Authors: Sylvia Frost
DANIEL
I
t’d been
six days since I’d last seen my mate.
On the first day, I’d stood at the end of the hallway, hidden among the moving throng of nurses and patients, watching as her mother wheeled her to the parking lot and out of my life.
On the second day, I’d tried to throw myself into my work stitching up a gunshot victim. With every suture, I’d made myself promise that Rose was safer away from me and my secrets. For the first time in three years, my patient died on the table. They said it wasn’t my fault.
On the third day, I’d visited the hospital gym and ran around their little brown track until I almost lost consciousness and half-collapsed against the cool, metal water fountain. Even then I still heard my lion whispering inside my head that Rose was in more danger without me than with me.
On the fourth day, I bought a sound machine that was supposed to imitate the wilderness. Unfortunately, I could count each of the different birds and tell when the loops started and ended. When I finally did fall asleep, I didn’t dream of her.
On the fifth day, I searched for every scrap of information I could on GR Scientific, and found even less than I had the first time. Someone had removed Erostoxifam as a listed drug from their website.
On the sixth day, I felt her again.
I was walking through Soho on my way to the grocery store to buy my usual favorite meal of bagel and smoked salmon, when the back of my neck began to warm. It hadn’t done that since before the scientists told me Rose was dead. I forced myself to keep walking, past the chalk-drawn signs outside of the cafes.
Sunset reflected in the skyscrapers looming in the distance. It made it look like the whole city was on fire. I stopped right on the edge of the crosswalk, not caring as busy pedestrians pushed their way past me. Underneath the skin on my neck, I felt something moving, like a fishing line being tugged by something far away.
Let us go to her
, my lion crooned.
I shook my head, wishing I could toss out my full lion’s mane, shift and bound straight toward her. I clenched my fist and stepped out of the way of the crosswalk, vowing that I’d regain my bearings and keep going in the opposite direction, but just as I did a glare glinted off of the windows, blinding me. On the back of my neck my matemark went cold. The tugging turned to a pull.
She needs us
, my lion hissed.
Something is wrong.
So on the sixteenth hour of the sixth day, I watched the stoplight change from red to green and turned and ran in the other direction.
To my mate.
ROSE
H
ello
, world,
It’s me again, The Book Addict. I know it’s been a while, but picture me sitting cross-legged in my polka-dotted pajamas guilt-eating Cherry Garcia because I didn’t post an update and you won’t be too far from the truth.
However, I’ll be honest, I’m a little embarrassed about my old blog post. Who writes about their dumb day-dreams and puts them on the Internet? Me, that’s who, I guess.
Recently, I’ve decided to turn over a new page and focus on the “non” side of fiction. To my surprise, the world has cooperated by giving me something actually interesting to write about! Ready? Here goes!
I’m going on a date. No spoilers, but this guy seems around my league of cuteness and he actually didn’t send me a picture of his genitals, ask if I was “DTF” or just write, “Hey.” He wrote three whole sentences, thank you very much, one of which referenced his interest in movies about werebeasts, too.
But, guys, there’s even better news (sort of!). I’ve had other adventures besides arranging to go on an online date. I’ve done a little corporate spying. Okay, okay. Really I just Googled the name of this drug company that manufactures the pills that may or may not have put me in a coma. (Long story.) But still, here are three intriguing facts I found:
1. Preliminary searching led me to believe that the maker of Erostoxifam was a company named GR Scientific. (Seriously, could their name sound more generic?) BUT after I used the Way-Back machine to check page history, I found out that GR Scientific was actually a subsidiary of the McDermont Collective.
2. I won’t deduct points if you don’t remember, but the McDermonts were one of the biggest old-money werebeast hunting families in the US. Odd.
3. Odder still, the McDermont Collective seems to have contracts with the US Department of Defense. I thought of filing a Freedom of Information Act form to try and request the paperwork, but that was when I realized the truth.
Are you ready?
My whole conspiracy theory was just another symptom of my need to turn the world into a novel. Except this time instead of being determined that every hot guy is in love with me because, reasons, I’ve started writing a thriller.
I have to stop, which is why I’m closing up my laptop and going on this date. But I am curious, sound off in the comments. Do you think I’m crazy?
Yours,
The Book Addict
***
M
y dinner date’s dry
, cold hands grazed the small of my back as he directed me toward what he had dubbed the hottest new bar in Tribeca. The sign above it read “The Tavern.”
“So I have to ask, what’s a girl like you doing on an internet dating website?” he asked.
I forced myself not to cringe from his touch as we ducked through a door framed with fakes rusted pipes. “I wanted to break out of my shell.”
And to stop lusting after a doctor I’ll never see again.
“Well, I’m glad you chose me to help,” my date said.
“Me too,” I lied. I hoped if I said the words aloud it would make them true.
I needed this date to work. I’d spent so long holding out for a prince to sweep me off my feet, I’d literally ended up in a wheelchair for the last week. I was done waiting for my day dreams to just come true.
