Animal

by Lexxie Couper

  She’d taken him to a quiet, out of the way motel. The kind that rented by the hour. The walls were beige with a few dark stains, the curtains a large flower print with one side held closed with safety pins, and the bedspread was a hot paisley mess. Benie wrinkled her nose at the mustiness, but places like these didn’t smell like potpourri. She cast a worried glance at the decor before promptly turning off all the lights.

  “I like it dark,” she told her pick-up. “It’s more mysterious and sexy, don’t you think?”

  He took her in his arms, and when his tongue swiped across her lips, the heat of his mouth made her knees tremble. “I want to see you,” he said. “Let me turn on the lights.”

  “No,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

  “But you’re so beautiful, and I’m so beautiful. It’s a shame to waste us in the dark.”

  Benie grabbed the front of his jeans and squeezed. “We seem to be doing okay.”

  “Yes, we sure are,” he agreed.

  If she was right about the man, he would make his move soon. She breathed in his scent, the aroma arousing her even more. Yeah. She was right about him. “God, you smell good. What are you wearing?”

  “It’s all natural, darling.”

  “Good genes?”

  “You have no idea.” He kissed her neck, his hot breath causing goose bumps to rise on her skin. “More talk or more action?”

  She ground her hips against him. “More action. Definitely.”

  He didn’t need additional urging as he lifted her shirt and cupped her breasts.

  When his deft tongue twirled her nipple, she almost forgot her purpose. Almost. “Shit, yeah,” she told him, reaching into her back pocket. “God, that feels so good.”

  He lifted his head, drawing himself up the length of her body. “Tell me you want to fuck me.”

  “I want to fuck you.” She mentally added: up.

  “How bad do you want it?”

  She wanted him to stop talking and get to gettin'. Make his move already before she decided she didn’t care about having proof. Then it happened. The bite. All the evidence she needed. “Son of a bitch!” Damn, it hurt. Reflexively, she bashed his face with her forearm and yanked a two-inch push dagger from her back pocket. She pressed it into the side of his neck, then reached over and flipped on the bedside lamp.

  The blond stared dumbstruck at her. “What the fuck are you?”

  She looked at her arms. Her skin had shifted to beige and flowers as she blended into the background where she wasn’t clothed. It had been why she’d turned the lights off in the first place. “You don’t get to judge me, asshole. I’m not the one eating women…and not in a fucking good way.” The man was an other worlder who fed on aroused women, and she’d felt his powers of seduction firsthand. Her bits still pulsed! But off-the-charts arousal wouldn’t stop her from doing her job. “You are guilty of murdering five women in the past two months, and who knows how many countless more women during your existence.”

  He chuckled, but then winced when she pushed the tip of the blade into his neck.

  “Me biting you doesn’t prove a thing, sweetheart.” He smiled a dazzling smile and put his wrists up. “Go ahead and take me in. A warden tribunal will clear me.”

  The wardens were a group of OWs who policed themselves, albeit badly, as evidenced by this slimy bastard. They only took action if the perpetrator’s actions threatened to expose them to the human world. Benie shook her head, not liking that he thought she was an OW lackey. “I’m not a warden.” She sunk the blade into his neck and destroyed his main artery with a quick twist. “I’m an executioner.”

  She jerked out the dagger.

  His eyes widened with surprise as his fingers clawed at the spurting wound. The black ooze of his blood and the pungent, musky scent he released as he struggled to cling to life confirmed he was Leiol—a species mythology and fiction called incubi, but was actually only a hominoid evolution that survived on human flesh. The sex pheromones they excreted made their quests for food more like fishing than hunting. They dangled the bait and reeled the humans in when they jumped on the line.

  Knowing he fed on humans like catfish didn’t make killing him easier, but she had little regret. If she hadn’t taken his life, he would’ve continued preying on innocents. That was something Benie couldn’t allow.

  As incubus’s eyes turned milky, he let out a final, shuddering breath. Benie dropped him to the floor, and his body landed with a dull thud.

