by Jamie Lake
They surged forward, taking me to the woods. All I could see as I rounded the corner behind the trees was Buck’s body, lifeless on the ground. My heart lurched. It didn’t look like he was going to get up this time. Japheth stood over him and laughed victoriously. He knelt and triumphantly hoisted up Buck’s body, then tossed it into the bed of the truck. We were almost out of sight when I saw Japheth light a match and toss it into the truck with Buck.
I screamed again, my throat raw, but there was no one to hear my cries.
Japheth turned, morphing into a monstrous wolf in mid-stride, and the back of the truck blazed like a funeral pyre. I howled in anguish.
TO BE CONTINUED
An EXCERPT OF ANOTHER BOOK BY JAMIE LAKE:
Stay Always:
The Collided Pieces Series Book 1
By Jamie Lake
CHAPTER 1
He has to be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life. Tall and sophisticated, but rugged. I can almost smell him: clean, but musky, a rich scent that makes me cross my legs. He wears a hard hat and tank top. He almost looks too clean-cut to work as a contractor, but he seems comfortable in that world. The hum of drills surrounds us. Normally, I’d find all the knocking and hammering and stomping annoying, but when I look at him, it might as well be an angelic chorus.
His salt-and-pepper hair slips out boyishly. I stare at his strong, callused hands, wrapped around a clipboard that he’s tucked close to his chest. I’ve never wanted to be a clipboard before, but that has just changed. I imagine his fingers tracing the side of my cheek and down my neck as I rest on that chest.
I have to concentrate to keep my eyes on my homework. Axel won’t be pleased if he comes in and finds a mess of my papers all over the kitchen counter, so I have to do as much as I can before he distracts me, tries to pry me away from my studies. It should be easy to concentrate with homework in the way. The oak table is like an ocean between us: a safe boundary.
My body might be out of his reach, but my gaze is all over him. I stare at the homework, but my glances keep slipping back.
He’s barking orders at the construction crew. Most of them are short and not much to look at, especially compared to him. Right now, they’re redesigning our marble kitchen into what my stepmother refers to as a “chef’s paradise.” I thought the marble was nice enough, but apparently it’s dated. Time for lots of warm wood and parquet detailing, and apparently, the color scheme has to go too.
He seems to know what he’s doing. Even if he didn’t, these men would follow him to battle: to hell and back. A kitchen is nothing compared to that. They listen respectfully to him, nodding and saying, 'yes, sir' this and 'yes, sir' that: clearly, he’s their boss. No wonder they’re so obedient. I’d do anything he asked me to. My knees weaken at the thought. There’s nothing like that sense of calm, that self-assurance.
He keeps looking at me, only a stray glance here and there at first. He seems to pause before giving his orders. I’m sure I’m imagining it. I’m not imagining the way my heart twists every time his eyes meet mine, though.
I try to act disinterested. It’s bad enough I have to study in the kitchen for my exams, but my stepmom told me to keep an eye on them while she and my dad are out of town on their little vacation. Not even the constant rattle, hum, and distractions can ruin my mood now. Watching them and being surrounded by a dozen humming drills and rattling toolboxes sounded like the most annoying thing I could think of. So much for that. I’m pretty sure that when I daydream, it’ll be Greek gods emerging from clouds of pine dust, sweat beading their forearms, who fill my lonely hours.
My God, he’s looking at me again, this time with a George Clooney-like smirk. Dust particles hang thick in the air, filtering the light streaming in through the window into separate beams. He’s standing there, the sun illuminating his silhouette. He’s not a construction worker and I’m not a student. He’s bursting with raw masculinity, outlined by a golden tint that kisses his skin everywhere I want to kiss. I’m completely ready to fall to my knees and start worshipping him.
I shift on my chair, move my thighs against each other. I’ve lost contact with the space around me. I have tunnel vision when I am staring at him. Now I understand why all those gods used to turn into animals when they saw pretty boys and girls. Part of me wants to run as far away as I can, and the rest is drawn helplessly forward. Never mind the table. I’d jump up and go sliding across it if I could just land in his arms.
