by Heidi Lowe
"That's not true. Of course I care about Jean's business interests."
She let out a derisive laugh, unconvinced. "Yeah right, that's why you brought a wolf to her restaurant. What, is this your new obsession now? Werewolves are the new black, huh?"
"I didn't know she was one of them!" I shouted. How many times would I need to say it? "I'm not some freak looking for her latest thrill."
"Save it. I don't care what you have to say. I wish you would just go away." She turned to leave, mumbling something under her breath.
"Well, you're in luck. I've found somewhere else to live. I'm moving out."
She stopped, looked at me to assess if I was telling the truth. Then she said, "We're not lucky enough for it to be to a different state or country, are we?"
My glare could have pierced her skin. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"It's better than nothing. Maybe when you're finally gone she'll get a chance to move on."
I didn't have the energy to go after her, to tell her that moving on was the last thing Jean wanted. That she'd begged me to stay, that even though my new place was half an hour away, it still seemed like a thousand miles to her. Because what good was any of that when everything Robyn had said was true? I'd caused nothing but trouble. The ink had barely dried on her contract for the restaurant, and I'd already destroyed her new partnership.
My move couldn't have come soon enough.
I went back to bed after Robyn's departure, but drifted in and out of sleep, before finally giving up. I got dressed, grabbed a croissant from the kitchen, and locked myself away in my studio.
With all the Jean stuff and our memorable night of love-making, I hadn't had five seconds to really think about Dallas.
Holy shit! A werewolf. How much of a cliche had I become by getting involved with her? First a vampire, now a werewolf. The coincidence was too absurd. Except, what if Jean was right? What if it wasn't a coincidence that Dallas had entered my life? Could she have targeted me because of my relationship with Jean?
I didn't want to consider the possibility. I wanted to believe that a sexy, sassy girl could be interested in me for me, not because she saw me as a vampire's pet.
I didn't realize I'd started painting until I was staring at the outline of what looked like a wolf. And just like that the muse had returned. She never announced her return, just showed up and took control of my hand.
I'd never painted a wolf before, but I went with it. That was how some of my best work came about, by letting the muse guide me.
As my hand shifted all across the canvas, like a puppet's, I found myself wondering. I knew nothing about werewolves – less about them than I had about vampires before I'd met Jean. And my ignorance only made me want to learn more. About everything. Dallas had intrigued me just by being the rebellious girl who rode a motorcycle. But this revelation, that she was a Were, was a real game-changer.
Curiosity, see, had always been my weakness. And as I fleshed out the painting of the wolf, I battled with the two conflicting voices inside me. One told me to steer clear, not get involved with someone from a race my girlfriend called her mortal enemies. The other told me to explore, to learn more about the world I was locked out of, that most were locked out of.
It wasn't, I'm ashamed to say, a difficult decision to make.
FOURTEEN
Dallas had disappeared into the wind. I hadn't seen her in almost a week, and I wondered if Jean had scared her off. I wouldn't have blamed her for fleeing, keeping her distance from a claimed girl. That look in Jean's eye, that look that promised death, it still made me shiver to think about it days later. However intrepid, for all the bravado Dallas had shown, she was no match for Jean.
"Lissa." Diane came out of the stock room, scanned over the paper in her hand. "Did you remember to order the collars on Tuesday?"
It was Friday afternoon, the day was winding down after being uncharacteristically busy. I'd barely gotten the chance to sit down for more than five minutes. With Camille away on vacation, Raymond and I had to hold the fort while Diane did whatever managers did in their offices.
"Yep, just like you asked. I had to use one of our back up suppliers, though. Paws and Friends were out of stock."
"Hmm, that's probably why the delivery's late." She hadn't looked up once during the brief exchange, then turned and drifted back into her office. That was how it had been all week.
Raymond brought out a couple of coffees for us.
"Ray, is it just me or does Diane seem stressed lately? More than usual?"
"It's not just you. She's under a lot of pressure at the moment. Bergman-Keller, one of our biggest donors, announced last week that they were pulling funding from the shelter."
"God, that's terrible. What does that mean for the place?" I didn't ask the central question on my mind, because it would have sounded selfish. But what did that mean for me and my job? Wasn't the rule of thumb last in, first out?
"Nothing good." He sipped his coffee, then added, "We won't be able to take in as many animals as before, that's a given."
Okay, I couldn't hold my peace any longer. He seemed to be saying everything but what I needed to hear.
"And us? Does it mean layoffs? I really can't afford to lose this job. I just signed a six-month lease." So this was what independence looked like? It hadn't even started yet and I was already failing miserably!
"Relax, Lissa. We're not there yet. There are still options, other avenues to secure funding. The fat lady's still getting her hair and makeup done." He gave me a smile that was supposed to reassure me, but it didn't.
We were in the age of cutbacks, downsizing and wide-scale unemployment. No one was immune to it. I didn't like my chances.