  She walked to the wall mirror positioned above an oak-colored laminated bureau. Her skin shifted again to fit her surroundings—the floor, the walls, even the television stand. As her heartbeat slowed, her skin returned to flesh tones and freckles, her hair changed back to auburn, and the bite mark flared an angry red around the broken skin where his teeth had penetrated.

  Benie had allowed the guy to attack her first. It was the first rule of hunting her parents had instilled as part of her training. Make sure your target isn’t human. Her fingers trailed underneath the bruised flesh. She’d heal. She always did.

  Her parents had never discussed how they’d come to adopt her, but she knew they’d saved her from a fate worse than being a slayer.

  Benie rubbed her face then straightened her clothes. She had bigger problems to worry about. Lately, her body’s camouflage mechanism had been faulty, and she found it harder and harder to control. Which made hunting more difficult. She’d been raised to hate the other worlders, OWs, the ones mythology called supernatural or paranormal or sometimes even gods. Who were, in fact, no more than branches of the same evolutionary tree as humans. Some lived for super long periods of time, centuries even, which lent to their appearance of immortality. But as a slayer, Benie had learned a long time ago that all monsters could be killed.

  She dialed a number into her phone, and when the call went straight to voicemail, she said, “Clean up. Lincoln Ave and Fourth Street. Domino Motel. Room six.” She didn’t know who would come, because she never stuck around long enough to find out. Another rule her parents had taught her. Cleaners liked their anonymity as much as hunters. However, she did know that the body and all evidence of the Leiol’s death would be taken care of efficiently. No muss. No fuss.

  She put her cell away then took a syringe from her purse and drew a sample of blood from the dead thing at her feet. Next, she used a hook that looked like a crotchet tool to jab up through his nose and into his brain. She pulled some of his gray matter out and put it in a small plastic specimen container with a flip-top cap. If she’d had time, she’d have sliced into the head, cracked the skull open and tried to retrieve an unbroken section, but she had someplace to be. Ian would have to make do with what she could quickly salvage.

  Her heart fluttered, and her skin shifted for an instant as she thought about Ian Arent. Ian had a double doctorate in chemical and molecular biology with an emphasis in molecular genetics—in other words, he was a freaking genius. For the last two years, his main experiments had all centered on Benie. But the last two months, he’d centered all of his focus on figuring out why she kept glitching. He’d even made her an appointment with a shrink. She looked at her watch. The doc had said he’d see her tonight, but she had gotten a last minute tip on the incubus and hadn’t given the appointment another thought…until now. If she hurried she could make it.

  Benie’s new lack of control meant she could barely go out into public anymore, since any heightened emotion triggered her chameleon condition. According to Ian, the psychiatrist was a professor at the university, and he specialized in behavioral psychology.

  She seriously doubted he could help with her problems, but she wouldn’t break her word to Ian. Even if lately she’d felt more like his lab rat than his best friend—what with all the pokes, prods, skin samples, blood samples, and hair samples. She worried Ian might stop thinking of her as a person—maybe want her brains on a slide. While the OWs hadn’t been able to take Benie out over the years, losing Ian as a friend would end her lik
e no other battle.

  She’d grown up with him in a small town down in southern Missouri. He was younger by two years, but more intelligent by a millennium. Now that her parents were dead, he was the one and only person on earth she trusted completely. It’s why she’d agreed to let him be her own personal Dr. Frankenstein. Unfortunately, Ian’s work had become an ugly necessity. He had been offered several great jobs after he got his doctorate, but he decided to take a teaching job at the local university so he could focus on research—in other words, her.

  Her abilities made it possible to get the upper hand on the baddies when stealth was required. Her father had called her abnormality a gift—fate intervening and evening the odds against the other worlders. She thought it was more like a curse—fate’s way of screwing her out of a normal life.

  Bitterly, Benie left to go be head-shrunk.

