read between the lines.

  Yup, he answers. After dinner? You promised you’d go out with Francine and me.