by Lisa Ladew
He’d picked her up and moved to the end of the hallway, then put her down and the whole experience had been half surreal, half-sexual, in her opinion, even though she had no experience with the latter. Her mother had always scolded her when she looked at boys and then men, even when she hadn’t been a teenager anymore. The angel, Lucinda would whisper if she saw Willow looking at a man. He won’t like you dating before he comes for you. You’ve gotta save yourself for him.
Willow passed out the door and went down the steps as if in a dream, barely noticing the textures under her feet. She was already five minutes late meeting Soroush, and she couldn’t quite get her mental legs under her enough to think what she should do about that, except hurry outside.
Soroush was there, next to a little dark car that took her breath away, it looked so expensive. “Hi,” she called, even though her thoughts were still heavy, hard to command. She took a deep breath and tried to corral the thoughts about the big guy she was so taken with.
Soroush turned to her and smiled back, and she couldn’t help but open herself, pull in some of the emotions and thought-forms swirling around him. His block was still there, but it was smaller and Willow knew how to get around it. He was thrilled to see her, but he still thought of that other woman every day, the one he’d come to ask about, and seeing Willow called up the other woman’s face in his mind. Willow could feel her name, could almost get it. Rose, Rosalind. Ronnie. Rogue, that was it.
Willow startled, stopping ten feet from her destination and staring at Soroush. The name in his mind made her remember where she knew that other woman from. She’d met Rogue in her restaurant, maybe a month ago, and had been immediately drawn to her. Rogue had been sharp, edgy, not afraid to speak her mind and Willow had been able to see that in her from across the room. Her thought-forms had been like daggers, slicing through the thought-forms of the people around her, like water through smoke. Willow had loved it. That’s how she wanted to be. Decisive, strong, clever, and quick, but she knew her own speed was more sweet, kind, thoughtful, and responsive.
Willow pulled her energy into herself and eyed Soroush suspiciously. What exactly did he want with Rogue, and how was Willow connected to both of them? Something was going on and she wanted to know what.
She tapped back into Soroush’s thought-form. He thought of Rogue every day, missed her like mad, thought maybe he was in love with her a little bit, and also that he needed psychiatric help. He needed some kind of help, that was for sure. He was ruined, damaged, what was he doing? How could he even be considering taking Willow out on a date? She was so sweet, so fresh, and if she really was what he thought she might be, that complicated things so badly. But maybe he could help her, save her, make sure she found who needed her-Willow frowned at the stream of thoughts, which rushed at her quickly, sharply, in a circuitous pattern, like Soroush’s mind was a racetrack and every thought made exactly three laps and then exited the track to be replaced by fresh thoughts, new connections.
Willow began walking forward again as Soroush pulled open the passenger door of his car for her. She sensed no danger toward Rogue or herself in the mature man in front of her, but that confliction she’d felt before was even stronger today, especially around his thoughts of Rogue. He wanted to find her to tell her something, something important.
Willow reached the car. Her palms tingled and she rubbed her hands together. Normally, life at the Honey Depot was routine, boring, but so many new things happening at once? Something was culminating, and there was no way she was backing down or running away. She was safe with this man, and she wanted to go with him, figure out what he had to do with her life. She’d looked up his name, Soroush, on the Internet and learned it meant angel in Persian. That had to mean something. She hadn’t dared tell her mother. Lucinda was all southern practicality and charm… unless the subject had anything to do with Willow’s future love life.
Soroush smiled at her. “Have you decided where you want to eat?”
She gave him a blank look because no, she hadn’t given it any thought. His handsome face fell and she wondered just how old he was. Fifty? A well-kept fifty-five? Or maybe he was younger and the silver hair and moustache made him look older than he was. Her first date ever, with a man close to twice her age. Her mother would freak.
He raised a hand to his forehead and hooked a thumb behind him, at the Honey Depot. “Genius. You own a restaurant, and the only date I can think to take you on is to another restaurant.” He shook his head. “That was stupid of me. Would you like to do something else?”
