“I had revisions from hell today. My editor’s gonna hate me if I don’t cut my draft down to size.”
“Life’s rough,” he sympathized from behind the sports page. Logan was moody and distracted. Ororo laid down her pot of lotion and watched him.
“What’s wrong?”
“What isn’t wrong?” He sounded so defeated, and so tense.
The paper rattled as she nudged his hand.
“Nickel for your thoughts?”
“They ain’t worth that much, darlin’.”
“They are to me.” His sigh was gusty. He stared past the edge of the newsprint. She looked concerned, instead of relaxed the way she was before bedtime. Logan sat up against the headboard, bare from the waist up.
“Baby…how are ya?”
“Fine,” she shrugged.
“Feel any…different?” She raised her brows.
“Should I?”
“Yeah. Cuz ya seem…different.”
“Ah-oh-naw,” she muttered around her toothbrush. Ororo spat the foam into the sink. Logan scowled. “I don’t know,” she repeated. He heard the clink of her brush landing in the ceramic cup before she rejoined him.
Even the way she moved was different. Her gate was even more graceful, fluid. She moved with an economy of sound. More than once over the course of the week, she’d gotten the jump on him. That had never happened before. Her voice, even the low, dulcet tone she used when they were intimate, startled him when it came from over his shoulder, while he was deep in thought.
And Ororo’s scent was different. There was a new, robust tang that he couldn’t describe. She wasn’t wearing new perfume or eating any…
…then again, yes. She was eating differently.
When Logan met her, she had a sweet tooth. She kept a generous stock of orange juice concentrate in her freezer and a stash of chocolate chip cookies in the back of her cupboard for emergencies, especially during times like these, when her deadline loomed.
She hadn’t touched so much of a bite of sugar, lately. Logan had no complaints, if it kept her healthy.
Still, she suddenly seemed to crave raw foods. Ororo, who had a self-professed phobia of runny eggs, was suddenly eating them a step above sunny-side up. She no longer cooked the life out of her broccoli. Logan didn’t find that odd, either, as much as watching her biting into a freshly peeled, raw potato.
Okay, that was weird. She crunched into it while she stood over the sink, then looked up curiously as he stared.
“What?” She set it down and wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb.
“Nothin.’”
Then there was the meat.
She used to only eat red meat about once or twice a month. They’d had it three times over the past five days. She even raided the refrigerator one night for the leftover venison stew, eating it barely warmed.
Even now, her manner toward him was almost possessive. She shared his space frequently, even invading it.
“Take a shower,” she invited him, kissing his shoulder. Logan grunted. “C’mon. You know you want one.
“M’already clean.”
“So let’s get dirty again,” she suggested helpfully. Her next kiss on his warm flesh lingered. She breathed in his masculine scent with pleasure. She was making it very difficult to say no.
“What’s up with you…geez,” he murmured as she pried the paper loose from his hands, folded it and chucked it off the bed.
She straddled his lap, staring down at him imperiously. “I can’t talk to you from behind that thing.”
“Doesn’t seem like yer in the mood ta talk,” he pointed out. He was stiffening beneath her, despite the barrier of blankets. His fingers traced a line up the slope of her long thigh. She gave him an appreciative “mmmm” as she cupped his face.
“You’re going on a run tonight?” The question surprised him.
“Dunno.”
“C’mon.”
“Okay. Probably.” He cupped her hip, kneading it. “Why? What’s up?”
“I miss you when you’re gone.”
“Usually yer sound asleep when I leave.” His impressions were still vague in that regard. She always slumbered peacefully in his arms within minutes of bundling against him under the covers, but the pull and lure of the hunt and running in the wild was too strong. He couldn’t focus on anything else.
Obviously, he’d been missing something.
“I get lonely. I worry about you.”
“Don’t worry so much, darlin’.” The shift of her body over him made it hard to think. She leaned into him, imprisoning him as she planted her palms on each side of him and closed in on his mouth.
