Where the Wild Things Bite

by Molly Harper

  “So . . . sunblock,” I said, as he turned me so I was straddling him. I scooted back on his thighs, so I wouldn’t come into contact with the “problem.” I was relishing the chance to be the one thinking clearly between the two of us for a change, and I wouldn’t be able to do that if I was rubbing up against him like that.

  Finn cleared his throat as the “problem” became a full-fledged situation. He seemed to be having trouble finding words, which I was enjoying immensely. “Actually, it was mayonnaise.”

  OK, maybe I would rub against him just a little bit.

  And yes, a tiny part of me felt a little guilty for using sexual attraction and just a little bit of guilt to manipulate information out of him, especially when I didn’t trust him with so much as a cheek kiss at the moment. But this whole “turning the tables” thing was turning out to be considerably more entertaining than finding out I was the dupe.

  “Why didn’t you just sell them sunblock?” I asked, walking my fingers up his chest. He rolled his hips, ever so slightly, and then stopped, blowing out a breath as he curled his hands around my ass.

  “It was the seventies.” He practically whimpered, clearing his throat again before adding, “People didn’t care so much about sun damage back then. Nothing available would have offered the vampires enough protection to go out during the day. We thought maybe if they went out in the sun with the mayo on their skin, the problem would resolve itself. But the vampires didn’t trust us. When they tested the cream and figured out it didn’t work, they took it personally, said they wanted to give us all the time in the world to pay them back for the offense—triple our fee plus a twenty percent ‘penalty’ fee. Ironically enough, our next job was enough to pay them back, so we didn’t need eternity. But who were we to argue with eternal youth and superpowers?”

  “And the shifters, was that another con?”

  “No, I just couldn’t deliver something I promised them, not because I didn’t have it, but some other guy swiped it out from under me when I went to pick it up.”

  “The nerve of that guy,” I said.

  Finn didn’t rise to my snarky bait, trailing his fingers along my throat, up toward my mouth. His thumb swept over the ridge of my bottom lip, sending a shiver of excitement down my spine to throb between my thighs. Maybe I was a little more into this than I thought I was. “Yeah, well, the shifters are not going to be very impressed with my delivery rate at this point.”

  “Could mean a really bad Yelp review,” I told him.

  “No sympathy from you at all, huh?”

  I pointed to my more-than-a-little-judge-y expression. “That was the extent of my sympathy.”

  “You are a hard, hard woman,” he told me, shaking his head. I glanced at the hard bulge between his thighs and quirked my lips. He laughed. “I just laid it all out there for you, exposed my tender underbelly, and nothing. What happened to the sweet girl who didn’t want me to kill a possum right after we crashed?”

  “You just admitted that you lie for a living. You were going to use me like a puppet to pay off your debt. Why would I feel sorry for you?”

  “I have no reason left to lie,” he said, leaning up as if to kiss me.

  I pushed him back down, all the way, until he was lying flat on the ground. He let out a frustrated groan.

  “In the history of plausible reasons, you have managed to give the least plausible. Congratulations. I will make you a little plaque from wood and pebbles later.”

  He frowned at me. I smiled down at him sweetly. He frowned harder. I jerked my shoulders. I was not sorry. In fact, I was feeling very . . . powerful at the moment. In control, with this big, somewhat treacherous man beneath me looking helpless as he gave in to me.

  “And in all that emotional exposure, you really don’t see what we have in common?” he said.

  “Considering that I’m still trying to figure out whether the badger game involves an actual badger, no. No, no, I do not.”

  “Because we’re cut from the same cloth, you and I, the products of parents who programmed us to be their little robots, carrying on just the same as Mom and Dad. I went along with it, because I didn’t know any better. And the payoff for me was pretty damn good—money, the easy life, a little fun, even though I knew what it cost. Hell, I carried it on after the old man died. For you, there was no payoff, except years of propping your mom up. So you broke away. You did what I couldn’t. I mean, sure, you ended up with some”—he paused, and I raised my eyebrows—“interesting side effects. But you’re doing the opposite of what your parents wanted for you. You’re living your own life. You seem to like your job. You’re your own master.”

