Derik's Bane (12 page)

“And how the blue hell do you know that?”

“Well, I don’t. Know it, exactly. You know, like you know two plus two makes four. But I feel it. I mean, I know Sara would never do something that bad on purpose. So the bad guys must do it, or trick her into doing it, or something.”

“You’re talking out your ass. And besides, you’re not an alpha, Derik,” Antonia pointed out through gritted teeth. “It’s not your call. I mean . . . you could run a Pack, but Michael’s the boss of this Pack, and he told you what to do. And
you’re not doing it.
”

“Just . . . don’t say anything yet, okay?”

“Derik . . .” This was more a howl than a groan.

“Antonia.”

“You’re fucking crazy, you
know
you’re crazy, right?”

“Just do this one thing for me.”

“Sure,” she snapped. “The first favor he ever asks me in twenty-two years, and
this
is it!”

For a moment he was startled . . . Antonia was so annoying, so bitchy, so harassed because of her visions, it was easy to forget she was still just a baby. She was barely voting age, and look what he was asking of her!

“Thanks,” he said, because that was her way of saying yes. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me
twenty,
you big, stupid, lumbering, asshole moronic—” He hung up on her. The conversation had gone as well as he could have hoped; no need to drag it out.

“Okay,” he said, letting out a deep breath. “I bought us some time, anyway.”

Sara smiled at him. It was the first smile of the day—they’d spent the afternoon screeching at each other in between bouts of fast food—and it knocked him out all over again, how gorgeous she was, how funny, how cute, how—“Yeah, sounds like you did. Thanks. What do you say we go find this safe house of yours?”

“Great,” he said. “Showers all around.”

“Enough rubbing in how bad I smell,” she muttered, trailing him to the truck.

“I just meant that I could use a shower, too.”

“Sure you did.”

THEY HAD EATEN (TWICE, IN DERIK’S CASE), DRUNK cocoa, and roasted marshmallow after marshmallow. Sara knew if she gobbled one more soft white squishy candy she would explode. But she couldn’t stop herself from eating them.

Quit stalling
, she ordered herself.

Ugh
, she answered herself.

“Okay,” she said thickly, noticing Derik was watching her with amazement. “Let’s do it before I lose my nerve.”

“How romantic,” he commented. He was crouched over the fire, balanced on the balls of his feet. “Are you all right? You look a little . . . bloated.”

“Do me,” she commanded, and stripped off her shirt. Her belly, bulging with marshmallows, pooched out over the waistband of her jeans. “You know you want to.”

“Uh . . . right this minute? I wouldn’t bet the farm. Maybe you should lie down.”

“No, no, no. We’re gonna do it. We
have
to do it, to save the world.” She groaned and massaged her belly. “And to sleep in a warm bed tomorrow night. And to have a shower! Think of it, all that warm water . . . and soap, think of the soap!”

“I can’t do this,” he announced. “It’s too much like taking advantage.”

“You’re right about that, but I’ll be the one—hurp!—taking advantage. Now get over here.” She painfully wiggled out of her jeans, then lay, gasping like a landed trout, beside the fire.

Derik was trying not to laugh, and as a result his face had gone an alarming shade of apple-red. “I don’t think you’re up to this tonight,” he gasped.

“Aw, shaddup, when I want you to think, I’ll yank your leash.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“Whatever works, pal. Now strip.”

“Oh, it’s like that? Strip?”

She reached out and cupped the warm bulge in his jeans. “Like you’re not dying to.”

“Well, that’s true,” he said, and quit arguing, and in a minute he was naked, and helping her out of her bra and panties—

“What’s burning?”

“Your bra . . . sorry.”

—and then they were rolling in the grass beside the truck, kissing and groping and moaning and for a minute Sara forgot about her grotesquely distended belly, and the mosquitoes munching on her legs.

And then he was easing inside her and that was fine—it was a little uncomfortable, because he was large and she wasn’t ready, but it was all right, because she just wanted this over with, but oh, oh, she hadn’t expected it to feel good, she hadn’t expected . . . expected this.

