by Molly Harper
“I’m going to try to sweet-talk Mrs. McCreary into turning off the phone-monitoring system so I can make some calls. See if I can get some intervention with our shifter friends from an outside party.”
I stared at him. My suspicious hindbrain wanted to leap right to the conclusion that he was going to call the shifters, to tell them where we were so they could come grab the book before Jane got there. But when it counted, in the woods, he’d kept me hidden when the shifters were nearby. He’d gotten me through a plane crash, dehydration, and multiple levels of insanity to what was a safe place, creepy possum statues aside. I wanted to believe that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me now.
“Well, I don’t want to see you flirt with a little old lady, so I’m going to go up to the room and start my bath-shower-bath cycle. I hope the water heater is sturdy, because that cycle may last forever.”
He laughed and patted my shoulder while I turned toward the rough-hewn wooden staircase. I checked to make sure Mrs. McCreary’s back was turned to me, watching Finn’s ass as he sauntered toward the lobby’s phone stand.
The stairs felt wrong under my feet, like I’d forgotten how to manage ground that was even and structured and wouldn’t collapse under me. I kept expecting to trip over a rock hidden under the carpet. I practically floated toward the door marked “Wildcat Room.” And I was half afraid that I would wake up under a pine tree, with only the memories of air-conditioning or indoor plumbing to comfort me.
The Wildcat Room was not, in fact, decorated with University of Kentucky memorabilia. Genuine taxidermied wildcats prowled the walls, the dresser, even the headboard. I would have to move a stuffed wildcat from the top of the toilet tank just so I wouldn’t feel its glassy eyes following me while I was undressing for the shower . . . while drinking multiple glasses of water.
My Yelp review of this place would probably include: “Good news, there’s a king-size bed. Bad news, I’m pretty sure we’re going to be murdered in it.”
With a smack at the door, Mrs. McCreary delivered the promised sandwich, which turned out to be a single slice of bread folded over a piece of processed cheese. I devoured the scanty portion in three bites, marveling at the softness of the bread, the smooth, alien flavor of Velveeta.
While I knew that I needed a bigger meal, the thought of eating more made me a little ill. I figured surviving for days on so little food had shrunken my stomach down to a half-sandwich size. My plan to eat a porterhouse the size of my head would probably have to wait for a while.
With the sandwich lodged in my belly like an inadequate, overprocessed rock, I hid my battered purse, book and all, in the space under the bottom dresser drawer. I ran to the bathroom as if the tub was full of diamonds. I was shocked that my clothes didn’t stand up on their own when I tossed them onto the floor. They did, however, leave a shower of dirt and debris on the tile, which wouldn’t improve my standing with Mrs. McCreary. I couldn’t find it in myself to care that I didn’t have anything clean to change into when I got out of the shower. If it meant not putting on the same jeans I’d been wearing since the plane crash, I was willing to greet Jane naked.
OK, I would wrap myself in one of Mrs. McCreary’s bedsheets.
The shower spray felt so good against my skin. What joy, what bliss—clean, warm, non-fishy-smelling water. I swallowed several mouthfuls, not even caring that it was warm. I poured half of the little complimentary bottle of Prell into my hands and lathered my hair viciously. I didn’t want to wash it out. I just wanted to keep that lovely clean smell as close as possible. I unwrapped the soap bar and scrubbed at my skin with the washcloth. I winced over every bug bite, every bruise. I’d never been so beaten up. But it felt good in a weird way, like I was stronger somehow for earning those marks on my skin.
And despite my ragged state, I couldn’t help but feel a sort of satisfaction, a smug sense of accomplishment. I’d made it. I felt like Odysseus, finally sleeping under his own roof again; like Dorothy, waking up from her dream. Or Sarah, having beaten Jareth’s labyrinth and flipping him the bird while he juggled his Freudian glass balls. I’d won. I’d overcome insane odds and several near misses, but I’d lived through it all. I’d survived my own worst-case scenario. And while I never (ever) planned on doing anything this insane again, I knew that no matter what life threw at me, I would be OK.
