Madison's Mess

by Robyn Peterman

  Poseidon stared at me as if I’d grown another head. “You’re a Werewolf. Werewolves don’t have pets. They eat pets.”

  “I’m Vegan.”

  The diaper-wearing god scratched his head in confusion for a moment and then shrugged. “I know of a Pirate named Bonar who needs a place to hide out for a bit after performing a human nuptial ceremony where he referred to the Mermaid bride as a hooker. I’m quite sure he’d take a dog sitting job to escape being dismembered.”

  “Not dogs,” I corrected him while trying to follow the bizarre story he’d just shared. I wondered how soused he was at the moment. “Deer, bunnies and raccoons.”

  Again Poseidon seemed a bit perplexed. I supposed it was a little odd, but my furry zoo had grown on me and I needed them to be protected.

  “You have bunnies?” he inquired, trying not to laugh.

  I wanted to wipe the smirk off of his face with my fist, but I wanted the mission more. Plus, punching a god in the face wasn’t good form. “Yesssss. I have bunnies,” I answered through clenched teeth as I willed myself not to smack down on him for enjoying my weakness. “It’s a deal breaker if they can’t be safeguarded.”

  With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Poseidon stood and extended his hand. “Your pets shall be defended until your return. Are you in?”

  “Hell to the yes,” I replied, taking his outstretched hand in mine.

  I had no fucking clue what I was about to do, but I was totally in and then some.

  3

  Madison

  Tennessee sucked butt. The tub in my hotel bathroom was small. I missed the ocean with a vengeance, but the mission was beginning to reap rewards… kind of. Our show was wildly popular on the local cable access stations in Tennessee and the surrounding states. There were several major networks snooping around and making offers to take the show national. I had no desire to spend my life landlocked as a cooking show star, but I had to admit I was having fun.

  We’d done ten episodes and the Gnomes were starting to take interest if their attendance in the studio audience was anything to go by. However, Stew the Gnome King, was a no show so far.

  Apparently, my pink hair was all the rage and humans were flocking to the salons to copy my look. I was honestly flattered by the fandom. Everything was going well according to the half-assed plan. Well, not everything…

  Rick was a serious problem to my sanity and libido. There was no way I was going to boink the Werewolf. I had standards… kind of. I’d promised myself that I was going to keep the next one I poked. I never broke a promise. And I had no intention of keeping Rick even though he defined the word insane. He was my co-worker. I never peed where I swam.

  Shitshitshit.

  “Take them off, Mermaid,” Rick whispered in my ear, sending sexy chills skittering up my spine.

  Ignoring the man I was stuck with for the foreseeable future, I watched the monitor in our dressing room and sized up the audience as I considered the lewd directive. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the Gnome King. And, of course, my wish to be paired with an unattractive Werewolf did not come true… at all.

  I eased away from him and sat on the plush leather couch, my eyes still glued to the screen. It was a packed house just as I’d suspected—packed and on the edge of their seats. Which was exactly where we wanted them to be.

  “You take yours off,” I shot back as I glanced back at him with a raised brow.

  If being ungodly beautiful was a sin, he was going straight to Hell when he died—if he ever died, which was nearly impossible. Rick was insane. He’d nearly bit the dust six times in the first week and a half that I’d known him. His future looked bleak for living into tomorrow. Unfortunately, I found that hot.

  The idiot made my death wish look like child’s play, but I refused to show my admiration. It was all I could do not to jump his hot ass, but Lupines were bad news. Everyone knew this. I wasn’t stupid enough to let my need for a few massive, wildly satisfying, rock-my-world orgasms outweigh my judgment or self-respect. Werewolves had very long life spans and enormous egos among other large things. Plus, we had a mission to complete.

  “Would take them off if I could,” Rick replied easily with a smug grin that made my damn panties damp. “But I can’t. Already going commando. However, if you’d like me to show my goods to the viewing audience, just say the word. Your wish is my command, baby. Always.”

  “You really are a nard,” I replied as I touched up my lipstick knowing he actually had the balls to do it—pun intended. Only ten days with the ass and I wanted to either kill him or ride him until he was blind.

