Dead Over Heels (wyndham werewolf)

by MaryJanice Davidson

  “I’m sorry,” he groaned, tossing his cookies (his rainbow fish) once again. “This must be so disgusting for you.”

  “It’s fine. You’re doing quite well. Fear not, you will be home soon.”

  “Naw, I won’t. But you’re sweet to say so. I’m gonna nap now, ’kay?”

  Her lips were moving, but he had no idea what she was saying, and then his eyes slipped shut and he knew no more.

  Chapter 8

  When he woke up, the sun was setting and he felt much better. Ree was swimming aimlessly around his boat, and when he sat up she swam straight over.

  “How are you?”

  “Better. Almost human and everything! Except for the smell. Whoo! How do you stand it, honey?”

  “You cannot help it,” she said with typical bluntness. “Listen, I have a plan. Perhaps I could try to find another of my kind and we could get help.”

  He peered at her. “How come you sound so doubtful?”

  “You were correct; we are in the middle of nowhere. And my telepathic range is very limited. It might take days to find help and by then you’d—ah—”

  “Telepathic—oh, right! I read about that, in News-week I think. How all you mer-guys are telepaths. That must come in handy.”

  “Right now,” she said grimly, “it seems a fairly useless talent.”

  “Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself. I—what’s the matter?”

  For she had turned her head and was looking off into the distance, straight (or so it seemed to him) into the setting sun.

  “That hammerhead shark is back,” she said casually.

  He nearly shrieked. “Hammerhead?” Then, “Back?”

  “Yes, it occasionally noses around, mostly while you’re uncon—asleep. I keep warning it away.”

  “Oh—the telepathy. You talk to fish, too?”

  “Of course. But she’s heavy with pup and is not inclined to listen. I—oh, in the king’s name,” she said, exasperated, and this time he could see the fin arrowing out of the water toward Ree.

  “I will come back,” she said, and dived to meet it.

  “Ree!” he screamed. “Get in the boat with me!” But she couldn’t hear him, so he lunged over the side—and sank like a stone.

  Chapter 9

  Luckily, he’d taken a big breath before hitting the water, and even better, the water was warm, but the salt stung his eyes and for a moment he couldn’t see anything.

  Then he saw Ree darting to meet the shark, which looked like it had about a zillion teeth. He wished he was telepathic; he’d tell her to get the fuck away from it. He wished he’d thought to grab the oar on the way down. He wished he’d taken those swim lessons at the Y.

  He clumsily swung his arms in the water and made about half a foot of forward progress. Meanwhile, Ree had deftly caught the shark—an eight footer!—by the jaws and was holding them open. Then she reared up, let go of the jaws, and grabbed it by the hammer-thing. It snapped, but Ree was too quick and it missed her tail by about four inches.

  Then—he wondered if the salt was blinding him, because he was having trouble believing his eyes—still holding onto the hammer, Ree somehow lunged forward—and took a bite out of the shark’s back!

  The shark tried to rear away from her and she let it, giving it a smack on the fin as it sped away from her, trailing blood. Then she turned and her eyes widened as she saw him.

  He managed a wave, still sinking, trying to drown without being too much trouble, and she arrowed toward him, seized him under the armpits, then darted toward the surface. He was amazed; she was swimming, with his bulk, even faster than he had sunk.

  They popped to the surface and he took a breath, then coughed. “Lucky I was there to save your ass,” he gasped, suddenly conscious of her breasts pressing against the back of his T-shirt.

  She heaved him into the boat like a sack of potatoes—Christ, she was strong!—not once letting up with the scolding. “What were you thinking, stupid Con? You cannot swim! You would have had no chance against a pregnant shark, particularly that breed. She was starving, which is the only reason I did not kill her, but if she comes back I will kill her, and you, too, if you do such a foolish thing ever again.”

  “Couldn’t let you get eaten on my account.”

  “We are the top of the food chain in the ocean, as you are on land, stupid Con! I was in no danger.”