Need consumed him. He heard its answering call in her breath misting over his lips and the change in her pulse as he swept back her long hair, stroking her neck.
“It’s hard on me when you’re gone. You make me feel safe. You make me feel right, Logan.”
“I never wanna leave ya, ‘Ro.”
“Then don’t.”
“I don’t know how ta stop.”
“Then I need to show you.” His heart pounded in his ears as she engulfed him. He submitted willingly, in awe of the changes in her. The covers were peeled down as she shifted over him, then yanked away and tossed to the foot of the bed. Her silky nightgown slithered over his skin as she guided him down slightly from the headboard, the better to slide her body against his. She fitted herself to him as she claimed his mouth.
Her nightgown disappeared, leaving nothing but bare flesh and two bodies straining together in a familiar rhythm. She explored his body, savoring it; nothing was a secret anymore, but it only appealed to her more with repetition. There was always a different taste, a more decadent sensation to experience each time she made love to him. Tonight was made for tenderness. Ororo nearly brought him to the brink, but she thoughtfully stopped to re-situate herself. She mounted him smoothly, planting her hands on his chest to feel his heartbeat as she began to move.
“Darlin’,” he groaned, “love you.”
She was beyond words. She gave herself up to their rhythm and the delicious things happening inside her body. His body tensed beneath her. Logan’s fingers dug into her hips as he pulled her to meet his thrusts faster, harder. The tension wracked his features, straining the cords of muscle in his neck. He looked wild, abandoning self-control for fulfillment.
She loved him wild. All of him.
“Take this,” she said. “Please. It’s yours.”
He fell over the edge.
His body jerked beneath her, rocking her as his hips shunted those last few thrusts. His chest arched and he gripped her, finally hauling her against him.
They were replete. She slid from him and curled into his side. His labored breath stirred her hair as he stroked her like a cat.
“If you can’t stay here tonight, then I want to come with you.”
“Darlin’, it’s late!”
“I want to spend time with you. I don’t care how.”
Her wish was granted. She fought sleep, despite the narcotic effect of Logan’s bulk against her. She watched him fall asleep this time. Quietly she crept from the bedroom into the kitchen. She found her insulated boots and coat, pulling them on over her pajamas. She abandoned the nightgown, which had served its purpose.
She was already out on the back porch when he left.
Slowly, she followed him. Watched him.
Instinctively, Ororo stayed downwind. She wanted no interruptions during her vigil, wanting only to focus on him, during his hunt. Strangely, she hardly felt the cold. Her long hair whipped in the biting February wind.
After an hour, he caught her scent, then the sight of her.
The Beast was in awe.
His mate.
She was compelling, watching him so intently, completely unafraid. Moonlight picked out the waves of her hair and lit her eyes with an eerie glow.
Cerulean eyes were stained with amber, meeting his. Knowing him, despite his midnight guise.
He huffed, shaking himself from his crouch. He padded away from her, signaling her to let him be. She lifted her hand in farewell and leaned against a bare oak, waiting for him.
She might have dozed; she couldn’t explain how she woke curled beside a hollow log, insulated by her coat and a thick layer of leaves and brush. Dawn was about to break, black sky giving way to indigo blue. She stretched, freeing herself from her nest and shaking leaves from her hair.
The unsettling sensation of restlessness fled her. She felt relaxed but lonely.
She returned to the warm confines of her home, already missing the open sky. She hung her coat and shucked the bulky boots in time to hear the low creak of the door.
She said nothing as she turned to him. She returned to him with a thick bath towel and began to rub him down, dispelling the chill. Her hands drifted over him, massaging warmth into his chest and limbs. The Beast allowed it, suffering her solicitousness and coddling. He leaned into her, inhaling her scent, nuzzling her hair and sensitive throat.
He followed her, still indulging her need to pull him where she wanted him. She alone was worthy of that right.
