Indecent Werewolf Exposure

by Eve Langlais

  “Fairly sure.” A small waver of uncertainty made my voice wobble.

  “What’s worrying you?”

  “I don’t need to worry about you eating me, do I?”

  “The only nibbling I do will be in bed, and you’ll like it.”

  Mmm. That I did. “You won’t do anything gross like sniff my crotch or hump my leg?”

  “No!” Such indignation.

  “Then let’s go. Time’s a wasting.”

  Pete rolled me off his snuggly chest. I nestled in his sheets, soft linen that bore his scent. Trying hard to hold my trepidation in check, I watched him as he stood alongside the bed in all his naked glory.

  Am I ready for this? Ready to see him for who he truly is? I hoped so.

  Back went Pete’s shoulders, determination glinted in his eyes, and he said, “Just remember, no matter what, I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

  “I know you won’t.” My soft admission rang with truth.

  “Here goes.” He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths in preparation.

  A motion outside his window drew my attention, allowing me to see the hideous face that plastered itself against the glass. And I mean ugly.

  I screamed.

  16

  “Shit, baby, I haven’t even started,” Pete exclaimed, his tone rife with wounded male pride.

  “It’s not you. The window.” I shook my finger at the now empty glass. “There was a face. Right there. Pressed against the glass.” Did I mention we were on the second floor of his house?

  “What?” My lover whirled on one heel, but whatever peeked in on us was gone.

  I shivered, cold even under the covers. “What was it?”

  “I didn’t see it. Can you describe it?”

  Did malevolent cover it all? “Reddish, glowing eyes. Fat yet kind of flat nose. Big fucking teeth with dark, pimply skin.”

  “Demon.” Grimly spoken and not surprised.

  Great. It didn’t take long for the thing to find us. “What’s it want?” Other than the obvious—my plump and juicy human body.

  “I don’t know, but whatever it’s doing here can’t be good. I’ll call it in.”

  “Won’t the guards outside have seen it?” Wards around the house or not, they’d assigned a pair of guards just in case the demon showed up. I wasn’t reassured by the knowledge they’d obviously not seen or shot at the thing.

  “If they’re alive. This creature is wily. Best not leave anything to chance.”

  His cell phone was in the bathroom, in the pocket of his pants currently lying on the floor. But I wasn’t staying alone in his bedroom while he went to fetch it. One flimsy pane of glass and a supposed spell weren’t enough of a shield for me.

  Yanking off the sheet and wrapping it around me toga style, I followed Pete to the hall and stood there, shaking, as he retrieved his phone.

  As soon as he had it in hand, he dialed. Bracing it against his ear with one hand, he drew me in with the other, sharing the warmth of his body as he explained to whoever answered that we’d caught a glimpse of the missing demon.

  My fearlessness in court in front of a judge didn’t extend to freaky life-or-death situations. Apparently, I wouldn’t make a good ass-kicking heroine who went out slaying creatures of the night for the good of mankind. Nor did I want my boyfriend doing it either.

  Or so he learned a moment later when I screeched at him, “What do you mean you’re going outside to confront it?”

  “I can’t let it get away.”

  “But you’re alone. With no weapon.”

  “I am my own weapon.”

  His teeth and claws against the monster I saw? Sorry, but my gut said it wouldn’t be a fair fight.

  “Can’t you at least wait for backup?” None of the assigned officers were currently answering their communication devices. No one needed to tell me that didn’t bode well.

  “If I wait, we might lose his trail. I’ll be okay, baby.” Famous last words. Right along with, “Hold my beer and watch this.”

  Even a torrid kiss couldn’t stop him. Stupid hero complex. It always made men do the most dangerous things.

  It also left me alone, in a house I didn’t know, listening to unfamiliar creaks and groans. I hurriedly dressed, determined not to meet my maker in just a sheet. But once that was done, I fidgeted upstairs, standing well clear of windows, of course.

  A weapon. I needed something to defend myself with in case the so-called magic around the house failed. What to use, though? I didn’t see a sword or a machine gun anywhere.

