“Don’t be surprised if you find it missing. I could never live that up with the pack.”
“So you’d tell our future children their dad was too much of a punk to stand showing his weak side? Even for one night?”
At my words, his face softened. “Future children?”
I took his hand, and our fingers intertwined. “After tonight, I think I’d be open to talking about it more.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“I don’t know, really. I think it was when I saw Calvin holding you like that. As a human, you are so vulnerable. So much more than all the times you risked life and limb for me. I don’t want to let go of you or what we have. Even at our weakest we pulled through.” Raw emotion welled up inside me, but I tried to push it away and failed. “Together. We did it together.”
“Those are the best vows I’ve ever heard, sweetheart.”
He drew my hand to his lips and kissed it. I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“A few hours ago, that kiss would’ve hurt like hell.”
“So you’re saying the human thing isn’t for you?”
“Give me butt-naked transformation, howling at the moon, and obnoxious pack behavior all day. This living as a human thing is not for us.”
Suddenly, he pulled over to the side of the deserted road. He turned toward me after he killed the engine. “And what about mating?”
“The full moon is over, you know.”
“I don’t need the need the full moon to want to make love to my wife.” He closed in on me, leaning over the seat. The scent of his desire filled my nostrils and caressed my body.
“Aren’t you tired from all that fighting?” My voice was already breathless.
“When we get back to Jersey, we can sleep all we want. For now, I got some catching up to do.”
He kissed me, enveloping me in his arms, and I knew I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The End
Chapter 1
Reader Note: This story takes place after Compelled (Coveted #3)
I’m about to have the best weekend ever.
If I survive group therapy for my anxiety, that is.
The coffee cup in my hand had already gone cold, but the session had yet to begin. I re-crossed my legs.
“You look like you’re at the starting line for the Olympics, Natalya,” the brunette next to me said softly. “In forty-five minutes this will all be over…”
She did have a point there. For the last ten minutes, my heeled foot tapped against the floor. An annoyed twap, twap, twap noise. But the thing is, as much as I try to control my anxiety, especially during group therapy, reining it in is difficult. You see, for over a year, I’ve been attending while under the watchful eye of a white wizard named Dr. Frank. So far he’d been able to see past any of the tricks I tried to pull. My little shopping habit being one of them.
But Dr. Frank isn’t here today.
Matter of fact, six people sat in a circle with one empty chair and Dr. Frank was nowhere to be seen. So we had no choice but to look at each other and wait. The brunette next to me, Abby the muse, was quite patient. Matter of fact, she had enough patience for both of us. She sat with her legs crossed, her hands placed perfectly in her lap, and not once did she bother to eat the week-old, fruit-filled doughnuts or attempt to sample the coffee I couldn’t classify as such. (Another group therapy attendee hadn’t restrained herself.) Naturally, I picked up my own caffeine fuel on the way into Manhattan from Jersey.
Dr. Frank usually walked in with a smile, but our replacement dematerialized into the empty chair. Poor Abby jumped like she was about to get mugged.
The blonde woman glanced at each of us, her face reflecting exasperation. I should be the one who’s exasperated. I could’ve been doing so many other things—like shopping for unnecessary trinkets in Times Square.
Werewolves are the worst people to attend therapy. Most of the time, the wolf inside of me is like an animal circling inside of a cage. One would think it would be lying there gnawing on a doggie toy, but today, just a few days before the full moon, my insides churned and a never-ending hunger urged me to hunt. As much as I wanted to chase down cottontails in sunny meadows, I had to be responsible and see what this lady had to say.
The therapist finally spoke. “Dr. Frank still isn’t available, but the good news is I’m here!”
Hurray?
She continued. “I am Dr. Greta Peabottom, and I’m filling in for your therapist for the foreseeable future.”