  * * * *

  Ian Arent, Ph.D. put his isolation-gown-covered elbows on the counter in his small lab. He’d designed the clean room soon after he had moved into the very large loft-turned-apartment he shared with Benie. Clean meaning that the room was set up for sterile work. The floor was ESD vinyl, and the walls and ceilings were made of thermoplastic sheeting. The air flow and air conditioner were filtered, and thanks to a privately funded grant, he had most of the equipment he needed for his study: a gel electrophoresis chamber, DNA analyzer, a freezer that dropped to-80 degrees, several computers, and many more “bells and whistles,” as Benie called them.

  He smiled at the thought of her, and then frowned. She had changed recently and not in her normal way. Ian had always been attracted to Benie, but lately the draw had become intense. There were moments when he’d had to fight the overwhelming urge to confess his growing desires. He didn’t have time for nonsense. Benie had fought a Jekyll a few weeks before, and now there were major changes in her blood cells and in her perspiration’s chemical makeup.

  The Jekyll, an OW who appeared to be a mild mannered, even timid, human but turned into a violent and raging monster when strong emotions were triggered, had killed three men outside a library in the Meadow district. After dealing with creature, Benie had ended up with a broken wrist and deep scratches across her back and upper arms—the Jekyll, of course, ended up dead. Ian had seen her in much worse shape after a hunt, but this time had been different, and the changes in her body chemistry supported his concern.

  A sharp pang of regret lanced Ian as he thought of Benie. He’d always loved her, more than he’d ever let on during their years together. She didn’t do relationships, and Ian refused to be another disposable lover. He knew Benie loved him back, even if it wasn’t in the way he wanted. He was the most important person in her world since her parents died—he knew this fact with absolute certainty—and he already risked so much with his new research.

  If Benie discovered his current experiment, she might never forgive him. But if he wanted to find out what was going on with her mutating genetics, the tests were the only way he could do it swiftly with any conclusive result.

  His study would’ve been much easier if Benie was more open-minded about the OWs. She had a lot of prejudices—some of them not unfounded—but when it came to other world stuff, she was determined to see them as evil—even if she was one herself.

  Not that he’d say that to her. Ever.

  He made that mistake once when they were young, and she didn’t talk to him for over a month. It had been pure torture being away from her, but nothing like when the authority had put her away after her parents’ suspicious death. They’d blamed Benie. She could have ended up in prison, but her lawyer had convinced her to plea mental incapacity with special circumstances. The jury took one look at the ashen training equipment that had been found in the Dilian’s basement, and didn’t need any more convincing that Benie had been tortured by them. It had landed her in a locked floor at the mental hospital for four years, until she’d turned eighteen.

  He wished her adoptive parents hadn’t raised her to hate and be suspicious of all other worlders. She’d grown up with humans and identified as human, but her abilities and her DNA made it impossible to deny that she was definitely something else. Every new blood sample and slide she gave him, he hoped he would finally find the one that would open Pandora’s Box, or in this case, Benie’s family tree. So far, there hadn’t been even a close match—a testament to her uniqueness in this world.

  Ian walked to bio-fridge and pulled a vial of clear, yellow liquid out. He rolled the glass cylinder between his palms to warm the serum. Next, he drew it into a syringe. He undid the front of his jeans, pushed the back down to expose his hip, wiped the area with an alcohol wipe and injected the large muscle. He winced. The thick concoction burned when it went into his body. He withdrew the needle and sighed.

  No. He couldn’t see any situation where Benie would be okay with this particular human trial.

  * * * *

  The shrink’s office smelled like a mix of orange spice and dust, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Benie stared at the compact man in the brown suit and bow tie who sat across from her, looking down at his pad and paper, scribbling notes. His hair was short and his forehead stretched to the top of his dome. She pondered whether his hair had retreated to the back of his head or whether it had merely migrated to his eyebrows. They were bold and bushy.