  Why couldn’t I have chosen an NRA member to date? At least they always slept with a pistol in their nightstand. Or at least the ones I’d dated did, right alongside their box of magnum condoms.

  With no firearms handy, it occurred to me to settle for the next best thing. A knife. The bigger, the better. Knees knocking or not, I wouldn’t let anything try to devour me without a fight.

  Sweaty palm clutching the stair railing, I inched downstairs, silently blessing Pete who’d turned on all the lights in his path out of the house. A lack of knick-knacks meant no shadows or places for scary monsters to hide. I hit the main floor and headed in the direction of the kitchen, or so I hoped. I’d never finished my house tour.

  The hall took me to a big archway, and I entered a country-style kitchen, the single glowing light over the sink illuminating wood cabinets and a green laminate countertop. Catching movement, I recoiled, only to realize I’d been fooled by my reflection in the window above the sink.

  Talk about giving a girl a fright. With my wide eyes, tangled hair, and pale complexion, I could have passed for the undead instead of just a frightened lawyer dealing with things best left in the movies. A panel of switches to my right drew my attention, and I flicked them, illuminating the space, probably highlighting my location, but with fear my newest close companion, I preferred the light to the hidden terrors of the dark.

  Spotting a wooden block with handles jutting from it, I scurried, yanking forth a wide blade. Ha. I was armed. Whether or not I could actually stab anything remained to be seen, but I liked to think if something started chewing on me that I’d get over my aversion to blood and do what had to be done.

  If I ended up traumatized, oh well. That’s what shrinks were for.

  A scratching sound had me jumping several inches off the floor. I landed in a semi-crouch, knife pointed, eyes darting anxiously. No slavering monster from the depths of Hell confronted me. But I did hear a chirp.

  Somehow, I’d missed noting the rather large gilded cage on the other side of the table. Another tweet and scratch emerged from within the bars, and chiding myself for my overreaction, I sidled over to take a peek at the birds my boyfriend kept. They kind of resembled mini parrots with their hooked beaks and general shape. Green feathers adorned their bottom half then switched to yellow while their heads and faces were almost pink in color. Inquisitive eyes watched me, and one cocked its head as if to ask, “Who are you?”

  “So you’re Rocky and Periwinkle.” My reciting aloud their names earned me a squawk. “Shh.” I held my finger up. “No noise, you two. I don’t want to miss the demon if he decides to try and sneak up on me.”

  Bobbing their heads, the cuddling duo kept their peeps to themselves.

  With silence reigning, I strained to hear something, anything. Pete had exited the house several minutes ago. I didn’t know if the lack of noise was a good thing or not. On the one hand, it could indicate he’d found nothing. Then again, it could also mean he was dead.

  Not a possibility I preferred to dwell on.

  Assuming the lack of screams meant he still looked, I wandered the main floor, staying far away from windows—because we all knew from horror movies that the boogey man loved it when the idiot heroine stuck her face against one peering out, so he could yank her through. I discovered new things about my boyfriend. Such as his penchant for action movies, evident from the DVD collection housed in the tower beside his man-s
ized TV. A partial smile curved my lips at the knitted afghan, hung over one of the chairs, done in tones of blue. An obviously well-loved item judging by the pearled fabric that bespoke many washings and the holes where the yarn had stretched.

  From the bay window—and a safe distance—I stared out across his front lawn, the streetlight on the sidewalk illuminating his boring attempt at landscaping, if you could call the low-cut grass and ring of rocks around some sad-looking hostas landscaping.

  The horticulturist in me longed to pull on some gloves, dig a few holes, and fill them with something bright and bushy. It seemed I was more attracted to the domesticated life than I’d previously assumed, given my condo greenery didn’t extend past what the produce drawer in my fridge could hold.

  Nothing moved, and given the expansive, unobstructed view, I moved closer and closer until I stood a bare foot away from the plate glass. Still nothing.

  “Where are you, Pete?” I muttered.

  A cacophony of shrieks and squawks erupted as Rocky and Periwinkle lost their bird-brained minds in the kitchen, and without thinking, I ran back and skidded to a stop in the doorway, only belatedly realizing that running toward possible danger wasn’t a healthy choice.