I shift on my chair. The warmed wood under my legs sticks a little to the skin on my thighs where my shorts end. The cotton of my white shirt clings to my back. The air-con has been disconnected, and the thick warm air wraps around everyone like a blanket we can’t shake off us. He’s wearing faded blue jeans, ripped at the knee, and I wonder if he would feel better if he took them off. I would feel better if he took them off.
He must know I’m looking back, and he’s soaking up every minute of it. And that mouth, so full, thick, and moist. The type of lips that know what they’re doing when they come in contact with a man’s cock. No faltering or doubting; the type of lips that tease. I imagine his stubble against my taint, his finger teasing up against my P-spot. His tongue flicking against me. A spark ignites somewhere in the deep recesses of my body. I shift again. I have to find something else on which to focus, but I keep finding myself helplessly drawn back to him.
I can’t help staring at his eyes. They’re hazel-green, like a forest. Deep pools and sweet wood. I want to wander into their depths, inhale his earthy scent and never wander out again. He’d smell like the pine and resin he works with, that sweat and musk only a clean man possesses. I want to run my hands through his hair while his mouth works its way down. Those flashing white teeth, flushed lips—the better to eat me with. He’s wolf-like, this man, and all I need is a red cape.
I run my fingers through my hair, ruffling it, and stretch my neck. I know I’m trying to give him something to look at. Right now, I’m shameless. I would do anything just to feel those eyes on me a little longer.
He lifts his arm up as he points in a direction, telling one of the workers where to put the new cabinet. His muscles are rippling, his broad shoulders holding up his strong frame. I can almost feel them move under my fingertips. The stained blue shirt he’s wearing strains against his arms. He’s walking toward me; the team of people seem to part as he does. The painful whine of a sanding machine fades into the distance, drowned out by the sound of my heart beating out a pattern that speeds up with every step he takes toward me.
My twin brother Axel and I noticed him this morning, and we were both drooling even then. Only I stayed in the kitchen like I was told, and he ran off to take one of his three-hour showers and “freshen up,” as he likes to say. Well, his loss is my gain. I don’t have to share the beautiful view with anyone, and I like it that way.
I haphazardly grab another book and open it to a random page. I’m shaking as I force myself to study, but I notice he’s still walking toward me. I’m starting to blush, hoping he’s not coming over to me to tell me to stop staring at him.
No such luck.
“Hello,” he says.
I can’t look at him, so I don’t. I just stare at my book.
“Hello,” I repeat, squeaking and lifting up my drooping glasses. My heart’s beating faster than a baby bird’s. Hello, mister wolf.
“You’re pretty talented,” he says, his voice rich, deep, and confident.
“I beg your pardon?” I say, looking up just for a second.
“Well,” he says, grabbing the book from me and turning it right side up. My jaw drops. “I mean, to be able to read a whole book upside down like that, and so intensely. That’s incredible.”
I blush as I look at him. He winks at me and sets the book back down.
“Oh, I...” Completely mortified doesn’t even begin to describe it.
“I don’t mean to be forward, but…” he starts to say, “do you have anything to drink?”
�
��Oh,” I say, almost disappointed. “Sure, let me get you some water.”
“I was hoping for something sweeter,” he says. Is this really happening? My heart rattles again. I’m sure it’s going to bore right through my rib cage. It’ll drill right through my bones, my skin, and go straight for him. At least, that’s what it feels like. I notice my hands are shaking a little.
“I can see what else we have,” I answer, gulping hard.
“What do you have to offer?” he asks, standing with his hands behind his back. His posture is perfect, but he looks so at ease. I move my eyes up to his mouth again and back down shyly. If it weren’t for those delicious full lips beckoning me to kiss them, I’d probably have noticed that his already bulging chest was protruding out even more. He’s trying to impress me. No way. I’m impressed already. He has to know that. Still, I can’t help counting the muscles under his shirt, in his shoulders. They’re beautiful.
“Um...” I say, finally waking out of my trance-like state, “I’m sure we have lemonade or...”
