Werewolf Sings the Blues (14 page)

“Did you follow me here?” Price asks.

“But of course. I noticed you wandering out of the armory carrying a bag, and naturally grew suspicious. You have only been with us for a few weeks. For all I knew, you were supplying our flamethrowers to the Taliban. I suppose a wanted serial murderer and his mate is not
as
troubling.”

“I am not a serial murderer,” Jason growls.

“I apologize, your kill number is under three? No desire to beat
Daddy's record?”

“I am nothing like him,” Jason snarls.

“Not from what I hear,
rpoMaДHbiЙ.
” The vampire turns to me. “That is what Lord Peter called his father: his monster. Dear Peter unleashed him when he did not desire to dirty his own hands. Sound familiar, monster?”

The table rattles as Jason shoots up, hands balled into fists. Both
Price and I rise as well in case he decides to attack the smug vampire. I grab onto his fist. “Don't,” I warn.

“Listen to your mate,
rpoMaДHbiЙ
.
I am a Federal Agent,” he says in sing-song.

“Shut up, asshole,” I snap.

“Oh, but you are fiery,” Oliver declares gleefully. “I do enjoy that in a woman. If you were brunette and not so emaciated you
would be my ideal woman. I shall overlook those flaws in your case
, though.”

Jason takes a step to lunge, and hell, I'm about to let him when Price body blocks him. “Let's go. Let's get out of here.” Though
he's still literally seething, Jason listens, following Price toward
the door. I glare at the grinning vampire as I round the table for the bag, which I pick up.

“If you ever tire of Alpo boy, you know where to find—”

With my free hand, I lift the mug and toss coffee in his face. “He is ten times the man you have been or ever will be. You're the only one lacking a soul here.” That wipes the smile from his face. “How sad for you.” With a pitying smile, I stalk out of the bar, shaking my head at this idiocy. At least I wasn't the source of it for once.

Price has Jason by our car, and they're talking when I come out.
“… sorry,” Jason says. “I shouldn't have put you in this situation.”

“The pack all but saved my life. You recommended me for this job. I owe you. Besides, I can handle him. From what the others tell me, deep down he's a coward. Doesn't give a damn about anyone but himself. He'll probably forget all about it in an hour. And if he does say something, I'll lie.”

“Still. I'm sorry,” Jason says. “And if this doesn't work out, you know you're always welcome in the pack. We'd love to have you.”

“We'll see, huh?” Price turns to me. “Good luck to you both.” He nods at me, then Jason before walking toward a truck. Nice guy.

“Are you okay?” I ask Jason.

“I'm sorry I lost my temper. I didn't mean to frighten you.”

I squeeze his hand again. “You didn't,” I assure him. I release his hand. “And besides, you weren't the one who threw a drink in his face.”

“You did?”

“Hell yes! That guy was a total asshole! Had to defend your honor somehow. What are mates for?” I ask with a wink. “Now, let's get the hell out of here before I decide to go back in there and add to my list of felonies.” I flash him a cute smile before climbing into the car.

Jason gets in a second later. He stares straight ahead as if solving a dilemma and doesn't start the car. “I … what he said in there …” He glances over. “I …”

“Hey,” I say, reaching for his hand again. “Don't you dare give that prick a second thought, okay? You are
nothing
like your father.”

“How do you know that?” he asks quietly.

“Simple, Blondie. I wouldn't be here if you were. I'd be dead in a ditch somewhere. You are no monster. You are the most selfless
man I have ever met. The
best
man I have ever met. Don't you
dare
let anyone make you doubt that, yourself included.” I squeeze his hand. “So stop beating my mate up, or I'll be forced to kick your ass. You know I will too. I may not be a werewolf, but I'm vicious and I fight dirty when I need to. I can take ya,” I whisper with a sweet grin.

He stares at me, looking for the lie again. All he finds is sincerity. “Thank you.”

“No,
thank you
.”

His eyes slowly move to mine. The moment they connect, that same feeling I experienced while I was singing invades my body like a ghost passing through. Exhilarating and frightening and joyous all at once, stronger than anything I've ever experienced before. No spark, no orchestra, just a … churning, a glorious metamorphosis in my soul so strong it literally takes my breath away. I don't know how I know it, but I do. This moment is important. Nothing in this universe will ever be the same. Everything I've been through, everything I'll have to go through, it's all worth it for this moment. The moment when … I know I'm not alone. That I'll never be alone again, not really. That someone good and pure and worthwhile saw the same in me. That this man's hands will catch me if I fall. But
that's not what scares me. It's the miraculous realization that I'll do the
same for him. And I will. No matter the storm, no matter the sacrifice, I will fight to the bitter end to be the person he believes I am. I can do it. For him.

