by Tasha Black
Dulcie wrapped her legs around his waist and let her nails sink into his back.
He gripped her shoulder with his teeth and growled.
Dulcie shivered with need.
“I want to make love to you, Dulcinea,” he whispered in her ear. “Is that what you want? If it isn’t, you need to stop doing what you’re doing.”
“Van, please,” she moaned.
“Please what?” he asked, a smile in his voice.
“Please, I want you, please make love to me,” she begged.
Now that the floodgates were open she wasn’t sure she could stop begging.
Fortunately, he didn’t push her.
“That’s my girl,” he growled approvingly.
The next moment she could feel the hot tip of him against her swollen opening. He was enormous, but he had her so worked up she was sure she could take him.
He sucked in a breath.
“You’re so wet for me,” he crooned, stroking himself up and down her, “such a good girl.”
Dulcie was transfixed by the unbelievable feel of him against her. She felt herself convulsing on nothing, desperate to have him inside her.
Van leaned down on his elbows, and used one hand to brush the hair from her eyes. His expression was all tenderness.
As Dulcie lost herself in his eyes, he pressed against her. She could feel herself unfurling to allow him in.
When he was fully seated, his eyes grew luminous.
Was he feeling it too? The incredible sense of rightness that was warming Dulcie to her bones?
He moved slowly inside her, so slowly. Dulcie could feel her ecstasy building, unable to overflow because of Van’s languid pace.
Closing her eyes, she tried to bear the agonizing pleasure.
“Open them,” he whispered. “I want to see those beautiful eyes.”
She opened her eyes, and couldn’t help smiling at him.
He pressed his forehead against hers. His eyes still locked on hers, though their proximity made it hard to focus.
The romantic gesture made Dulcie experience another rush of warmth. But her resistance was breaking down.
She jogged her hips up to meet him, shamelessly begging him with her body for more, faster, harder.
“Jesus, Dulcie,” he groaned in defeat.
The next thing she knew he was giving her just what she wanted. Slamming himself into her, his enormous length massaging a sensitive spot inside that made her feel she could fly off the bed and hit the ceiling.
But it wasn’t enough.
Van smiled down at her, and she felt him slip a hand between their bodies.
When his index finger found her clit and began to flick and circle, Dulcie lost track of her sounds.
A moment later the waves of pleasure lifted her to the heavens, then crashed her down to the shore. She was nearly blinded by the force of her climax, which seemed to go on and on.
The moment she came down, Van exploded into a frenzy of thrusts, then froze inside her. She could feel him swell larger still, as he jetted into her again and again.
When it was over, he collapsed on her chest.
As they fell asleep, Dulcie stroked his hair lightly and stared up at the chandelier above her bed.
How had this happened? She had been determined to protect her heart, she barely knew this man. Was she falling in love with him in spite of all of it?
The chandelier had no more answers than she did. It only glittered merrily in the last rays of twilight, as if it were laughing.
Dulcie smiled back at it and shut her eyes.
Chapter 15
Van awoke as the first rays of dawn crept through the bedroom window, his whole body in a state of bliss.
His head rested in the sweetest spot it was ever likely to find itself, cradled on Dulcie’s warm breasts, the fingers of one of her hands tangled in his hair.
For the first time since he’d met her, he wasn’t plagued with desperation to claim her.
She was his now.
Though the sweet smell of her was already waking his desire.
He nuzzled her gently, telling himself he wasn’t waking her, just snuggling in.
He could feel her intake of breath when she awoke.
She didn’t move right away. He hoped she was reveling in his arms, as he was in hers.
At last, she stretched her arms.
He pretended to wake up.
“Good morning,” she said sleepily.
“Good morning,” he replied, regretfully leaving her breasts to crawl up and kiss her as soon as her yawn was finished.
She stroked his cheek.
“You stayed,” she said. “I’m glad.”
“Did you think I was going to leave?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said “I don’t really have one night stands, but isn’t that what guys do?”
Anger pounded through his veins. He leapt out of the bed.
“Is that what this was for you?” he snarled. “A one night stand?”
Dulcie sat up in bed.
“Van, I’m sorry, I…”
“You what?” he snapped. “You don’t want to date a guy who doesn’t go to work in a suit?”
“We’re in the middle of a murder investigation,” Dulcie began.
But she cut herself off and gaped at the floor.
“What?
“Your toe,” she breathed.
One more piece of evidence that he wasn’t her type.
“Yeah, I lost a toe, and I’m sure if I told you how it happened, you’d want me even less,” he turned away.
“Does it stay that way when you shift?”
“Yeah,” he said. “So what?”
“Don’t you see? If you’re missing a toe, then you couldn’t have done it,” she exclaimed. “The tracks showed intact prints.”
He turned back to her slowly, trying to hold himself together long enough to get out of the house before he did something stupid.
“You thought I did it?” he asked.
