by R. A. Gates
Pucker Up
By R. A. Gates
Copyright © R. A. Gates 2012
Published by Ruthless Publishing
This is a work of fiction and any
resemblance to any persons living or
dead is purely coincidental. All rights
are reserved. No part of this book may
be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission
from the author.
This book is dedicated to my
Mom.
Thanks for always believing in
me.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
“What are you doing out here?”
Ivy asked her young friend sitting on the
back steps of the boarding house. The
wooden gate slammed shut behind her as
she strolled through the back garden, her
skateboard in hand.
Danny didn't answer. His body
shivered underneath his jacket, zipped
all the way to his chin to keep out the
April breeze. Being the youngest
werewolf in Salmagundi, he recovered
slowly after the regular transformations
and the last full moon was only two days
ago. She was thankful that the only
monthly transformation she had to deal
with was of the PMS variety.
Black Converse crunched on the
gravel path leading to the back patio.
She slid her overflowing backpack off
her shoulder and dropped it onto the
patio steps, cracking one of the old
planks. She stretched the kinks out of her
back.
Death by homework, she thought.
Scooting Danny over, she sat
next to him. The late afternoon sun hung
over the mountains surrounding the
Southeastern Alaska town, casting long
shadows on the ground.
The orphan boy's hands trembled
as he petted Lieutenant Dan, the local
three-legged stray cat. Danny brushed
strands of blond hair out of his eyes and
looked up at her. “I’m in big trouble,
Ivy. He’s gonna kill me this time, for
sure.”
At first, she dismissed his
dramatics
as
typical
ten-year-old
behavior, but then tears threatened to fall
from his large, blue eyes and her heart
dropped into her gut.
“What happened?”
“You know that antique rug in the
parlor?”
“Yeah.”
“Well,
Athena
said
Mr.
McGregor sold it today, to some dealer
in
Washington
he's
visiting
this
weekend.” He stopped petting the cat
and wiped his sweaty palms on his
pants. “The thing is, about a month ago, I
accidentally spilled grape juice on it and
hid the stain under the chair so he
wouldn’t see it.”
He was right. Danny was going
to die when his foster dad found out.
She'd seen her penny-pinching landlord's
temper flare, especially after a few
drinks. And being a werewolf didn't
soften his disposition, either.
“Has he found it yet?”
“I don’t think so, but he’s gonna
see it when he moves the chair and then
I’m a dead man.”
“What did Athena say to do?”
She assumed he told the boarding
house's only other tenant about his
problem, considering he worshipped the
ground she walked on. What was so
great about Athena anyway? She was
merely a narcissistic bitch who used her
big boobs and Hollywood smile to
charm her way into, or out of, any
situation.
“She said, 'Sucks to be you' and
left for her date.”
Yep, that sounds about right.
“Danny!” They both jumped
when Mr. McGregor's voice boomed
through the house and rattled the kitchen
window above them.
His whole body shook as he
moaned into his hands. He had never
gotten into any real trouble with Mr.
McGregor because everything always
seemed to be blamed on her. Even
though she was fearful for Danny, a
small part of her looked forward to
seeing someone else get punished for a
change.
“Come on. He’ll just get madder
if he has to come looking for you.” She
nudged his elbow and stood. Pausing at
the screen door, she waited for him to
follow.
He reluctantly dragged his shoes
along the scuffed wooden floor of the
old Victorian house towards the scene of
the crime. On the way, he mumbled a
little prayer to spare his life. Talk about
overreacting. But when they entered the
room, Mr. McGregor's cold, dark eyes
narrowed into slits as they homed in on
Danny.
Or, maybe not.
Every line etched in the older
man’s face from decades of harsh
transformations deepened under his
scowl. His chest rose and fell with each
controlled
breath.
“Do
ye
have
something to tell, laddie?” His Scottish
brogue was low and slurred, but the
anger was loud and clear.
Danny froze. His eyes grew wide
and his face paled two shades. He
looked like he was going to throw up.
Swallowing hard, he raised his chin to
look Mr. McGregor in the eye and said,
“Ivy did it.”
