by Молли Харпер
“I’m hoping you’ll reciprocate,” he said. “I always thought Dad was just putting up with her, but he sort of fell apart after she left. I’d never seen him drink more than one beer at a time, but he started drinking the better part of a six-pack as soon as he came in from work. I was handling the bills and signing my own report cards by the time I was eight. Dad lost one job and then another, so we started moving around. I think the highlight of my truancy report was the year I spent more time out of school than in it. Still, my grades were good. And by the time I hit high school, I was able to get a job, start sharing some of the load. I figured I could keep us in one town for a while, so I could go to school. We ended up in Darien, Connecticut, of all places. I went to class in the mornings and then did whatever I could at night, loading groceries from trucks, convenience-store clerk, mucking out stalls at a dairy farm, sawing limbs for a tree trimmer—which is how I developed an interest in climbing, by the way.
“Dad died in the middle of my senior year, liver failure. Mom sent a registered letter asking if he’d kept up his life-insurance payments. I had a guidance counselor who actually cared about her job and helped me get a full scholarship to a minor state school.”
“That’s impressive,” I told him.
He shrugged. “I had enough grant money to stop working and just be a student. It was the first time I remember being able to just sit and study and read. And that’s all I did. It kind of freaked my roommate out. I wasn’t used to living with someone who liked to talk. I think Dane was convinced I was going to go postal on him, but two months into the semester, he put in this Star Trek DVD. I’d never seen the show. I started asking questions. And that’s all it took. He was really into comics, sci-fi, role-playing games, and he shared it with me. He dragged me to all these conventions and meetings. It was fun. I’d never really had a friend before. So I just went along. Kind of pathetic, isn’t it?”
“No. It’s sort of sweet.”
He looked faintly embarrassed. “Dane was always going on about this online multiplayer game software he was designing. It was different from anything we’d ever seen, an Internet-based joint experience among gamers all over the globe. A fully developed world where they could chat, build their characters, and, most important, pay subscription fees and buy upgrade packages. He spent every cent he had on hard drives for his ‘rendering farm.’ He told his former jock dad he’d joined some hard-core gym, swindling Daddy Dearest out of a few hundred a month, which he has paid back in spades, by the way. The game looked great, but he was having trouble coming up with character options and story lines. He was a genius with code but crap at storytelling. I filled in the gaps. I’d just taken a class in mythology. I’d served as dungeon master for a couple of our D&D games.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means.”
He poked me in the ribs, his mood lightening. “It just means I wrote the story lines for the game. Pervert. Anyway, I wrote a bunch of different scenarios and created a colorful cast of characters. I based them on the stories we studied in class. I took a little Celtic mythology, some Greek, some Norse, some faerie lore, swirled in a little Tolkien, and voilà, you had Guild of Dominion.”
“Wait a minute, are you telling me you helped invent Guild of Dominion?” I exclaimed. “My delinquent cousin Donnie lives for that game! We didn’t see him for three weeks when you offered that upgrade package with the scantily clad elf ladies!” I gasped, slapping at his arm. “Are you loaded, Thatcher?”
“That’s an incredibly rude question, but yes, I am.”
Hmm. I’d never met anyone with money before. Evie was the most affluent member of our clan, though we wouldn’t dream of asking her for anything. I wondered whether I should be embarrassed that he’d seen my house, my little village in its sometimes charming state of semishabbiness. Then again, he drove a truck that was almost as old as mine. He wore flannel and jeans, and other than insisting that there was a deep metaphysical meaning to The Prisoner, he didn’t put on airs. If he could deal with the fact that I didn’t have much, I could deal with the fact that he had a lot. “Good, then I don’t feel bad about you springing for dinner later.”