  Lucky for me, I didn’t slam into any demonic beings. As a matter of fact, the kitchen appeared free of anything except the caterwauling birdies who flew around their cage in a frenzy, smacking into the bars.

  “Calm down,” I ordered.

  Didn’t work.

  “Stupid noisy creatures.”

  Knife still in hand, I stalked over to them, snagging a tea towel on my way because I vaguely recalled reading somewhere that covering a bird’s cage made them think it was night and put them to sleep.

  If that failed, I could always burn some toast. It’s how my great aunt Meredith silenced hers when they got on her nerves. Thankfully, the home that mother put her in didn’t allow her to keep pets.

  About to fling my small towel over their cage, I noted a green glint in the window. I jumped back and adopted my best Buffy pose. Of course, hers probably appeared a lot sexier, given my heart raced, my skin grew clammy, and I crouched as if about to pee in the woods.

  A chuckle escaped me as I caught sight of the reason for the bird’s agitation. In the window sat a big black cat. Its glowing green orbs fixated on the freaking love birds.

  “I see animal control forgot to come pick you up.” It surprised me to note I felt sorry for it.

  Poor thing. It was probably so confused. With its owner dead, the cat didn’t have anywhere else to go. No one to feed it. Or protect it from roaming demons.

  Unless I came to its rescue. While a little voice in my head screamed, “Bad idea,” another voice chanted, “Save the kitty, save the world.” Okay, so I had more of a hero complex than I expected.

  I glanced outside the patio door, the flagstone lit up by a porch light. Nothing moved in the yard. I could do this. I could rescue the cat.

  Sliding open the door, but staying within the confines of the house, I crooned to it. “Here kitty-kitty. Come on over here. I won’t hurt you.”

  It didn’t budge from its spot in the window. And the birds continued to freak.

  I didn’t know how Pete stood the noise. Forget peeing on his neighbor’s flowers. He should have invited the cat in and let it take care of the noisy buggers. Wasn’t that the Darwin method?

  Another quick glance to reassure myself the yard remained empty and I stuck my head out the door. “Come on, you stupid cat. Get your furry ass in here before the demon—” or my boyfriend “—turns you into dinner.”

  The head of the feline rotated. And rotated some more. Um, somehow, I didn’t think it was normal cat behavior for it to be able to stare at me exorcist-style.

  “Uh-oh.” I slammed the door shut. But the damage was done.

  17

  Ever have a moment in your life where you wish you could rewind, slap yourself, and do things differently? I did.

  Nothing like seeing a regular house cat stalk toward you, each step resulting in a growth in its size, a ripple in its frame, to make a girl wish she’d listened to her boyfriend and done the cowardly thing.

  I should have left the door closed. “It can’t come in. It can’t come in. The spells will stop it.” I repeated this over and over as the feline morphed from cute kitty into beast from hell. It more than quadrupled in size, knobs erupting from its spine, claws and teeth elongating while its eyes shifted from green to fiery red.

  Gulp. By the time it stood, breathing hotly against the sliding glass door, steaming the surface, it was the size of a hippo, and it seemed intent on getting to know me better.

  Not interested in furthering our acquaintance, I kept muttering, “It can’t come in.”

  As if understanding my words, I swear the damned thing grinned, or at least did something that showed a heck of a lot of teeth.

  It lifted a paw and placed it on the glass just as I recalled something one of my boys had said, something important about the magic guarding the house.

  I am safe within the wards so long as I don’t invite it in.

  Fuck.

  I turned on my heel and began to run just as the glass behind me broke in a tinkling shower. I screamed. Holy fuck did I ever, and I continued to shriek as I pounded to the front door, not making the mistake of heading upstairs and locking myself in a room. I retained enough wits to know a flimsy bedroom door wouldn’t hold the demon at bay. But maybe Pete and his mounds of muscles could.

  Thankfully, he didn’t believe in an army of locks, only a single deadbolt required turning, and then I was out the front door sprinting down his walkway, still yodeling at the top of my lungs. Nothing wrong with the shape of my vocal cords.