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  “Wasn’t a compliment,” I shot back.

  The werewolf simply chuckled.

  “It would make me very happy to have your panties in my pocket today.”

  “How happy?” I asked with an eye roll. All he ever did was talk about sex and it was beginning to wear me down. Not that I was about to have sex with the douchebag. He was my partner, not my lover, and I’d promised myself no more meaningless nookie. Mixing business and pleasure got you killed or at the very least made you lose an appendage. Growing back an arm or leg would suck all kinds of butt. We had to take some bad dudes out and return some lesser gods to Poseidon. Regenerating limbs was itchy and could take weeks.

  We didn’t have weeks. We had days. The Gnomes had now abducted a total of six lesser gods and Poseidon was pissed.

  “Having your panties in my pocket is worth an unlimited amount of McDonald’s fries happy.”

  Damn it, I loved McDonald’s French fries… Fine. Dumbass wanted to play? I was game. “Works for me. However, it’s a thong,” I shot back with a naughty grin, hiking up the skin-tight pink skirt I was wearing and stepping out of my lacy wisp of what barely passed for underwear. It was extremely satisfying to hear the cocky jackhole’s swift intake of breath. He didn’t think I would do it. He was wrong. “Happy now?”

  “So happy.”

  I tossed the lace at him and readjusted my skirt. He simply grinned and put them in his pocket. Going commando was nothing compared to what we were about to do on stage. The secret thrill of knowing my panties were in his pocket paled to the stunt I had up my sleeve.

  “Finger explosives?” I inquired casually.

  “In my pocket. You have the knives ready?” he asked with a wicked gleam of excitement in his eyes.

  “I do.” I glanced at my reflection in the lit makeup mirror and tried not to laugh.

  My expression duplicated his. We were a match made in Hell—a Werewolf and a Mermaid addicted to danger. We’d also been given carte blanche to do whatever was necessary to eliminate our target. Hopefully, the cooking show-loving Gnome King would be in the audience.

  “We go in three minutes and thirty seconds,” Kim, the new stage manager, said eyeing us warily. “Are you two… umm… ready?”

  “We are,” I told her with the megawatt smile that I usually saved for the camera.

  Her fear wasn’t unwarranted. Kim was the third stage manager in a week. Apparently, Rick and I were too much to handle. It wasn’t our attitudes or egos. We kept those firmly in check… or at least I did. We were on time, completely professional and always delivered. Sometimes they just weren’t pleased with what we delivered. However, the audience was and therein lay the conundrum—for them anyway.

  “And you’re making apple pies today?” Kim questioned the hushed tone one normally reserved for funerals.

  “We are,” I repeated.

  “Look, Jack and Diane, I’d really like to keep my job. I’m a single mom with bills to pay. Is there anything I should know about the apple pies?” Kim asked, running her hands through her short, spiky red hair.

  “She is being polite,” I told Rick, taking in Kim’s slightly terrified expression.

  Humans were so edgy. It took a lot for me to remember our fake names, but so far I’d answered every time someone called me Diane.

  “She most certainly is bei
ng polite,” Rick agreed.

  I considered how much to share. Keeping it fresh was paramount to our success. Occasionally, I didn’t even know what we would do. I just let it happen naturally. Sadly our naturally wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. However, from what we were hearing, the Gnomes were loving it.

  “Fine, Kim. I think I might like you. You’re the first stage manager to look us in the eye without stuttering.”

  “I have a toddler,” she told us.

  “That explains a lot,” Rick said with a nod of approval.

  “The apple pies will be flambé,” I stated casually.

  “Blow torch?” she asked.

  “No, but damn it, I wish I’d thought of that,” I said, appreciating her more by the moment.

  “Fireworks?” Kim tried again.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure that you guys are far beyond using a simple lighter… so hit me. How are you going to light the pies on fire?”

  Her refusal to back down was refreshing. I could tell Jack was impressed as well. The God of the Sea had chosen our aliases—Jack and Diane. Apparently, the soused, green haired, man-diaper wearing god loved John Mellencamp… hence our redonkulous names.

