Moon Lovers Box Set (BBW Werewolf Romance) (5 page)

"Put the stick down," he ordered me.

I leaned it up against the wall next to the door and dragged him out of the room to his chair. I plopped him down in his seat and before he could protest I was on top of him. If I were naked I don't think he would have protested at all, but seeing as I was fully clothed and poking at a nice egg growing from his scalp he wasn't too thrilled with my attentions. "You're making it worse!" he yelped.

"Only because you're not holding still," I protested.

"I can't help it, my body doesn't like pain."

"I'll toughen it up."

"Even if it kills me?"

"Better you than me."

"I think I've heard enough to want another nurse, or a sedative."

"Is there a hammer around here?"

"On second thought, skip the sedative. Just kill me now-ouch!" I knocked his noggin hard, but this time on purpose. He cupped his hand over his bump and glared at me. "Mind if I get a last request?"

"You can't request to live."

"Actually, I'd like one last cup of coffee. It should be ready by now." Sure enough the sound of the percolating precious elixir of life finished in the coffee machine, and I fetched a mug for both of us.

I set the cups down in front of our chairs and sat down. "How about we call it a truce?" I suggested as I stirred coffee into my sugar. I wasn't too thrilled with the taste of coffee, but I loved any excuse to add sugar to a drink.

"Agreed, but on one condition," he replied.

I raised an eyebrow. "What sort of condition?"

"You can't tell anybody what you found in that room."

"You mean about the dry flowers and weights? Why would anyone care about that stuff?"

He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. "Let's just say some people would be very interested to know my hobbies."

"You have some strange enemies," I commented.

Garrison looked straight ahead at his door and nodded his head. "That I do, and I'd rather they not find out too much about me." I leaned across the table and gave him such a careful scrutiny that he leaned away. "What?"

"Are you a dealer in the black market for weights and dried flowers?"

He choked out a laugh and some of his coffee. When he got a hold of himself he was all smiles. "You're a very strange girl, you know that?"

"So I've been told, but you can't believe everything everybody tells you."

"If enough people are telling you then maybe you should start listening to them."

"Nah, what do they know? They're just my boss, coworkers, psychiatrist, talking dog, and random stranger."

"I'm starting to see a pattern."

"Pattern?"

"Yes. Everybody who comes into contact with you has the same opinion as me that you're very unusual."

"You said weird earlier."

"One must be more diplomatic around a serial weirdo."

"Coming from the guy with a storage room full of black market gym equipment?"

"I bought them all."

"Off who? Your dealer?"

He chuckled and drained his coffee mug. "You have the wildest imagination. I noticed hints of it since you've been here, but I never would have guessed you were this funny."

"So. . .so you really think I'm funny?" I asked him.

Garrison smiled. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You did just call me weird," I pointed out.

He shrugged. "You act as though that was a bad thing."

I slumped down in my chair and sighed. "Sometimes it's not so much fun being funny, or at least trying to be funny. A lot of people don't have much sense of humor."

"Maybe they don't know how to laugh at themselves like you or I," he suggested.

"Maybe, but it's nice of you to say I'm funny."

"Like a breath of fresh air blowing through a meadow?" I froze, and he noticed. His humor dropped from his face and he half stood from his chair. "Is something wrong? You're as white as your sugar-coated coffee."

"I-it's nothing. I just remembered that dream I had earlier."

Garrison sat back down, but he wasn't satisfied with my reply. "With a face like that I'd say it was more of a nightmare."

I scrunched up my face as I remembered the darkness and shadows. The memories evoked the hot emotions I'd felt as I changed to something strange and terrifying. My face reddened and I pressed my legs together to stifle the lustful sensation swelling up from between my thighs. "I-I don't know what it was, but it's just a dream, right? Dreams don't mean anything."

Garrison leaned back in his chair and stared at me with a long, steady gaze. "Dreams are windows into the mind and soul. They mean as much as we can understand them." And I understood about zero of what he was talking about, so I slid out of my chair and shrugged.

"When philosophy gets into the conversation I know it's time for me to scram. Thanks for the coffee and company, and I'm really sorry about whacking you on the head."

Garrison nodded toward the storage room. "You forgot your stick," he reminded me.

"Oh, right." I hurried to the room, snatched the stick from the wall and swung around with myself rearmed. "And thanks for showing me the roof. It's got a great view."

"You'll have to overcome your fears and see the world from the edge," he suggested.

"So I can live my life there?" I teased.

He shrugged. "Maybe. It's interesting enough." I glanced around his humble home, and recalled his exciting life of fixing leaky faucets and refrigerators.