  OK, that was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to me, and it was taking a lot of resolve on my part to remember the lying and the brain-diddling.

  “That makes you very interesting to me, that you could have all that strength wrapped up under a thick layer of neuroses.”

  I dropped my head. Yeah, that helped.

  “But I think all of your phobias and statistics, that’s just your way of controlling your environment. Making you feel comfortable. And I think now that you’ve been through this and realize how little you can actually control and that, statistically, you’re probably not going to die if something goes awry, I’ll bet you won’t think about that kind of thing nearly as much.”

  “But we have almost died. On several occasions.”

  “But we didn’t,” he countered.

  “But we almost did.”

  “But we didn’t. Also, we shouldn’t start this many sentences with ‘but.’ ”

  I cleared my throat. “So what are you going to do now that you can’t provide the shifters with the book? Bad Yelp review notwithstanding.”

  “Well, they’re not going to be happy, I can tell you that much. These shifters are not your typical cuddly werewolf types. They don’t like humans, and they like vampires even less. Part of the reason they’re so eager to get their hands on the manuscript is that they believe that it will help them ascend to a higher level of transition, actually taking on the physical form of the animals they shift to.”

  “She never mentioned that.” I huffed, thinking of the shifter woman and her justifications for trying to steal the book. I did notice that Finn didn’t mention the final chapter’s “revelation.” I guessed that the shifters hadn’t told him about it for fear that Finn would try to renegotiate.

  “What?” he asked, eyeing me in a sleepy, addled sort of fashion.

  I shook my head. “Never mind. Is that attitude typical among shifters?” I asked him.

  “No,” he said. “This family, they’re real special.”

  “And then, once you figure something out, let me guess: you’ll reform, go on the straight and narrow?” I asked, not even bothering to hide my sarcasm, as he plucked gently at my hair, pulling me closer to him.

  “I can’t make any guarantees,” he said. “I’m trying this new thing where I don’t lie to you.”

  “That would be a pleasant change of pace,” I said, as he tried to kiss me. I pulled back from him, ducking my head. His lips brushed against my ear.

  “For a long time, I didn’t think I was capable of wanting someone for more than a little while,” he whispered. “And then I met the woman I sired, and I found I wanted that. I wanted it so much that I was willing to turn my world inside out for her.”

  I tried to pull back, but his grip on my hips was tight, as if he’d expected the withdrawal. Of course, he was pining for some sexy, nubile vampire goddess. I doubted very much that she’d eaten potted meat for dinner. And she probably didn’t have moss in her hair.

  “But the person I was with her, it wasn’t me. It was a weird, neutered version of me, smoother, more formal. I was trying to be what I thought she wanted. She saw what she thought were the worst parts of me, and she wasn’t even close. I didn’t call her ‘kitten’ or ‘doll,’ because it didn’t feel right. I lied, and I never told her I was sorry,”
he added. “I made excuses. I justified. I didn’t tell her I was sorry.”

  His hands cupped my face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against my mouth. “I was wrong. And I never admit when I’m wrong. But I’m admitting it to you. I was wrong to manipulate you and lie to you. I can’t make any guarantees that I’ll become a better man. Because, again, I don’t want to lie to you. But I won’t hurt you on purpose. Not anymore. Please just stop running from me. And kicking me. And hitting me in the face with heavy objects. You are a very violent person, do you realize?”

  “Wh-why would you say that?” I groaned. “You always do that, adding the wrong thing at the right time. You took a perfectly romantic moment—”

  He lunged for me and claimed my mouth with lips and teeth, making me forget for a breath that I was still angry with him, that I couldn’t trust him completely. He kissed me with a ferocity that made me shudder against him, arms snaking around his neck to keep from falling. Twisting his hand in my hair, he murmured against my mouth, eyes open and focused on mine. “You’re also funny and smart enough to intimidate the hell out of me. And brave, so brave to be out here on your own and scared a lot of the time and constantly in danger, not for one second asking me to take care of you or protect you. Hell, most of the time, you’re trying to get rid of me.” He kissed me again. “Please stop doing that.”