He rocked against her, obligingly smacking the mosquitoes he saw on her, and then his rocking speeded up, and she wriggled in the grass to give him better access, and then he stiffened all over, the cords on his neck standing out like steel.

“Ooofta,” she said when he collapsed over her.

“I swear,” he mumbled into her neck. “I swear I’m usually much better at this.”

“No, no, it’s all right. Speed impresses me!”

“Sara, you’re killing me.”

She laughed, and stroked the back of his neck.

“HI, I’M—JON?”

Sara poked him in the side. “Your name’s Derik,” she whispered.

He ignored her—and embraced the red-haired man in the doorway so hard, the poor guy left his feet. “Jon, you son of a bitch! I thought that was your scent!”

“Never mind my mother,” the other man replied, laughing. “Or my scent. And put me down. Derik, what the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Sara. “This is my fiancée. We need a place to crash for the night. Okay?”

His old friend’s face lit up like a moonrise. “Shit, yes, okay! Can you stay longer?”

Derik shook his head and trailed the shorter man into the house. Sara, after a doubtful look around, followed. “Got to get to the coast. Long story, which I won’t bore you with. What are you doing in Kansas?”

“Hi,” Jon said, extending a hand for Sara to shake. “I’m Jon; Derik and I grew up together, and he’s still got no manners at all. Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you,” she said, jerking her head to get her hair out of her eyes. She thought about trying to straighten the mess and immediately dismissed it as a lost cause.

Jon was a redhead, too, except his hair was a rich, deep auburn, cut brutally short, and his eyes were the green of old Coke bottles. He was a couple of inches shorter than Derik; in fact, exactly her height. It was disconcerting to say the least, being able to look him straight in the eyes. His pupils, she noted clinically, were enormous. She had to swallow against the sudden blockage in her throat. Were all werewolves so . . . unsettling and charismatic? And green-eyed? “I’m Sara,” she managed at last. “It’s nice to be here. Nice to meet you, I mean.” She noticed Jon trying not to wrinkle his nose, and sighed. “I’ll let you two catch up. Meantime, can I use your shower?”

 

 

 

“SO, WHAT THE HELL?” DERIK HAD POLISHED OFF the last of his steak tartare, and was now rooting through Jon’s fridge for a beer. “Last I heard, you got mated, Shannon was pregnant, and you were off to see the world. Now you’re here? And where’s the rest of the family?”

“Visiting Shannon’s mother.” Jon shuddered. “I decided to pass. I don’t like talking to grumpy old women who are hairy when the moon
isn’t
full. I’m sorry you couldn’t see my cub, though.”

“Heard you had a girl? Katie?”

“Mm-hmm. She’s got my eyes and Shannon’s brains, so that worked out nicely.”

“Very nicely,” he agreed, still rooting. “Listen, how come you left in the first place?”
Ah! Hello, beer, my old friend, I’ve come to glug you once again.
He twisted the bottle cap off—werewolves disdained bottle openers—and took a deep drink.

“Oh, yeah, that’s the stuff. Oooh, baby. Anyway, how come you left? We all wondered.”

“Well, you know how it is.” Jon had been tipped back in his kitchen chair, now he brought it forward until all four legs were on the floor. “I mean, you’re not there now,” he pointed out. “You can love the Pack but not necessarily want to be with them every second. I needed a little space. The mansion, big as it was, felt crowded after I mated.”

“I can relate. Mike and me almost got into a huge fight before I left.”

“Over what?”

“Over nothing.”

“Come on, cough up.”

“It was stupid.”

“Did it have anything to do with you being an alpha now?” Jon asked quietly.

“What, did Moira put it in the newsletter?”

“No. You’re different. You walk different, stand different . . . even smell a little different. I bet Michael knew before you did and just waited for you to figure it out.”

“Well, we almost tore each other’s heads off. I had to get the hell out of there before I did something really stupid. Even for me.”

Jon pondered that one in silence, while Derik finished the beer. Finally, he said, “It’s a dangerous business, I guess. Sometimes. You’re lucky you didn’t really fight. The last thing you need is to be running the Pack. Also,” he added matter-of-factly, “Jeannie would have shot you in the face.”

Derik shrugged.