He woke spooned at her back. Snatches of visions of his trek teased him, and he smelled the outdoors in her hair and flesh. Dawning awareness made him come fully awake.
“Aw, man. Not you. Darlin’, please, not you!” he moaned under his breath. She said nothing. She burrowed back against him, into his addictive warmth.
*
Everything was too loud. Too bright. His skin crawled with overwhelming sensation; the air seemed to buzz around him. He squirmed in his expensive suit and tugged at the perfect Windsor knot in his tie, yanking it lopsided.
…heard he got canned from his last job.
What’s wrong with him? Seems antsy…
Crystal in the mail room said she already slept with him. Said he kicks off the covers.
Seems like a dog. Fine, though…
Pietro needed some air. He ignored the secretary’s inquiry drifting after him about whether he still needed hard copies of the handouts for the morning meeting.
He didn’t even take his coat. The building felt stuffy and even smelled stifling. Too many colognes mingled with the various kinds of metal, Rolex watches, car keys, wedding rings, coins fed into the vending machines in the lobby…
He was famished.
He let his stomach lead him to the deli down the block, not caring that people stared at him, the handsome man foolish enough to walk out in the biting wind with no coat.
The cashier was a pretty girl with braces and freckles. “What can I get-“
“Meat,” he barked impatiently.
“Ummm…”
“What’s the special? Any special with meat?”
“We have pastrami on rye-“
“That one.”
“Six or twelve?”
“The big one!” he snapped as he jerked his billfold from his pocket. His hand shook as he shoved the bills across the counter.
Come on, come ON, he fumed as the girl took back his order. Hunger clawed at him in response to the smells of cooked and raw meats.
The sandwich came in a red plastic basket. Before she could ask him if he wanted to take it to go, he fell upon it, not bothering to leave the counter. He wolfed down the first three bites without chewing.
“Hey, buddy, back off, we have other folks who wanna order from the counter some time today.” The manager was leaning out through the service window from the kitchen, scowling.
A low growl escaped Pietro’s lips as he lowered the dripping sandwich into the basket. He licked a drop of sauce from the corner of his lip and fixed the man with a heavy stare.
“I beg your pardon.” His voice told the man that he did no such thing.
“Er…ya wanna maybe sit down over there? That table’s free.”
“Fine.” He took his meal to the one facing the large window and fell upon it again with just as much enthusiasm. The meat was hot and juicy, promising a scalded tongue and possible indigestion, but Pietro didn’t care. It felt sumptuous, seductive, sliding down his throat. He barely tasted the pungent rye bread or spicy Dijon mustard.
All that mattered was the meat. In moments he was sated.
Pietro left ten minutes later and belatedly checked his voice mail. He toggled through several entries and ignored them all. They were borrowing his time. Let them wait.
He strolled down the block and peered inside a few windows, admiring the selection of gold jewelry, featuring amethysts as the month’s birthstone on special sale. Pretty trinkets, but none of them appealed to him.
He was drawn from his reverie by the chatter of two women entering the store. Both of them were attractive at first glance. He wandered in after them. He enjoyed a distraction, lately.
“Why isn’t he buying you the ring himself?”
“I’m just doing a little suggestion shopping,” her companion chuckled. She was blonde and striking. Pietro watched her open up her coat, fumbling with the buttons. What he previously assumed was a slender body surprised him. She was pregnant, ripe; he guessed she was about six months along. His interest in flirting with her died…
…yet her scent…attracted him. He couldn’t explain it. It was earthy and warm and had a tang to it. She’d recently been in contact “ intimate contact “ with a male of the species.
Smug bitch.
Both women perused the case of diamond solitaires and murmured between them, smudging the glass with their fingertips.
“What else do we have to do today?”
“Errands. I have to take a few of Logan’s things that he didn’t want to the consignment store. Leave it to him to give me one more thing to do. I’m not even married to him anymore, and I’m still tying up his loose ends.”
