Dead Over Heels (wyndham werewolf)

by MaryJanice Davidson

  “Because of the pact!”

  “—wanting to settle down is pretty good gossip.”

  “A dream come true. I’m gossip fodder.”

  “There’s worse things,” he said, and cracked two more eggs into her glass.

  Chapter 7

  She didn’t care for number seven—Geoff Ren—and she couldn’t put her finger on why. Certainly he was smooth, and handsome (in a distant, icy blond, blue-eyed way), and charming. He listened to her, courteously offered to move them away from a cigarette smoker, and sent her steak back when it showed up overcooked. He made sure her drink glass was always full, and offered to take her somewhere else for dessert when nothing really grabbed her on the menu.

  Maybe he was a little too—controlling?

  Stop it, she scolded herself. You’ll never get mated at this rate. Now you’re just looking for reasons to reject these guys. Geoff’s been a great date. The best of a bad lot, that’s for damn sure.

  They had pulled up to Saul’s house in his Lexus hybrid, and she turned to him to say, “Maybe we could get together tom—” when all of a sudden he’d yanked her toward him (breaking her seat belt) and mashed his mouth down on hers.

  Outraged and startled, she tried to shove him away. When that didn’t work (he was over six feet tall, and much, much stronger), she bit him.

  “Ouch! You little bitch. Why did you come out if you didn’t want some?”

  “It’s our first date, Geoff, you ass! Jeez, I’m gonna have a friction burn on my neck from the seat belt.”

  “You’ll heal,” he snapped, then snatched at her again, this time shoving his tongue into her mouth. Her back slammed against the steering wheel and there was a sonorous honk. His hands groped, reached, grabbed, and she could feel him yanking at her bra.

  She fumbled for the driver’s side door handle and, when the door swung open, tumbled out and hit the pavement with a teeth-rattling thud.

  He jumped out, his legs landing on either side of her back, and she scrambled to get away from him. He caught the back of her T-shirt and she wrenched away, hearing the fabric tear.

  “Cut the shit!” she yelled, only to hit the side of the Lexus with a bang when the back of his hand caught her full across the jaw. God, he was fast! She hadn’t even seen his arm move. “Geoff, stop it!”

  “You stop it, you fucking cocktease.”

  Well, at least now she could put her finger on what was wrong with number seven.

  For the thousandth time she blessed her size, as she slithered down the side of the car and scooted underneath, out of reach of his grasping hands. She scrambled across the tarmac and emerged on the other side of the car. Saul’s front door was only twenty feet away.

  She’d only gotten five steps when he tackled her from behind. Her face banged into the lawn and she felt blood start to trickle from her nose. He flipped her over—and caught her fist on the point of his chin. In return he gave her an eye-watering slap. So she reached down, groping for his crotch.

  “Now you’re getting with the program,” he grunted. “That’s—eeeeeeeee-yowwwwww!” She’d found his balls, and squeezed so hard she felt the veins pop up on her forearm.

  Then, suddenly, he was yanked off her, and Saul, oh thank God, Saul was there, holding the guy by the scruff of his neck like a puppy.

  “Oh, Christ, my balls, oh my fucking balls, Jesus, I gotta get to a hospital, agh, my balls!” Geoff writhed and moaned at the end of Saul’s arm.

  “Then let m-me assist y-you to your car,” Saul said, and threw Geoff into the side of the Lexus. The car door actually dented and Geoff flopped to the pavement, unconscious.

  “Are y-you okay, C-cain?”

  She sat up and spat to get the blood out of her mouth. “Wow,” she said. “Saul. Jeez. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

  Then she burst into tears.

  Chapter 8

  Cain woke up the next morning in her room.

  Well, not her room, the room at Saul’s she always stayed in when she slept over. She’d been having sleepovers in this house for twenty-five years.

  Saul must have heard her stirring—he had ears like a lynx—because there was a gentle rap at the door.

  “C’mon in,” she yawned, stretched. She had slept in one of Saul’s old shirts and her underpants; her T-shirt, of course, had been ruined.