Dr. Peabottom…what a wonderful name. Too bad she’s a witch. Not that I discriminate or anything. But, here’s the thing: most spellcasters, if they are witches or warlocks aren’t healers. Wizards are the only ones who can do white magic well while warlocks dabble in dark and light magic. I’ve seen warlocks try to heal and I’ve done a better job with bleeders using gauze and duck tape.
Which left me with an obvious question: How the hell was she going to heal anybody? Before all sessions started Dr. Frank relieved our anxiety with a spell or two that had the equivalent jolt of Vicodin covered in rainbows.
“Let’s begin with deep motivational breathing,” Dr. Peabottom said softly.
Everyone grinned in anticipation of what was to come. Hell, even I was smiling at this point. I closed my eyes and waited for it, sucking a deep breath in and then out.
A minute passed. Then another thirty seconds. Nothing happened. I opened my eyes and everyone was looking at Dr. Peabottom with distaste. We’d been jilted. As expected the happy-go-lucky, practically trippy, high feeling we got from our doctor was now absent from Dr. Peabottom.
Yep, I was really gonna love this session. Next, our new therapist went into a speech about meditating anxiety away and I tried not to mentally clock out. Compared to several months ago, things were quite different. Two of my closest therapy friends were gone. A nymph I didn’t know well sat in Heidi’s usual seat. I missed that foul-mouthed mermaid dearly. Right next to the nymph was where Nick used to sit. If he were here, he’d be flashing me a look to remind me to stop being so close-minded.
“How has your week gone?” Dr. Peabottom asked.
This was the standard question Dr. Frank asked too.
The nymph jumped in first, quite eager to get a word out. “For the past two months, I’ve been dating this guy…I love him so much, but he keeps disappearing for weeks on end. I don’t want to be clingy or anything, but I keep crying all the time and I can’t seem to stop.” She sighed. “I think I’m scaring people who visit my park.”
Dr. Peabottom nodded. “Have you talked to him about your agoraphobia?”
The nymph rolled her eyes. “Of course not. He thinks I’m some hippie who likes to camp out in Central Park.”
“Is he a human?” Abby asked.
“Yes,” she said as she took a bite of those awful donuts. “I told him we could live off the land. I’d do anything for him, but he keeps running away.”
I missed my tactless friends. At this moment Heidi the mermaid would have told the nymph to suck it up and find a new man. My succubus pal, Lilith, would’ve told her she’s lucky any man gave her attention.
I just sat there and wished this was all over.
When the therapist turned to Abby to ask how her month had gone, the muse mumbled her reply.
“For the past few weeks, I feel like I’m an actor in a movie with the same scenes over and over again,” she said.
I leaned forward. Abby usually talked about how anxious she got seeing into her authors’ heads, but this time she’d said something different.
“I go through the motions each time. I arrive, I do my job, I see things most people can’t stomach, and then I walk away. It’s like I’m living in hell and I don’t know how to cope.”
“Has Dr. Frank talked to you about coping mechanisms?” Dr. Peabottom asked.
“He told me to pretend it wasn’t real. I’m supposed to imagine I’m watching a movie…” She shook her h
ead. “It’s not like I’m watching some splatter flick though. I can smell the blood. I can see the horrified look on the victims’ faces before they die…”
Around the circle, the others looked away or messed with what they had in their hands. Usually, I was forced to do the same. Seeing a muse was a rarity. I’m sure for Dr. Frank, the idea of helping one was even more difficult.
It’s human nature to recoil and avoid violence. How the hell do you get someone used to violence when it wasn’t in their nature? I was still unsettled with filthiness once in a while so I wasn’t the person to offer advice.
Not long after each member discussed what problems they had that week, Dr. Peabottom concluded the session. As much I would’ve preferred to feel like I’d made progress in terms of my obsessive compulsive disorder I was ready to get out of there.
Soon enough, Abby and I left Dr. Frank’s office in Manhattan, and we were on our way to the parking garage where I’d left my vehicle.