“Didn’t sound like he left all that many.” Her friend’s voice was skeptic.
“He ditched that popsicle stand, I won’t lie, Janet.” She sighed heavily, and her voice sounded slightly guilty. “Once I came clean, things moved pretty fast. He didn’t want to touch anything he left behind at the house before we both moved out. I had cooties.”
“Happens when you have an affair.”
“It’s not an affair anymore.”
The rest of the conversation didn’t interest Pietro, but he stood still, reeling at the first mention of Logan.
Logan.
She removed a small item from her purse and handed it to the petite woman, Janet.
“Oh, wow. How could he leave that behind? It’s so nice!”
“Someone shopping around in the consignment shop can enjoy how nice it is now.”
“Seems like a waste.”
“Steve keeps giving it the hairy eyeball when it just lays there on the dresser.”
“Excuse me…I hate to be rude, but did you say you’re selling that?” The blonde turned in the direction of the smooth voice with careful diction.
“Yes. Why, interested? It’s genuine ivory.” The knife had a polished scrimshaw handle. It was sterling silver, more of an heirloom item than a tool. It was handsome; Pietro could tell it was valuable. Carol laid it on the case and tucked it into the small leather sheath for safekeeping.
“What did you say your name was? I’m Pietro,” he offered easily.
“Oh, I didn’t,” she told him smugly. “Carol. Carol Howlett, technically; soon to be Carol Rogers.”
Pietro’s heart pounded in his ears.
Up close, she was even more beautiful, despite the hint of bloat in her face. She had the healthy, rosy pallor and thicker, lush hair of someone carrying a child. Her cornflower blue eyes searched him, admiring his clothing and fit physique. She nodded approvingly.
“How much were you wanting for that?”
“No one’s made me an offer. Why, what do you think it’s worth?”
“Name your price.” He was half hoping she’d just let him have it.
But she was clearly an opportunist. “A hundred?”
Pietro huffed, then shrugged before fishing his wallet back out. Janet’s eyes grew round when he pulled out five crisp bills and tucked them into her hand, after he took the knife.
“You’ve made my day, Carol.”
And she had. It still held an old, lingering scent. It was the old man’s. Pietro remembered that it still wafted up to him from the folds of his coat after that day that he was attacked in the garage, along with the blood stain that ruined it. Pietro absently scratched the bridge of his nose.
“That must have hurt,” Carol tsked. He kept disdain from his face as he smiled back.
“Just a scratch. Tell you what, you ladies have a nice day.” He gave them a jaunty wave and took his leave. The door jangled with his departure.
He watched and waited from across the street, roughly one block down before he began to follow them again. He didn’t know why.
Their breaths came out in gray puffs in the cold as they talked and laughed. Janet took out her phone and keyed in the number. Both of them stamped their feet against the cold. They narrowly avoided the splash of slush from a car that skidded too close to the curb. Carol squealed indignantly. Pietro sneered.
Sure enough, a yellow cab arrived. Janet hailed it and skipped out into the street, despite how slippery it was. Pietro ventured closer amidst the noise of the crowd.
Too much information, too many voices assailed him at once.
However, the announcement of “Fifth and Park, over on Maple Drive, 2251” caught his attention. Her voice sounded clear as a bell.
He repeated the information mutely, keying it into his contacts on his tiny phone. He clapped it shut and shoved it into his pocket.
*
Ororo escaped into the cramped little shop from the cold. The herbal aromas were overwhelming, but she caught the undernotes of plants and flowers she recognized.
Jonathan. He was there, in the back.
She followed the scent of leather and deodorant soap back to his work bench. He didn’t hear her enter, and he looked lost in thought as he poked an awl through a piece of dark suede.
“Working hard, or hardly working?” she teased.
He jumped a mile and swore, dropping his items. He leapt up and spun around to face his ex. His hands planted themselves on his narrow hips.