Years of therapy and several different levels of medication, and it took a forcible camping trip for me to achieve some semblance of emotional recovery. My therapist would either be very proud or decide to retire . . . before I fired her. I was still sticking pretty hard to that point. So far, being stuck out in the woods for four days had done more for me than five years in her chair.
Over the rush of the water, I heard the door to the room open and close. I closed my eyes under the spray and prayed that it was just Finn, returning from what I could only assume was disposing of Ernie’s body in a sneaky vampire fashion. If I had to, I’d survive another confrontation. I was just really tired. I needed a nap before my next battle.
I heard the soft thwump of fabric hitting the floor. At this point, I really did hope that it was Finn, because otherwise, this next episode of violence was getting pantsless really quickly. I tipped my face into the shower spray. I heard the shower curtain draw back. I felt cool hands slide along my ribs and settle on my hips, the contrast between the hands and the water sending a tremor along my spine.
Cool lips brushed along the nape of my neck, tracing the vertebrae with blunt teeth. I expected to be tense, being this vulnerable in front of Finn, now that I knew everything, but he’d seen me in far more naked situations than this in the last few days. At least, I was nearly clean.
I turned around, nudging his shoulder with my forehead. “Mr. and Mrs. David Seever?” I bit my lip to keep from laughing, but it didn’t keep my shoulders from quaking under Finn’s lips. “D. Seever? Deceiver?”
“What? No one else has caught on in years of using that name.”
I burst out laughing, and he slid his hands around my ribs, spanning his fingers under my breasts. “Don’t be mad that I’m better at word games than ninety percent of the population,” I told him.
“You’re too clever for your own good,” Finn murmured against my shoulder. He pulled me close, tucking my back against his chest, and I could already feel the solid weight of him against my hip. He rained kisses along my shoulders as I turned toward him.
Smiling, I poured the shampoo over his head and worked it into his hair. He leaned into my caress like a cat, closing his eyes as I massaged his scalp. I grabbed a cloth and worked soap into it, scrubbing over his cheeks, down his neck, down his chest. I watched as rivers of gritty water ran off our bodies and collected in the tub. It felt like two new people were being born under the water, free from the grime and general weirdness of the last few days. Prell was a freaking miracle cure for pine-tree madness.
It was heaven to stand under the water and let the soap bubbles cascade over both of us, beating the tension from our muscles. Finn pulled me close, angling his mouth over mine as he combed his fingers through my hair. He backed me against the wall, running his nose along the length of my cheek.
Wordlessly, I stroked my hands along his arms, down his chest. A sudden sense of alarm took the words from my mouth. I didn’t know how much more time together we had. I didn’t know when Jane would be here. I found myself panicked by the idea of losing him to real life. Because I didn’t know if what I felt for him, if whatever he felt for me, would survive other people. When Jane arrived, with what sounded like the full support of the Council, would he go his way while I went mine? Would we even exchange phone numbers? I couldn’t imagine what we would talk about. “Hey, remember that time you got hired to diddle my brain and then we got into a plane crash?”
Maybe it was better if we didn’t have contact in the real world. Maybe this was some sort of trauma bonding better left behind in the woods. Maybe this was better as good-bye.
Finn ran his tongue along my throat, w
orrying at the hollow with his teeth. He dragged his hands over my breasts, cupping them, thumbing at my nipples until they ached.
That would be a no to the “better off never seeing each other again” question.
He hitched his hands over my hips, dragging my aching flesh over his hard length. He pinned me against the wall, wrapping my legs around his waist. He teased me, rubbing the blunt head against my opening, before rolling his hips and sliding into me. I sighed at the sensation of being filled, being stretched so pleasantly that it made my teeth clench.
For a second, I worried about a condom, which was definitely not in my purse, as I’d had no need of them for a while. But then I realized how useless a condom would be in this situation. I knew I couldn’t get pregnant by him, and he didn’t carry diseases. It was the first time I’d felt a man naked inside me, and it was an odd intimacy, allowing him what I’d allowed no one else. There was nothing between us, and I could feel every inch of him.