His hands move as he spoke, going from his forehead to his check then to his chest. Willow watched his fingers as they traced a diagonal slash down his chest very lightly. Thought-forms exploded around him, lapping his head again and again. She didn’t leave him to his privacy. Instead, she examined a few. One of them was about a monster, a ten foot tall monster with glowing eyes and claws three inches long. From behind Soroush’s memory, Willow watched, as the monster hovered over Soroush and asked him a question Willow couldn’t understand. When Soroush nodded slowly, painfully, the monster swiped his claws across Soroush’s chest, marking him forever.
Willow couldn’t see the marks, couldn’t see the blood that must be falling, but she could trace the three-dimensional energy that stood out from them, red and glaring in the shape of slashes from Soroush’s left shoulder to below the right side of his bellybutton.
Soroush’s eyes narrowed and he stared at her, pulling her out of the memory.
He’d asked her a question. She scrambled, mentally, trying to remember what it had been. “No,” she said. “A restaurant is great. I never get to eat out. I like… Italian.” She eased into the low seat of the sports car and he popped the door shut behind her.
“Ok, there’s a great place close by,” he said into the open window, then he ran around the car and got in, giving Willow time to think.
Was he crazy? Did the monster in his mind represent something? Willow fastened her seatbelt and thought of things to talk about, to get him talking, so she could get to know him and figure out who exactly he was, what exactly was going on.
He started the car and pulled out onto the road, turning left. He cleared his throat a few times, awkwardly.
Her own mind rebelled, as she tried to think of how to draw him out, what to say to him. He rubbed his chest through his shirt, wiped his palm on his jeans, then rubbed it again. His awkward feelings grew so thick and immutable Willow began to choke on them, scrambling to put a block in place so she could function. It seemed that now that they were in the same car, headed somewhere together, his blocks were more like funnels, pushing his thoughts and feelings at her, driving out her ability to think and feel her own.
Willow dug at her seatbelt, pulling it away from her chest and neck, trying to breathe, but it didn’t help. She was drowning in his confliction, his racing thoughts. This had happened to her one other time in her life, as a young teen, her mother had taken her to a Vietnam War remembrance rally, and a man there, a crazy, completely-out-of-his-mind veteran of the war, thick in the throes of un-diagnosed PTSD, had taken an interest in Lucinda. His thoughts about the combat he’d slogged through for his country and the treatment he’d received by his compatriots when he’d gotten home circled round and round his body constantly, sucking young Willow in, scrambling her brains and her beliefs about who she was. Her mother had been on something and hadn’t noticed Willow’s distress, until Willow had started puking. Then they’d gotten away from the man and Willow had started practicing in earnest how to block people, especially people with strong minds and traumatic pasts.
Willow couldn’t get her blocks to function well. The car was too small, the man next to her too strong, her mind already too much in disarray. She had to distract him, make him pull back in on himself-either that or open the car door and jump out. Her hand scrambled for the door handle, even as her mouth spoke, asked a question. She had to listen to see what the question was. “Are you an an
gel?”
It worked. His thoughts pulled back on themselves, swirling tightly around his head, allowing Willow to catch her breath and concentrate her mental energy. When she had herself under control, she snuck a look at him.
He was staring out the front window, his eyes wide and glazed. He didn’t say anything for a long time. She took little sips of his thought-forms and emotions, trying to keep her own opinions out of what she was receiving. Impossible, but she still tried.
She knows. She’s testing me. The wolves are on to me. Impossible. She doesn’t know. She knows something, but doesn’t know what she knows. What am I doing? Do I want to be caught? Maybe. I’m ruined now anyway. Sitting in a jail cell might be better than working for him. But if I just don’t shift… maybe?
He put a hand to his head and she felt muted pain slash across her chest. She pushed it away, knowing it was his and not hers, not wanting to take it on or take it away. Also knowing he was about to lie to her, tell her what he thought she wanted to hear. And what she saw in his mind made even less sense than him being an angel.
The tremor in his voice broadcasted the lie as much as the thoughts in his head did.