  “Now you tell me,” he mumbled.

  She paddled agitatedly around the boat for a minute, then said, “I cannot put this off any longer. You need land.”

  “Now you tell me,” he said again.

  “I do not know how long it will take. It may take too long.”

  “Whatever,” he said, yawning.

  She seized the bow (or was it the stern?) of the boat with one hand and started to swim. Slowly, the boat started to move. He tried to sit up, thinking he could help row with the (broken) oar, but saw at once it was no good—he’d cracked it too thoroughly on her head.

  So he flopped back in the boat and dozed. He had no idea what she was up to, but felt perfectly safe. Anyone who could fight off a hammerhead in ten seconds could certainly manage his destiny.

  Chapter 10

  He woke up to a gorgeous sunrise, to see Ree stumbling through the surf, dragging the boat behind her. “We are here,” she croaked, looking at him with enormous dark-ringed eyes. She staggered forward onto the sand of the small beach and collapsed, deeply asleep almost at once.

  He scrambled out of the boat (which she had considerately hauled up on land for him) and went to her, gently touching her shoulder. She must have hauled the boat all fucking night, he thought, appalled and amazed. And was out cold from sheer exhaustion.

  He stripped off his shirt and covered her with it, then went to look for firewood. The island was tiny—he could walk the length of it in less than ten minutes—but had lots of shrubbery and trees, and he had no trouble finding plenty of kindling and firewood. Then he went to the rowboat and found the matches.

  One thing he could do was start a fire with a minimum of matches, and the wood was nice and dry. By the time Ree woke up, he had a nice blaze going.

  “Oh, good, now you can cook,” she said groggily, sitting up and shaking the sand out of her hair.

  “I can’t believe you towed the boat all night! You’re an angel!”

  “Oh, well,” she said modestly, but looked pleased. “I am a hungry angel. I will come back.”

  “Wait!” He pressed her back into the sand. “Aren’t you pooped? Maybe you should rest awhile.”

  “No,” she said firmly, removing his hands from her shoulders. “I have responsibilities.”

  “I’m not your damned pet!”

  “Yes, but you have no fishing gear and are still starving. Also, did you find the fresh stream on the north side of the island?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “But there’s plenty of coconuts we can eat; they’re all over the ground.”

  “Cooked fish will be better for you.” She stood, shaking out her long hair. Then seemed to remember something. “I, ah, apologize for my appearance.”

  He goggled at her. “Huh?”

  “I am aware of your cultural taboo against nudity. If I had clothes I would wear them, so as not to offend you.”

  “Uh, Ree, where I come from, a gorgeous woman walking around naked is not offensive.”

  She relaxed. “Oh. Perhaps I was misinformed. Very well. I will come back.”

  “I’ll be here,” he promised, watching her dart into the surf and make the cleanest dive he’d ever seen. Her legs went in and he saw a saucy flash of her tail and then she was gone. Again.

  He flopped back down in the sand. God, it was so great to be on land and out of that nasty little boat! And with fascinating company, no less. If he ever got out of this mess, he’d have the most amazing comeback show in the history of the channel! He’d tell them all about Ree and how she saved his life and fought a shark and tugged the boat to an island and brought him f
ood. And—

  Wait.

  If he got out of this—if he was rescued—he doubted Ree would come with him. And what would he do without her? He’d die without her.

  Wait.

  Once he was back on land, he wouldn’t be in any danger. He wouldn’t need Ree.

  Except that felt like the biggest lie on land or sea.

  Chapter 11

  Reanesta felt much better once she hit the water. It had been a long, exhausting night and for a while she feared she’d lost her bearings and wouldn’t find the island. But her sense of direction had not deserted her, and just as the sun was coming up she spotted it. By then she was so tired her limbs were shaking and she feared she might vomit like Con frequently did.

  Instead, she dragged the boat up on shore and immediately went to sleep. When she woke, it was to burning brightness and she realized that her helpless biped could do at least one thing. Besides make her feel strange in her stomach.

