He tensed, wondering if it was a mugger. In his present mood, he almost welcomed the confrontation. Someone was about to attack him, leave him for dead.
She sprang at him, savagely latching onto his back.
She never had a chance. Charlie twisted, grinning, and pinned her against the wall, hands on wrists. He brought his face close to hers, so they shared the same breathing space. "I should've told you," he hissed. "I don't carry those dog treats with me!"
~ * ~
Verity snarled. It was about as far from her corporate self as she could get, but then, she wasn't looking very "corporate". She'd dressed down for the occasion, into dark jeans and sweatshirt. Inside the hood her face was in shadow. Even her running shoes were black.
But she hadn't meant to snarl. It was just too close to her lunar cycle, and she couldn't help herself. Nor could she help the way she snapped at him, wanting to nip him, to bite him. It made no sense, but her brain wasn't pumping sense. The adrenaline surges, stirred by shame, anger, his counterattack, brought out her worst.
~ * ~
He lowered his head close to hers, but just out of range of those sparkling whites. They weren't very pointed at the moment, but the lady was clearly determined, and he didn't want to have to wait till next moonrise to rid himself of bite marks, or a chewed ear. Chomp off enough and he'd have to do without. "So! You were the one," he growled, near her ear.
~ * ~
It took her a moment to resolve his words. Fury
always diminished her hearing, or at least made translation lag behind. She calmed…slightly. It wouldn't do to let him think she wasn't angry any more. "'One' what?" At the last, she bared her teeth again, just to show him who was boss.
Apparently, he thought he was. "The one who changed me. Infected me." He must have mistaken her outrage for blankness, because he thought he needed to elaborate. "Who—turned—me—into—a—Werewolf."
Stupid bastard. No wonder he's not management. You didn't run around saying the "W" word to near strangers, any more than you offered them doggy treats from your desk.
Then, it really hit her. He is a Were. Like me. The least likely of scenarios but the one most pleasurable to contemplate. But how could he be so bold, so open about it? "I'm not—what you said." Verity considered how his words would be interpreted in a normal context, and attempted to backpedal. There was just no reason she could come up with on the spur of the moment to justify attacking a colleague. Finally, brilliance struck. "I thought you were someone else."
His smile widened, and he narrowed his eyes. It was a sly smile, and she couldn't read him nearly as well. "Do you always run around jumping people?"
She relaxed a little. She wondered if, to protect himself, he'd bite her now. It disgusted her to think the idea titillated her, more than a little. Verity swallowed hard, then retorted, "I'm selective."
He's a Were! Who would've thought? Oh, she'd wondered, given his choice of drawer nibbles, but she hadn't really believed it. He was a Were, however, who was far too open regarding his wolfiness. She allowed anger to surface once more. If he's that revealing, he's going to be the death of us all…literally.
Too bad she couldn't exactly condemn him for stupidity when she'd been the one leaping onto people's backs. He was smart enough to pick up on the fact she was moonstruck, too, which was more than she had with him. Instead, she'd been fixed on taking him down with her.
I'm a horrible person.
She could deal with guilt later. Right now, she needed to extricate herself from this uncomfortable encounter.
Crap! If he made so much over a visit to his desk,
how much more would he torment her after this? She decided to go for pleasant. "It was my boyfriend. I'm really very sorry." The meek smile was a sure winner. It always worked at the office.
He didn't buy it. He was looking more wolf all the time, savage, and damned attractive. Verity was conscious of heat building in her core, and traveling downstream. Her nether regions were swelling, awaiting his response. She swayed toward him, unaware she was doing so.
~ * ~
Charlie was finished being angry with her—finished since he'd first turned and seen her face. He was very aware of her, and hadn't missed the way she leaned into him, despite the fact he still had her hands pinned.
Pinned! Crap! What would someone say if they came into the alley right now?
A distant footfall warned him they might not be alone for long, and he tilted his head to nibble gently on her neck. He released her wrists, cushioning her with his arms as pressed her against the brick with his body. The lady had him aroused. Surely, she couldn't miss the way his penis was jutting and rubbing at the space between her thighs!