“Geez,” he muttered. “You could knock.”
“Figured you heard me coming. I heard you, back here. What was that song you were playing earlier?”
“Which one?”
“You know. That one by that one guy…the dude with the long hair on the guitar?” He searched her face, then scowled.
“Clapton?”
“No. Ponytail.”
“Oh. Wait…what did I play…you mean a minute ago?”
“No. About five minutes ago.”
“How long were you here?”
“Not long. I heard it as I was coming in.” Forge looked confused. He peered at the volume knob of his tiny CD player, then turned it as loud as it would go. Ororo grimaced.
“Shit! Can you please turn that down!” Her mittened hands were cupped over her ears.
“Gimme a sec, sweetheart,” he boomed as he ran out of the work area. She trotted after him, just as confused.
He was standing outside the front door of his shop. Then he walked back inside, just a foot beyond the door.
The music was only a low hum, not loud enough to even hear any lyrics.
“This isn’t helping. If you were planning to make my ears bleed, this is the way to go.”
“Ororo, I can barely hear it now.”
“Then you’re going deaf. Maybe you’ve got a remedy for stuffed-up ears in here, somewhere. And while you’re at it, how about some aspirin?”
“You know I don’t allow that stuff in here,” he reminded her. “Wait out here. I’ll come get you in a sec.” He hurried back and turned off the music. He was out of breath when he came back.
“First off, it was Ottmar Liebert. Second of all, that was the only disc I played five minutes ago. Third, there’s nothing wrong with my hearing. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Why? I feel fine.” She still poked a fingertip into her ear to clear it.
“Really?”
“Hm. Well. Eh.” She hedged. He waited patiently and rummaged in his cupboard for mugs. “Just…different. Everything seems to put me on edge.”
“How?”
“Just…smells. What’d you eat for lunch today, tuna?”
“I ate four hours ago.”
“Did you leave the dishes out?”
“No. Washed all of ‘em. Threw the can in the outside trash so it wouldn’t stink.”
“Funky.” She waved her hand to dispel the phantom odor. “And lately…I startle easily.”
“You startled me, too.”
“I know. But it’s just like I can feel people coming from every direction. Sense how close they are. And I know this sounds weird…I can hear you right now.”
“Hear what?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s your pulse. There.” She nodded. “It just skipped.” He stopped mid-pour and set down the tea. Forge looked pale.
“Somehow,” he hedged, “I have a bad, bad feeling about this.”
“Why?” She took off her coat and hung it on the peg. She still wore the long wool muffler, but it made her chafe. Everything did. She began to unknot it as he set out the treats. She bit into a piece of homemade banana bread with a sigh of contentment.
“It’s nice,” she mumbled around a mouthful,” but do you have anything a little heartier? Sandwich? Jerky? Anything?”
“Like what? Grilled cheese-“
“Ham. Chicken.” She looked hungry as she pronounced her next preference. Her voice lowered and deepened. “Beef.”
“Um. I have some of that black pepper jerky you hate-“
“Bring it out. The whole bag.” She sat down and blew on the hot contents of her mug.
He watched her as she ate, calmly discussing different projects he was working on.
She ate the jerky with ravenous gusto.
“Ali doesn’t feed you?”
“Haven’t seen much of her. You know how I go into reclusive author mode when I have a deadline. But Logan keeps me company. He reminds me to bathe.”
“I bet. How’s his little…affliction?”
“He seems okay. Well, to the extent that I can call him okay.”
“Any more changes?”
“No. Just…more frequent. He’s still a night owl.”
“Understandable. How about you?”
“Me?”
“You were never a morning person, granted, but do you feel different at night?”
“Yeah. Just…more charged. I guess…eager.”
“Mmmm.”
“What do you mean ‘mmmm?’”
“Hm.”
“That doesn’t help…” She sneezed. “Man, something in here’s hitting me hard.”
“Sorry.”