That little shit! She opened her
mouth to set the record straight, but by
the way his legs shook in his jeans, she
couldn’t do it.
Throwing a glare at the little liar,
she faced Mr. McGregor. “Yeah, I
ruined the rug, sir. I was running late for
work, so I covered it up thinking I’d
clean it later. I must’ve forgotten about
it. Sorry.” She stood there, completely
still, trying not to set off his hair trigger
temper bubbling under the surface. Even
breathing too loud seemed risky as she
waited for him to speak.
Mr. McGregor regarded them
both for a few moments, one bushy
/> eyebrow raised, before uttering a word.
“Danny, go to yer room, and shut the
door behind ye.”
Danny glanced at her, uncertainty
in his eyes.
Oh sure, now you worry about
me. Where was the concern when you
threw me under the bus? She nodded
her head, keeping her thoughts to herself.
He stepped away, watching her until he
disappeared around the corner.
Mr. McGregor loomed before
her, like a bull before a matador, staring
her down. His scotch-soaked breath
hung in the air between them like a toxic
cloud. She had to close her mouth to
keep from gagging.
“Ye did this?”
Her eyes followed his meaty
finger pointing to a large purple spot on
the very beautiful but very ruined
Oriental rug. She expected to see a spot
about the size of a dinner plate, at the
most. But no, Danny must have spilled
the entire bottle of juice to get a stain so
large. It was at least two feet across.
“Yes, sir.”
He stood there, staring. The vein
at his temple throbbed close to the point
of bursting and his worn face was so
red, he looked like he'd have a heart
attack right in front of her.
She’d met younger, stronger
werewolves in the past, but there was a
feral glint in his eyes that twisted her
stomach. Her fingers twitched, eager to
grab the silver stake she would normally
keep on her belt. Too bad it remained
hidden in her backpack on the porch.
Silver wasn’t allowed in the boarding
house.
“Are ye trying to make me look
the fool? Do ye think I don't know the
boy did this?” Foam gathered at the
corner of his mouth as the tone of his
voice took on a dangerous growl.
Her body tensed as adrenaline
sped to every muscle, preparing to put
her childhood years of combat training
to use. Or at least she hoped. It had been
over a year since her last fight and she
was rusty.
His nostrils flared with each
restrained breath as he waited for her
reply. Should she stick to the lie or fess
up? Deciding that a noncommittal,
middle ground was her best bet, she
shrugged.
Suddenly, air heaved from her
lungs as her body was slammed
backwards into wall. Being drunk hadn’t
slowed him down at all. A dense fog
invaded her brain, shutting down any
coherent thought. When the fuzz cleared
a moment later, she became aware of his
forearm crushing against her windpipe
and her right wrist was pinned above her
head. Fear flared up inside her when
repeated attempts to draw more than a
trickle of air proved impossible.
Don’t panic, don’t submit .
That’s what he wanted. Gathering
courage, she pushed down the hysteria
that sloshed at her calves like a rising
tide, threatening to swallow her whole.
She defiantly maintained eye contact
with the crazed man, daring to call his
bluff.
“Ye think that ‘cause yer a witch,
ye can disrespect me?” He leaned
forward, pressing into her throat even
more. “I will not be lied to in my own
home.”
An excruciating minute passed
before she succumbed to the panic she
bravely fought off. Frantic fingers
clawed at his face. Too bad she had
already gnawed all her nails down to
stubs. Changing tactics, she pushed the
heel of her free hand at his chin,
stretching his neck. Her hand slipped
when he wretched his head sideways
and the side of her wrist scraped across
his teeth, nicking the skin. How much
longer could she hold out?
She punched and kicked at any
and every part of him. Then, a warm
buzz, like a hive of angry bees, swelled
inside her. Her magic ached to explode
and end her torment. Gathering the will
to ignore her choking, she placed her
palms on his chest and released all the
pent up magic in one blow. Power jolted
from her hands like shock paddles and
slammed into the angry Scot, sending
him and anything not bolted down flying
across the room. He hit the wall with a
loud crack and slumped to the floor.