  “It would be very helpful to know what you’re going to do,” Kim said, wringing her hands.

  It wasn’t an entirely bad idea to tell her. That way she could have the crew ready with fire extinguishers if something went awry. If I used magic to put out a fire, I’d blow my immortal cover.

  “Finger explosives,” I whispered as her eyes grew wide.

  “Seriously?” she asked, popping a few antacids in her mouth.

  “As a heart attack,” Rick said with a grin that charmed Kim even in her distressed state.

  Her blush matched her hair and she self-consciously smoothed out her rumpled and dated business suit.

  I was getting used to the effect Jack had on women of every age and species. However, it still made my green-eyed inner monster annoyed. He wasn’t mine, but he wasn’t going to be anyone else’s either—at least not when I was watching.

  “Thank you for sharing,” Kim said, downing a few more chalky tablets. “And that’s the extent of it?”

  “Of the fire? Yes,” I assured her.

  “Why do I feel like that’s an answer filled with omission?” she choked out, scanning the backstage area for fire extinguishers.

  “Because it is,” I said with a delighted giggle.

  Kim grabbed a boom stand for purchase and tried to find words, but it was too late. The show must go on. “For the love of God, please don’t kill yourselves. I’ll get fired,” she called out as we took our places for our entrance.

  “Is she actually concerned about us?” Rick asked with a perplexed grin.

  “If she is, that’s a first,” I replied, shrugging as I glanced back at the very nervous Kim. “She’s quite unusual. First one in a while who can complete a sentence.”

  Rick followed my gaze and winked at Kim. “She is odd for a human, my lover. I suppose we’ll have to keep an eye on her.”

  “I’m not your lover,” I snapped and tried to keep from laughing. He didn’t give up.

  “Yet,” he replied with a lopsided grin.

  Kim rolled her eyes at Jack’s statement which gave her ten more points in my book. Any woman who was for the most part unaffected by the over-sexed idiot was a woman I could throw back a piña colada with.

  Kim was very interesting… possibly very, very interesting. Someone who wasn’t cowed by immortals might be useful to us even if she wasn’t aware exactly who and what she was dealing with.

  “We go in three. Two. One. And… go,” the production assistant said, counting us down.

  Thoughts about Kim would have to wait. We had a job to do and possibly a studio to incinerate.

  Our theme music filled the sound stage and the fabulously terrifying feeling of falling off a cliff without a parachute washed over me. My entire body tingled and I took a deep cleansing breath. Being alive was exhilarating. Being alive while having a penchant for death-defying hobbies was absolutely intoxicating. Getting to go on stage with a hot Werewolf that I wasn’t going to bang even though I wanted to made it close to perfect. The idiot had less fear than I did and I thought that was impossible.

  “Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice boomed through the studio mic as Rick and I prepared to walk through the curtain and make our entrance. “Welcome to Bitchin’ in the Kitchen’! Sit back. Relax. And prepare to duck and cover. It’s time to say hello to Jack and Diane… two American kids who I’m fairly sure didn’t grow up anywhere near the Heartland! They’re hip. They’re hot and they’re in the kitchen with you tonight! Give it up for the cooks who just might fry your brain and possibly burn the studio down!”

  “He makes us sound insane,” I said to Rick as the production assistants held the curtains back for our entrance.

  “If the shoe fits, we wear it, Mermaid,” he said as he grabbed my hand and jogged us out to our state of the art TV kitchen. “Don’t decapitate me tonight. I taped Game of Thrones and it’s a new one.”

  His grin undid me. Every move he made undid me. He was definitely a problem.

  “I’ll do my best,” I promised as I waved to the ecstatic crowd.

  The applause was deafening and it fed my need for excitement. But sadly applause wasn’t enough. I briefly wondered if anything would ever be enough. We needed far more than applause and hopefully we were about to get it.

  4

  Rick

  “You wanna explain what the fuck that just was?” Dave, the line producer, demanded, sweating profusely and pulling on his sparse hair. “While these stunts are great for the ratings, the insurance company pulled out.”