  The strangeness was probably impatience, she thought, snatching two wrasse and three pinfish. He was definitely the most infuriating creature she had ever met. Were all bipeds like that? she wondered. What had Fredrika Bimm gotten them into?

  She was still pondering that when she sloshed back up to the beach. She knelt by the fire, trying not to wince away from it, expertly spitted the fish on a long branch, and planted the branch in the sand, occasionally turning it so the fish cooked evenly.

  Con came loping out of the darkness, and already looked much improved. The fresh water, she decided, and now he smelled like coconuts, so his stomach was full. That was good. Of course, just about anything would have been an improvement.

  “Any problems? Look who I’m asking!” he cried, answering his own question. “Like there’s anything you can’t handle. You should have the survival show.”

  “Mmmm,” she said, turning the fish again.

  “God, that smell is driving me crazy,” he said, flopping down on the sand. “I—are you okay? Your eyes are all squinty. It’s the fire, isn’t it? It’s bothering you?”

  “A little. They aren’t common at the bottom of the sea,” she said, trying another joke.

  “Well, ooch over, I’ll cook.”

  “Uh—”

  “I’m not that helpless,” he said, exasperated. He nudged her in the ribs and she obediently moved over a foot. Instantly her eyes felt better. “You think they’re done yet? They’re done, aren’t they?”

  “Not quite.”

  “I got a dumb question, here.”

  “I,” she teased, “am not surprised.”

  He smacked her on the thigh and she laughed. “How do you know how to cook on land?”

  “We have banquets—great parties and celebrations—on land. And there is much cooked food at these feasts. The prince in particular enjoys cooked food, so we all learn how to make it when we’re still pups.”

  “Pups? Baby mermaids?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the prince like?”

  “Infatuated,” she said shortly, picking up a stick and drawing her name in her own language, a complicated grouping of loops and swirls incomprehensible to anyone but her own kind.

  “Oh, yeah? You jealous?”

  She snorted. “Hardly. I have only met him twice. I do not know him well enough to be jealous of his love affairs.”

  “Affairs, plural?”

  “But because he fell in love with the half-breed—I mean, Fredrika—” She blushed at her rudeness. After all, she had been at the Pelagic, hadn’t she? And Fredrika had handled herself quite well under the circumstances. She had a startling manner about her, a grimness cloaked in sarcasm, but still—she had acquitted herself well at the Pelagic, well enough that—

  “Ree? Hello? Come back, Ree.” He was snapping his fingers before her face in an extremely irritating matter. “Fell in love with the gal who basically talked the king into letting you guys come out of the closet,” he prompted. “Read it in People.”

  “Well. Yes. She has a great deal of influence with the royal family and I—I am not sure that is the best thing for my people. After all, she spent nearly all of her years on land, being raised by your kind. She knows nothing of Undersea Folks. And,” she added in a mutter, “she comes from bad blood.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that mean? My daddy was a trucker.”

  “Her ‘daddy’ was a traitor. But the prince—and the king—turn a blind eye to this, and, as I said, she has great influence with the royal family.”

  “Well, it’s a goddamned good thing she does, otherwise I’d be dead of dehydration by now.”

  “Now that is a good point,” she said, cheering up. “I never would have dared approach you even six months ago.”

  “Months? You have calendars?”

  “Don’t be absurd. The fish are done.” She yanked the stick out of the sand, popped a fish off, and tossed it to him. He tore into it, ingesting a good deal of scales along with the cooked meat, but there were no complaints this time. He wolfed down the second, as well.

  “Don’t you want the last one?”

  “I ate while I was hunting.”

  “Oh, good.” He sucked down most of the last fish, then let out a small, contented burp. “Oh, man, that is so much better.”

  “You look better,” she informed him. “Of course, you could hardly look worse.” He smelled better as well; she assumed he had splashed about in the surf and cleaned up a bit. He was shirtless, but still had those—what were they called?—blue jeans?—on.