Her face went slack with horror and she began to shake her head.
“No, I never believed it, Van, I only meant…”
“I think what you meant is pretty clear,” he spat, and ran out of the room, out of the house, toward the woods.
He’d left his clothes on the floor of Dulcie’s room, which was fine. He didn’t feel much like being human anymore.
He shifted, mid-stride, and bolted into the dawn.
Chapter 16
By the time his paws hit the loamy soil of the woods, he felt a tiny bit better. While Van, the man, had complex layers of emotions, Van the dog painted his feelings in much broader strokes.
Dulcie was wrong, but she was good. He loved her. He was sad that she didn’t understand him, but he would still protect her, to the death if necessary. She was his mate and she loved him, no matter how wrong her words were.
That settled, he began thinking instead about the way the cool air felt to his lungs, the scents of other animals and rain coming.
He ran for a long time, until he was panting for breath as much as for joy. The morning sun had just begun to penetrate the cozy gloom of the forest.
He glimpsed a flash of white as a large creature crossed his path ahead.
Van lifted his nose to the wind, but couldn’t pick up its scent.
His muscles bunched and stretched as he sailed through the trees in pursuit.
He spotted it again. Another dog. Ghostly white, like himself. Still no scent.
Impossible.
He bounded after it, remembering that he needed to keep an eye on this dog. It might be trouble.
Van ran as fast as he could, but the other dog kept vanishing into the trees. Finally, it was so far ahead that he couldn’t catch a glimpse of it anymore.
He put his nose to the ground, breathing deeply. There, underneath the layers of smells, a fresh scent trail. One he recognized from his trip to the big, old house, and it traced the path of the other dog exactly.
Rudolph Barrymore.
What was he doing out here? He was supposed to be dead.
Van sniffed again, to be sure.
There was no mistake. And the trail was only a few hours old.
He followed, slowing his pace to keep from losing the scent, until it led him out of the woods near the trailers on the south end of town. The neighborhood was a stark contrast to the swanky homes near Dulcie’s, but people with any kind of magic in them were drawn to Woodland Creek.
Magic didn’t discriminate.
Van kept his head low. It would be easier to lose the faint scent in a populated area.
Before he’d gotten far, another strong odor reached his nose on the crisp breeze.
Fear.
Not just fear, the acrid smell of absolute terror.
Van froze, lifting his nose to the wind, trying to locate the source of the scent.
A scream rang out in the morning air. So high-pitched it hurt Van’s ears.
The smell of bowels loosing in death.
Too late.
Van stood, front paws splayed, and hung his head.
Chapter 17
Van spotted the laundry line pretty quickly, but it took him a few minutes to sneak over and grab a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants off it.
Nothing like being a full grown man, naked, outside someone else’s home to accentuate the importance of stealth.
When at last he was dressed, he made his way to the gathering crowd.
At the center of what passed for a large intersection among the small dwellings, Van spotted a body, face down, already surrounded by people. Soon enough the police would come and take it away.
He wandered over but kept a safe distance.
“I saw it, too,” a woman in a red sweater was saying to a lady in a nightgown.
“Was it big?” Nightgown asked.
“It was, but it was the color of it that was so… unusual,” Sweater replied.
“White, huh?” asked Nightgown.
“Well, yeah, but not just white. It was… glowing. Like a ghost,” Sweater whispered, as if the ghost dog might hear her and come back for more.
Van ventured a step closer, until he reached a point where he could get a good look at the body.
It was a middle-aged man, his face frozen in a rictus of terror. Not anyone Van recognized. Certainly not Rudolph Barrymore, although his scent still tickled the back of Van’s sensitive nose.
More people joined the crowd. With each new arrival more smells filled the air, blocking out any real chance to sort out the scent.
A siren sounded in the distance.
Though he knew he’d done nothing wrong, Van didn’t like run-ins with the police.
He wandered back toward the trailers, moseyed between two of them and back into the woods.
The walk home as a man was a long one, but it would give him time to think.
About the murder he had all but witnessed.
And about Dulcie, and how a man was supposed to crack a shell that was soft and sweet and endlessly flexible.
Chapter 18
Dulcie smoothed out a patchwork quilt on the ground, then sat down on it, trying to remember to keep her legs glued together in the dress she’d chosen for the occasion.
She normally dressed as informally as the occasion would allow. So wearing a tailored shift, with her hair up in a bun, a hat, and sunglasses, like she was today, should make her look about as different from everyday as possible.
Van seated himself beside her.
It was good to be spending time with him today. The last few days since he’d stormed away, and the second murder had happened, should have been a chance for Dulcie to cool off and accept her life without him. But it was easier said than done.
Van set down the spray of plastic flowers in front of the gravestone they’d chosen. Dulcie hoped Patrick Wingarden 1902-1984 would be amused with their company rather than outraged by the subterfuge and cheap flowers. She figured it was probably the most exciting visit he’d had since his wife, Dorothy, was buried beside him in 1987.