  He poked his head in. “Sleep okay?”

  “Like a rock.”

  “Christ!”

  “What?”

  He crossed the room and put a finger under her chin, tipping her face up. “You’ve already got a shiner. That fucker.” For Saul, that was big talk. “Should have kicked in his ribs, too.”

  “I’m pretty sure I ruptured his sack,” she said, gingerly feeling her left eye and wincing. Yep. Puffy, swollen, and probably a lovely purple black. “And I’m pretty sure you fractured his skull. Trust me, he’s hurting way worse this morning. My bruises will heal up in a day or two.”

  He sat down on the edge of her bed. “I don’t think you should do this anymore,” he said abruptly, squinting at her.

  “Granted, it hasn’t been going well,” she said dryly.

  “You know how I said word was getting around that you wanted a mate? I think some guys are interpreting that as you want to get laid. Case in point: Geoff the asshole.”

  She smirked. “Is that his family name?”

  “Cain. I’m being serious.”

  “I’m not letting Geoff the asshole scare me off the dating scene. It was a temporary setback at best.”

  “Temporary setback?” Saul practically yelled. “Y-you almost got r-raped!”

  “Calm down, you’re going to give yourself a stroke. Besides, you swung to the rescue like—like frickin’ Tarzan or something. I must admit, Saul, I didn’t think you could surprise me anymore.”

  “You never think that,” he grumbled.

  She yawned again. “So what’s on the agenda for tonight?”

  “You’re taking tonight off,” he said firmly.

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Damn right.”

  “Saul, I’m fine.”

  “You didn’t l-look fine last n-night.”

  She thought about it. Screaming, punching, and, finally, crying. The overwhelming strength of Geoff, how he wouldn’t listen, how she had been fairly powerless against him. The hits. The things he had said.

  Yeah. Saul had a point.

  “But I had you to come to the rescue,” she teased, putting her hand on his. “I’m the one usually saving your ass.”

  “So. I owed you one.”

  “Actually, if we’re gonna go back to kindergarten, you owe me about fifty.”

  “Well, I sure as shit don’t want to even up!” he yelled, face reddening.

  “You’ve really got to take a vacation. You’re so stressed!”

  “Is it any fucking wonder? Your social life is killing me.”

  “Stop exaggerating. What’s for breakfast?”

  He collapsed next to her. “I hate you.”

  “Aw, you know you can’t resist me. Breakfast?”

  “More than life itself, I hate you.”

  “Pancakes and bacon?” she asked hopefully. “And eggs? And maybe a pork chop?”

  “You know, most women, after being assaulted, would be, I don’t know, traumatized? Not looking for a damned pork chop!”

  “Well,” she said reasonably, “if you don’t have one, we can always heat up the leftover steak.”

  Chapter 9

  As usual, she had a ton more fun with Saul than all her other dates put together, multiplied by ten. They had a terrific dinner, most of which he made on the patio grill, chased with several ice-cold Coronas. Then they watched Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, and 300—300 being her favorite movie of all time.

  “My God,” Saul commented, munching popcorn. They were sitting together on the couch in front of the TV. “This movie is made for women and gay men. Look at the abs on all those guys.”

&n
bsp; “You have abs like that.”

  “Yeah, but I’m an unnatural creature of moonlight. Most men do not look like that. It’s kind of cruel, really. To do this to the women and the gay men.”

  She laughed and drained her third beer. “You think any of the cast is Pack?”

  “They must be. Look at them.”

  “Wouldn’t the producer just shit?”

  “What a vivid mental image, my dear.”

  “Oh, here it comes! He’s gonna throw the spear at that creepy fucking Xerxes. You believe the guy playing Xerxes? Yech. Creepy.”

  “More androgynous than creepy.”

  “Androgynous is creepy. Men should look like men, and women should look like women.”

  “Says the woman with biceps and a buzz cut.”

  “And a C cup.”