Whatever she thought, whatever she felt, it must have been at least partially pleasure, because her hands snaked around his neck, tightening and clinging. She lifted slightly, to rub against him.
He had to let her know it was okay, that this was okay. "I'd have been tempted to bite you, too," he murmured ardently, action suiting words as his nibbles traveled to her nape.
~ * ~
Verity froze, passion largely dampened by his words. She hadn't bitten him—hadn't bitten anyone. And she was actually feeling somewhat wounded that anyone would think her capable of such evil. The fact that she'd been about to do just that—attack him, give him a nip or two—didn't matter, because she hadn't. She'd merely thought about it…strongly.
Planned it, ya mean.
In self-defense. He'd come close to telling everyone on level nine what she was.
He was talking again, and she stilled her inner
dialogue so she could listen, only belatedly remembering to deny everything. "I didn't!" She'd been about to add, "I'd never do that", but since it was obvious she'd been about to do it to him, a simple denial was far more believable.
Yet he didn't believe her, damn it! That much was obvious. "How many other people have you done this to?" His voice, despite being little more than a growled rumble, stirred a chord of response within her. Not anger. Something else. Warm, maybe even titillating.
He can stir me with just his voice. She fought the urge to wriggle against him.
No way. Tough. Be tough.
And snippy. Pride surfaced, and her voice grew chilly. "No one." Her eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't bother."
~ * ~
Arrogant she-bitch! She brought out the worst in him, and damn it if it didn't feel good! When he'd mooned over her these nights past, it had been more as a missing companion, one he'd veered away from due to the dangers of commitment. He'd never thought she'd be able to stimulate him this way. Despite the situation, he grinned, until he guessed what her reaction would be if she were to catch a glimpse of his smile. Hellion!
It occurred to him then that she might be everything he was not. Wicked, ready to take on the world, spreading her lycanthropy every which way. As for her denials? How could he take them seriously? The last, about not bothering, probably struck closest to the truth.
What now? He didn't even realize he'd said it aloud. All he knew was he couldn't allow her to leave—not yet. They had issues to resolve. He wondered if she was into one-night stands. Surely, a night together wasn't a commitment.
"What do you mean, 'what now?’"
Again, that arrogance. This time, he didn't bother hiding his smile. "I can't leave it like this." He almost said, "We can't leave it like this," but realized she would have jumped on that "we." "You attacked me. You owe me."
She seemed taken aback, even a little shocked at that one. His grin widened. "There's a lot at risk here."
~ * ~
All her anger faded. God, he was right. Absolutely
right, and self-defense didn't cut it. Whatever he knew, however much he was willing to reveal, or taunt her, or demand from her didn't matter. None of it was worth losing the last of her humanity.
It didn't matter that at least three-quarters of her days were spent as just that, as human. In this moment, it
was suddenly very clear. She'd been willing to infect another human being. Worse still, she had been in that mindset for hours, had gone so far as to lie in wait, to watch for him, then to follow him here.
Dear Lord! What have I become?!
She sucked in a deep breath and went on the offensive. "Something you should have thought of before you dished out insults in the office."
~ * ~
He shrugged, unflappable. "I didn't dish out insults. I dished out doggy treats." He smirked. "Some people would have been more discerning." He waited for her comeback.
But when it happened, Charlie couldn't figure it out. One second, she'd challenged him. The next, her eyes darkened. Now, God help him, they were filling up with-with tears. "Did I hurt you?" he asked worriedly. He'd pinned her wrists pretty hard.
"You can't 'hurt' me! I'm unhurtable! Didn't they tell you that?"
Charlie had no idea who "they" were, but figured this wasn't the appropriate time to ask. He stepped back, essentially setting her free. If those tears were a form of manipulation, they'd worked. He didn't know what else to do.