“No biggie. Strong smells just give me a headache, lately. Especially jasmine.”
“It’s out back.”
“Smells like it’s in here.”
“Hm.”
“There you go again.”
“Sorry.”
“I just wanted to let you know things haven’t changed much, at least not with Logan. Just…with me.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Yes, Forge, but WHY?”
“Take this.” He unlooped a small choker from his neck and handed it to her.
“It’s nice, but I can’t.”
“Just hold it.”
“Ooookaaaayyy…OW!” The metal felt heavy and cool in her grip until she held it for about three seconds. She dropped it back on the table with a clatter of beads and embossed silver feathers. “The hell…?” She sucked on her fingers, grumbling over the discomfort.
“I don’t know what to say.” He threw up his hands. His face was troubled.
“Maybe you should just say it.”
“You already know. You’re infected.” They shared a heavy stare. She shook her head.
“No. I can’t be. That doesn’t make any…” her voice drifted off. She stared beyond him, in a world of her own. Absently she took off her scarf and rubbed a kink out of her neck. Forge looked twice as she lifted up her fall of hair.
“That.”
“That, what?”
“That. On your neck.”
“What, do I have a hickey?” She looked embarrassed. Forge stood and rounded the table, shooing her hand away from it. He peeled aside her turtleneck and sucked in a breath.
“Now it should make sense. Let me look at your hand.”
She held it out to him. He turned her palm up, tracing the tissue with his thumb. It stung. “Ouch.”
“Believe me when I tell you, Ororo,” he said, turning slightly pale, “that you share your man’s curse. You walk among them now.”
“Among who?” she whispered.
“Those who run and hunt through the night. Skin-walkers, or as you put it before, werewolves.” Her face crumpled. He tugged her into his embrace, offering what support that he could, rocking her and stroking her soft hair.
She even felt different, he mused.
*
She was still troubled and out of answers. The tiny pouch in her purse sent up an odd aroma; Forge promised it would help her to sleep, and if necessary, calm her anxiety.
She made her way back to her car easily enough. Despite her snack, she was still hungry.
She contemplated her choices, mentally throwing out all the leftovers in her fridge. She was craving chicken.
Golden Sails. The restaurant’s parking lot was relatively empty, despite that it was rush hour. She turned in to it and parked in the front, already smelling orange chicken through the air vents that fed out to the street. She salivated.
Ororo heard the store’s door chime as the next customer came in, but she was distracted. She still couldn’t shake a slight feeling of unease.
Someone was watching her.
She eventually finished ordering three selections when she felt a light tap on her shoulder, smelling a hint of expensive cologne. She sneezed, excusing herself to the cashier.
“I’m sorry, I’m almost…finished.”
“No rush. You look good. Very good.” Pietro’s silver eyes ate her up. He hadn’t let go of her sleeve yet, and he was standing too close. The cashier smiled at the sight of the two attractive people, wondering if they were a couple.
Ororo spun from his grasp. “Could you…hurry it up, please? I don’t want to keep my company waiting, and, uh, my motor’s running!”
“I didn’t see your car left on.” His smile was frozen in place.
“I wasn’t originally planning to stop. I got hungry, and sidetracked.”
“What did you do today?”
“Ran errands. Just…errands.” She held onto her purse protectively.
Something about Pietro was different. He seemed to stand taller, and to take up more physical space. He hadn’t gained weight. No, if anything, he had a certain hungry look. His eyes were staring into hers with an intensity that made her heartbeat speed up.
“You seem tense.”
“Um…”
“Want to sit down?”
“NO! Ah, no. Thanks. I’m fine. Ooh, there’s my goodies. ‘Tro, it was good to see you again-“
“Say hi to your friend. Logan, was it?”
Her blood ran cold. She could hardly feel her lips move, and she didn’t hear the cashier lay her order on the counter in a crisp white bag.
She swallowed. “Sure. I’ll say hi to him.”