The spring sunshine bled through the clouds, and I knew I’d at least enjoy the ride on the way into upstate New York.
“You couldn’t have run out of there fast enough,” Abby said.
“I don’t know who’s much more of a quack, the guy who is a shape shifter and transforms into ducks, or Dr. Peabottom.”
The drive into upstate New York was quaint and quiet. The nice thing about Abby is that she tended to blend in with her surroundings. Whenever we stopped for gas and a few snacks, no one waved at her or acknowledged her. As much as I tried to avoid others, especially when I thought they were covered with germs, I couldn’t imagine a life like Abby’s. As she browsed the aisles no one attempted to avoid her and no one looked at her as if she was strange. It was just as if she wasn’t there.
The kinds of things that would do to a person’s head were quite apparent and the way she seemed to shrink in on herself. Her shoulders were hunched over and the coat she wore was two sizes too big. Her brown shoes had countless scuffs along the sides. During therapy her brown eyes always seem to shine, but right now, as she stared down the road toward our destination, they’d gone dead.
About an hour into our ride I was glad she finally piped up. “I really appreciate the ride.”
“It’s not a problem. Heidi would want me to take care of you.”
With that comment she grew even quieter. Heidi and Abby always seemed like a pair. The loud and boisterous one and her quiet sidekick. Maybe it was the fact that Heidi didn't take shit from anybody else and always spoke up for her. Heidi forced Abby to exist in a world where humans couldn’t see her.
I didn’t mind taking care of Abby, but I wasn’t as bold as Heidi. If I had to be the one to take Abby on her next assignment, I’d do it.
The forest grew far denser as we traveled northeast. Highway 29 loomed far to the north.
Abby hadn’t provided me with many details on her assignment during our text message exchanges, but now that I had her alone in the car I wanted to know more. “So is this author pretty famous?”
“Somewhat…She is definitely on the rise, but she is a bit of a recluse. It’s been difficult to get her to go outside of her comfort zone, but whenever we get together what she creates is absolutely brilliant!”
I couldn’t wait. If she was heading for the big leagues she might have a nice country home. Before I’d worked at The Bends, I’d had a job in Manhattan working for a publishing company. Meeting authors was one of the perks I enjoyed.
Now that I had Abby all alone I had so many questions about how her job worked.
“So for your summons do you call ahead and let the author know you’re coming?” I asked.
“No, not really.” She played with a strand of her hair as if we talked about a simple gig. “I just show up and then we get to work.”
“Then how do you know they’ll be home? They could be gallivanting off in the Arctic somewhere.”
“Whenever I get an order from the gods, they tell me the exact location where the artist will be and what I need to do for them. They never tell me how long it will take or in what condition the artist will be in, but one thing’s always for certain: Betsy Lee is always zoned out by the time I get to her. Once I do my thing, she’ll knock out her short story in a weekend.”
Wow that’s pretty cool.
“Betsy Lee who?” The name didn’t ring a bell in my brain.
“Oh, stop, Nat.” She finally offered me a bright smile. “You’re not allowed to stalk my artists.”
As we ventured deeper into the woods, we finally passed through a small village called Dryer. South Toms River would give this place a run for its money. The place’s major buildings were nothing more than a post office, grocery store and the gas station. In front of the few craftsman houses that lined the main street, kids played from yard to yard, and the traffic along the street was light.
I didn’t see any supernaturals lurking about, but that didn’t mean they didn’t cling to the shadows and come out when humans slept during the night.
A few miles outside of Dryer we reached a long driveway hidden behind a thicket of maple trees. Excitement raced up my back as we approached a modern, single-story French country style-home. Whoever Abby’s author was they had the cash to build a new construction home with a three-car garage and cobblestone sidewalks. Maybe Betsy Lee was someone famous like Nora Roberts.
We pulled up to the house. I reached for the handle to open the car door, but Abby stopped me.
“I’m not sure how to put this, but you can’t meet her.” Abby had a straight face while she told me this.
