by Lila Dubois
The rest of the world seemed a million miles away, as if their little booth existed at the end of a wormhole.
“But sometimes I do not feel—” he sighed and kissed her head again, “—I do not always feel at home with them. They are my friends, and I know they respect my property, but males are raised to protect and defend what is their own. It is hard to be friends. Comrades, brothers in arms—yes. But friends—no. We are a rare exception among the monsters.
“Coming out here to LA was hard. We had no choice really. Our other options are mass suicide or war. I may not believe as strongly as Luke does that we can change human opinions, but I’ve come to learn that there is more to humans than I believed.” He squeezed her shoulder and Jane tilted her face up to kiss his jaw.
“But this place is not home. Luke and Henry are my friends but there always is, and always will be, tension between us, especially now that I know I’m ma—”
Michael cut himself off with a growl. “I talk too much.”
“No, please, I want you to talk to me.”
He grinned. “If it were up to you, talking is all we’d do.”
Jane smiled in reply but did not take the opening to steer the conversation onto a lighter path. Instead, she buttered a piece of bread and handed it to him. Michael ate it in three bites, chewing aggressively. Jane put her head on his shoulder, hoping it would ease Michael into continuing his story.
“You said there was tension between you, and it doesn’t feel like home?”
“No, it didn’t feel like home,” he confirmed. Jane noticed the tense shift and immediately began overanalyzing it. Was he saying she made him feel at home?
“You make me feel at home, my sweet Jane, my Sleeping Beauty.”
“Oh, Michael, I lo—” Jane pressed her lips to his before she could complete the sentence. He tasted like bread and male and something foreign—monster.
There was a clink as the server unobtrusively set wineglasses on the table and poured a taste. Jane took it, swirled, sniffed and sipped, then showed Michael how to do the same. Upon their approval, the server filled two glasses as a food runner appeared with their tapas and entrees.
They fed each other olives and stuffed mushrooms, bite-sized pieces of beef and soft cheese. Jane would have been content to dine on nothing but tapas, taking bites out of Michael’s fingers and offering them the same way, but it was not long before his stomach rumbled. With a sheepish look at Jane, Michael pushed the tapas plates out of the way and pulled a bowl of pasta to himself and dug in. Jane did the same with a second pasta dish, a light angel-hair pasta in lemon sauce.
They ate in silence, though Jane was taking one bite for every three Michael took. She was content to just look at him.
He was so beautiful. His blond hair was full of shadows and golden highlights. One piece curled over his ear, and Jane toyed with it, pulling the curl free so it brushed his cheek. She traced the whirl of his ear with her fingertips and let her fingers rest along his jaw, the muscles flexing as he chewed.
Michael turned his head and rubbed his cheek to her palm. “Are you hungry?” he asked with a glance at her barely touched pasta.
“I’ll eat, don’t worry. I just like…looking at you.”
Michael put down his fork and shifted in his seat, turning to fully face her.
She was so beautiful. Michael put his hand over Jane’s where it rested against his cheek. In the soft light her hair glowed like moonbeams, the sparkle of silver in her ears and around her neck like the flash of stars.
He really was mated, that could be the only explanation for the ridiculous metaphors he was thinking. Jane smiled and her whole face lit up. Her cheeks rounded, her soft lips bowing, and her eyes, oh her eyes.
Jane looked at him as if he were the only male in the world. She looked at him with eyes full of hope and promise and, and…something he couldn’t define.
You are mine, beautiful Jane, you always have been, and always will be.
But tomorrow everything would change. He’d show her his monster form, and it would never be the same between them. She’d said she was afraid of the monsters, and seeing one of his Breed was always enough to send a human to their knees.
He’d finally found his mate, and he was about to lose her.
Michael pulled Jane in for a kiss, but his mind was not on the kiss. He would not lose her, he would not. She was his, and he would keep her. No matter what it took.
Chapter Twenty-Two
EXT. LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA — NIGHT
BLOND MAN
Where is he?
NATIVE AMERICAN MAN
I don’t know. He had a hell of a long way to come.
BLOND MAN
Are we sure the last forest is dead?
NATIVE AMERICAN MAN
Yes.
The Blond Man suddenly smacks the car with his open palm.
BLOND MAN
Fucking humans. Fucking stupid humans.
“Put Runako on the phone,” Michael demanded.
“Runako? Why?” Henry said.
“Just fucking do it.”
“Asshole,” Henry said, voice faint.
“What?” a deep voice demanded.
“Runako?” Michael questioned, not recognizing the voice.
“Yes.”
“Why do you sound like that?”
“I’m wearing the human suit,” he said with contempt.
Michael snorted with laughter. “After we talk, tell Henry to put on Silence of the Lambs. I think you’ll like it.”
“I like lamb for eating, not wearing.”
“Ahhh, never mind.” Michael was used to feeling slightly lost in the human world, but talking to Runako made him feel savvy.
“What do you want?” Runako ground out. Runako was decidedly not happy with being in LA. Runako had come to stop Michael, Luke and Henry from making a movie to expose the truth of monsters to the human world. Runako would rather fight, fight and die, than try and integrate with the humans who had brutally tortured and killed his twin sisters. In an attempt to stop them, Runako had gone after Lena, having seen that there was a bond between her and Luke. What Runako hadn’t realized was how fragile humans were, and his scare tactics had almost killed Lena.