She collapsed, trembling and
sucking air into her burning lungs. Books
and loose papers coated the floor and
the easy chair hiding the stain lay
toppled on its side. Broken glass from
fallen picture frames littered the edges
of the room. A groan from across the
parlor quickened her pulse.
That’s my cue to leave . She
scrambled to the open doorway as best
she could. Using so much magic drained
most of her energy but she willed her
rubber legs to move. Werewolves were
a sturdy bunch and it was going to take a
lot more than crashing against a wall to
keep him down.
Heavy footsteps shook the floor
as they grew closer. She pulled herself
to her feet using the door frame and
staggered into the hall. But before she
was clear of the room, a strong hand
clamped down on the back of her neck
and pulled her backwards. She bit back
a scream while attempting to tear off the
fleshy hook.
His nails dug into her skin as he
forced her body down, bending her at the
waist in front of him.
She whimpered.
He held her there for at least a
hundred ticks of the grandfather clock as
she stared at the dried mud splattered
across the toes of his boots.
“Ye owe me five thousand
dollars,” he said in a raspy voice, his
grip tightening. “One month ye have, or
both you and the boy are out on the
street.”
“You can't do that,” she croaked.
“No one else will take in a young
werewolf.” Images of Danny huddled in
a cardboard box in an alley flashed
before her eyes.
“Try me.” He released her with a
final shove to the floor and walked away
without another word.
She waited face down on the
dirty hardwood floor until she heard a
door slam upstairs. She propped herself
up on her elbows and sighed. Great.
Now I owe Mr. McGregor money I
don't have. Even if she worked extra
shifts at the diner, and kissed major butt
for tips, she still couldn't make enough in
time.
“Are you all right?” Danny
cowered in the doorway watching her
struggle to her feet.
“Well, I'm alive.” She rubbed the
back of her neck as she hobbled past
him. Brushing the dust off her jeans, she
lumbered outside to retrieve her book
bag and skateboard when the phone rang.
The odds that it was for her were slim,
so she trod upstairs to drink a healing
potion for her throat and get started on
the hours of homework waiting for her.
Just as she opened her bedroom
door, Danny yelled out. “Ivy, it's for
you.”
“Take a message.” It was Friday.
She was tired and felt like a wrung-out
rag. The last thing she wanted to do was
be guilted into working a late night shift
at the diner tonight, even though she
could really use the money. She trudged
to the bathroom down the hall and then
chugged down the last bottle of healing
potion. The bitter taste lingered on her
tongue as the liquid soothed her throat.
The strengthening potion smelled like
feet, but she swallowed that down, too,
instantly perking up. Medicine, magical
or not, always tasted awful.
Closing the cabinet, she caught
her reflection in the mirror. Underneath
her dark curls, the red marks on the sides
of her neck from Mr. McGregor's fingers
glared at her. He’d surprised her with
his speed as much as she surprised
herself with her sluggishness. She
forsaw grueling hours of training to get
back in shape in her future.
Unshed tears prickled her eyes
as she stared at the little marks,
reminders of how she let her fear take
over. She was reckless, careless to let
the situation get so out of control. A year
ago she would’ve had him on the floor,
begging for mercy. Of course, a year ago
her entire life was different: her mother
was still alive and she wasn’t cursed
with magic powers. Now she was
hunted outside Salmagundi’s borders.
She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing
back the tears that begged for release.
Maybe all that’s happened was
some sort of cosmic punishment for what
she used to be, used to do. All of her
past prejudices and bad choices haunted
her now. She couldn’t keep living with
these ghosts constantly eating at her soul
and robbing her of any happiness. If only
there was a way to make up for her past.
After a few calming breaths, she
forced her emotions back down where
they belonged. She grabbed a wad of
toilet paper and blew her nose. From
this
moment
forward,
she
was
determined to redeem herself, somehow.
As she washed her hands, a
small cut on her wrist stung under the
cold water. His teeth were sharp for not
even being a full moon. She froze.