“I’m not an angel, I’m a wolf.”
Chapter 11
Bruin pressed his nose and his palms to the window and stared out at the little car speeding out of the parking lot and turning left on the country road beyond, heading into Serenity.
He moaned and grabbed his head. “I can’t believe she’s already got a boyfriend and I only met her now.”
Rogue frowned and poked him on the chest, just above the nipple she’d already twisted. “Are you kidding? Did you see that funky body language? How awkward they were? How their shoulders faced away from each other and how he was groveling? I know these things. That had first date stamped all over it. She doesn’t belong to him. You go get her Bru. If you like her, I know she’ll like you back. We just need to get you in front of her. Get her to see how special you are.”
Bruin grabbed Rogue by the shoulders, but gently. He didn’t shake her like he would have shaken Mac.
“Really?”
She nodded. “I know about these things Bruin. That is a first date, I’m telling you.”
That was all Bruin needed to hear. He whirled and headed out the door, hitting the porch at a run, taking the steps three at a time until he was at the bottom and in the parking lot.
He hit the side of the truck and opened the back seat trying to climb in, but Troy was there, teeth bared.
Where’s my omelet?
Bruin held up his hands. “Sorry, Troy. We didn’t even get to eat. There’s someone we’ve got to follow.”
Troy growled again. I’m hungry. Unless it’s Khain or a foxen, something halfway edible, I want food, in my belly, now.
Troy wouldn’t let him in. Bruin slammed the door and made to climb in the front seat but Rogue beat him there and got in first.
“Slide over,” he told her, frantically. He couldn’t be trusted to drive. He was too out of his head.
She slid to the middle as Mac jumped into the driver’s seat and jammed the keys into the ignition. Trent glared at them from the back seat, putting one paw over and poking Mac in the shoulder. His voice rumbled in Bruin’s head.
Troy wants food and his whining is getting on my nerves. This better be good.
Mac ignored him, grinned, and screamed out of the parking lot, looking like he was having a great time.
He spoke out loud. “Bru finally met a lady who didn’t run away screaming once she got a good look at his face, so now we have to chase her and convince her that his personality makes him worth it. He’s purty on the inside.”
Trent hmmmed in Bruin’s head, a sound bracketed with the sight of climbing vines and the sound of wolf nails on concrete. But he didn’t protest, and even Troy settled down. Bruin craned his head trying to find a sign of the car that had taken off out of the parking lot several minutes ago. He saw nothing but empty road.
Mac slammed his foot on the gas as they pulled out onto the country road. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch them. I’m a mothereffin master driver.”
Rogue fastened her seatbelt, squeezing closer to Mac as she did so, her color high, her eyes bright. “Better than a masturbator.”
Mac snorted and held up his hand for a high-five, which Rogue happily gave him.
Bruin leaned forward over the dash, almost pressing his face against the windshield, searching for any sign of that little car. So far nothing. The roads were empty, the afternoon sun hazy on the crops on both sides of the road ahead of them. Mac swore and slowed down.
“What?” Bruin groaned but he saw already. A tractor with a folded disc plow behind it driving slowly and taking up the entire road. They were going to be stuck.
“No, look,” said Rogue and there to the right, a quarter mile ahead, was the little sports car. It had gotten stuck also and was not wasting its energy until the tractor cleared the road.
“Slow down, slow down,” Bruin hissed between his teeth, not wanting the lovely woman to realize he was following her like a lunatic. Or a stalker. Blast it all, he was a stalker. Who would’ve thought?
Mac complied, slowing way down and staying well back, then pulling over to wait like the sports car was waiting. Everyone caught their breath.
Rogue rubbed her hands together. “Perfect, now we can follow them to wherever they’re going, and as soon as they get there, Bruin can jump out and start talking to Willow. Lure her away from whoever this loser is.”
Mac shook his head emphatically. “No way, he can’t do that. That’s against the bro code. Even if it’s a first date, especially if it’s a first date, you don’t do that to a bro.”
