Calling Oliver, he sighed and went to pick Denise up from the hall floor. She was too weak to do more than flick her thick lashes at him disdainfully.
“Here, take another half a pill,” he said, slipping the medication under her tongue. “Then sleep. When you get up, you will feel one hundred percent better.”
He hoped that sounded convincing.
Chapter 12
Denise bent over and put her eye to the keyhole. The only thing she could see was the dark oak paneling in the hallway. Keeping her balance was too much effort, so she knelt before falling over with a giggle.
It felt like eons had passed since she’d last tried to make a break for it, but it had probably been less than an hour.
Time to try again. Her head was feeling much better, although she still felt kind of loopy. Almost disembodied or drunk.
Denise didn’t know what those pills were Yogi had given her, but it must have been the good stuff. She scrabbled to her knees, trying to get the doorknob to turn. It finally did on the third try. When she managed to get the door open, there was a tree wearing denim blocking her way.
Irritated at having to squeeze between the doorway and the tree, she swore a blue streak, something that made the tree chuckle—up until it bent down to help her up.
“Shit, sweetheart, you threw up again.”
“Hmm.” She had no idea what the tree was talking about. It was warm, though. Her hands were cold, so she tried to cuddle against it.
“Sorry, doll, under other circumstances, I would be all over that, but my kind have really sensitive noses.” The tree took hold of her shoulders and held her at arm’s length.
Denise thought the tree was being too picky. “Can’t trust fucking Ents,” she muttered.
“What did you call me?”
“Probably in league with the Orcs,” she spat at him, finally recognizing the walking tree from her favorite Tolkien tale.
Treebeard had betrayed the cause! If he had his way, he’d burn down the whole forest. I need to get wet or I’ll burn too.
“I’m not going to burn anything, but maybe a shower would be a good idea. We can’t leave you covered in vomit. Oliver won’t get near you until you get cleaned up.”
“I don’t smell bad,” she protested.
“You do right now.”
Denise’s face crumpled, and Treebeard looked panicked. “We just need to give you a quick wash. Oliver likes your natural scent.”
“But you don’t?” She sniffed. Damn picky tree.
“I like it a little too much,” he mumbled, steering her into the bathroom.
“Of course you do. I have the best pheromones,” she said, fitting the tips of her thumb and forefinger together. They tingled in response.
The tree scratched its head and turned on the shower before giving her a gentle shove toward the stream.
She stared at the sparkly water. It shone like liquid gold against the sunlight that poured through the window.
“Um…Denise?”
She reached out to touch the water, but became distracted by how puffy her hand was. She waved it in front of her face, the faint glow at the edges flaring with her movement.
Was that because she’d touched the water? Would it just make her sparkle or would it turn her completely to gold like King Midas?
“Denise, are you going to get in the shower? If you are, you need to get undressed.”
She tentatively reached out and poked the water. Just sparkly. That was a relief.
“Do you need help?” The tree frowned and put his hands on his head, quickly moving them in front of his face when she splashed him.
“We can play later when you’re sober. But first, you need to take that shirt off.”
The gold light of the water had attracted fireflies. She didn’t know if they needed the water to recharge, but they were getting too close for comfort. Did the fireflies bite? Was that why they were so tiny, like little gnats?
They started buzzing in her face. She started swatting them away, but that just seemed to upset the tree because he grabbed her wrist.
“You know we have to get rid of them. They could be bark beetles,” she told him. “You won’t like that—not when you’re all chewed up on the inside.”
There was a deep sigh. “Okay, my eyes are closed now. I’m just getting you started by helping you take that shirt off. You can do the rest yourself.”
Denise batted the annoying tree branch away, but it wouldn’t leave her alone until her top was snagged up and off her body.
Treebeard’s eyes were squeezed shut. He looked ridiculous.
“All right, that’s the most I can safely do and not feel like an asshole. Can you do the rest yourself?”
“The rest of what?”
“The rest of your clothes.”
Denise looked down, surprised to find herself in only her bra. Ugh. Trees were pervs. “Get out!”
The tree turned around. “I’ll keep my back turned, but I can’t leave you alone like this. You might fall down or drown.”
Fine. It was just a tree anyway. Denise stripped and got under the waterfall. She splashed around, finding some soap. Convenient. She took advantage of her good fortune to wash up.
She rubbed the soap up and down, enjoying the way the soap foamed over her dark skin.
“Shiny,” she said, playing with the liquid gold and bubbles over her chest.
In the distance, the tree groaned.
Denise washed and played, glad it was warm out in the woods today. Except she was starting to get tired. Slumping over, she leaned against a wall she hadn’t noticed before.
“Okay, I think you’re done. We’ve left Oliver alone too long.”
Treebeard took a quick peek, long enough to turn off the water. When he tossed her a towel, it hit her in the face.
So rude. Denise wrapped the towel around herself, but she was tired now. Yawning, she started to lie down.
The chilly tiles stung where her skin was exposed, but she was far too exhausted to care.
This is where I live now.
“Denise, the floor is cold. You need to get dressed.” Yogi loomed over her.
What was he doing there?