He chuckled. “Dane beat his competitors to the market by about six months. He was a hit. I did some freelance work for him during his first year in business, writing gaming manuals, cheater guides. I was glad to have the extra money and figured that was where it ended. Imagine my surprise when I was presented with a five-percent share in his company. I was able to retire at twenty-five, just from the dividends. Dane was as happy as a pig in shit running his company. I transferred to a much better school and finished my bachelor’s. I was able to study whatever I wanted, and I decided to stick with folklore. I liked to look at the way people explained the world around them. And the more I looked, the more I saw patterns in nature, in reality. It made me question how much of myth was real. And boom, I knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I wanted to find the connections between fact and the fantastic.”
“But what do you do with it?”
“I write journal articles about the people and the stories I’ve studied,” he said. “Some of them are published in well-respected academic journals. I’ve written a book or two. For the most part, I just like traveling around and learning about people. Everything was cool until Dane and I went to speak at a gamers convention in Vegas a couple of years ago. Some old friend of my mom’s was tending bar at the convention center. She called my mom, let her know I’d come into some money. Next thing I know, Mom’s calling me, says she’s missed me, wants to reconnect, sob sob sob. I was working to get my PhD in folk studies. I’d just bought my own place, and I had the room. I actually sent her a first-class plane ticket. Isn’t that stupid?”
I ran my fingers along his earlobes, applying faint pressure at the tips. “No, you wanted her to see what you’d become, what you’d made for yourself, what she’d missed.”
“Yeah, it only took about a week for dear old Mom to swipe my ATM card, pawn everything that wasn’t nailed down, and hightail it to Vegas.”
I winced. “Ouch.”
“Yep.”
I squeezed his hand. “That’s a very sad story,” I assured him. “I mean, you actually have a PhD in folk studies?”
He scowled at me, though he was obviously trying hard not to laugh. I measured a small distance between my thumb and forefinger. “It’s a little funny.”
“Damn your powers of sarcasm-slash-cuteness,” he grumbled, relaxing against me, letting me wrap my arms around him. He nuzzled my neck. “What about you? Where’d you go to school?”
“I went to high school in the valley,” I said.
“And then?”
“And then I stayed in the valley. I didn’t go to college.”
His blond brows furrowed. “Why not? You’re articulate, smart, scary as hell. You could have given the professors a run for their money.”
“Well, that’s just it,” I told him. “We didn’t really have the money. I made really good grades, scored high on those college aptitude tests. Cooper tried to get me to sign up for scholarship programs and grants. But I wasn’t interested.”
“Wasn’t interested” was a major understatement. Cooper’s attempts to force me into leaving the valley to go to the University of Alaska led to one of our legendary brawls. He’d lost three fingertips and part of an ear. But I didn’t think that was the sort of thing I should share.
Nick and I talked for hours, until my throat was dry and my tongue felt swollen. It was hard, editing myself. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him what it was like growing up in what was more of a wrestling league than a family. I wanted to tell him that I’d never reacted to anyone the way I reacted to him. I wanted to tell him about the mating urge and how it made me crazy for him, how I was expected to marry another wolf.
But every time I was on the verge of telling him, I’d get quiet and let him talk for a while about the places he’d grown up. Florida, Ar
izona, Texas, Georgia, California. I couldn’t imagine seeing so many places—the desert, the mountains, the beach. I envied him that, but at the same time, it broke my heart that he’d never had a real home. I couldn’t imagine living without a place to run back to, without people who—as much as they annoyed and needled me—loved me and accepted me for what I was. How did he live like that?
“China is like a hundred different countries in one. Crowded cities, sweeping mountains, huge, vast open plains, Scotland, India. India is so hot that you can actually taste the air, like spicy cotton candy,” he said. “Scotland was nice; the people were friendly. I’m pretty sure that’s where I ended up getting the tattoo, which just goes to show you that you shouldn’t get into drinking contests with people who have their own class of whiskey named after them.” He turned his back and pulled up the hem of his shirt to reveal a red lion on his shoulder, the kind you might see on some old English battle flag.
I thought maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to see those places. I wouldn’t ever want to live anywhere but the valley. But it might be interesting to go where Nick had gone, to see what he’d seen. But my opinion was probably being swayed by the fact that he was practically shirtless.