  Unfortunately, Dave reminded me of the Alpha of my pack. Dave was human and weighed in at about three hundred and ninety pounds of mostly fat and he liked to yell. My Alpha spent an inordinate amount of time shouting at me. Dave made me feel right at home. However, I wasn’t pleased that he yelled at the Mermaid who refused to admit she was mine.

  Kim nervously stood next to our irate bulbous producer and rocked back and forth on her feet. The human woman wore a cross between a pained smile and a rather unattractive wince on her face. To be fair, I didn’t blame her. Madison aka Diane had almost impaled me with a ten-inch dagger. It was fantastic.

  “The insurance company pulled out again?” Madison asked, feigning shocked surprise.

  She continued removing her eyeliner. Clearly, it made her concentrate. Concentration would help her not to laugh. Her laugh undid me. Hearing Madison giggle was almost as good as blowhole diving in Oahu, Hawaii.

  I was having a hard time concentrating—pun intended.

  Of course, it didn’t exactly help my sanity that every move the Mermaid made ensured that I had a permanent boner. I had a feeling Poseidon had set me up to fail. Keeping it in my pants was almost impossible—not that I’d told him I could. If I remembered correctly, I told him keeping it in my pants wasn’t one of my stronger suits. Madison was as violent and as insane as promised. I’d never come across a more perfect female specimen in my three hundred years.

  And although I used all my charms on the gorgeous Mermaid, I’d been sleeping solo since I’d met her. Actually, I hadn’t slept much. The sheer number of cold showers I’d taken precluded getting any sleep. Trying to keep some blood in my brain instead of my dick was fast becoming a full-time job. Not that I minded going after Gnomes and blowing up things for a TV show, but lack of sleep would make me sloppy at some point. Destroying the Gnomes was a necessity. They were lowlife bastards and ending Stew would ensure my place back in my pack.

  However, the more time I spent with Madison, my pack didn’t appeal as much as it used to.

  I wondered if she liked bunnies.

  “Hell, yes the insurance company pulled out. Knife throwing on live TV is considered uninsurable—not to mention the fucking finger explosives,” Dave shou
ted, turning as purple as I’d ever seen him in the short time I’d known him. “So, if you’d lay off on the near decapitations, we could possibly work a deal for a bond.”

  “No can do,” I said as the hair and makeup gal wiped my face clean of the makeup I’d worn for the camera.

  Not that I needed any. I was gorgeous as most Werewolves were—blue-eyed, blond-haired, ripped and batshit crazy. Madison simply needed to realize we were a match made in Heaven.

  Or Hell if you asked Dave.

  “Dave,” I said gamely as I nodded politely to the nice human woman who groomed me daily. If I wasn’t mistaken—and I wasn’t—Madison didn’t it like when I charmed the ladies. She liked me more than she let on which was excellent. “The audience expects the unexpected from us. If we can’t throw knives, start fires and basically try to kill each other we’ll disappoint our fans. We’d really hate to disappoint our fans. However, I do have an idea.”

  “Is it legal?” he asked, grabbing Kim’s bottle of antacids and swallowing a few.

  “Define legal,” I shot back with a grin.

  “Fuck me,” Dave muttered as he sat on the couch in defeat. “What do we need?”

  “An airplane, one hand held camera, two go-pros, two parachutes, two cups with lids and the fixings for a smoothie,” I replied evenly.

  “Yesssss! I’m in,” Madison said with a wide grin pulling at her sexy mouth.

  “Shit,” Dave muttered. “I’ll see what I can do. Kim,” he snapped at the poor harried woman. “Go see what you can do.”

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered, paling considerably. “Is this safe?”

  “Of course it’s not fucking safe,” Dave bellowed. “Just go see if we can make this death wish happen.”

  “Will do,” Kim stuttered as she sprinted from the room.

  “You’re gonna give me a heart attack,” Dave groused, mopping the sweat from his brow and lighting up a cigarette.

  “Nope, Dave,” I shot back. “You’re doing just fine without our help.”