Neither, apparently, did she. With a sniffle that bore no similarity to the arrogant sniff she'd given before, she moved clear of him, pausing only long enough to pull the hood forward to better conceal her face. Charlie caught one last glimpse of her eyes. Glistening, damn it! More tears.
She moved into a stumbling run toward the end of the alley, abruptly pulling herself together to exit calmly, head bowed, but outwardly in control, sedate. Only Charlie saw her swipe at her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
He didn't know how the hell it happened. She'd attacked him…
…yet he was the one left feeling like a monster.
Four
I'm sick. It went from the pit of her stomach out to icy limbs and stiff fingers.
Maybe, if you bothered to sleep…
But, that was impossible. She wanted to blame someone, but the only person really at fault in the alley was herself. In her worst imaginings, she would picture herself as a beast, attacking people willy-nilly. She imagined it so hard she wondered whether that was the truth, and if the innocence she liked to adopt was the farce. Maybe she was a cold-blooded killer, and just didn't know it.
Somewhere around three a.m. she managed to convince herself she hadn't killed anyone, but the power of invention still bothered her. Had she "turned" many others? Was it possible that the mood which had afflicted her yesterday led her to mayhem and maulings? It would be far easier for her to excuse—to make excuses and conveniently forget—infliction of damage than something deadly.
By four a.m. she no longer knew fact from fiction. All she wanted to do was sleep.
She did, for twenty-three minutes. When she awoke, it was from a nightmare, in which her co-worker featured prominently. She was biting him, then he turned, pinning her, and began that slow nibble down her neck. She woke up when he reached her nipple and began slowly, torturously sucking, while her belly did heated flip flops.
This was another form of torture altogether, but it allowed her no more sleep than guilt. Every time her eyes closed, she'd picture him behind her lids. Awake, her mind drifted to the hard texture of his muscles when she'd grasped him in her arms, his chest and flat stomach against hers, while his erection rose firmly…
Stop it!
In the end, it wasn't the pleasure of her own company which kept her at home—it was cowardice. The fact that she'd been working there for what? Five years, and had never noticed him before didn't matter. Now, how could she help but notice him again?
He thinks I turned him.
That much was clear. She'd certainly shown herself capable, if not culpable. It had been a near thing, and that he was already a Were didn't matter. At the last moment, if he hadn't pinned her, hadn't caught her out, would she have done it?
I don't know. She would have liked to say "Absolutely not", but then she'd planned her attack, hadn't she? Even down to the alley…
If I'd turned him, he would remember…if I'd slept with him, he'd remember it even more.
She put the last aside, and concentrated on the former.
Why don't I remember more about the guy who infected me? She was as clueless as her cute co-worker when it came to casting blame. Was that some form of Werewolf mania? Was it self-defense, to bite and run?
Or did the Were beast who bit me merely catch me at a weak moment? When my defenses were down? A long time ago, it seemed now, she used to go out on the town with friends. I used to know every nightclub in the district.
I used to have lots of friends, too. Those were the days when she'd take off with people from work. It was also the time when Fate had marked her, casting her aside in an alley.
Be honest, Verity—at least with yourself. She'd already been a party animal. Somebody may merely have pushed the comparison further. I was drunk as a skunk. And her date had taken advantage of it.
The alley. For the last three years, Verity had jokingly referred to it as the "Alley of Regret". Now, she scrunched up her face, attempting to remember details, but it was lost in the mists of time; in alcohol fumes, which had numbed her to the consequences.
Bloody hell.
Ever since Bite Day, she'd been afraid to drink, fearful of even minimal lunar influence. She'd withdrawn from her family, her friends. It was easy to see now why she'd been so successful at work. She had nothing else to distract her.
And now, because all her mates, her measures of standards and ethics had been lost, she'd convinced herself in her anger that it was okay to infect someone else.
He's right. It can't be left like this. She had to face him—maybe even find out how he managed to combine his lunar lifestyle with friends…a life. Otherwise, before much longer? I'll turn into the same kind of animal who "turned" me.