“Yeah, it’s bear code, you can’t do that,” Bruin said softly, his heart twisting.
Rogue scoffed. “What in the hell is bear code?”
“It’s like bro code, but cooler, cuz it’s got bears.”
Rogue eyed him for a moment, obviously irritated, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she looked wistfully out the front windshield and touched Mac on the arm, “But what if it’s true love?”
Mac whipped his head so he could see Bruin. “Is it Bru? Is it true love?” Bruin could only shake his head and stare at the car ahead of them and wonder what exactly was going on in there. Were they talking? Were they kissing? A spike of pain went through his heart at the thought, and his guts heaved. If he’d had any food in his stomach, he would have thrown it up.
Rogue turned on Mac, her voice pleading. “What if we can get to them before they reach the restaurant and officially start their date? Would that break bro code?”
Mac shrugged “Maybe. It depends on whether the guy opens the door for her or not.”
Ahead of them, the tractor made a laborious turn into a dirt driveway, and the little sports car pulled out onto the road, heading for town. Mac followed.
Rogue thought for a few moments, her fingers tucked into her palms, her head down. She turned to Bruin, “Ok, Bruin, this is what we’re going to do. Mac’s gonna get next to him in the other lane. You roll down your window, and I’m gonna throw you out of the truck. When he runs over you, they’ll have to stop. She’ll be concerned about you. She’ll get out and tend to your wounds. While she’s throwing sad-puppy concerned eyes at you, you make your move and ask her out. She’ll be so excited that you didn’t die that she’ll totally say yes. And he’ll feel so bad that you almost died that he’ll give her up without a fight. It’s perfect. I’m a genius.”
Bruin considered it. Surely that little car couldn’t do much damage to him. He probably weighed as much as it did. But what if she got hurt? Someone snorted in his head. Trent? Troy? He couldn’t tell.
Mac sped up, went for the pass, and Rogue grabbed Bruin by the shoulder. “This is going to hurt a little bit,” she said. “Ok, maybe a lot, but don’t think about that.” Bruin braced himself.
But the little car slowed fast and Mac overshot it. Bruin twisted in his seat
to see it, catching Trent and Troy doing the same from his peripheral vision.
“Shit!” Rogue cried. “Mac, turn around. They’re turning there.”
“They must be headed to Darpaccio’s,” Mac said, slamming on the brakes and backing up, then following.
“Huh,” Bruin said, his voice low. “I should have known. You saw his suit, right?”
“Yeah. Expensive. Straight-up gangsta.”
Rogue pinched both their biceps. “Somebody want to tell me what we’re talking about!?”
Mac stepped on the gas and the big truck jumped forward. “You’ll see.”
Two miles down the road, the little car pulled into a strange looking building, nestled in trees, but still visible enough for everyone to tell what it was supposed to be. A sign out front blazed Darpaccio’s Italian Food, and the entire building was round, ball shaped, and textured like food. A massive meatball, to be exact.
Rogue stared in awe at the building made to look like a meatball. “I’ve heard about this place, but I didn’t think it actually existed.”
Bruin watched as the small sports car pulled into the parking lot and parked. He couldn’t believe that this guy, whoever he was, was taking such a gorgeous and petite and special woman to a place where criminals hung out. High-end criminals, sure, but the bosses were still criminals. “Hurry, Mac.” His fingers scrabbled for the door handle.
Rogue leaned forward with him. “That’s right. Hurry up and get out. You’ve gotta get over there and open that door for her, man! Go, go!”
Mac waved his hand. “That’s not how it works. You have to wait and see if that guy opens her door. You can’t beat him to the punch.”
Rogue pounded her fist on the dashboard. “I don’t care about your stupid bro-code. Bruin can’t wait until that date is over. He’s gotta get in there first, no matter what!” She turned on Mac. “Your bro-code rules suck. Besides, he’s a criminal. Bro-code rules can’t possibly apply to criminals. That’s some bullshit. So that means the bro-code doesn’t stand, right? Bruin gets to swoop because he’s a good guy, and the good guys always win.”