  I craned my head forward, as far as his tangle with my hair allowed. “Stop giving me reasons to do that.”

  And instead of recoiling or wincing, he flared his pupils wide, and his hips stuttered up against me. His cool breath fluttered against my mouth as his fingers combed down my arms. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I did not let things go any further physically, because, frankly, we needed to keep moving. Because I was not ready for sex with him. Sex in the woods would solve none of our problems and create a lot more. Also, it was entirely possible that there was more than one group of those corn-fed shifters, and I did not want to have a confrontation with angry cobra hybrid creatures sans pants.

  Hearing more of Finn’s background didn’t quite give me a feeling of “even ground” or intimacy. But at least I had some insight into how his head might work. And I hoped that Finn had given me all of the bad news. At this point, what else could he be hiding?

  I mentally ran away from the question. Nope, nope, didn’t want to know.

  “Did you get a pretty good look at the shifters?” I asked him as we walked. He nodded. “Did they have supplies, tents, backpacks, that sort of thing?”

  He stopped. “No, come to think of it, they didn’t.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “How?”

  “Well, they couldn’t have come far without some sort of gear, right? And if we’re heading in the opposite direction, we must be getting closer to the point where they entered the woods.”

  He grinned at me. “Very logical.”

  “Unless shifters have some sort of special ability to turn into their own tents, which Friar Thomas didn’t mention in his book. And now that I think about it, that’s sort of a horrifying image. Clearly, I am not prepared for the reintroduction of caffeine to my system. No more soda for me.”

  Finn shuddered. “So what are you going to do if we find the end to these damn woods?”

  “I’m going to take a bath and then a shower and then take another bath,” I told him. “And then take another shower.”

  He stopped in his tracks at the bottom of a steep hill, making me turn.

  “What? Are you OK?”

  Finn held up a hand, closing his eyes. “I’m just picturing the bathing cycle. I need a minute for my blood to go back to the right places.”

  “Come on,” I said, rolling my eyes and dragging him along with me. “I’m going to sleep on a bed, a real bed with sheets and pillows not made of pine needles. I’m going to eat my body weight in ice cream. I’m going to write a stern letter to the airline.”

  “I will sign that letter,” he told me.

  “Thank you. And I’m going to go back and finish my PhD,” I said. “Screw Michael Malone.”

  “I don’t know Michael Malone. Would I like him before I screwed him?”

  “We don’t even joke about that,” I muttered.

  “Well, what does screwing him have to do with your PhD?” he asked.

  I took advantage of the incline, pretending that I just didn’t have the breath to climb it and talk at the same time. Finn had told me about his con man past and his father. Then again, I told him about my mother and her plethora of neuroses. So maybe we were even . . . No, wait, he also told me about his vampire-childe-slash-almost-sweetheart who ditched him for his dishonesty. I still owed him some humiliating backstory.

  I took a deep breath. “Fine.”

  It took the better part of the hill climb for me to finish my sad tale of academic betrayal and romantic ridicule. It would have taken less time without the panting and occasional breaks for me to catch my breath. (Stupid hill.) Finn remained quiet as I let the whole story loose, and I was proud that I could do it without getting emotional or cursing. Much.

  “So Rachel moved into my building, and whenever I started feeling sorry for myself or developing that post-break-up amnesia that told me maybe Michael wasn’t so bad, she would throw a pillow at my face. I tried to get insulted about it, but it was a very effective method.”

  Finn was silent and angry, and not just in that “annoyed by Anna” fashion. “And where is Doctor Malone now?” he seethed, helping me up the hill through force of will and bracing me against his arms.

  “I have deliberately tried not to keep up with him, for the sake of my emotional health, but Rachel says that in addition to serving on the University of Virginia’s faculty, he was freelancing for several well-known vampire-owned auction houses as their literary appraiser. Somehow I’ve managed to steer clear of him, despite the similar circles in which we run. And I guess I should consider myself fortunate that we haven’t competed for the same jobs yet, because that could get ugly really fast. Rachel has a special jar filled with change next to her computer. It’s labeled, ‘Bail money for when Anna meets up with Michael Malone.’ But I think it’s for her, not me. Because she is going to hurt him.”

