exploded.
* * *
I hurt. Merry felt hot and anxious against my chest, and the dog in the apartment
downstairs was barking “danger, danger.” I rolled my head experimentally, and then
moaned at the resulting spear of pain.
Dimly, I began to separate the smells into three different cues: Rover’s fear, seeping
like natural gas up the stairs, cheap carpet, and Were. This one had an unpleasant
layer of musk over the usual woods-and-fields smell I associate with Weres. His boots
had walked through some nasty things. I kept my eyes closed and faked dead.
“Get up,” he growled, unimpressed. I worked a little harder on being limp.
“Up.” He kicked me. I curled tight as a hedgehog, one hand pressed against my ribs,
as pain and shock ran up and down my side. Merry shot out an alarmed spike of heat.
“No,” I grunted. Merry stilled but her tension furled her gold into furious prickling
spikes that bit into my cleavage. “Not helping,” I muttered to her.
Then he pulled back his boot and did it again. In the same freaking spot. “Don’t make
me tell you again, bitch.”
When I got my breath back, I raised a hand. Past his scuffed heels I could see the
curved leg of my easy chair. I crawled to the chair to brace a hand on the seat cushion.
With its help, I heaved myself up as far as my knees. That was as far as I could go.
I’d been hit. By a Were. He’d hit me. And I hurt.
“All the way up.”
One glance at him and I was inspired to stand. I wobbled to my feet, feeling my broken
ribs scream. He’d hurt me. I’d never been hit before, unless you counted Lexi, but
he was my twin. Twins do that, fully expecting to be hit back.
Lou was right. There was no upside to being around Weres.
A couple of days ago, when his clothing was still clean, and his eyes didn’t look
like he’d been smoking crack, he might have been hot. He was young, he was built,
and he was good-looking, in a sort of studly, teenage way. Too young for me, but still,
a great body is a great body, until the owner of it uses one of his body parts to
kick you. Then you change your first impression, and start noticing things like red-rimmed
eyes, and scent; in his case, a ripe, unpleasant combination of unwashed Were, male
musk, and hot emotion.
Downstairs, Rover was trying to scratch his way through his door. “You stink of coffee
and you live around dogs,” he said, thumbing open his phone. Loser, his gaze said,
as he waited for the phone to be answered.
It was short and sweet, his phone conversation. It went like this: he had the amulet.
Some girl had it around her neck, but he’d encountered some problems taking it from
her. Should he just take her head off or should he bring her in too? Both of us waited
for the answer, but I bet his heart was still beating, whereas mine stopped somewhere
after the phrase “take her head off.”
“Right,” he said, nodding as if he were right in front of the guy on the other end
of the phone. “We’re on our way.” The man on the other end hung up first.
“What do you think you’re going to do with my amulet? You’re a Were. It won’t do a
thing for you.”
“Doesn’t have to do a thing for me. My Alpha wants the amulet, and I’m the Alpha’s
boy. His top boy. I get the job done,” he added with a superior smirk. His phone chirruped again,
startling Rover into another chorus of “danger, danger.”
“What?” The Were’s voice grew testy. He yanked the lamp cord out of the wall socket
as he listened. “No, tell them not to wait. Take the old lady straight to the Alpha.”
Casually, he tore the electric wire from the base. “Rolled her right past the nurse,
eh? And the cops? What did you do … yeah, that was smart. So, what about Trowbridge?
Not yet?” He started advancing toward me, the wire swinging from his grip. “What’s
your problem? Just follow his trail.” He stopped to adjust his jeans and
* * *
I hurt. Merry felt hot and anxious against my chest, and the dog in the apartment
downstairs was barking “danger, danger.” I rolled my head experimentally, and then
moaned at the resulting spear of pain.
Dimly, I began to separate the smells into three different cues: Rover’s fear, seeping
like natural gas up the stairs, cheap carpet, and Were. This one had an unpleasant
layer of musk over the usual woods-and-fields smell I associate with Weres. His boots
had walked through some nasty things. I kept my eyes closed and faked dead.
“Get up,” he growled, unimpressed. I worked a little harder on being limp.
“Up.” He kicked me. I curled tight as a hedgehog, one hand pressed against my ribs,
as pain and shock ran up and down my side. Merry shot out an alarmed spike of heat.
“No,” I grunted. Merry stilled but her tension furled her gold into furious prickling
spikes that bit into my cleavage. “Not helping,” I muttered to her.
Then he pulled back his boot and did it again. In the same freaking spot. “Don’t make
me tell you again, bitch.”
When I got my breath back, I raised a hand. Past his scuffed heels I could see the
curved leg of my easy chair. I crawled to the chair to brace a hand on the seat cushion.
With its help, I heaved myself up as far as my knees. That was as far as I could go.
I’d been hit. By a Were. He’d hit me. And I hurt.
“All the way up.”
One glance at him and I was inspired to stand. I wobbled to my feet, feeling my broken
ribs scream. He’d hurt me. I’d never been hit before, unless you counted Lexi, but
he was my twin. Twins do that, fully expecting to be hit back.
Lou was right. There was no upside to being around Weres.
A couple of days ago, when his clothing was still clean, and his eyes didn’t look
like he’d been smoking crack, he might have been hot. He was young, he was built,
and he was good-looking, in a sort of studly, teenage way. Too young for me, but still,
a great body is a great body, until the owner of it uses one of his body parts to
kick you. Then you change your first impression, and start noticing things like red-rimmed
eyes, and scent; in his case, a ripe, unpleasant combination of unwashed Were, male
musk, and hot emotion.
Downstairs, Rover was trying to scratch his way through his door. “You stink of coffee
and you live around dogs,” he said, thumbing open his phone. Loser, his gaze said,
as he waited for the phone to be answered.
It was short and sweet, his phone conversation. It went like this: he had the amulet.
Some girl had it around her neck, but he’d encountered some problems taking it from
her. Should he just take her head off or should he bring her in too? Both of us waited
for the answer, but I bet his heart was still beating, whereas mine stopped somewhere
after the phrase “take her head off.”
“Right,” he said, nodding as if he were right in front of the guy on the other end
of the phone. “We’re on our way.” The man on the other end hung up first.
“What do you think you’re going to do with my amulet? You’re a Were. It won’t do a
thing for you.”
“Doesn’t have to do a thing for me. My Alpha wants the amulet, and I’m the Alpha’s
boy. His top boy. I get the job done,” he added with a superior smirk. His phone chirruped again,
startling Rover into another chorus of “danger, danger.”
“What?” The Were’s voice grew testy. He yanked the lamp cord out of the wall socket
as he listened. “No, tell them not to wait. Take the old lady straight to the Alpha.”
Casually, he tore the electric wire from the base. “Rolled her right past the nurse,
eh? And the cops? What did you do … yeah, that was smart. So, what about Trowbridge?
Not yet?” He started advancing toward me, the wire swinging from his grip. “What’s
your problem? Just follow his trail.” He stopped to adjust his jeans and
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