Contrary to how it may have first appeared, I really did care about the fate of the animals – the ones that would be turned away from the shelter's doors. Greenfields Home For the Paw was one of the best in the state, with the nicest facilities, and a staff that really cared. Some of the state-funded ones were horrific, and regularly made local news for their ill-treatment of the animals. I wanted this place to stay open and available.
"And it's the rest of us that need to worry. You and your big mansion and your rich sugar-mama will be just fine."
He was right, though I found the thought a little disconcerting. This was exactly what I'd been trying to get away from, the dependence on Jean for my survival. Even though we'd been getting on (and getting it on) much better these past few days, my mind hadn't changed about the move. But it still didn't negate the fact that, if worst came to worst and I lost my job, I would still have a roof over my head. A great roof, by anyone's standards. Not everyone was fortunate enough to have a multimillionaire girlfriend to take care of them.
This did make me think. All I ever had to do was ask, and she would give without questioning. She knew how much the job meant to me, how much the animals did. What if I asked her to donate to the shelter? Keeping my private life and social life separate had always been my goal, but maybe not asking was selfish.
"How much are we talking here? To maintain the status quo?"
He frowned at my question. "I don't know. Diane has the figures. Why?"
"Just wondering."
"Are you thinking of asking your rich girlfriend for a donation?" His eyebrows jumped in the most lecherous manner. What was it with these people? "Did you guys make up? Is that why you haven't come out with us for drinks this whole week? You've been "making up"?"
I shook my head in disbelief, struggling not to laugh. "Why are you guys always so concerned with my love life?"
"Because ours is drab. Duh."
"We're...we're getting on, all right. That's all I'm prepared to say." Because if I said any more, the conversation would become utterly NSFW.
The truth was, ever since the night at the restaurant, Jean and I had spent every night together. Rediscovering ourselves, making up for all the time we'd lost while we were at odds. I'd fallen asleep in her arms six days in a row,
just like the good old days. I'd had so much sex the past week that I didn't even know who I was when I wasn't doing it. With Jean, one round was never enough.
"Now that's just unfair." He pushed his lower lip out, sulking like a kid. I threw a soft toy at him. "Are you really thinking about asking her? Could she afford it?"
Affording it wasn't the issue. Asking her for anything was, since I'd declared my independence. Just saying it wasn't enough – I had to prove it.
"If we can't get any other funding, it's a last resort."
I waited until we'd finished our coffees and changed topic before I decided to pick his brain. I didn't want him making any connections between what I asked and my relationship with Jean.
"Have there been any new developments with the attack here the other day?" My tone was casual.
"Not really. Like I said before, everyone knows who did it, we just can't prove it."
"Is that something that werewolves do a lot?"
"Unfortunately. Those savages think it's funny. Most of the time they hunt in the woods, away from humans. But hunting's hard work, I guess. Some of them don't want to work for their food." He spoke with such bitterness, I was in two minds about pushing him for more details. But I wanted to know more, and outside of reading books – which I had no desire to do – he was my only source of information. Well, outside of Dallas and Jean. The former, I didn't think I would see again; and the latter, I didn't want knowing I was interested in learning more about the race.
"So they're trouble-makers? Do they ever attack humans?"
"Rarely. And if so, not because of hunger. Not like the fangers."
"Then for what reason, if not to feed?"
He shrugged. "Who knows? Self-preservation, maybe? Or for sport. It's very rare, though. I haven't heard anything about a Were-human attack since I was in high school."
So they were the lesser of two evils? The way Jean had reacted, I would never have guessed.
"Why are you asking so many questions about them?" he asked, eying me suspiciously.
"Well, I'm living here, aren't I? I need to know what I'm up against."
"You mostly don't have anything to worry about with them. Fangers are the ones you really have to be wary of. Watch your neck at night and all that."
I had no desire to listen to him slander vampires, not when he would have happily accepted the money from one to keep the shelter open. But it seemed to him that both races were interchangeable – things to be avoided.
From the street, the ground-shaking thunder of an approaching motorcycle got my attention. I turned to look out the window, to see if I could catch sight of the rider, to see if it was Dallas. When the vehicle sped past, and I was certain the shape of the bike and the color of the helmet weren't consistent with hers, I slunk back from the window, feeling stupid. I'd been doing this all week; every time a motorcycle passed, I almost broke my neck to see if it was her. It never was, and each time I promised would be the last. It never was.
"Is there any point asking if you're coming out with us for drinks later?" Raymond said a couple of minutes later.
"No, I'm gonna head straight home."
"Of course you are." And there was that suggestive smirk again.
FIFTEEN
"Mmm, these are delicious. Where did you get them?" I said, my mouth full of fine Belgian chocolate. The box of twelve hand-decorated truffles lay half-empty between my legs on the bed, as I gobbled them down insatiably.
While I was growing fat on fancy chocolates that probably cost more than I made in a day, a naked Jean, mirroring my own state of undress, sat behind me, doing some devouring of her own. My ear, my neck, my cheeks, my back were all being kissed, licked, sucked and nibbled on. I had my chocolates while she had me.
"A little place in town. I saw them and thought you would appreciate them."
"They taste like...Heaven!"
She laughed, kissed my back. "You taste like Heaven."