“No, sweeter,” he says, in an almost commanding tone. He really is a god. If he was asking for a goat or a cow up on the altar, I’d throw down a silk cloth and turn on the barbeque. Heck, if he asks me for a bite to eat, I just know I’ll start going through the fridge. I’d do anything to sate the hunger in those eyes.
“Orange juice, or...”
“Too tart...what about bananas?” he says, raising his left eyebrow. He did not just say that. He didn’t. I have to be imagining things.
Is he flirting with me, or am I too obsessed with him to see straight? By this time, my skin is flushed. “Oh, I don’t think we have any of those—of that. I mean, I could look?”
I can’t even glance at him as I walk over to the refrigerator, clear across the other side of the kitchen. My hips work of their own accord. I’m not usually this graceful. I definitely don’t walk…like this, settling my weight lazily from side to side. Strutting. I’m not strutting, am I? I weave in and out of the workers and the chaotic mess of construction, careful not to stumble over my own feet as I open it. I wonder if I should offer something for everyone to drink. Then I decide I don’t care about them. He’s the one who matters.
I stick my head in the cold of the fridge for a moment. I tell myself to think, to calm down. Sure, the fruit is a weird request, but he’s probably hungry as well as thirsty. I’m imagining things. He’s not hitting on me: he’s just hungry. Heck, I probably misheard him. I had to. I clatter around in the fridge, knocking over a couple of jars with my shaking hands and righting them.
Everything looks suggestive. I turn my eyes away from cucumbers and carrots. Even the yogurt—my face heats, and I take a deep breath of the cool air. I don’t care if I burn the light out in this thing. I wish I could fit in the freezer for a minute, just to hide in there and cool off. Anything to avoid thoughts of the warmth of his body.
Finally—some orange juice, the thing I came here for. I stand up, wiping my hands on my shorts, and take the jug of juice out.
“In this heat, cucumbers are good, too,” he says, right behind me. I almost drop the pitcher in the process, but he catches it and smiles.
“You okay?” he asks.
I look up at him and lift up my drooping, thick glasses again. “Yeah, I...didn’t know you were behind me.”
“Behind every great woman is a great man, they say...” He smiles again, 100 watts at full power. I melt like chocolate.
“I think it’s the other way around,” I suggest, fingering my limp, curly hair and tucking it behind my ears. Maybe it would be better to have gone for a cold shower. Even before I’d seen him, it was hot. Now, with the kitchen full of hard-working men and the hunk behind me, the heat is unbearable.
“Not in my book,” he says. I love the way he speaks: so relaxed, yet firm and in control. Every single word melts me. My mind races to what it must be like to lie in bed with him. I lose myself in thoughts of his chest again, imagining what it looks like under the work shirt. I imagine him looking at me with those hazel eyes, half-closed lazily, and I can’t help imagining those gentle hands on my arms, my back…moving down to my thighs…
Stop it, Aaron. Get a grip, I tell myself. I smile again. I can’t stand how shy I am sometimes, especially around gorgeous guys. And he makes everyone I’ve ever been attracted to in the past look like a troll.
“What were you studying anyway?” he asks.
“Oh, I’m trying to get my degree in business administration.” Wow. I sound smart, tossing it off like that. Hopefully he’ll think I’m smarter than I’ve been acting. I straighten my spine a little and wait for his reaction.
“Sounds exciting,” he says with a smirk on his face.
“Why? You don’t approve?” My crush recedes a little.
He shrugs. “I just think it’s a waste of time and money.”
“How could getting a degree be a waste of time? I don’t want to work at the bookstore my whole life.” I’m irritated and shocked that he’d say something like that. How dare he? I’m making something of myself. A boy like me has to be ambitious, unlike the ones who can get by on their looks.
“Is that what you do?”
“Yeah, at Barnacle’s Books. Why? Do you not approve of that either?”
I squint at him. He’s gone from being flawless to a bit of jerk in two seconds flat. I may be shy at times, but I’ve got sass at my core and I’m a Scorpio. If I can get out of my shyness, I’m downright argumentative. I like the conflict, the challenge, just as much as I like to be conquered.
