by Terra Wolf
The whistle blew again, and this time the guy advanced too fast for me to set my hands before he landed a blow to my face. My head was pounding but I kept going. I pushed ahead, putting us into a lock. After the ref separated us, I bounced around the cage a bit trying to figure out my next move. I wanted to look at Will, but I didn’t want to lose eye contact with my opponent. He would take that opportunity to strike.
But he wasn’t as smart as I was. He looked at Georgie, who made a kicking motion, but I ran at him. A direct punch between his eyes and he was flat on his back, almost out cold. I knew what that meant. I was the victor. The referee held my arm up in the air and the crowd cheered my name. My bear growled so much I practically Changed right in the ring. The veins in my neck bulged as held him inside. I wanted to see Bianca. So did he.
I ran down from the cage and searched the crowd for Bianca, finding her standing right next to Will, who was clapping with a huge smile on his face. He was always proud of me, and I was lucky for that.
“You won!” She screamed. “Oh my God Cash, you won!”
I took out my mouth guard and spit out a little extra blood before wrapping my hands around her face and kissing her with all the force I had just had in the cage. I won the fight. In the cage, and for her heart.
Fifteen
About the Author
Meredith Clarke likes long walks in the trees and drinking sangria. Yeah for real. Like Edward Sparkly Cullen style. She writes alpha male yet cuddly characters and the hot women that love them. Open a book or two, eat a s’more, and cuddle up with the men of Meredith Clarke.
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Once Forbidden
by
Clementine Roux
Episode One
No shirt. Torn jeans. My boots are gone. This is the third night in a row, I've managed to sleepwalk my way out of the house and into the fields. What is going on with me?
“Gabriel, what in the world is wrong with you? Have you been drinking?” My mother had the unfortunate experience of visiting right about the same time my life started falling apart.
“No, Mom. I couldn't sleep, so I went out for a walk.” I hated to lie to my mother, but I had no other explanation for her. “Stress, I guess.”
My mother knew me better than anyone in the world, including the woman I'd just watched walk out my door and sail off into the sunset with one of my ranch hands.
“Well, I told you I didn't like Regina. She was no good for you, son. Stop worrying about her. She'll get what she deserves. They always do.”
My mother banished Regina off like a bad omen, but I didn't see it that way. I'd given my life to her and she cast me aside like I was nothing.
“I know, Mom,” I lied again.
I hoped this wasn't going to become a habit. My whole life had been just myself and my mother. We were like two peas in a pod, although, one of us was slightly more hot-headed than the other, but that varied depending on the circumstances and how wounded our egos were at the time.
“Are you hungry, Baby Boy?” Hearing her refer to me by childhood terms of endearment always made me feel better, even now as a thirty-four-year-old man, I still craved my mother's love.
“I could eat!” I smiled, offering to help make an early breakfast.
“No, no. You go find some clothes. Why would you go outside dressed like that, anyway? You don't know what kind of wild animals are out there just waiting to take a bite out of you,” my mother scolded.
“I haven't slept with clothes on since the eighties, Mom,” I teased, knowing that would embarrass her enough to drop the subject. I'd have to sort out the particulars of what had actually happened later.
…
“Rough night?” Jesse laughed at the dark circles under my eyes.
“Yeah, you could say that. Regina left me.” I figured all of my employees knew already, but they were looking for confirmation from me, so telling my right hand man the truth seemed just as good as telling the whole crew.
Jesse shook his head. “Sorry, man. I heard about that. So, she really took off with Victor?”
“Looks that way.”
What else could I say? That was the truth as I knew it.
Jesse shrugged and moved on to the next subject. “So, I see Marnie's here. How long is she in town for?”
Everybody around the ranch loved my mother. She treated everyone like family, everyone except Regina, of course.
“Yeah, she got in last night. While I drove out to Denver to pick her up, Regina packed up everything she owns and some of my stuff too and took off like a thief in the night,” I answered, knowing he was itching to know how things went down between us.
“Lose one, gain another, I guess,” he quipped.
I quirked my eyebrows up, not sure what he was getting at exactly and pretty sure I didn't want to know.
“You know what I mean,” Jesse offered.
Just then, my mother came prancing out of the house, carrying a tray full of food.
“Jesse! I'm so happy to see you,” she called out.
“Hey, my favorite bad girl, how are you?” Jesse asked.
Every time I heard someone refer to my mother as a bad girl, it made me cringe. She didn't mind it, though. She'd be the first to tell you that she came from a long line of bad girls or Alpha women, as they were known in some circles. She ascribed to natural healing and folk medicine too, so that added to her rebel persona. The term bad girl was actually a common misnomer for her, but she'd grown used to it and didn't protest when she'd heard it. Being called that was the least of her worries in the world. I fell into the category of the one thing or person she worried about the most in life.
Jesse took the tray from my mother's hand and readily started devouring the treats she'd made for everyone. As the two got reacquainted, I took the time to wander off in the wheat fields and see what happened to my shirt and boots.