~ * ~
Charlie did what he should have done first thing: checked for her picture on the corporate register. Stupid, really, that he hadn't thought of it before. Wolf brained. He'd thought with his hormones instead of his head.
He recalled his gaffe with the doggy treats. Disaster…
"Wanna go for a drink?"
Charlie tuned in a little belatedly. The truth was, he usually tuned Shreever out. The man was an irritating son of a bitch, and he'd rarely made friendly overtures before.
Was I nice to him? Did I encourage him somehow?
Charlie rearranged his features into a smile. Shreever didn't have many friends. Maybe he thinks I have an in with corporate since she came to my desk—or that I've applied for one of The Positions. Keeping tabs…
Charlie altered his thinking, ridding himself of his wolf. Could be the guy's just desperate for a friend. He had "Avoid Me" written all over him. Charlie figured Shreever was a loner, and not by choice.
Now that he knew her name, Charlie was hoping to con Verity into a drink after work, not The Shreever. Bloody hell! The man had a knack for wrong time, wrong place.
It was too soon after moon day, though—soon enough that Charlie could still easily recall lunar influence, and the impulses that went with it. Cruel, sadistic things unless you could keep control over 'em. He never had a very good reaction to Shreever, but he was so tempted to boot the bastard that he decided to cut him some slack, instead.
Getting his disposition back on track…Charlie sucked up his quick, "Fuck off," and managed a "Sure. We'll go to Waitey's." It was the local hangout many of the staff frequented. Charlie had been there lots, but he no longer drank anything stronger than Coke.
Shreever brightened, which told Charlie he'd anticipated a refusal.
Probably gets them all the time… Charlie felt a moment of pity for the poor bastard. He was irritating as sin.
He waited until Shreever went back to his cubicle, then punched in Verity's extension. No answer. If he was lucky he'd ditch Shreever early on, then meet up with her afterwards. If she wasn't up for a date, maybe he could find a way to casually suggest a "let bygones be bygones" encount
er. No hard feelings and all that…
No hard feelings anywhere but in my groin… Charlie grinned, and changed extensions. This time, he got Maggie Sherwood. She'd been in his team, way back when.
"Hey, Mags."
"Hey, Charlie. Whatchu up to?"
"Trouble, girl. You know me."
"What can I do?"
"Verity Connors. I wanted to talk to her if she's there."
"Off sick."
"Oops."
"Maybe I can help."
Sorry, Maggie. You're lovely, but not my type. "Thanks, but it's not urgent, Mags. I'll catch her tomorrow."
After he hung up, Charlie pulled up the White Pages, and did a search for his girl. He tried a call, but got her voicemail. He didn't leave a message. Instead, he scribbled her address. Some issues were better discussed in person. He and Verity had unfinished business.
He stood and stretched. Break time. As he strolled toward the coffee room, Charlie's eyes met Shreever's. The man was raging, and it was so startling, Charlie couldn't help but be taken aback. Fuckin' hell!
He schooled his expression to nonchalance, and
nodded a greeting as he passed by. What the hell had gotten into Shreever?
His job, that's what. He'd been monitoring calls today, too. And he knew Charlie had called Verity's number.
The man had designs on her…of his own.
~ * ~
Verity stood dolefully at the window, hating herself for missing work, hating herself more for creating this predicament. Work was her mainstay—her means of hiding, of being normal, of preoccupying herself so she couldn't think. If she hadn't had her job these last few years…
She shuddered, picturing an endless number of nights and days like the one she'd just had. Guilty, tortured, angry times, when she wavered between hating herself, and hating him, for bringing her to this.
He didn't.
Of course he didn't, and hadn't, and she didn't really blame him. No one can make someone else act like a moron.
That was when she spotted him. The fears, guilt, and worries of the wee morning hours descended into self-disgust during the day, and just as she had trouble during her off-moon hours believing what she became under the full moon's influence, so it was difficult during daylight to believe yesterday's resolutions were contrived in her right mind.
Bane Of His Existence Page 3