He must see the change in my eyes, the determination, the desire, but he doesn't like it. Sheer panic flashes through his eyes, and he drops my hand. If that's not ego bruising enough, he recoils up against his door, as far from me as he can get. “We, um, better get going.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay,” I whisper.

“Halfway there,” he says, starting the car.

Yep, so close, yet so far away.

He maneuvers the car out of the lot. Off we go again into the dark night. But this time I'm not scared. I can feel the warm light on the horizon. Been awhile. Hope this time I get something more than sunburn.

eight

“Come on. Everyone knows
the words to ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.'”

“I don't. Sorry.”

I playfully narrow my eyes at him. “I'll bet you do know it. I'll bet you know the words to all the songs I've mentioned, but you're lying to get out of singing with me, you sneaky werewolf you.”

His mouth twitches into a quick smile. “I really don't know them. I swear.”

It is my new life's mission to get that man to give me a genuine, huge, brilliant smile that lasts more than a heartbeat as often as I possibly can. To get him to let his guard down like when I'm singing. I'm beginning to wonder if it's possible. It's almost as if he's reluctant to, even afraid maybe, as if allowing joy inside could crack him in two. I truly, deeply hope his father is not only burning in hell but is Satan's personal bitch for all he's done to his son. I keep my own smile plastered to hide these evil thoughts.

“A likely story, Blondie. I'll get the truth out of you yet. I have ways of making you talk,” I say in a terrible Clint Eastwood impression. This gets another brief grin. I do think they're getting longer each time. Oh. In the distance, I see a sign. “Look! Look! Wait for it … wait for it …” We pass under the “Welcome to Ohio,” sign attached to a big blue arch. I blow a kiss behind us. “Good-bye, Indiana! You will be missed!”

I turn back around with a grin, but Jason doesn't share my enthusiasm. He's too busy yawning for the fourth time in ten minutes. Once again, I catch the bug. I'm exhausted, but unlike him I
managed to catch an hour or two of sleep since leaving Stoker.
I offered to drive a few times through the night, even suggested we stop. Nope. Good thing I like my men stubborn. So I've been making him stop for coffee every two hours and am doing my best to keep him entertained. I sang the entire Gershwin CD complete with dazzling jazz hands. I interrogated him within an inch of his life. I was pleasantly surprised, shocked even, that he never hesitated to answer. What a difference forty-eight hours makes.

I learned his best friend Adam, who no matter how many times Jason literally snapped at him when they first met, never stopped trying until he wore Jason down. Then there's Tate, Adam's older brother, who taught Jason to fight whether Jason liked it or not. Maureen, their mother, who has the patience of Job. She taught him to read and was like a mother to him. Jenny, our stepmother, who never took a shine to him nor him to her. Probably intimidated by him. That and she was too busy playing Queen of the Pack to spend much time with her children. Frank sure does have a type. He spent the most time talking about Matt, our little brother.

That was the only time he seemed reluctant to speak. I didn't press, though I was dying to know. I think he sensed that and without further prompting began talking. He started with how frightened they were of each other at first, but Frank kept pushing them together until coexisting became love. It all started a year after he moved in. Some of the boys in the pack were picking on Matt, and Jason heard them. He just walked up, punched the ring leader in the face, and probably would have put the kid in a coma if Frank hadn't intervened. The gesture didn't endear Jason to the pack, save for Matt. He became Jason's little shadow. Big brother didn't mind. He was even the best man at Matt's wedding to Linda and is godfather to the twins, Dustin and Nicole. My niece and nephew. He sounded sweet. Artistic. He loved nothing more than walking around a forest snapping photos or playing with his children.

Though Jason shared these stories in his usual monotone manner, there were moments when the façade cracked, manifested in twitches or clearing his throat. I realized halfway through, when he was deep in a story about Matt's first change, that he hadn't had time to process, to come to terms with the fact his little brother died. Maybe when we reach Maryland, he'll feel safe enough to break down. Mourn. And I'll make sure to be there to help in any way I can.