  “That’s true,” Saul said thoughtfully, glancing at her tits. “I forgot about that.”

  “Well, mention it to the next blind date.”

  He groaned. “I can’t believe you’re sticking with this.”

  “I will not be the only one of us unmated at age thirty! You’re eight months younger, you’ve got loads more time.”

  “You’re not going to see me speed dating and fending off rapists. I’m pretty sure,” he added thoughtfully. He got up. “Another beer?”

  “Yeah, please. Ohhhhhhh! And the spear splits open the side of Xerxes’s mouth! That’s gotta hurt. This used to be my favorite part.”

  She heard the hssst! of Saul opening two more bottles. “Used to be?” he called from the kitchen.

  “Now my favorite part is when the queen kills the traitor. He did pretty much rape her. Although she was an idiot to put herself—”

  “Careful,” Saul warned.

  She shut up. Who was she to judge the queen’s actions after what had happened last night? Saul was right, as usual.

  “Why, why couldn’t the spear have gone three inches to the right? Killed him dead on the spot. Although,” she admitted, “that was a helluva throw. What is he, two hundred yards away? I don’t know if I could have made that throw.”

  She heard Saul walk toward the back of the house—probably headed for the bathroom to get rid of some beer—and stopped with the commentary.

  The phone rang, and rang again. So she picked it up in time to hear Saul answer. “Hello?”

  “Yeah, it’s me, Darrell. Listen, I heard your friend has an STD, is that true?”

  “Totally true,” Saul assured him. Cain felt her mouth pop open in shock and instantly abandoned her plan to hang up.

  “But . . . she’s Pack, right? We don’t catch stuff like that.”

  “It’s a really nasty one. Trust me, you don’t want to go anywhere near her. Things will drop off of you, I’m not kidding.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. I’m sure she’s a nice girl and all, but who needs that shit?”

  “Do me a favor,” Saul the unbelievably treacherous bastard said, “and spread the word.”

  “Okay. Speaking of spreading the word, one of us is in the hospital—that Geoff guy?”

  “Oh?” Saul asked coolly.

  “Yeah, and he’s yelling about suing you and your pal for assault. But nobody knows what really happened because he won’t say.”

  “Won’t he?”

  “Yeah. I don’t suppose you want to say.”

  “No,” Saul said calmly. “If he wants to roll the dice, that’s fine, but you might want to mention I haven’t explained the full details of last night to Michael yet. But I’d be happy to. Anytime. And if he needs me to explain it in person, I’ll be glad to visit him in the hospital. Anytime.”

  There was a pause, then Darrell said, “Like that, huh? I heard he had a rough hand with the ladies. Somebody’s going to tear his throat out one of these days.”

  “You might have warned me before I set him up with my best friend,” Saul said sharply.

  “It was just a rumor. Nobody’s ever said anything to Michael. There’s no proof, only some talk once in a while.”

  “That,” Saul said, “may change.”

  “All right. Later, guy.”

  “Good-bye.”

  Chapter 10

  Saul walked back into the living room and had half a second to duck as an armchair sailed toward his head. He dodged it (barely) and it crashed into the wall behind him.

  “You son of a bitch!”

  “What? What? Is your beer warm?”

  “This is not about the beer!” Four knickknacks arrowed toward him: a Hummel figurine, a glass unicorn, a music box, and a picture of his grandparents. Luckily, they all belonged to his late mother.

  He hated glass unicorns. “And you damned well know it!”

  Oh, shit.

  “You, uh, heard?”

  An antique end table soared through the air toward him and he sidestepped it with time to spare. Luckily, when she was pissed, her aim went to shit.

  “You’re telling people I have an STD?” She looked around frantically for something else to throw.

  “It’s for your own good,” he said, his own temper rising.

  “My own good?” She goggled at him, and despite the tension he couldn’t help notice that her black eye had almost disappeared. Thank God. “How is scaring potential mates off for my own—oh my God. Oh my God! You. You! You deliberately set me up with losers and psychos and—and a rapist!”