Long after the sun set and the rain stopped, Nick finally decided that I could fall asleep without danger. I stirred in the middle of the night, feeling pleasantly warm. My fingers were curled around his collar. His skin smelled like sleep and spice. I brushed my lips along his throat. He mumbled, still asleep, and swiped his fingers across his chin. I snickered. I kissed the little divot in his chin, edging toward his mouth. I pressed my lips against his, soft and deliberate, so I wouldn’t forget what it felt like. He moaned. I did it again, then raked my teeth against his plump bottom lip. His hands slipped under my chin, keeping my face against his. His thumbs grazed my cheekbones to my hairline.
I fell asleep again, content.
I woke up hours later, Nick’s face hovering in front of mine. His eyes fluttered open, and I could see the morning sun reflected in them. He grinned down at me. His eyes went wide. He scrambled back, whacking his head against the window.
I looked down to where my arms should have been and saw paws covered in black fur.
I was a wolf.
Shit and double shit.
CHAPTER 6
The Best Laid Plans of Men and Morons
“MAGGIE?” HE ASKED, REACHING out to touch me and then pulling his hand back, remembering the bite mark on his butt cheek.
Werewolves rarely phase during sleep, but sometimes it happens after a serious injury. We heal faster in our wolf state, and sometimes our bodies want to give us a little push toward running at full speed. I must have hit my head a little harder than I’d thought, I mused as I forced myself back into my human shape. I quirked my face into an awkward sort of cringe. “Hi.”
“It’s all real?” he choked out. “Werewolves? Ghosts? Vampires?”
I nodded. “Well, I don’t know about vampires, but werewolves definitely. And ghosts, probably. I thought you knew all this.”
“Yeah, but there’s a difference between knowing and knowing. I feel so stupid,” he said. “You’re a werewolf, like me?”
“Well, Mo’s not, but I am. And Cooper and Samson and my mom and most of my family. Do you see now why I don’t want you investigating the wolf stories?”
“You bit me on the ass?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I was a little upset.”
“Upset?” he repeated. “Upset!”
“Stop repeating that.”
“I’m—I’m sorry! I have so many questions for you,” he said, patting his pockets for his notebook. “How often do you change? Obviously, your cycle isn’t tied to the moon. Does it hurt? Is the transition painful? I mean, there was a sort of glow, and then you were just there in your human form. I always thought I would see your bones stretch around and change shape, but it’s just like a trick of light, isn’t it? What about your diet? Your sleep patterns? Can everyone in your family change? Is it passed on the mother’s side or the father’s side? Or both?”
I stared at him, my eyebrows raised. “I see you’re over the scarred-ass-cheek thing.”
“Temporarily. “ He chuckled at his own goofiness. “I just can’t believe you’re real.” He sort of dove for me, clasped my face between his hands, and closed his lips over mine. I moaned into his mouth, threading my fingers through his hair.
I pulled back, surprised.
“Is that not OK? I mean, this isn’t because of the wolf thing. Obviously, it’s an added bonus. But I’ve wanted to do that since the minute I met you, and now I can’t seem to stop.”
I basically tackled him and pressed myself against his body. He rolled me onto my back. My clothes were torn from the transition, and I felt my breasts pressing against the rough fabric of his jacket. My nipples puckered, tingling from this strange new sensation. This was so much farther than I’d been before. Sure, I’d been naked around men; it sort of came with the territory. But I’d never been touched like this, never touched someone to seek out this kind of pleasure.
He traced the lines of my thighs with his fingertips to bring my legs over his hips. He ground into me, his denim-covered—oh, my God!—pressing into my hot, uncovered . . . lady business.
I really had to start using grown-up words.
Every cord of muscle in my body felt as taut as a bow string. I was full, plump, ripe, warm, wet. My body sang with want and needs soon to be fulfilled.