Jason began yawning around three AM, and by the time we passed through Indianapolis just after dawn his eyes started drooping. I'm not much better. I haven't left the car for more than twenty minutes in over twenty hours. Hell, even the little sleep I got was shallow. I don't know how we'll get through the next eight hours to Maryland. I—

The sound of a gunshot solves our exhaustion problem. We both jerk our gazes back at the source. There are no cars behind us and no further gunshots, just a thumping. Oh, thank God it's just a flat. Upon realizing this, I also realize my hand is in the map holder where I stashed the Glock Price gave us. Jason had a similar reaction. His free hand is on the knife he attached to his belt. We exchanged a relieved sigh. “I better pull over.”

“Yeah.”

He maneuvers onto the shoulder. Since I've been sitting four hours straight, I take the opportunity to stand. My back actually cracks when I'm fully erect. Much better. At least we broke down in a lovely part of America with full, tall trees and gentle rolling hills. It'd be nicer if the trucks and cars zooming by weren't so damn smelly and loud. I literally choke on exhaust.

Jason's first to the open trunk. The good news is there's a spare
tire. The bad is that it's almost as flat as the one we need to replace.
Jason stares at the tire as if he can't wrap his mind around what he's seeing, like there's a trunk full of pixies playing banjos.
I'm kind of at a loss too. As someone whose car often breaks down, I know the towing company asks for a license and writes the
license plate down at the bare minimum. Not advisable with a stolen car. “Thoughts?” Jason asks.

“Um … I don't know. We're dead on our feet. You more than me. We switch the full flat for the flat spare, drive to the nearest town, I drop you at the first roach motel we find, and I go buy us a new tire while you shower and sleep.”

“No. No motel.”

“Jace, it's still over eight hours to Maryland. I don't know about you, but I don't have eight hours in me. I won't make any calls if you don't, alright? This is the universe's way of telling us to stop.” I grab the socket wrench. “We're listening.”

I know he's bone deep exhausted because he doesn't say another word in protest. Thank God because I'm too tired to fight back if he did. I hand him the tools as he switches the tires. I give the spare about fifty miles before it's as flat as a pancake. I suppose we could just steal another car. No, it's easier to buy another tire, not to mention I do want to keep my felonies to a minimum. We toss everything back into the trunk when we're done, and I take the keys. My turn as Alpha dog.

It takes two towns and three motels before I locate one that doesn't ask for a credit card. The Midnight Motel, a seedy one story with a communal porch for all rooms letting out onto the parking lot surrounded by strip malls and gas stations on a busy street. If the manager's any indication the rooms are disgusting, greasy, and reek of B.O. At least a room won't eye fuck me. I have to pinch Jason to wake him. Ugh, I was right. I lead him into the disgusting, stuffy room where a cockroach sleeps on the bed. I don't think the window's been opened for a decade, the same amount of time since a maid serviced the room. Still, in my worn-out state, it's the fucking Four Seasons.

“I need a shower,” Jason says.

“Yes, you do,” I say, opening the window. Of course I'm one to talk. My deodorant wore off five hundred miles ago. “You better get to it. Don't want to pass out in there.” When I return to the room with our suitcase and weapons bag, he's already in the bathroom. I leave them on the bed—oh, Lord I think the bedspread has mold sprouting on the fake flowers—then leave again. Tire shopping to do.

I have to endure another round of eye coitus with Walt the manager to get the name and address of the nearest tire store. Pep Boys save the day. Good thing I stole a newer model car otherwise they might not have the right tire in the store. The clerk seems reluctant to sell it without attaching it. Guess I'm the only person ever to buy a tire and not want installation. Doesn't help I pay in cash. We're running low on that as well. We have maybe enough for gas and a fast food stop or two. We'll make it to Maryland by the skin of our teeth.

Walt must have been watching out for me because I'm barely out of the car in the Midnight parking lot before he strolls out. I really have no patience or energy left for his bullshit. He's by my side as I walk to the trunk.

“Got your tire,” he says.

“Yep.” I roll the new tire to the side and retrieve the tools in the trunk.

Walt pretends to look at the license plate when he's really staring at my ass. “Oh, Utah, huh? You one of those Mormons?”

“Yep,” I say, positioning the jack. The only thing Barry ever did
for me, taught me to change a tire. Probably because he didn't want
to spend money on adding me to his AAA account.

“Sexy and handy. Nice.”