Runako and Luke had battled across earth and sky, the battle ending when Luke pulled Runako to earth after shredding his wings. They’d forced Runako to agree to help them, and he now traveled back and forth from their home to LA, a sort of emissary to the group of monsters who wanted to fight.
They hoped that continued exposure to humans would soften Runako’s attitude. After all, it was years spent sneaking into farmhouses, watching movies and eating peanut butter, which had introduced himself, Luke and Henry to humanity’s good points.
“Listen, I need your help,” Michael said.
“Fuck.”
“I’m serious.”
“That’s why I said ‘fuck’.”
“Jane is my mate.”
“Not another one. You think the little white human is your ma—”
“Shut up, I don’t want Henry to know.”
There was a pause. “Why?”
“Because… Because Jane needs some…convincing. She’s not like the others. She’s scared of us—”
“She should be.”
“—and hasn’t seen me in my true form yet.”
“What is the problem?” Runako demanded. “You’re the least frightening of us. You’re a pretty boy Breed, an Ang—”
“Fuck you. I hate that word.”
“What is the problem? You won’t scare her.”
“I will, but not in the way she thinks. She’s scared of you and Luke, those are the only monsters she’s seen, so that’s what she’s expecting. When she sees me…she’ll be scared for a different reason. There’s a lot of human myth around my Breed.”
Runako paused to consider this. He was a warrior through and through, and preferred to speak with his claws, but he was smart. “I can understand
your concern. Perhaps she is not your…uh…you know.”
“She is. I would die for her. Would kill anyone who hurt her.” Michael let the implied threat seep into his tone, in case Runako felt like scaring them off by hurting one of the girls. If he touched Jane, Michael would kill him.
“Are you sure?” Runako said, ignoring his threat.
“Yes.”
“And you are sure she will react to seeing you in your true form?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“That’s the part where I need your help.”
“Why me? Why not Henry or Luke?”
“Because you are the only one who will agree to do what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“I need you to clear out one of the caves.”
“The Captive Caves?”
“Yup.”
“You plan to…”
“Yup. I’m going to kidnap her and take her away to my lair.”
“Michael?”
“Right here, beautiful Jane.”
“I woke up and you were gone,” she murmured sleepily, tucking her head under Michael’s jaw when he got back into bed.
“I’m sorry, I had to make a phone call. I’m here now.”
“Don’t leave,” Jane murmured as she slipped back into sleep.
“Never,” he promised.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The orgasm woke her up.
Jane had been having a wild dream that seemed to be an amalgamation of fairy tales and Greek mythology, all centered on a beautiful young woman in the ridiculously flattering dress who falls for the monster dressed as a man.
Her subconscious was being lazy if it was pulling her dreams straight out of her real life.
Towards the end of the dream the golden-haired monster—wearing one of the leather Speedos from 300 and a carrying a lute—weird combo—whisked the fair-haired maiden off her feet, laid her down on a bed of flowers and ravished her.
In her dream, the monster dressed as a man lowered his head between the maiden’s silky—cellulite-less—thighs and licked her slowly. His slow, steady attention soon had the woman lifting her hips to meet his lips and the man pressed two fingers into her, triggering her orgasm.
Jane blinked her eyes open as wave after wave of pleasure throbbed through her lower body. The pale dawn light looked like the twilight sun that had bathed the flowered garden in her dream, and for a moment, Jane forgot which was real. How could she distinguish dream from reality when both the pleasure, and the monster, existed in each?
Only when her lower back and thighs protested did Jane realize that her hips were arched off the bed. She dropped her hips and Michael crawled up between her thighs, lying down beside her.
“I was having a dream.”
“About?”
“A handsome monster licking me.”
“Good dream.” Michael kissed her and Jane tasted herself. Michael broke the kiss and turned his head away, jaw cracking in a yawn. “Sorry,” he yawn-talked.
Jane pulled him down, and this time his head rested on her shoulder. “Let’s sleep some more.”
I don’t want to wake up yet. I don’t want to face today and what it means.
Michael’s breathing evened out as he fell asleep. But Jane couldn’t get back to sleep. Instead she stared out the window, watching the light grow ever brighter.
When Michael woke up a few hours later, he jumped into the shower while Jane worked on breakfast. She went all out. Pancakes, turkey bacon, strawberries, yogurt, maple syrup and butter were all waiting on the table when he came out.
Michael, all smiles and golden skin dotted with water, grabbed Jane and kissed her long and hard. “Good morning, beautiful Jane.”
“Good morning,” she replied, forcing a smile she didn’t feel.
They took their seats and Michael ate with gusto. The food tasted like ash in Jane’s mouth. Each smile, each teasing word, was like a rose thorn pressed into Jane’s heart. By the end of breakfast, she was practically in tears.
He was happy. There was no other way to describe it. He was happy that after today he could leave her. He’d gotten what he wanted from her: sex. And now he was ready to move on. He’d probably already picked out the next girl with “great passion” he was going to liberate.