  For some insane reason, the song “I Need a Hero” by Bonnie Tyler started running through my head, a soundtrack to my folly. A pity I wouldn’t live to write the story and sell it to Hollywood.

  Seriously. Things didn’t look good for me. I cursed the fact that Pete lived across from some fucking conservation area. No neighbors to flip on a porch light and invite me in to safety. No grannies with a shotgun on the porch taking potshots at the beast on my tail.

  Why couldn’t I have a boyfriend who lived in the city? Surely, someone there would have had a gun to help a poor woman out.

  Nope. My guy lived out in the boonies. Nothing but trees, pavement, and a stupid girl running for her life in pink bunny socks.

  I didn’t dare peek behind me. Why bother when I heard the click and thump of paws hitting the ground as the demon came after me?

  After crossing Pete’s stupidly long front yard, when I reached the road, I didn’t pause. I sprinted up the middle of it, panting too hard to yell anymore, saving my oxygen to fuel my longs legs, which had never run so fast.

  If I survived this, I made a mental vow to take up jogging. It seemed the ability to race might be a handy skill to have for those unexpected moments when killer demons were after you.

  If I lived.

  A ferocious snarl broke my concentration, and I stumbled. I didn’t completely fall, but given I still clutched the knife, it scared me enough to stop my headlong flight lest I trip onto my weapon and impale myself. Besides, it seemed rescue had arrived. Or so I judged by the vicious, guttural sounds coming from behind me.

  Hands on my thighs, hunched over and breathing hard, I didn’t want to turn around and look. I really didn’t want to see.

  But I owed it to Pete. He fought to save my stupid ass, the least I could do was watch as he fought. Prepare myself in case he failed. Or—and this would require courage on my part—dart in at an opportune moment and help.

  Slowly, I pivoted. Good thing I still couldn’t pull in a lungful of air because I probably would have wasted it on another useless shriek.

  Ever watch a documentary about animals in the wild? Sure, you have. The one with the cute little cubs that started out as tumbling furballs and grew up to be giant furballs.

  Remember
how they always had that one scene, the one where they showed in glaring detail how those cuddly animals got their dinner? The violence, the bloodshed, the savagery? Apparently, they really edited the fuck out of it, because the fight I got to view was way scarier and gorier.

  A hulking wolfman—think bodybuilder covered in hair with canine features, claws, and wild yellow eyes—attacked the demon, who’d lost all of its feline characteristics. Together they grappled, ripping and tearing at each other, scoring gashes along their bodies, sending droplets of blood and whatnot flying.

  Forget darting in to land a stab that would end it all. With the way they rolled this way and that, I was more likely to get crushed. But, at the same time, I could tell Pete wouldn’t win this battle alone. Not for lack of trying. My man gave it his all, but the demon was just that much bigger and more powerful.

  Where was a superhero when you needed one?

  Apparently, timing his moment for the most dramatic effect, because between one blink and the next, Anthony appeared. Clad only in his trousers, white chest gleaming in the streetlight, he joined the fray, and I wondered how he thought he could help, considering he’d arrived weaponless. Shouldn’t he have brought a sword? A gun? Something with a sharp edge?

  I didn’t give him enough credit or had conveniently forgotten Anthony wasn’t human no matter his outward appearance. It seemed my vampire lover had hidden his more violent talents.

  Fists clenched, he rained blow upon blow on the demon, but where a human would have probably broken his hand trying to hit the monster, Anthony’s hands dented the damned thing. And, yes, that was as disturbing as it sounded. Every blow he landed left a fist-sized dimple in the demon, pockmarking its body. But it didn’t stop the monster. It did make it madder, though.

  With a roar to give me goose bumps, and nightmares, the demon found an inner reserve of strength and wouldn’t relent. Neither did my lovers.

  Over and over, they pummeled the demon, putting it on the defensive, forcing it to retreat. They followed, not letting up their punishment. I found myself pacing them, eyes trained on the action. A part of me wondered if I should take this moment of grace to run, hide, call for help, maybe arrange a nuke, but I couldn’t, not when I was too afraid to look away for just a moment.