I'd just planted the winter wheat, so it shouldn't have been such a difficult job, but from what I could see, neither my shirt nor my favorite boots were anywhere in sight. Unless a deer or mountain lion decided they needed discarded clothing to get through the cool autumn nights, I had no explanation for where I could have left my clothing.
“Leave some for my son.” My mother's voice boomed in my ear, sending me hurdling onto the soil.
“Mom,” I started, expecting to find her standing nearby, but she was seated at the picnic table in front of my house, surrounded by my work crew, some fifty feet away. She smiled and waved at me as I dusted my pants off and stood up.
Great, now, I'm hearing things. That's all I need.
As I approached the table, my mom said, “Hurry, son. I told the boys to save you some. Eat.”
If I wasn't already feeling out of sorts, that revelation wasn't helping my situation.
She looked at me curiously, as I tried to wrap my brain around what had just happened. Suddenly, my jaw started to hurt and a throbbing pain seared around my head.
“You feel okay, son?” My mother moved to stand up, but it was too late. The pain was too much. The last thing I remembered was hearing her scream.
…
I opened my eyes to a smoke-filled room and my mother singing one of her songs. I heard so many songs and prayers over the years, they all sounded alike to me these days, but I knew whatever she was wishing away or conjuring up was going to wreak havoc on me at some point soon.
“Mom, what are you doing?” I was surprised by the raspy tone of my voice. “How long have you been burning this stuff? You're going to give me lung cancer or something.”
“Quiet.” She hushed me and continued on with her ritual.
I hoisted myself up, taking in the burning candles and the vast array of rosaries, my mother kept with her at all times.
“Mom?” The stern look she gave me was my final warning. I knew better than to interrupt h
er when she was on a mission.
Five minutes of her repeating the same mantra, humming the same lyrics, and blowing the smoke from the burning sage out the window and into the Nebraska countryside passed before she was ready to address me.
“How are you feeling, son? Tell me the truth,” she said, looking directly into my eyes.
“Fine, I guess. What happened? What is all this about? A ritual?”
She gasped at my attempt to make light of the situation. “Do we need a special prayer? Should I call a priest?”
That's it, now, I've gone and made an already paranoid mother even more paranoid. I figured I'd better not joke with her or she'll be on the phone to the Vatican in no time flat.
“No. I was kidding,” I started, before she quickly smacked my hand. “Mom, what happened?”
I could see her internal struggle in her eyes. She sat wringing her hands and biting her lip, like I'd watched her do on so many other occasions during my life, specifically when she was trying to cast out an omen or whatever she called it. She’d lived her life believing in superstitions and folklore. I chalked that one up there right behind all of the other old superstitions, like if you touch a baby, you have to kiss it or the baby will get sick and so on. All of which she discovered while on one of her many retreats to remote lands.
“I haven't been cursed. Are you going to tell me what happened or should I just wait for the grim reaper to come take my soul?” I couldn't help myself sometimes.
“Gabriel, that's not funny. You don't remember what happened?”
I closed my eyes to prepare for what I'm sure would have been a fascinating tale. She wasn't amused by my lack of enthusiasm.
“Nothing really. We were outside. You had a tray of food and you screamed. What happened? Did I pass out?” I had no memory beyond that point.
My mother was hardly the type of person to be at a loss for words, but as the last few nights had already proven, stranger things have happened. She looked at me earnestly, with tears forming in her eyes, and whispered, “Son, I made a mistake.”
…
I lived my life by routine. I woke up at five every morning, went out to check my crops and check on the animals before my morning run and a hot shower. I did the same thing every day without fail. I thrived on a packed schedule and the safety net of someone soft and warm to come home to, then, this happened.
The radio announcer signed off for the night and handed the reins to the early morning host while I sat with my head on the steering wheel, parked in front of Saint James Cathedral, waiting to talk to a priest about some ridiculous curse that may have backfired and my mother's desperation to reverse what she'd done.
How is it that a supposed healer, naturalist could have flubbed a spell that had been used for centuries by her adopted ancestors? Stuff like this doesn't happen to other people.
The comforting sounds of small town life pulled me from my not-so-peaceful slumber and forced me to gather my thoughts and face Father Reynolds before morning mass.
“This is unbelievable.”
I watched as the ever-present sprinkling of devout Catholic men and women made their way into the vestibule to gossip, then, sit in the seats they occupied every morning. I always wondered what horrible things they'd done in life that made them trudge down to the church every day, rain or shine, and sit through mass.
Now, I'm no heathen. I'm more of what you'd call an armchair Catholic. Every few months when my mother came to town, I'd accompany her to church and go through the motions while she prayed for my soul. I guess when you'd grown up with a woman, who spent her days and nights lighting candles and making sure not to sweep a broom across your feet because of bad omens, the idea of church really wouldn't sound all that appealing.