  Finn didn’t say anything.

  “And she’s probably going to do it with a farm implement.”

  I really thought that would get a reaction, but nothing.

  “No jokes?” I asked him. “No pithy comments on the roots of my enormous trust issues?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just sorry I added to them.”

  “Don’t do that,” I told him, my mouth hovering close to his. “Don’t feel bad for me. I don’t want your pity. I want a couple of other things from you.” I glanced downward, toward his belt. “But not your pity.”

  A pleased rumble vibrated from his chest to mine, making me shiver. I let my lips travel the strong curve of his jaw, down his neck, to the hollow of his throat. A shudder rippled down his body, and his arms tightened around me.

  Over his shoulder, I could see something glittering in the distance. Not the moon or a flashlight but a solid, nonwavering electric light, as if from a building. A real building, with electricity and people and phone lines and nonpotted meat.

  I blinked hard, confirming when I opened my eyes again that the building was still there.

  I patted Finn’s back. “Finn?”

  “Mmm?” he murmured against my skin.

  I shook his shoulder, and when that didn’t stop his kisses, I tugged at his hair until he was forced to break his mouth away from my neck. “Finn!”

  His eyes were unfocused, like a man waking from a super-dirty dream. “What?”

  I bent my head so my mouth hovered near his ear. “That’s a light.”

  8

  Accept that there are some situations for which you will never be able to prepare.

  —Where the Wild Things Bite: A Survival Guide for Camping with the Undead

  What?�
�� He turned toward the direction where I was pointing. And since I was clinging to him, he took me with him. I felt like a koala on a Tilt-A-Whirl.

  “That’s a light!” I cried. “A real nonnatural light! People, Finn! We found people!”

  His smile was radiant in the moonlight. “We made it!”

  I whooped, throwing my arms around his neck while he whirled me around.

  “This is how Gilligan and the Skipper never got to feel!” I yelled, throwing my arms into the air.

  We burst out laughing and engaged in a good, long hug that was almost free of sexual tension. I had never felt so relieved in my entire life. I wasn’t lost anymore. I wouldn’t be presumed dead. Despite everything, I was going to get the book to Jane. I was going home.

  Finn dropped me gently to the ground, and we scrambled to right our clothes. We ran through the woods, screaming and laughing. He snickered, even as my feet dragged and I tripped. Finn slung me around his shoulders, wrapping me around him like a backpack.

  “No arguments. I have plenty of strength,” he said, carrying me at a quick but not inhuman pace.

  Bouncing against Finn’s back, I blinked away happy, silly tears as the golden electric light came into focus. I couldn’t believe we’d found our way out of the lakelands, the fifth circle of hillbilly hell. I tucked my head against Finn’s shoulder, giving thanks to whatever deity oversaw protracted vampire camping trips.

  Thank you for bringing me through the wilderness and into almost-nude contact with Finn. Though, to be honest, you could have done both a little faster.

  The trees became fewer and farther between, and the ground was smoother. Soon we skidded to a stop on a gravel drive in front of an enormous Spanish-style mansion, where lights blazed in every window. The carved wooden sign on the door labeled it “The Possum’s Nest Lodge of Cooter Holler, Ky.” Because what else would it be called?

  The Possum’s Nest was fading from its former glory. The roof was tiled in dull, chipped brown slate, and the once-creamy stucco on the walls was riddled with cracks. A water fountain stood next to the oversized carved front door, empty and split down the middle. Tree limbs lay scattered around the grounds, looking eerily like spindly arms reaching from under the earth. Even stranger, there was no one in sight. Not one car in the gravel parking lot. All of those windows—without curtains—and we couldn’t see a soul. And for some reason, that filled me with a sense of foreboding, as in “standing outside of the Bates Motel” foreboding. Maybe even “checking into the Overlook” foreboding. It definitely ranked high in terms of bathtub murder potential.