"I didn't know chocolate could taste this good."
"I didn't know anyone could taste this good."
I giggled as she kissed my neck. "Are you just going to keep saying stuff like that every time I talk about the chocolates?"
"I'm only speaking the truth."
We'd been in bed for more than two hours, and she was still glued to me with the same dedication she'd shown when we'd started. I really was her expensive truffles.
Within ten minutes the kisses wouldn't be sufficient, and she would lay me down and claim my body all over again. That was how it had been all week. And these sweet truffles were no doubt to keep my strength up. She wanted me full of energy, ready to go again and again and again until my muscles ached, and my skin was so sensitive that even the air hitting it would be too much to bear.
"You know," she whispered as she nibbled my ear, her hands caressing my thigh, "these are the types of gifts I would get you every day if you stayed..."
That subject was never far from her thoughts. Every day, without fail, she brought it up, tried to get me to change my mind.
"Jean, that's not up for discussion anymore," I said, as I always said. The answer didn't change.
"Is there really nothing I can do to convince you to stay?"
"I get the keys on Sunday..."
She stopped nibbling, stopped kissing, but wrapped her arms around my waist instead, and rested her head on my back. "Wow, so this is really happening. And so soon. I thought we would have had more time."
"You talk as though you'll never see me again. It's not goodbye."
"It certainly feels that way." She fell silent, but held on to me like I was a lifesaver and she was in the middle of the ocean. Perhaps making up, getting back to somewhere good, was more a curse than a blessing. If I'd left while we were still at odds, it may have been easier on both of us.
"Can I say something without you trying to get me to reconsider?"
"What is it?"
"I want to stay. That would be so easy. But it wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be good for me, or for us in the long run. When I come back to you, I want to be a better woman."
"You're perfect the way you are. I love you exactly as you are. Why can't you see that?"
"I can. The problem isn't how you see me, but how I see myself. Does that make sense at all?"
"Yes." I heard the reluctance in her voice. She finally got me, got why I had to leave. "I hate that you're right about this. But that doesn't mean I'm ever going to like it."
I laughed. "You don't have to, just respect my decision. That's all I ask."
"Okay, baby. I can do that." I twisted a little so we could kiss properly. Her tongue ate mine hungrily.
"Besides, my studio is here. I won't stay away for long."
"When can I see your new piece? I don't think it's fair that you banned me from coming down there."
Never was what I wanted to say. I'd had to play it coy, put on this whole facade about not wanting her to see my work until it was finished. I'd begged her not to come into the studio when I was out. But the truth was, I never wanted her to see that painting. She couldn't know what was on my mind. The painted wolf told many secrets. Its morphing between its human and animal forms betrayed me in every way. If she saw it, she would know instantly that Dallas wasn't a thing of the past for me. And then this whole week would have been for nothing. She would no longer trust me.
"When it's finished, and not a moment sooner."
"I'm just so glad you're painting again. And I love the smell of you after you come out of your little den, covered in paint. I could just eat you all up."
I giggled again as she smothered my neck and face in kisses.
"Oh, so you like it when I'm filthy?"
"I like you any and every way." That smokiness to her voice could only mean one thing: she was ready to have me again.
Her kisses had sex in them, so too did her touches, her strokes of my thigh. She removed the truffle box from the bed, set it on the nightstand, then turned her attentions back
to me. One hand massaged my breast in time with our slow, sensuous tongue-battle. Her fingers trapped my nipple until it was stiff and firm and sensitive. Then she took that hand, wet a couple of fingers, and returned it to the nipple, rubbing and moistening it.
Only one moan managed to escape my mouth before her lips found me again and swallowed the rest of my murmurs. I never knew what position she had in store for us until the act was well underway. She never told me, and I didn't need to ask. I trusted her implicitly with my body, and knew that whatever we did, I would end up screaming with ecstasy.
At least, that would have transpired if the heavy, erratic drumming on the bedroom door hadn't stopped her.
The door creaked open before she could dismiss the intruder, and I was quick enough to pull the covers over us to hide our modesty.
"Jesus, Robyn, I didn't tell you to come in!" Jean shouted when Robyn appeared in the doorway.
Robyn looked at us tangled in the sheets, probably smelled the sex in the air, and her cheeks colored slightly. But she didn't look nearly as embarrassed to have walked in on us doing the nasty as she should have.
"I didn't think she would still be here," she mumbled, cutting me a scathing look. There was something a little off about her tonight. She looked as gorgeous as ever, in some weird catwalk type outfit that would have looked absurd on anyone else, but on her figure looked amazing. And her perfume was so strong I could smell it from the bed. But there was a glazed look in her eyes. It took me a while to realize what it was.
"Why wouldn't she be here? She lives here."
"I thought she'd already moved out."
I heard Jean's impatient intake of breath. "This had better be important, Robyn."
I reached for my T-shirt on the floor while one hand held the duvet in place to keep my nakedness concealed. But as I went to put it on, Jean leaned over and whispered into my ear, "Don't get dressed, Lissa. We're not finished."