The last straw is reached when the asshole touches my bare shoulder. I do what I always do, react. I drop the bar and grab one of his offending fingers, bending it back to get my point across.
Walt gasps more in surprise than pain. I stare at him. Hard. “Touch
me again. I dare ya.” I release his finger. “Fuck off.” Shaking my
head, I return to work as the perv retreats to the safety of his office. Should have broken it.

When I'm done, I return to the room. I've earned a nap. Jason is asleep in bed facing me with a large strand of wet, golden hair falling on his cheek. Strange how I notice that before I take in his bare chest. Really I take him all in, utterly captivated. I don't know what it is, but he is the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on. Hands down. Yet he is absolutely not my type. I usually go for the androgynous, lean men. There's nothing feminine about him whatsoever. Still I can't take my eyes off him. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to crawl into that bed, bring him inside me, and bring us both to ecstasy. I force my eyes closed and take a deep breath. My will power is getting buns of steel with the workout I'm giving it. Shower.
Take a damn shower, Viv.
A cold one.

I never knew I could achieve bliss just by taking a shower. It's glorious. I wash my hair twice, scrub and scrub the dried blood I didn't know I still had on me, and let the scalding water baptize me of my considerable sins. I'd stay in for hours but my eyes keep closing on their own. After toweling off, I change into a large t-
Jason's face is scrunched up as if there's manure spread under his nose as he moans. Bad dream. This isn't the first time he's done this. It happened on and off in the car during his marathon sleep yesterday. It passed quickly, though he was never curled up into the fetal position like now. His demons find him even in sleep.

I carefully climb into bed beside him so as not to wake him. He lets out another moan as I turn on my side so our backs face. I still feel him though, that always present heat burning from his body. There's maybe an inch or two separating us.
Ignore it. Sleep
. I squeeze my eyes tight, but with every pained whimper that sweet oblivion grows farther away. Oh, fuck it.

My will power officially gives up. I've never been a big spooner, but I'll make an exception now. I flip over and bridge the miniscule gap between us, curling against his tense body. He moans again. “Shush,” I whisper, “it's okay now.” He doesn't wake as I move my arm around his waist and up his exposed torso, resting my hand on his powerful heart. “It's okay.” I feel his body loosen a little. I cling tighter.

The whimpers cease a minute later. The storm has passed. We can both find peace now. Just as I'm about to drift off, he moves his hand to mine, lacing our fingers together. I finally succumb to the steady rise and fall of his breathing with a smile on my face. No bad dreams for either of us now.

_____

A truck's loud horn jolts me out of sweet oblivion, not that I mind.
I'm greeted by something equally delicious. It seems in slumber our roles reversed, for the better. Jason's arms embrace me like a seat belt, one around my waist and the other across my chest, securing me tight against his scorching body. In sleep I've locked my arms to his. I'm glued to every contour of him so not even a sheet of paper could get between us. His breath tickles the back of my neck, as does the thumb tracing circles on my exposed collarbone.
This
is a fine way to wake up.

I close my eyes to relish all the sensations, even the feel of his erection pressing against my back. I'm afraid to move, afraid if I do he'll wake up and this will end. But I have to. My left arm is prickling with pins and needles from my weight on it. The pain's clouding everything else. I shift a tad to move onto my back. Jason lets out a moan as I rub against his erection with my butt, exactly what I was trying
not
to do. Honest.

He releases me from his embrace. Damn it. I flip over to face him and sure enough his eyes are open and staring at me. The agony
in them startles me. “What?” I ask quietly.

“I … I dreamt you ran away from me, and when I found you my father was eating you. He made me watch,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I couldn't save you.”

“Oh,” I say, stroking his cheek. “I'm here. I'm right here.”

He presses his hand against mine, closing his eyes and almost grimacing. He huffs and puffs in an attempt to exorcise the bad memories. It physically hurts me to see him suffering like this, as if my stomach's in a vice, the pressure growing with every second of his torment. “Shush, shush,” I whisper, cupping his other cheek. I kiss his forehead. “I'm okay.” I kiss him again. “I'm right here. I'm safe. I'm safe.”

I caress his sharp cheekbone with my thumb, never dropping my tender smile. Slowly the sides of his mouth move up to match mine. Until our eyes lock. What I see staring back gives me a bigger rush than any gunfight, car chase, or drug combined. It takes a wrecking ball to all my defenses, all my will power, all my resolve. Hunger. Bestial hunger. For me. I've never seen it in a man before this intensely, but I recognize it because my beast roars as loudly.