Last night…
Last night had been like a dream, a perfect, romantic dream. She’d been sure, so sure, he loved her the way she loved him. After the days they’d spent not having sex, and the way he’d cared for her, doing things he thought would make her happy…
That seemed like love, damn it.
Jane took her plate into the kitchen as tears filled her eyes. She dumped her plate in the sink, practically breaking it, and pressed her hands over her face. It was just sex, it had always been sex. She had no right to feel betrayed or misused by him. It was in her own mind that she’d decided the way he acted towards her meant there was something more there.
Laughing bitterly at herself, Jane pulled off a paper towel and wiped her face. She’d thought she would need to see him in his monster form to fall out of love with him. Instead he’d shattered her heart with no more than a smile.
Now, she was grimly looking forward to seeing him as a monster. She couldn’t wait to see him as a beast, a nightmare, something to be feared, not loved. He’d broken her heart, and yet, as he called out to her from the other room, calling her “beautiful Jane” and saying she was an amazing cook, her heartbeat sped up, his compliments washing over her like warm honey.
Stupid, stupid girl. He doesn’t love you. He hasn’t and won’t love you. He’s happy to move on, ready to go find some other hapless woman to pleasure. He does not love you.
But oh how I love him. I love his smile and his hands. I love the way he speaks and his intelligence. And when he touches me I want no other hand on me. I want nothing more than to be his forever, to have his arms around me when I fall asleep and when I wake. I want to watch his hair fade to gray and the squint lines around his eyes turn to wrinkles.
But he is a monster. He won’t age that way.
It doesn’t matter. I want him still. Because I love him, and love sees not with the eyes…
Jane thumped her fist against her forehead. She couldn’t think like that.
“Jane?” Michael asked, and she realized she hadn’t responded to him.
“I’m…uh…just cleaning up, in…”
“Jane?” Michael was now standing in the kitchen doorway, concern written on his face. “Are you okay?”
“Oh sure. I’m fine,” she said, head bowed.
“Beautiful Jane.” Michael tilted her head up.
She’d dried her tears, but when she saw him all she could think was that this might be the last time he touched her, might be the last chance she had to touch him, and fresh tears dripped down her cheeks.
“You’re crying. That’s bad. Don’t cry.” Michael’s eyes were wide in panic as he swiped at her cheeks with his fingers.
Jane laughed, watery as it was. “I’m okay. It’s just an emotional day.”
“I know—” he smiled softly, “—come on. I need to touch you.”
“I need to touch you too.”
Michael bent and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. He navigated them through the apartment to her bedroom. The sun had shifted, no longer shining directly into the room—the light a muted glow.
He set her down on the bed, un-belting her robe and spreading it open. When he reached for the button of the jeans he’d pulled on after the shower, Jane stopped him.
“No, I want to do it.”
Michael looked at her, one golden lock over his forehead. Jane slid off the bed, naked. Most of the week had been focused on Michael touching her. That was a shame, because he was beautiful. Built like an athlete, gold and blond, he was a sensual pleasure. She regretted not having taken time to play with him.
Jane urged Michael to turn around, his back to the b
ed and window, intending to push him down onto the bed, when the tattoo along his spine caught her eye. She’d noticed it, fleetingly, as they got in and out of showers or got dressed, but this was her first chance to really look at it.
Jane perched on the edge of the bed behind him and traced her fingers up and down his spine. The tattoo was pale brown against the gold of his skin, almost the color of a henna tattoo, but with a metallic sheen. When Michael took a breath, the tattoo shimmered softly.
“Your tattoo is beautiful.”
He twisted to look over his shoulder, but shrugged. “I’ve never really seen it.”
“Why not?”
“Uh…because it’s on my back?”
“Haven’t you looked in a mirror?”
“I know it’s there. I just haven’t paid much attention to how this form looks. Though, it’s much more versatile than I would have thought,” he said, grinning naughtily at her.
“Well, I think the body is very, very nice.” Jane walked her fingers down his spine, smiling when Michael shivered. “And this tattoo is definitely hot.”
“Hot? You mean sexy.”
“I do mean sexy.” And it was. Jane wasn’t normally a tats girl, but his looked like a skin pattern, rather than a tattoo.
The tattoo ran up his spine in the pattern of sharp-edged vines and leaves. The subject matter, vines and leaves, should have been soft, but the edges of these plants were hard, angled lines and corners.
The two main vines darted back and forth across his spine. Small offshoots with diamond-shaped leaves danced up the sides. At his shoulders, two longer offshoots branched out to curve across his shoulder blades, diamond leaves dripping from them.
“Wings,” Jane said, tracing the pattern over his shoulder blades.
She leaned forward and kissed the tattoo. Michael yelped.
“Oh my gosh, did I hurt you?” Jane said, holding her hands out away from him.
“Noooo. That felt… That felt really, really good.” He purred the last word, voice rich and dark like chocolate.
Jane hooked her legs around Michael’s waist and pulled him back, until his thighs hit the side of the bed. She lowered her legs so they were hooked around his thighs and ran her hands over his back and sides to caress his belly.