However, there was that brief period in my life when I thought I'd find myself a nice church girl and settle down, but that nice church girl slept with my former best friend and left a bad taste in my mouth for anything or anyone related to the church.
Father Reynolds finally emerged from the rectory and hustled toward the church. I jumped out of my truck, hoping to speak to him without anyone overhearing.
“Gabriel? So nice to see you.” Father Reynolds patted my back.
“Good Morning, Father,” I answered.
“Haven't seen you at mass for a while. Is your mother in town?” He smiled, proud that he could sneak a jab into the small talk.
“Yes, actually she is. That's why I'm here. She asked me to talk to you,” I answered.
He looked at me curiously. The only time I'd been sent to speak to him was when I'd gotten into trouble when I was younger. For the most part, I'd been a good kid. Sunday school, though, was another story. Once I hit puberty, I lost my mind.
“Is everything okay? How's her health?” Father walked toward the church side entrance.
“She’s fine, but that’s now why I’m here. How about you come by for dinner tonight?” I had no idea where that came from, but it seemed like the right thing to do. I needed time to figure out how to talk to him candidly about my issue.
“Tonight? Well, I don't see why not. What time should I be over?” he asked, as I tried to look like I was sincerely excited that he'd agreed to stop by my house.
“Six,” I answered.
…
My mother had already worn out a spot in the carpet from all her pacing back and forth. When I'd returned home after speaking to Father Reynolds, she nearly flipped her lid. The thought of inviting the priest over for dinner before he had a chance to solve our current dilemma was enough to make her nuts. She'd spent the day lighting enough candles, I thought I'd have to upgrade my home owner's insurance.
“Is it really that bad? What did you expect me to do? You didn't tell me not to invite him over.”
Looking out the window, noticing a car coming at full speed, my mother announced, “He's here already.”
I sat down and waited, figuring that I needed a moment to get my head together. The jaw pain I'd felt the night before had returned with a vengeance. I didn't mention it, though, because I knew that my mother would somehow make it about her or whatever it is she thought she did wrong and I'd never hear the end of it.
“Who is that?” My mother's eyebrows furrowed.
“Father Reynolds,” I answered dryly.
“No, the girl.”
I didn't have a chance to get out of my seat before my mother opened the door and the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen walked in behind Father Reynolds.
“Whoa.” I couldn't help myself. That curvaceous woman was hot.
My mother scowled at me, while the gorgeous black woman with caramel-colored skin turned three shades of red. Father Reynolds made the introductions as my mother and I stared at her with our mouths gaping open. My mom undoubtedly surprised that Father Reynolds showed up with a woman and I was shocked that I'd never seen women like her at church before.
Where did she come from?
“I hope you don't mind. My niece has been in town for a few days and I invited her to tag along,” Father Reynolds said.
As if something had suddenly come over her, my mother slumped into a chair and started praying.
I offered my hand to the woman, saying, “Hi, I'm Gabriel. This is my mother. Nice to meet you.”
She replied, “I'm Janelle. You have a nice place.”
Her small hands felt like silk next to my calloused fingers. I motioned for them to sit down and we made small talk while my mother finished whatever ritual it was she was doing.
“Well, why don't I get you something to drink? Wine? Coffee?” I offered.
Father Reynolds had been with the parish a long time and had spent enough time with us over the years that the question was just a courtesy at this point. I had already begun reaching for the wine goblets before I asked the question. Janelle, however, opted for coffee. Interesting!
By the time the drinks were poured and I'd plated food, my mother was ready to explain what had gone so wrong. Init
ially, her words floated right over my head because I was preoccupied with Janelle’s curves and her luscious, full lips. She truly was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. There was something alluring about her that went beyond her perfect curves, full lips, and almond colored eyes. This was something deeper, more seductive, if that were at all possible.
“Gabriel? Son, hello!” My mother's words caught me off guard. I spilled my drink onto the table, splashing Father Reynolds' suit jacket and nearly spilling onto Janelle's lap.
“Dammit! Sorry, Father.”
The quiet dinner to discuss my mother's 'mistake' turned into a night of me being scolded like a child by my mother in front of my parish priest and his smoking, hot niece. This should have been a sign of things to come, but, apparently, I'm blind to impending danger.
…
“Hey.” A quiet voice called out behind me. “I was wondering where you disappeared to? Didn't you invite my uncle over so you could talk to him about something?” Janelle's voice was just as sweet as she was drop dead gorgeous. I swear, I could melt just listening to it.
“Yeah, but, I think I'll just leave that to my mom. What are you doing out here?” I asked, trying to not look like a dog in heat as I turned to face her.
“I didn't want to be in the way; besides, I like it out here. It's so peaceful, nothing like where I live.” Janelle walked out onto the yard. “It's really beautiful here. I can see why you like it.”
“You can?”
I must have sounded surprised because she whipped back around, looked me directly in the eyes and said, “Yes. This is exactly where you need to be.”