  “I didn’t know Geoff would do that,” he said quickly, though he was still racked with guilt, and longed to visit the hospital and take a bite out of the man’s face. “I figured you wouldn’t click because he’s so dominant. And so are you. So I figured you’d reject him, too.”

  “Bastard! You’re supposed to be my friend.” She spied his keys hanging on the board, grabbed them, and threw them at him.

  He snatched them out of the air and plunked them on a nearby table. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of being your friend,” he snapped.

  “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, you twit, that I’m in love with you. It means I’ve been in love with you since kindergarten.”

  “What?” she gasped, almost wheezing.

  “Didn’t it occur to you that there’s a reason I’m not mated yet, and it has nothing to do with our stupid pact? For Christ’s sake, Cain, we were seven when we made that pact, did you really expect them all to stick to it? Especially Michael, who has to provide heirs?”

  “You—you—”

  “Then you come to me asking me to fix you up?”

  “But you never said! You never said!”

  “I only dropped a million hints, idiot!”

  “Don’t call me names, jackass!”

  “Don’t expect me to help you hook up with some random jerkoff!”

  “Fine!”

  “Fine!”

  “I’m not staying here another minute!”

  “Fine!”

  “Except they towed my car this morning so I need a ride!”

  “Fine!” He snatched his keys off the table and stomped toward the front door. He’d imagined this scene a thousand times, but never quite like this. In his mind, she confessed she secretly loved him, too, and they ended up in bed, and he eventually knocked her up, and they lived happily ever after.

  Not this—this screaming awful fight.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 11

  Five days later, Cain was still fuming, bewildered, and betrayed. She’d ignored Saul’s calls and e-mails. She’d watched 300 nine more times.

  And over and over again she thought about dates one through seven, thought about the fact that Saul had cold-bloodedly set her up with the worst Pack members he could find, men he knew (because he knew her as no one else did) she would find repulsive.

  She hadn’t thought he had it in him.

  And the love thing? Ridiculous.

  There was no way.

  Right?

  Right.

  Because this was Saul. Sweet, stammering, beta Saul. Geeky, engi
neering, workaholic Saul.

  Saul, who’d given her his teddy bear at age five when she’d accidentally (okay, maybe she’d lost her temper a little) ripped the head off hers.

  Saul, who gave her his ice-cream cone when she dropped hers the summer they were six.

  Saul, who had comforted her when her parents died the fall she was fourteen, as she had comforted him when his mother died a year later, rapidly followed by his father.

  Saul, who listened impassively the spring she was seventeen when she told him about losing her virginity, then suggested she dump the guy.

  And she had. She had.

  Looking back through the years, she could see his subtle maneuverings, the way he always made sure she stayed single, the way he gently discouraged her from pursuing certain men, men she might have fallen for.

  Sneaky treacherous bastard!

  If she ever saw him again (fat chance of that) she would punch his face in. Repeatedly. Until he was a big bloody mess on the ground. He and Geoff the asshole could share a hospital room.

  By the fifth day, she had heaved herself up off the living room couch, hosed herself off, dressed in fresh, clean clothes, and bopped down the street to the nearest bar.

  She moved easily, without pain; the damage Geoff had inflicted was long gone—although she had called the Cape Cod Hospital two days ago and established he was still an inpatient. That had put the first smile on her face in seventy-two hours. She hoped his balls still hurt.

  After pushing her way past the waiting crowd, after being waved in by the bouncer, she headed straight for the bar. Never had she wanted a drink so badly.

  Now she was slumped on a stool, sucking down Coronas and thinking about all the ways she would mutilate Saul if she ever saw him again (fat chance of that).

  “Excuse me?”

  First, she’d break his nose. Then, she’d break out all his teeth. Then—

  “Excuse me?”

  She turned to look; a cute redheaded, green-eyed werewolf had slid onto the stool beside her. That was a relief; at least a monkey wasn’t about to put the moves on her. “Yeah?”