“And now you’re with that cute, curly haired redhead.”

“Yeah.”

“Human, huh? Well, congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t seem like a happy mate-to-be, you’ll excuse me for pointing it out.”

“We’ve been fighting a lot.” Finally, an unvarnished truth! “She might be having second thoughts.”

Jon shook his head. “She hasn’t even had first thoughts. How long have you guys known each other?”

“Never mind.”

“So, less than a week.”

“Never
mind
, you nosy S.O.B.”

“Swept her off her feet, huh?”

“Something like that,” Derik said lamely.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, it was.” He’d thought it would be bad, trying to fool a regular Pack member, but this was Jon. Practically his littermate! Of all the safe houses in all the world, why’d he have to walk into Jon’s? “It’s been kind of a stressful week.”

“Mmm. You know what your mom always said.”

“If you chew on my hardwood floors one more time, I’ll break your neck?”

“The other thing.”

“Yeah,” he said sourly. “Stick to your own kind.”

Jon spread his hands, but didn’t say anything.

“SO!” SARA SAID BRIGHTLY, BOUNCING INTO THE living room, which was floor-to-ceiling windows on the entire west side. She’d thought Kansas was supposed to be flat and boring, but it had a kind of wild beauty about it—like a prairie rose. And the windows in this place! Werewolves must not like being unable to see out. Well, of course she already knew that from Mr. “Can’t we please get a convertible?” “What should we do?”

Derik, the big dope, nearly fell out of his chair. “What? Now? What are you talking about?”

“It’s only nine o’clock, calm down,” she said. “Do you guys want to watch a movie? Play a game?”

“A game?” Jon asked. He was a yummy one, all right, with that build and that hair and those green, green eyes. No Derik, of course, but who was? He was a watcher, though, while Derik was a doer. She could tell . . . Jon didn’t say much, but his eyes were always calculating, judging, weighing. She pitied the house burglar who tried to crack
this
place. “What kind of game?”

“I don’t know . . . this is
your
house. Whatcha got?”

“The only games we have are Candyland and Chutes and Ladders,” Jon admitted.

“Oh, you have a little girl, that’s right—I saw the pictures in the hall. She’s adorable.” Adorable, with about six hundred too many teeth. A truly frightening smile for a four-year-old. “Really darling.”

“Thank you. Shouldn’t you guys—um—aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to go to bed?”

“No,” Sara said, at the exact moment Derik said, “Yes.”

“Uh-huh,” Jon said, narrowing his eyes at Sara. “Tell me again why you guys are—”

“Deck of cards?” she said hurriedly. “You’ve got to have one of those lying around.”

“Right!” Derik said heartily. “I could really go for a—a game of—um—”

“Cards!” Sara said brightly.

Jon sighed and got up. “I think I can find one around here somewhere. Be right back.”

Once he left, Derik muttered, “Very smooth.”

“Shh! I thought you said he could hear everything.”

“He can. When are we going to bed?”

“When you stop being an asshole.” She glanced at her watch. “Shouldn’t take more than a few years.”

“Very f—”

“Here we are,” Jon said with fake heartiness.

“This isn’t such a great idea,” Derik said.

“Horny bastard,” Sara muttered.

“Well, yeah, but besides that.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport.” Jon sat down on the end of the couch and pulled the coffee table closer to them. Though the tension was thick enough to swim through, he ignored it and, ever the polite host, handed the cards to Sara. “One or two games, big deal.”

Sara was blinking in confusion. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Sare-Bear, we’ve sort of—”

“Got to stop calling me that.”

“—got the advantage. I mean, you can’t bluff us. We’ll know it. Your body language gives it away, even your smell changes.”

“Gross,” she commented.

“We’ll always know when you have a good hand or a bad hand. It’s not really fair. Now checkers . . . we could play checkers . . .”

“That’s okay,” she said. “Cards will pass the time. Consider me warned.”

“Seriously,” Jon said, shifting uncomfortably on his end of the couch. “It’s like playing cards when we can see your cards, but you can’t see ours. Not very sporting.”

“Oh, hush up and deal. It’ll be fun. What are we playing for? Got any quarters?”