“So warm,” he mumbled against my forehead. He snapped his hips, driving me back against the tile. I grunted, arching my shoulders to avoid the cold contact, which only drove me further onto his length. He gave a sharp cry. “Again!”
I rolled my hips, taking him to the hilt, peppering his temples, his cheek, his chin with kisses. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, undulating against him, angling my hips to help him find that hidden spot inside me that would make me scream. His cock scraped over it, but only just, making me whine.
“Please,” I moaned. “Please, please.”
He nodded, repeating the stroke, making me cry out. My fingers curled into claws, scraping down his back. He hissed, his fangs stretching to full length. His pupils went wide.
Was he going to bite me? Did I want him to bite me?
I thought I kind of wanted him to bite me.
Honestly, what did I have to be afraid of, after what I’d been through? I’d lived through too much to be afraid of a little nip on the neck. I tilted my head, exposing my neck. He stared long and hard at the pulse I was sure was throbbing there. Any second, I expected him to lunge. But instead of biting, he nuzzled my neck, traced the line of my jaw with his tongue, and caught the lobe of my ear on the tip of his fang.
“Want to hear you scream,” he ground out against my ear. “Want to hear you scream my name.”
“Finn,” I groaned. And I didn’t even care if Mrs. McCreary heard us. It would serve her right. In fact—
“FINN!” I yelled.
He chuckled, flicking his tongue across my lips, kissing along my neck, curving my back so he could drag his fangs over the top of my breast. I gasped at the sharp sting, moaning as he took one nipple and then the other into his mouth. I bucked my hips against him, taking him deeper, drawing pleasure in knowing I was taking all of him.
I heard the water shut off, too concentrated on the delicious friction between us to register Finn fiddling with the knobs. He carried me out of the shower while I worked to slide up and down his length, grinding against him with every step. He dropped us to the bedspread, never breaking the connection between us.
He rolled his hips, the momentum driving me up the length of the bed, until my crown hit the headboard. I arched, meeting his thrusts, dragging my nails down his back, until I could sink them into his ass. I looped my ankle around his, turning us until I was seated on top of him. He grinned, curling his hands around my waist to slowly grind up against me. He spanned his hand over my ass cheek, as if he couldn’t get close enough.
My wet hair tumbled forward, forming a chilly curtain around us both.
That tight coil of pleasure inside me snapped, and my whole body bowed, head thrown back, hair whipping against my spine. I shrieked, vaguely registering cool hands anchoring my thighs around his as he continued to rock me against him. His movements became frenzied, moving through my tight, sensitive body at a dizzying pace.
Finn buried his face between my breasts, and I felt him shudder underneath me. He panted, crying out against my flesh, holding me so close that I swear I thought I heard my ribs buckle. He rubbed his cheek against my skin, inhaling deeply, cupping my head in his hands.
I collapsed against him, unable to move, unable to care that I couldn’t move. I just lay there, my face wedged against his chest as I gasped for breath. I couldn’t gather the mental energy required to operate my limbs. My hair fanned against Finn’s face, but he didn’t seem to mind, running his hands absently down my back.
“Are you all right?”
I made a snorting noise that was downright rude. My previous lovers, and there were very few, were all perfectly nice, safe men, and they’d never earned the right to ask whether I was OK after sex. Because, in the end, it had felt like making love to paper—blank, flat, passionless. Frankly, I would take messy and rough any day of the week. At least I knew Finn was there. I would feel him for days, every time I walked, and somehow I liked the idea. I wouldn’t be able to write this off as a fever dream.
Wincing, I pulled away from him, even when he made a weak protesting mewl. He flopped back against the bed and threw his arm across his face. And he was panting, which, considering that he didn’t need to breathe, I was going to take as a compliment.
“I think I’m going to need another shower,” I said with a yawn. “As soon as my legs work again.”
“Just sleep,” he told me. “You earned it.”
“No,” I told him. “I can’t sleep now.”
“The trust you have in me, it’s overwhelming.”