“It’s just that there are so many other things that you could do that would be more fitting.”
“Like what?” I challenge.
We’re interrupted inconveniently by a loud, blonde queen in a tight mini-skirt entering the kitchen, a.k.a. my twin, and much skinnier brother, Axel.
“Ooh! It’s so hot in here,” he says, making sure he’s the center of attention just like usual. He makes his way over to me, or more accurately, the hot guy to whom I’m talking. I can see Axel scoping him out. Back off, Axel, I got here first. Turn your tiny little mini-skirted butt around and walk right out that door. This one’s mine, and I’m not sharing.
“Aaron, why don’t you turn the air on? These poor workers must be so hot...” Nice, bro, I think; he’s really subtle. I manage not to let the gorgeous guy see my eyes roll. He swings the other way, extending his limp hand at the guy I’m talking to. “I’m Axel, and you are...?”
“Zack,” he says, shaking his hand. Leave it to him to find out the guy’s name before I do. It’s a bland name, but from him, it has a rich snap. I’d love to be the one purring his name back at him, even moaning it. That isn’t going to happen if my brother gets his way.
“Ooh, such a firm handshake,” he chuckles flirtatiously. I can see he’s wearing his pheromone perfume again and I just want to barf. No class. No subtlety. I might have been stripping him down and letting him ravish me in my mind, but I didn’t just throw myself in his lap with a lame line. I could just slap Axel for a minute. I contemplate soaking him by “accidentally” knocking the jug of juice all over his pricey white miniskirt. He’d probably just make himself look like the victim and play up his wet skirt, and I’d lose my sole advantage—the juice—in the process. Well, maybe I can trip him and push him into one of the workers. They probably won’t want to get gay on him, I think darkly to myself.
“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” he says apologetically. I watch anxiously to see if he’s into my brother—he seemed to be flirting with me, but I might have read him the wrong way. Not everyone is out, after all, and he might even be straight.
“No, I like it firm,” he says, flashing the smile that everyone always tells him makes him look like Channing Tatum. I think he looks like Prince Charles. His big, toothy smile is a bit gummy because he holds his lips the wrong way. It’s a stupid, fake smile, and it doesn’t reach his heavily mascara’d eyes.
He laughs back at his. I’m
getting agitated. He did not just laugh at his stupid blunt joke.
“So, what are you all talking about, Aaron?” he says, not even looking at me when he says it. I’m about to be shoved to the side, just like I always am, by my blonder, skinnier, prettier brother.
“Business,” I answer. “As in, none of yours.” Nice try. I see what you’re up to, Axel, and it’s not gonna work this time.
He chuckles loudly and turns toward me just long enough to glare. “You are so funny, Aaron. Why don’t you run along now and get back to that schoolwork of yours? Your exams are coming up, aren’t they?” he says, opening and shutting his practically see-through button-up. Wow, why don’t you just strip right here and now, Axel? Talk about blatant. Even some of the other workers are starting to stare. I can’t blame them. I would be, too, if I had a queeny dude putting on a show like this in the kitchen. I’m sure some of the parquet detailing is going to be laid in crooked or that they’re going to start laughing. He doesn’t even notice the eyes on him. Typical. He’s just so used to it that he doesn’t even care.
“But we were...” I start to say.
“Run along now, Aaron. You don’t want to fail another test. Dad would have a real fit if that were to happen again,” he says, waving me off as if I were a pest. Great, now I look like a drop-out and a loser, and a simp to boot. Could it get any worse?
I sigh. I want to smack him, but I’m not going to make a scene in front of someone I don’t know. Especially someone I was hoping to impress.
“Nice meeting you, Aaron,” I hear him say. As I turn around to respond to him, he’s conveniently swung him the other direction and snatched his arm as he escorts him away.
I am more than pissed. Typical Axel. I don’t have a chance.
Whatever. He was starting to be a jerk anyway. I try to convince myself that they deserve each other. To be honest, it hurts anyway. Not the first time Axel has caught the attention of someone in whom I’m interested. Not the first time I’ve lost. But this time, I’m not letting go without a good fight.
