The Last of the Monsters by Lila Dubois

bubbling hot, but now he wouldn’t scare her with his black skin and red eyes. “No, it’s not. Open the door.”
    Akta went to a panel on the wall and disengaged the security system before sliding the door open. Naked, he stepped into her living room.
    Her eyes were wide and dark in the dim light. Her lips were soft and full. “Henry, what is it?”
    “I didn’t want it to end before I had a chance to do this.”
    Henry grabbed Akta and kissed her.
    She gasped just before his lips closed over hers.
    This kiss wasn’t like the performance they’d been putting on for the camera. This was just between them, a way for him to show her what he felt.
    Akta’s arms twined around his neck and her whole body went soft. She seemed to flow against him as if they were made for one another. He tentatively cupped her ribs, and when she made a happy little sound, he slid his hands around her back, holding her against him.
    She pulled back, and they were so close he could see every eyelash. She had pretty eyelashes.
    “Henry.” Her fingertips stroked his face, tracing the line of his eyebrow, then his cheekbone. “Why now?”
    With a start, he remembered why he’d come, remembered that this was it, that this was the end for them. Over before it began.
    Before he could explain, someone hammered at the door.
    Henry pushed her towards the hall, whispering. “Get in the bathroom. Lock the door.”
    “What? What’s going on?”
    “Akta, wake up!” Lena demanded. “Turn off the alarm!”
    Henry didn’t trust the voice. Motioning Akta to safety, he crept toward the door. Through the peephole, he could see Lena, Margo and Jane standing on the front porch.
    “Lena,” Henry said, “are you alone?”
    “Henry! I’m with Margo and Jane.”
    “Is there anyone else with you?”
    “What? No.” Lena’s voice was impatient…impatient and afraid.
    “He thinks we were followed or that someone is standing around the corner with a gun.” Jane’s voice was soft, despite the tension that crackled in the air.
    “Oh.” Even through the door, he could hear Lena exhale. “Henry, we’re alone. Let us in.”
    Standing back, Henry changed. He pushed it, forcing his body to transform in a matter of seconds. Pain spiked through his skull as bone and flesh broke and tore, only to reform. It was only when he was near the end of the change that he realized he might have made a terrible mistake. He’d just been kissing Akta, and the residual feelings might be enough to influence his skin color. But when he looked at his hand, it was inky black with red claws.
    Opening the door, he watched the women recoil—it was just a half step back, a move born of instinct, not intellect.
    Lena recovered first, pushing her way past Henry. “I thought you were going to help them fight,” she said.
    Guilt stabbed through him at her words.
    “I’m glad he’s here,” Jane said quietly.
    She looked pale, almost ghostly with her blonde hair and too-light skin. She dropped on the couch and placed a hand over her belly.
    Akta was standing in the hallway, brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on, why are you here?”
    Margo looked at Henry, who shook his head. Margo turned back to her friend. “We’re under attack.”
    “What? No.” Akta stumbled over to Jane, taking the other woman’s hands. “Who?”
    “We think it’s Blackwolf. We don’t know how they found us. I can only assume it was those fucking pictures.” Margo started pacing. “Oren called—he was with Maeve, and somehow she knew Seling was in trouble.”
    “Not in trouble,” Henry said. He didn’t want the women to labor under false pretenses. “Seling is dying. Maeve is a banshee. She knows when someone close to her, someone she cares about, is dying.”
    Akta looked around the room. “Where’s Cali?”
    Margo covered her face with her hands. A sob escaped her. Lena started rubbing her shoulders. Margo took a few deep breaths, wiped her face and said, “She’s with