“It’s not because I don’t trust you.” I pulled the sheet over both of us. “I just want to take advantage of this bed while we can.” I curled into his arms, enjoying the way his hands stroked down my back.
“Get some sleep, Anna. You’re going to need it.”
I laughed. “Is that a comment on the last few days or an offer for a second round?”
He pulled me closer, turning my face upward and kissing me softly. “A little bit of both.”
I nodded sleepily. “OK, then. Just let me rest my eyes a little.”
But before I could drift off, I heard the squeal of tires in the gravel parking lot. My eyes popped open like a child’s on Christmas morning. I hopped to my feet, rushing to the window. I could see a black SUV roll to a stop, and a brown-haired woman in her thirties bolted out of the passenger-side door and up to the front door.
“She’s here!” I exclaimed. Finn closed his eyes and thunked his head on the headboard.
I pulled the plastic bag from the dresser and charged out the door. Finally, I could hand this thing off to Jane and never have to think about it again.
“Uh, Anna?” Finn called as I sprang into the hallway. I dashed back into the room, slamming the door behind me. “You’re naked.”
I sighed, picking my crusty jeans up from the floor. “Fine, I won’t wear a sheet downstairs to meet her.”
“I didn’t know that was an option. Uh, is that an option?” he asked, as I jerked the bottom dresser drawer off of its tracks and pulled my purse out, letting it slap against the doorframe as I ran out of the room. I winced, cradling the weight of the book against my chest.
I called over my shoulder. “It was a few minutes ago!”
Despite the relative grossness of putting my dirty clothes back on, I jogged down the inn’s staircase with great alacrity. A tall brunette I recognized from an Internet search for Jane Jameson-Nightengale, proprietress of Specialty Books, stood near the front desk, smacking the “Ring for service” bell repeatedly. Behind her stood a tall man with dirty-blond hair, wearing a T-shirt that said, “You have already overestimated my interest in this conversation,” and a concerned expression.
“Hello? Why even have a bell if you’re not going to answer it!” the woman growled. “This is insane! Hello?”
“Stretch, maybe your abuse of the bell is why the owners of this establishment are hiding in their rooms, refusing to come out,” the man suggested gently.
“What’s your point, Di
ck?”
“Jane Jameson-Nightengale?” I called softly. Because you do not want to startle vampires when they’re agitated in customer-service situations.
The woman turned, saw me, and moved across the room in a flash. She threw her arms around my shoulders. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see a complete stranger!” she cried. “I was worried and scared and all of the bad emotions.”
“It’s good to see you, too.” I laughed, patting her back even as she squeezed me so hard I had difficulty breathing. It was the most enthusiastic hug I’d ever received from a person, living or undead.
“Is this becoming awkward?” she asked, still hugging me.
I shrugged. “A little, but you’ve been through a trauma.”
“Smartass, you’re like one of the family already.” She snickered and drew back, fluffing my damp hair over my shoulders. “I have a present for you.”
The blond man handed her a purple gift bag marked “Specialty Books.” I peeked inside and found a pair of yoga pants, underwear, a sports bra, and a T-shirt that read “Librarians do it by the book.” Jane scrunched her nose. “Dick picked out the T-shirt. Sorry.”
I beamed at them both. “It’s clean, so you have my undying devotion. And this is the book,” I told her, handing her the plastic bag. “You will find that despite the last few days, it is intact and undamaged. I appreciate your business, but I do not want to see it ever again.”
Jane carefully opened the bag. The envelope containing my appraisal, provenance records, and invoice fell out of the book to the floor.
“I can’t believe I had this tucked away in the shop, propping up Mr. Wainwright’s old Tales from the Crypt comic display in the storeroom.”
“Well, it did take us a number of years to finally clean out the storeroom,” Dick noted, as Jane tucked the book into her shoulder bag.
“Thank you, Anna. I will be sure to leave you a really good Yelp review.”
I burst out laughing, grinning at the man. “See? She gets it.”
“I very rarely get it, when it comes to books, but Jane always does,” he said, extending his hand to shake mine. “Dick Cheney.”