  He wore spectacles, the old-fashioned kind, hiding bulging eyes, and Benie couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever heard of Lasik. Nah, the doctor probably liked the effect of the round spectacles—made him appear more competent somehow. Or maybe he didn’t care what anybody thought.

  Psychiatrists and psychologists were a real bone of contention for Benie, who had her own motives for not trusting the head-shrinking profession. The only reason she gave Dr. Myron Gray a try was because Ian said he worked wonders with involuntary behavioral responses, and he believed Gray could work miracles for her…or some such gibberish.

  The doctor still hadn’t stopped writing in his little yellow notepad. Benie began to think he was solving world hunger or curing cancer, because she’d only been in his office for five minutes and surely that wasn’t enough time to write a book. She rubbed her hands together, trying to avoid putting her fingers in her mouth. She’d already shredded most of her nails to the nubs and didn’t want to suffer the humiliation of having the doctor read some deep psychosis in a nail-biting habit.

  “Let me see if I understand your concerns. Recently, you have experienced difficulties maintaining yourself in stressful conditions. Is that it?”

  “Exactly!” Her hand-wringing worsened as she fought the urge to nibble her nails. “I can’t take it, Doctor. One minute I’m green, the next blue, brown, silver, purple, then I’m back to my old self again. It drives me nuts!” She hadn’t meant for her worries to come out that way. She sounded crazy, even to her own ears.

  “Green, then blue. Interesting.” He jotted on the pad.

  “I’m talking metaphorically, of course.” Damn it, her right index finger cuticle had found its way between her teeth.

  “Metaphorically. Interesting.” More jotting commenced.

  “I mean I don’t really turn blue or green, or any other color for that matter. I’m just…well, you know.”

  “Yes, interesting.”

  He kept scribbling, and Benie’s nerves started to fray. Besides, she worried the notes he took might equal a one-way ticket to the looney bin. She wouldn’t go through that again. After her parents had died, she’d been locked up for four years, until she was eighteen. Ian—sixteen-years-old, emancipated, and fresh out of college with his masters—had been waiting when they let her out. He’d rented them a place to live, and in effect, he’d rescued her. Because of her experience, though, she thought most shrinks were witch doctors practicing voodoo science, and she’d only agreed to go to Dr. Gray after Ian accused her of “not trusting him.” A totally unfair play on his part.

  Now, she stood up. “You know, Doctor. I don’t think this will work out. I’m f
ine.” Slowly, she worked her way over to her coat and purse. “I mean, of course, I’m fine.”

  She tried a casual lazy smile to let him know she truly was all right, but Benie wasn’t sure if she knew exactly how to pull off casual lazy. She hoped it didn’t look maniacal. “Just fine.” Her scarf went on first, and then the coat. “I don’t need therapy. I don’t know what I was thinking! I must be crazy.” Why couldn’t she stop talking? She grabbed her purse and put a hand on the doorknob. “I didn’t mean that. I’m not crazy…”

  He narrowed his gaze on her hands.

  Good God! They’d turned bright green. She knew she shouldn’t have worn the neon green coat, but it was her favorite—all fluffy and fuzzy. Quickly, Benie shoved her hands that now looked like matching mittens into her pockets.

  Dr. Gray didn’t appear ruffled in any way. He calmly put down his pad and paper and said, “Sit down, Benoica. I think I can help you.”

  Her voice went two octaves higher. “You can?”

  “Yes. Changing colors, though not a voluntary behavior, is still behavior. Once we get down to the root cause, or the why, then it’s a matter of training your body to exhibit an alternative behavior.”

  He wasn’t freaking out. Why wasn’t he freaking out? Ian, of course. He wouldn’t have set her up with a doctor who couldn’t handle weird. And she was Weird with a capital W. She wondered if he knew about the OWs as well, but first she wanted to find out if he could actually help with her problem. “So, you don’t think I’m crazy?”

  “No, Benoica.” He smiled, and it was a wonderful smile with shiny little white teeth. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”