“I showered,” she said, looking at him through slitted eyes. She didn’t care what he was about to order her to do. Moving wasn’t an option. “It was grueling.”
“You have no idea,” he muttered before tossing a second towel over her. Standing, he added a third one for good measure.
“I’m going to pick you up now. You’re going back to bed.”
Denise shivered. Her brain felt fuzzy, “Aren’t I supposed to be on my way to werewolf jail?” she asked as he lifted her.
“We’re going to have to put that off. You didn’t react well to the meds. We’ll go tomorrow.”
It was only a night’s reprieve, not a stay of execution.
Worry about it later. She closed her eyes and fell asleep in Yogi’s arms.
Distressed yipping woke her up. It was dark outside the windows, but someone had left the bedside lamp in the corner burning.
Ow. It felt as if a freight train had run over her. Or a team of little leaguers had gone at her with their tiny bats.
Despite that, Denise forced herself to stand and walk to the bedroom door. The upset puppy sounds were coming from Oliver. She had to make sure Yogi wasn’t doing something to hurt him.
She was unsurprised to find the door unlocked. Why would her captor bother when he was able to catch her so easily? Yogi could move like lightning—and the way he picked her up like she didn’t weigh anything.
The one time Max had tried to pick her up, he’d grunted and set her down immediately. He hadn’t come right out and said she was too fat, but he’d whined about his back hurting for the rest of the night.
She found Yogi in the bathroom, but he wasn’t using the steam shower this time. He had Oliver in the tub.
Denise took one look and nearly screamed. The pup was covered in blood.
“What are you doing?” she asked, holding the edge of the door to keep from falling. “Why is he bleeding?”
Yogi turned around to scowl at her. “It’s tomato sauce. Oliver got skunked.”
She frowned, blinking. The blood was a very bright, light red and slightly textured. “Skunked?”
“Yeah, as in sprayed by one.” He turned around and scrubbed the tomato sauce deeper into Oliver’s furry head. “As if I didn’t already have enough to deal with,” he grumbled, clearly put out by having to care for not one, but two people.
Denise scowled at the back of his head. “If I’m cramping your style, you could always let me go.”
“As if you could go anywhere in your condition. You’re only standing because you’re holding onto the door. Now sit down before you fall again.”
Again? When had she fallen the first time? Lying down on the bathroom floor didn’t count. She had done it intentionally.
Denise wanted to bitch him out, but he had a point. She sat on the closed toilet with a huff, watching the bathtub proceedings with a wrinkled nose. There was a trace of skunk in the air. And didn’t werewolves have ultra-sensitive noses? Where had she read that?
“Poor Oliver. How did it happen?”
“It was at the lake. We went while you were asleep.”
“There’s a lake?”
“There’s one just beyond the trees in the back that’s fed by a little stream. Looks like a good fishing area.”
She sniffed disdainfully, but immediately regretted it. “Well, I’m glad you’ve found your next vacation spot, but forgive me for overlooking the location’s many wonders. I can’t really appreciate the view when contemplating life behind bars.”
Yogi clucked his tongue as he rinsed Oliver and wrapped him in a towel. He thrust the bundle at her, then scooped her and Oliver up.
Clutching the cub to her, she tensed, preparing to be dropped. But Yogi didn’t stumble or grunt. It didn’t seem like he was exerting himself at all.
How strong is he?
“I told you, it’s not going to be like that,” he told her, carrying them to the living room. “In fact, given what a pain in the butt you are, I don’t think your stay with the pack is going to be all that long. They’ll be eager to let you go once they get to know you.”
She narrowed her eyes, but her much-wished-for pyrokinetic ability failed to kick in. He moved around the room with fluid grace, not in flames, setting them on the couch.
Well, he is smoking, but not in that way.
Denise turned her attention to Oliver, drying him with the towel he was wrapped in. “You know, this would go much quicker without the fur,” she told him, rubbing weakly around his ears.
She was still feeling like death warmed over.
If only I had a gun…she wouldn’t do anything. Even to save her own life, she couldn’t take someone else’s.
Maybe he’s serious about the pack not hurting me. If the pack was going to have her killed, Yogi could have done it already. This place was isolated enough. If he had the urge to hack her to pieces with an ax, no one would hear her screams.
Instead, Yogi had given her medicine and taken care of her when she wasn’t able to do it herself. Plus, someone planning to do you in wouldn’t be such a complainer.
“Shouldn’t he be changing back by now?” she asked, drying the cub’s fur as best she could.
Yogi’s pants buzzed. “Don’t worry about him,” he said, fishing the phone out. “At his age, being skunked is a rite of passage. If it’s his first or second time, he won’t change back for a while. Our young feel more secure as cubs.”
There you go. He wouldn’t be explaining things if she was going to be killed, Denise thought, deciding to be optimistic.
She would go to werewolf-land willingly and do whatever she had to in order to win their trust…except being social and charming had always been difficult for her.
Too bad there isn’t a lycanthrope version of ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People.’
That didn’t matter. She would find a way. There were too many things she had to do, too many animals that needed her.