  “Thanks for that. And for the fish. Delicious.”

  “They’re just fine raw,” she muttered. “Stupid Con.”

  “I love your little pet names.” He was leaning back in the sand, picking his teeth with a fish bone. “God, isn’t this great? A friggin’ island paradise with a beautiful woman who brings me food and cooks and has a great set of—never mind.”

  “Are you talking about my ‘rack’ again?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

  “I don’t mind. I am the one breaking your nudity taboo. Besides, you have a nice rack, too.” And he did. Shirtless, she could see the tanned skin, the firm muscles, the light fuzz of chest hair that tapered down to a straight line leading to his groin.

  He laughed. “Oh, darlin’, you’re gonna get in trouble if you keep talking like that.”

  “You mean you might like to mate with me?”

  He choked on the fish bone.

  Chapter 12

  It’s all right,” she hastily assured him after pounding him on the back and extracting the bone. “I don’t expect you to mate with me. Why would you ever want to?”

  That was enough of that crap, he decided, and seized her by the back of the neck, yanked her close, and kissed her. She was so surprised her mouth popped open, which delighted him, and he plunged his tongue inside. Given that he hadn’t brushed his teeth in a few days (and who knew if mermaids did?) the kiss was amazing.

  He eased her down on the sand and did what he had been longing to do since he’d first seen her: pounced on her breasts. The breath popped out of her lungs (gills?) as she laughed, and then gasped when he sucked a pale pink nipple into his mouth.

  He lavished attention on her creamy mounds, licking, nibbling, sucking, and even (very, very gently) biting. Beneath him she wriggled in the sand and clutched his shoulders with surprising strength. In fact, he was fairly certain he’d have bruises. Not that he gave a good damn.

  He slipped his hand between her cool, chubby thighs and she parted her legs and pulled him to her as he thrust into her moist warmth. Her thighs gripped him, again with that astonishing strength, and she rose to meet him. Now they were both gasping and groaning in each other’s arms, and he cut his tongue on one of her teeth and didn’t care.

  “Oh—you’re—bleeding—”

  “Don’t—care,” he gasped.

  “Sorry—sorry—maybe we—should—stop?”

  “Shut. Up.”

  This time he didn’t think it
was an accident when his tongue got punctured, but he had it coming so that was all right. In fact, it was so all right he laughed into her mouth, a noise which was instantly cut off as she tightened all over (all over) and shivered with the force of her orgasm.

  That sent him right over the edge, and he knew it was going to be no use thinking about baseball or saying the alphabet backward. He came so hard he actually shuddered from heels to throat, and then unceremoniously collapsed over her.

  Chapter 13

  After about ten minutes had passed, Reanesta worried he had passed out, or was bleeding to death from a punctured tongue. So she tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Sleepy,” he yawned against her throat.

  “I am a patient woman, as I think you have noticed. But you’re squashing me.”

  He snorted, but rolled off her—and yelped when he nearly rolled into the fire, which had burned down to embers. He tossed a few more sticks on, then said, “Where the hell did my jeans go?”

  “Oh. I, uh, was, um, anxious to, ah, mate with you before you changed your mind.” She held up denim shreds. “I do apologize.”

  “You did this with your hands? Jesus!”

  “I apologize,” she said again, blushing.

  “No, shit, it’s impressive as hell, I’m not bitching. About this, I mean.”

  She giggled. “A welcome change.”

  He stuck his tongue out at her. “Ith it ee’ing?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “We’re going to have to practice French kissing.”

  “We are?” she asked, delighted.

  “Shit, yeah. Otherwise it could get downright dangerous. You don’t see a blood bank on this island, do you?”

  “Very well. We shall practice.”

  “Starting right now,” he said, and pounced on her like a big land cat.

  “Again?” she asked, delighted. “You wish to mate again?”

  He sighed. “Ree, I’ve never known a woman so strong, smart, efficient, rude, and dumb at the same time.”