Mamma would be disappointed, but it was easy for her to say, “Trust your gut and never date a guy that doesn’t make you comfortable.” She got at least one marriage proposal a month.
But I was still a virgin, because I’d been waiting for a guy who didn’t make my skin crawl. With all the books I read, my dude radar was off-kilter. Sometimes I wondered if to me, anyone who wasn’t Prince Charming seemed like the evil villain.
I smiled weakly over my shoulder at the man whose username was TheMagpieKing.
He smiled back, and it wasn’t a bad look with his neatly trimmed dark hair, even if no happiness reached his sea-glass green eyes. He, unlike me, fit in with the crowd of thin women and men in black. There were no wrinkles in TheMagpieKing’s button-down and his jeans looked fresh enough to still have the tags on them.
Yes, his wristwatch had more bling to it than any white-guy’s should’ve, but all in all my date wasn’t unappealing. Really. He wasn’t. Plus, his real name was Lonan, which sort-of sounded like an Irish warrior.
Lonan raised his hand to motion at the hostess, a leggy blonde.
She smiled at him, like they were old friends. “Lonan!”
“Celia,” he said, “can we get a table for two?”
“Of course,” she purred. “The usual?”
The usual.
I wondered how many other girls Lonan had brought to this bar. I followed numbly as Celia wove between the the dimly lit wooden tables to find a space for us at the back.
When we arrived, Lonan pulled out a chair for me, although as it was made of long planks of reclaimed wood, it was really more like a miniature bench. “For you,” he said.
“Thanks.” I sat.
Lonan’s hands idled on my shoulder, his cold, dry touch finally meeting my skin. My mark of hairs zinged with warning. Instinctively, I brushed my braids over my left shoulder to dislodge him.
Lonan’s bony fingers flitted from my shoulder to my neck. He hummed low in his throat, almost as if in recognition. “What’s this?”
“N-nothing.” I shook my head, sending my braids falling protectively down my back, hiding the mark. “I’m fine.”
“Hey, no judgement.” He squeezed my shoulder, like he was my coach. “But I’d recommend seeing a doctor, okay?”
“I will, thanks,” I lied, not wanting to explain the details of my hormone imbalance to him just yet. I’d save that for date two. If there was a date two. The few other dates I’d been on often involved the guys scramming before dessert. Part of me wouldn’t mind if Lonan scrammed, but that part of me was the reason I was a virgin.
Lonan slid into the chair across from me. Before even picking up a menu he said, “Has anyone ever told you that you have amazing eyes, Rose?”
“No.” A smile began to twitch on my lips, but I couldn’t push it through. “Just pretty normal ones. Brown.”
He laughed, but it sounded forced.
I squirmed, the wood grain cold and rough against my thighs.
Why had I worn one of Mamma’s dresses?
The bright red and yellow made me feel like a chubby parakeet.
“So tell me,” he went on, still not picking up a menu, a single sheet of flimsy paper. “Sorry if this is a personal question, but that mark on your neck, how long have you had it?”
“Um, since I was thirteen. It’s really not a big deal.”
He hummed again. His teeth looked plastic. “Of course it’s not. I’m being an asshole aren’t I?”
“No,” I said, then I broke, shrugging with a grimace. “A little bit, actually.”
To my surprise, Lonan didn’t jump out of his chair, but just kept up his plastic smile. “Sorry.”
An apology was a good sign, right?
The waitress brought two mason jars full of clear ice water. I grasped mine and gulped down a quarter of it, then I focused on wiping off the condensation on the table below the jar with my napkin over and over again.
“Hey.” The old joints of the table creaked as Lonan leaned forward on his elbows. “Can I ask you another question?”
“Sure,” I said.
He cocked his head, and looked me up and down, although the table obscured anything below the waist. I didn’t see a familiar flash of disappointment when he noted my chubby arms. That was something.
“Is it true that you’ve never been kissed?” he asked.
“What? I set t-those questions to p-private,” I spluttered. At least, I’d answered them as if they were.
“You must’ve clicked the wrong button.” This time when he laughed, it was real. I liked it even less than his fake one. “And I’ll take that to mean you haven’t.”
“I…”
The waitress came and he waved her away casually, still staring at me, smirking. It was a little handsome, like if I squinted he could be rakishly charming.
“I could kiss you now, if you’d like. Just to see how it goes?”
“We’ve known each other less than twenty minutes!”
“I know a lot about you, though.” He gestured with the napkin-wrapped silverwear at me. “Your favorite movie is
The Last Werebeast
, mine too by the way. You were an English major, and your favorite flavor of ice cream is Cherry Garcia. The small talk’s been taken care of.”
He wasn’t wrong. I knew all sorts of silly things from his profile too. Like that his favorite book was
Silver and Silicone: The Dawn of the Age of Man,
that he worked as some kind of salesman and that he prided himself on being able to “fix any problem corporate or otherwise.” But I didn’t
know
Lonan Brown.