“I don’t suppose there is a way to speed up the process?” she asked.
“What process?” Yogi asked absently, still fiddling with his phone.
“The one where I get your people to trust me so I can get early parole. No offense, but I’d like to hurry up and forget your kind exist.” She bent to kiss Oliver’s fur. “Except you, kiddo.”
Yogi put the phone down, his chin puckered in thought. “Well, there’s one, but I don’t think you’re going to be up for it…”
Yet another man who underestimated her. She rubbed the towel on Oliver’s paws. “Just spit it out.”
There was another beep, and Yogi checked the phone again. His cheeks thinned as his expression hardened. “Never mind.”
Denise rolled her eyes. “Will you at least stop texting? Do I have to remind you that you’re in the middle of a hostage negotiation?”
Yogi looked up, lips flat. “That’s not what this is.”
“You know what I mean,” she snapped. “You keep acting like this isn’t a big deal when it’s huge. I may not have family, but there will be people who’ll be looking for me—a boyfriend for starters.”
Yogi threw her an uncomfortable glance. “Yeah, about that…I’m not sure you do,” he said, showing her the cell he’d been holding.
“Hey, that’s mine. I thought it was yours!” Denise reached over and tried to snatch it from his hand. “What the hell?”
He handed over the black smartphone with no fuss. Confused and little bit startled, she snatched it from his hand and hugged it to her chest.
“I could call the police now.”
“But you won’t.”
They stared at each other. He broke eye contact first.
“Just check your messages. There’s a couple of new texts from your boyfriend,” he said, emphasizing the last word with obvious distaste.
“You should dump that loser. Trust me, he’s no loss,” he added.
Denise ran her fingers over the screen. She didn’t have to guess why she was suddenly getting this advice.
Chest tight, she hit the green message icon. There were over half a dozen messages from Max. After a string of selfies in front of the chimps he’d accompanied to Africa and some random elephants, there was a rambling message. One line leapt out at her—I think we should explore an open relationship.
She didn’t bother to read the rest. Denise set the phone down and blinked a few times to ease the sting of tears.
Well, that was humiliating. Not unexpected, but humiliating.
As if to prove things couldn’t get more surreal, Yogi sat next to her and awkwardly patted her on the back. Oliver turned in circles in her lap, a sure sign of agitation.
Under normal circumstances, she would have fought to hide her reaction. But she was too tired…and really, Yogi could go fuck himself if he taunted her about this.
Except he wasn’t doing that. He was rubbing her back. True, it was too hard and a bit rough, as if he was unused to handling humans, but it was the thought that counted, right?
Her sudden peal of laughter caught them off guard.
Yogi’s hand froze mid-pat. “What was that for?”
It was the tone of concern that overwhelmed her. She laughed harder, the sound tinged with hysteria.
She set aside a whining Oliver to wipe her eyes. “My boyfriend is such a shit that my kidnapper is comforting me. That’s how much my life sucks.”
“You don’t suck.”
“I didn’t say I sucked. I said my life sucked.” She collapsed on the couch cushions, totally drained.
“There’s a difference,” she added tonelessly, too tired to reach out and stroke Oliver’s ears. Fortunately for her, he did the work for her, pushing his furry little head under her hand.
Yogi took her phone back and started typing.
“What
are you doing?” she asked, only half-interested.
“I’m texting this Max loser.”
She made a half-hearted effort to take the phone back. “I don’t need you to threaten him.”
He smirked. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
The swishing sound of a text being sent jolted her out of her apathy. She sat bolt upright. “What did you just do?”
Yogi’s smile was devilish. “I broke up with him for you—you’re welcome.”
“Are you serious?”
“Like a nun.”
Ugh. “You’re your sister’s worst nightmare, aren’t you?” She could picture the poor girl—wolf—now. He’d probably chased all her boyfriends away.
Yogi’s smile was blinding. “Actually, she adores me,” he said.
Denise jerked her phone out of his hand to see what he’d written. “I don’t want an open relationship, or a relationship at all, because I met someone else?”
“What? It’s perfect.”
She shook her head. “Werewolves obviously don’t understand human relationships. You probably just smell each other’s butts and decide to hump in the woods. Max is never going to buy that I met someone right when he asks for an open relationship. It’s an obvious face-saving lie. Do me a favor and stop doing me favors, please.”
Yogi ignored her butt-sniffing comment, his cheerfulness unabated. “Then let’s provide some evidence.”
He pulled her into his side, hugging her to him. Positioning the phone above them, he took a selfie. “There.”
Her mouth dropped open, but she closed it with a snap. “May as well show off the biceps while you’re at it—you know, to really rub it in his face.”
The sarcasm was lost on him. “Good idea.”
Yogi whipped off his T-shirt, revealing model-perfect pecs and a set of abdominal ridges that stretched down into oblivion.
Denise flushed warmly when he got back into position, curving his arm around her with his fingers dangerously close to her chest. She’d never been this close to a non-beer related six pack in her entire life.
He clicked the red button on the screen before bringing the phone closer to his face. “Well, it would be more convincing if you smiled, but this will have to do.”
Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection Page 44