Dulcie carefully studied the gravestones before them, but she could feel Van’s eyes on her, caressing her face and then her body.
It was beginning to look like these had been a long few days for Van as well.
That morning, Dulcie had rushed off to work as soon as Van left, telling Mel to forget it, she’d take a vacation later.
Inside, she had been gutted.
The incredible night and then the joyful feeling of waking up with him still wrapped around her had filled her with radiant hope and a crazy feeling that she was living in a waking dream.
When he stormed out, she felt awful at first, that she had hurt his feelings about one-night stands and his being a suspect.
But the more she thought about it, the more she feared and then was convinced, that the argument had been a bit contrived. That maybe it happened because, though he seemed to enjoy the night with her, he didn’t really want to be with her a second time. He wasn’t the type to make a commitment.
And as soon as that sunk in, she had to get to work.
Dulcie had learned long ago that focusing on the happiness of others was the best way to gain perspective on her own life, which really was an interesting one, after all. Whether her dream guy felt like committing or not.
She’d returned home later in the day to find Van’s clothes gone, and a short note on her bed.
Dulcie,
I’m sorry I was angry. I want to see you again. As soon as possible. So we can talk.
-Van
‘So we can talk’ was classic code for ‘I don’t want to be your boyfriend.’ Dulcie could read between the lines, there was no need to get together.
It had been the easiest thing in the world to reply by email.
Van,
Thanks for the note. Don’t worry about it, things were way too intense with us last night. Let’s just focus on solving the case and preserving our friendship.
-Dulcie
He hadn’t replied. But she figured he was relieved. He had needed to pretend to be indignant about one night stands, he was trying to be a gentleman after all. But she really had hurt his feelings by suspecting him. Though she never had actually suspected him. Not really.
And she didn’t now.
Even though he had run into the woods naked and furious right before this last murder occurred.
When news of the murder came out, she went to the Coroner’s office to talk to Seth. He swore up and down to her that the prints at the scene had no missing toes. Though of course he had been puzzled as to why Dulcie would ask that question.
She’d done some more digging.
The victim’s name was Marcus Selden. He had worked in maintenance at the university, until he got fired for showing up drunk one too many times. He’d been staying with a friend in one of the trailers near where Van found him. Aside from a few drunk and disorderlies, his record was unremarkable. And he seemed to have absolutely no connection to the Barrymores. At least none that she could find.
But it had to be there somewhere, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. That’s why they were here.
Van looked out over the cemetery as the afternoon sun glinted off the polished gravestones. She could read sadness on him, and wondered if he was remembering another funeral.
They’d sat on a bench outside the funeral home for an hour and a half before this, not really talking, watching for people going in and coming out. Between Van’s nose and Dulcie’s knowledge of the townsfolk and her empathic abilities, she’d figured they would be able to easily spot suspicious activity.
There had been quite a few guests, more than Dulcie expected for someone of Selden’s social position, but she figured a lot of the people were just curious. By now the story of the ghostly hound was all over town.
Dulcie and Van had struck out there, picking up nothing from any of the guests, and forcing them to dash to the cemetery on back road
s just to get her head of the service.
She was beginning to think that the two of them weren’t as infallible as she’d imagined, or that nothing suspicious would happen at the funeral anyway.
At least it gave her an excuse to spend time with Van, even if he was mostly giving her the silent treatment.
“I’m not sorry,” Van said softly, looking out over the stones to the place where the mourners would gather.
Chapter 19
Dulcie froze. She could tell Van had something to say, and she wanted to give him the chance.
“Believe it or not,” he said with a hint of a smile in his voice, “I wasn’t always the picture of stability I am now.”
He paused. The silence stretched between them. When she was convinced he would say no more, he continued.
“I grew up in Argentina, in a small town. My mother was nice. She always did her best by me,” he said, running a hand through his too long hair. “What I did with my life was not her fault.”
“I never met my dad, so I had no way to know he was a shifter. Neither did my mom. I got the impression he wasn’t in the picture long. Not exactly a one night stand, but close enough. At any rate, no one warned me.”
Dulcie couldn’t hold back a gasp.
“It happened when I was thirteen. The first full moon was torture. Almost unbearable. I thought I was dying. When I realized what had happened to me, I couldn’t bear to go back home, to bring that down on my mom, so I set out on my own. Even though I didn’t have any money, or any real skills.
“Eventually, I found a good gym and took lessons in exchange for cleaning the blood and sweat off the mats. I trained to become a professional fighter. It’s the only thing I’ve ever really been good at. But it was a long road to get where I am, and I did a lot of things I’m not exactly proud of. Caused a lot of pain.”
“I’m so sorry.” Dulcie whispered.
She could sense there was more. But he had already opened himself so much.
An aura of pain and regret clung to him like a well-worn coat.