Lonan didn’t seem bothered by this. His mouth was still twisted in a smirk as he shrugged. “Hey, it might be nice to get it out of the way. You seem nervous, and I thought why not get rid of the anticipation?”
“I-I’m not nervous,” I lied.
“Really?” Lonan tilted his head meaningfully to the fork I had clutched in one fist, like it was a miniature sword. I’d left my actual mini-sword at home.
“Maybe a little,” I said, and let the fork go. This time when I laughed I felt it in my belly and it might’ve been with real humor.
“It’s okay to be nervous. And…” He set down the silverware, his features boyish. “It’s okay if you’re not interested as well. No pressure.”
“No.” I swallowed, my voice sounding dry and cracked in spite of the water I’d just drunk. I was twenty-three. At this point it didn’t need to be true love for my first kiss. I just needed to get it over with. If Lonan still made my skin crawl afterwards, I’d stand up and leave.
“I mean. Yes,” I said. “I’m interested. Nervous. But interested.”
He grabbed my hand again, his icy touch making me shiver a little less this time. “It’s okay. To be nervous. I bet you’d be calmer if you let me kiss you just once, before we start our dinner. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered.
Lonan patted my hand. “There you go, Rose.”
I cringed at his condescending tone, but it was too late, he was already closing the distance between us. His breath was cold and overly minty, like he had drunk a whole gallon of mouthwash. It’s sharpness reminded me of the hospital smell.
As his chapped lips drew closer I noticed the flecks of dead skin on them. I could count his nose hairs. My heart thundered in my chest. Now my hands felt cold too.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t have my first kiss be this. I started to stand up.
“Rose.”
A searing warmth of recognition lightening-ed from the mark on my neck all the way down my spine. The velvety baritone sounded so familiar, but it couldn’t be.
“Dr. Ward?” I asked as I turned, fully expecting it to be a waiter.
It wasn’t.
There he was. The Viking-sex-god doctor, and Sweet Jesus he was beautiful.
If I thought he was hot in a lab-coat, I had no idea of the havoc he could wreak on my hormones in a T-shirt and jeans. The coarse denim was tailored perfectly around his muscular thighs, and the cheap fabric of the “New York Werehawks” T-shirt was just transparent enough to show the ribbing of the tight wifebeater he wore underneath. On his feet were a pair of brand-new sneakers. Sneakers!
It was as if his whole outfit was designed to look as unlike the kilted and toga’d warriors of my fantasies as possible, and yet with his narrow golden eyes and wild tawny hair, he still exuded raw animal magic. And fury. His hands were rock-hard fists pulsing at his sides.
Lonan stood and smiled broadly, showing all of his too-uniform teeth. “Dr. Ward! What a coincidence seeing you here. Need another pen?”
Dr. Ward was so still I was reminded of one of Mamma’s cats right before they were about to pounce. He didn’t bother making eye contact with Lonan. Instead he glared at me. “I need to speak with you, Rose.”
Lonan laughed and put out a hand between Dr. Ward and me. “Sorry, Doc. You might have to wait a second. Rose and I are on a date here.”
I stepped back from Lonan’s barrier. “You two know each other?”
Lonan’s eyebrows flicked upward, like if he just moved his face fast enough this all could smooth over. “I work in pharmaceuticals.”
“
Now
, Rose. It’s urgent.” Dr. Ward didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. I was standing before I knew why or how.
Lonan dropped his hand barrier, all overdramatic joking done. “What’s going on?”
“I-I don’t know?” I felt a pull through my entire body that wanted me to be with Dr. Ward. “But it should just take a second.” I drifted towards my doctor like a sleepwalker. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Lonan said.
Dr. Ward brushed his hand against my arm. Unlike Lonan he didn’t look for skin or linger, and as soon as I registered his touch it was gone. An ache panged in my stomach at the loss.
“This way,” he said.
He didn’t touch me again as he led me to the cloth-covered entryway that protected the entrance of The Tavern from the elements. Ironically, it was colder here than inside, so most of the people preferred to bypass this entrance and go to the one directly next to us that led right into the restaurant. It seemed as if the only reason they’d put a cover around this door at all was to hide their sanitation rating, which was posted on the plastic window. B+
I stowed my hands in the pockets of my dress to warm them as Dr. Ward shut the door, leaving us in our own little black-clothed bubble.
“So, what’s going on?” I asked.
“Rose.” His velvet rasp was nearing a guttural purr.
I tried to run through all the reasons Dr. Ward could be here, but all I could imagine was him pushing me up the wall and telling me that he’d come because all those smiles we’d shared in the hospital room had meant something. But I knew better.
I took a step backwards, my bare shoulder bumped up against the paper menu tacked to the plastic window. “What’s going on? Did I have a bad test result?”
He shook his head. His fists still hadn’t un-bunched. “No.”