His scent was too sharp. She was developing a migraine that made her dizzy. He was still standing too close.
Ororo felt sick.
“Can I help you, sir?” The counter girl looked impatient, then approving as she got a good look at Pietro without Ororo standing in the way.
She’d made her escape before he could look away from the menu above the wall.
His smile faded as he took in her retreating back, replaced by a shrewd look. His silver eyes were cold and hard. His order was short and clipped. He chucked a couple of dollars into the tip jar and strode out.
So it was like that.
*
“Where did you go today with Janet?”
“Nowhere in particular.”
“Shopping?”
“Maybe.”
“Get anything?”
“No. Actually,” and Carol’s voice was smug, “I got rid of something.”
“What?”
“The last of Jim’s stuff.” The good-looking blond man lounging in his pajama bottoms on their bed snorted.
“About time.”
“So? It just took me a while.”
“Tell me another one. You just like keeping his stuff around.”
“I’m no pack rat, and that’s not true. I don’t have any attachments left to him. Drop it.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.” She padded over to him. Her belly loomed over him, draped in her flannel nightshirt. Her long hair was down, invitingly thick. She was beautiful, and she belonged to him. Soon to be his wife, and the mother of their child. His chest grew tight.
“C’mere.” He tugged the hem of her shirt to bring her near and then cupped her hip.
“Now, now.”
“No. Now, NOW.” She giggled as she stumbled into him, then “mmmm’ed” into his mouth. He tasted of roast chicken and beer.
“Mmmph…Steve…wait.”
“Uh-uh.”
“C’mon a minute, gimme a sec.”
“Why?”
“I left something in the garage.”
She’d lied. She had gotten something. Her lips twisted in an effort not to smile.
“Get it tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then let me get it. Where is it?”
“You don’t even know what it is,” she argued. He sighed in frustration, rolling dark blue eyes to the ceiling.
“She’s killing me, Lord,” he muttered. He tried to tug her warm body under the covers. She wasn’t having it.
Carol shoved her feet into her worn, fleece-lined slippers and slipped into Steve’s quilted hunting jacket. She shuffled outside to the garage, once again regretting that it wasn’t connected to the house. They’d already called a contractor.
At least it was relatively clean. She still grimaced at the scent of turpentine and Armor-All. She stumbled over the bucket Steve used to wash the cars, tsking and returning it to the shelf. It hadn’t stopped sleeting and snowing for a week. Forget washing it.
She fumbled with her car keys, finding the small clicker. It chirped back at her as she unlocked the doors. With some difficulty, she bent inside and found the small blue bag and its hard little box inside. She smiled, content. She knew he’d like it. Thankfully she’d hidden it where he wouldn’t see it once the cab dropped her off. Both of them were trying to conserve gas; Steve worked from home and hadn’t made any trips himself that afternoon.
She backed out of the door and was about to lock it up.
“Excuse me.”
“Holy SHIT!” She dropped the bag and palmed her chest. “Hoo! What the hell…? What…what are you doing here in my garage?” She squinted at the stranger, now regretting that she hadn’t bothered to turn on the light. She could pick out his silver hair and eyes through the street light shining in the window.
“I decided that what you sold me wasn’t worth it after all. I’ll probably never use it.”
Her voice sounded hollow and confused to her own ears. He heard her heart speed up. It overpowered the lower, faster throb of a second heartbeat inside her. He sniffed, then shook his head.
“Look…wait…you’re that guy from the store.”
“It wasn’t hard to find you.”
“Why did you follow me?”
“Did you know you have his stink all over you, even now? I didn’t realize what it was until you left with your other friend, the genius.” Carol began backing away from him. The door was close, still ajar.
“I think you need to leave. Don’t make me-“
“On second thought,” he interrupted, “I think this will come in handy after all.”
He lunged at her. His large palm clamped down over her mouth, muffling her scream.
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