I hooked an ankle around his calf, arching into him. He moaned, gripping my hips and leading me into a slow, steady rhythm against him. He gently ripped the remains of my shirt and peeled it away, tossing it aside. I pulled his T-shirt over his head. A heavy silver medallion, threaded on a rawhide strip, bounced against my collarbone as he pushed my hair back from my face. It felt as if every part of him was reaching out for me, taking me in. I ran my thumb along his lower lip. He playfully bit down on the tip of my thumb as I tried to unbuckle his belt with the other hand. It was a trickier maneuver than you’d think.
I whispered kisses across the hollow of his throat. He splayed his hand across my stomach, rubbing slow, tentative circles down until he reached the nest of curls covering my waitingDamn it.
Outside, I heard paws thumping against the damp ground, jarring me out of whatever spell we’d woven in that warm little space. My brothers had tracked me down.
My eyes widened as I looked down at my own naked skin, Nick’s half-undone pants. I’d almost—we’d almost—I shrank back from him. He frowned as I eased out from under him.
“Stay here,” I told him. He leaned forward to kiss me, but I ducked, reaching into the bag to pull the extra, extra sweatpants out. I climbed out over the tailgate.
The rain had stopped, leaving the woods with that cold, smoky-clean smell. The horse-sized russet-colored male was Samson. Cooper was the large black specimen. I tossed the sweatpants at them. “Hey, guys. Took you long enough to find me.”
They phased simultaneously. Cooper looked furious. Samson looked as if his head was about to explode.
Awesome.
“What were you thinking?” Cooper demanded. “Mom’s worried sick. She called last night freaking out because you hadn’t shown up. Samson and I have searched every run path between here and the valley. Why didn’t we think of looking in ditches for some improvised truck treehouse? And I just realized you couldn’t call because you had a wreck. Sorry, it’s taking me a little bit to work through the mind-numbing terror.” Cooper threw his arms around me. “Are you OK?”
Samson joined the group hug by nearly knocking us both over.
“Midget, you reek of . . . guy.” His eyes narrowed as he caught Nick’s scent. “Dr. Girlie Face? You spent the night ‘stranded’ with Dr. Girlie Face?”
“I’ll kill him,” Cooper growled
“Not until after I kill him,” Samson countered.
They both lunged toward the truck. I caught them by the scruff
s of their necks and pulled them back.
“You’re not killing anybody. We got into a wreck. He’s injured. I whacked my head. I couldn’t phase to run home and leave him alone. He was a perfect gentleman.”
Samson and Cooper locked eyes. “We kill him anyway,” Cooper said. Samson nodded.
“Come on!” Cooper exclaimed when I shoved him back. “This is a time-honored tradition! Older brothers hurting and/or scaring the crap out of their sisters’ boyfriends. It’s the whole point of having a little sister!”
“Cut it out, Coop! And he’s not my boyfriend!”
“But—but!” Samson sputtered.
“Fine, fine,” Cooper conceded. “We won’t kill him because he’s interested in you. We’ll kill him because judging by the way your clothes are clearly thrown on, I’m assuming that he saw you naked or saw you phase. Either offense warrants me knocking the crap out of him.”
“I phased while I was asleep.” I cringed. “I whacked my head pretty hard and must have needed the beauty sleep.”
Cooper nodded. “Damned inconvenient.”
“So, he knows our secret? Much better reason to kill him,” Samson said, rubbing his hands together gleefully.
I snapped at him, “Samson, shut it. We just have to think this whole thing through. Now is not the time for one of the nasty, bloody overreactions you end up apologizing for.”
“Not this time, Maggie. This time, I have a well-thought-out three-step plan.”
“Hi, guys,” Nick said, limping around the side of the truck. “Look, there’s no reason we can’t—” Crack.
Nick made a startled “uhf” noise. His eyes rolled back, and he sank to his knees. Samson was standing behind him with a tree branch in his hands.
“Did I knock him out?” Samson asked, raising the tree branch over his head to strike Nick again.
“Are you crazy?” I yelled, dropping to the ground next to Nick to check the wound on the top of his head. “You could have killed him! This is your plan? What are steps two and three? ‘Find a shovel’ and ‘Dig a hole’?”