“Excuse me?” I blurted.
“Well, when Heidi takes me to my assignments she does me a little bit of a favor.”
Now this is where I find out my weekend really is going to go to shit.
Abby finished digging my grave with flourish. “During the whole trip, the author can never know you’re here.”
Chapter 2
“You want me to do what?” My question came out a bit harsher than I’d expected, but my friend had just asked me to play the big bad invisible wolf.
Abby’s mouth opened and closed a few times as if she was trying to think of how to explain the situation.
So I threw in a question. “Does Heidi hide behind the bushes or spend the weekend in the bathroom or something?”
Abby shrugged. “Most of the time, she drops me off so fast I don’t have a chance to shut the car door.”
“What kind of hot mess is that?”
She chuckled. “That’s Heidi. We once hitchhiked to one of my assignments in West Virginia. It was kind of fun. To be honest, I wonder where she goes when she leaves me behind.”
The house was gorgeous and she wanted me to just hangout? Not happening. “So she never hung out with you?”
“She has…twice. Actually, she’s pretty stealthy. We figured out a routine and everything.”
How the hell had my weekend started out like this? I groaned and thumped my forehead against the steering wheel. After a few deep breaths, I checked my cellphone to find the nearest hotel room. And I’ll be damned, the nearest motel was an hour and a half away. Even the vacation rental by owners didn’t have a spare room nearby.
We sat in the car for ten minutes before Abby spoke up. “Is something wrong—”
Instead of letting her finish her question, I grunted a curse or two in Russian and got out of the car. I headed for the front door. Abby followed in a rush.
“What are you doing?” she asked quietly.
“If I’m gonna go in stealth mode, we have to get in first. Unless you plan to sneak in through a window.”
She smiled. “Oh, I don’t have to do that. I just walk in.” And she did just that. The muse waltzed on in like she owned the place.
The foyer was empty. The house wasn’t empty though. I faintly caught sounds of movement.
“We’re in the country and all, but who in their right mind leaves the door unlocked?”
She giggled. “Just one
little action sets off a series of events. The gods are quite clever. They once got me a free lunch at McDonald’s. Someone had left their food behind in a rush…”
I kept going, not wanting to hear her talk about eating food some stranger had touched.
We walked through the foyer, across perfectly polished oak floors, towards the hallway leading away from a great room. My gaze flicked about, searching for signs of life, but there wasn’t much. This scene could’ve been plucked from a home decor magazine. What was missing were the personal touches though. No family photos. No knick-knacks or memories from travel.
A bookcase next to the stone fireplace held many books—as well as Betsy Lee DuMaire’s paperbacks.
“What does she write?” I asked.
“Romantic thrillers.” Abby shivered. “The books aren’t too graphic, but when the scenes run through Betsy Lee’s head they’re so disturbing…”
A thud from the right corner of the house caught my attention.
“I hear pups,” I said. “Maybe kids?”
“Yeah, Betsy Lee has five of them. I never see them when I’m here.”
Dodging one adult wasn’t too hard, but five kids invited landmines.
From the hallway we reached the kitchen. And that’s where the fantasy home ended. Gorgeous sandstone-colored quartz countertops were buried under abandoned cups, crusty food-covered plates, and crayon drawings of a dog dressed like a doctor. And that was just the counters. Right next to the stainless steel fridge, a mountain of empty TV dinner boxes littered the overwhelmed trash bin.
“Can this chick afford a maid?” I managed.
“I don’t know. I never saw one while I was here.”
“And what happened to this table?” I ran my hand along what looked like a werewolf-sized bite on the side. “Do they let the kids out at night to feed them?”
“Oh, Nat…c’mon.”
I snickered. “Uncle Boris got drunk during the full moon once and used the side of my aunt’s kitchen table as a scratching post. Aunt Vera kicked his ass for days afterward.”
Cursed Page 10