"Maybe we can both learn to have an exciting life," I pointed out.

"Maybe we'll do that together," he added. He was nice, but he and I hooking up was as likely to happen as Mrs. Peabody seeing a real monster.

You can probably already guess what happened that night.

Chapter 6

The day was Saturday so I did my usual routine of sitting around the apartment drooling in my chair while flipping through the three hundred channels only to find there was nothing on. Usually I was satisfied with this brain-numbing routine that helped me recharge what few brain cells I had left after a week of work, but that day was different. I still had the itch to get out from those four walls and see something-anything that was new and open and exciting.

In the afternoon I couldn't take it anymore, so I busted out of my self-imposed prison and wandered out into the streets. On the sidewalk I paused at the entrance to the alley that ran along the laundry room windows. There was police tape along the broken glass, though torn along the center pane, and I wandered into the alley to take a look inside. The room was covered in shadows from the lowering sun, but I could make out the damaged machines and splatters of blood around the room and windows. It was like something out of Mrs. Peabody's old horror movies where a monster had attacked, leaving no survivors but the lone hero or heroine.

I wasn't exactly heroine material unless you were on heroin and thought the world was made of purple and stuffed animals. The drug reminded me of the Bandanna Gang and the warning from Garrison and the cop. They'd have it out for me if they knew who I was and thought I was somehow responsible for the attack. If their guys made if back to their hideout then they definitely knew who I was, but at least they'd know their beating wasn't my fault.

I heard a crunching noise and whipped my head up. It was only a cat walking along the filthy alley, and I clutched my heart to get it down from pounding at the speed of light. Maybe going out for a walk hadn't been such a good idea, so I stood and turned toward the alley entrance. A man in a dark overcoat stood in the entrance, and cigarette smoke filtered out of his mouth. He was a few inches taller than me with a short, skinny build. There was a green bandanna on his head, and a black one around his arm. His beady eyes bore into me as he flicked his cigarette away.

"You Tasha Taylor?" he asked me.

I had to think fast. "Yeah." All right, so I wasn't any good at thinking fast.

He stepped into the alley and made sure to keep to the middle so I couldn't easily get around him without knocking into garbage cans or rotten boxes. If I wanted to come out smelling fresh and clean he'd need to let me by. He nodded at the broken windows. "You were in there last night?" he asked me.

I took a few steps back. This guy was short, but if there was anything I'd learned about being short myself is that we were quick when we wanted to be. "Um, maybe?" I replied.

"How many guys were down there?"

"I-I don't know, six or seven?" I guessed.

"Were they all wearing bandannas?"

I didn't know why he was asking me all these questions. He should have known about his own guys. "Yeah, but why are you asking me this stuff? Aren't you a Bandanna, too?"

He crossed the few yards between us and grabbed the collar of my coat with both hands. From this close range I could see the butt of a handgun sticking out of the inside pocket of his coat. "We ain't seen nothing of our boys since they came here to rob the place. Our guys read the police report about you seeing somebody fighting with them. What happened to that guy and our guys?" When I didn't answer fast enough he shook me and rattled my marbles. "What happened to 'em?" he growled.

I shook my head. "I-I don't know. I got knocked out and when I woke up everyone was gone. You can ask any of yours guys who were there, they'd tell you the same thing."

"We can't ask 'em if they're dead," he snapped. My eyes widened and my mouth opened to catch flies.

"Dead? What'd they die of?" He rattled me and i grasped onto his hands to steady myself.

"Don't give me that dumb act! We know ya know what happened!" For the first time in my life my dumbness wasn't an act, and it was the first time nobody was going to believe me.

"I swear I don't know what you're talking about. The last time I saw them they were alive and fighting that thing!"

He pulled me close to his face and tortured me with his foul breath. His breath must have violated half a dozen Geneva Convention laws and a few sanitation regulations. "What thing did ya see? Who was it? If you don't talk I'll-"

I was saved by the bell, or rather by the siren. A police car pulled up at the curb in front of the apartment building. The Bandanna boy glanced over his shoulder, saw the cop car and dropped me. He dashed past me down the alley and around the corner. I hoped I'd never see him again, but I just knew Santa wasn't going to give me what I asked for. I stumbled forward out onto the street and met a pair of cops hurrying up the stairs to the front door. One of them spotted me, alerted his partner, and they both rushed over to me. I recognized one of them as Officer Cranston, the guy in charge of the investigation.

"Are you all right?" he asked me. He didn't even wait for me to answer before he dragged me over to the steps. I was grateful to sit down on the steps before my legs decided they wanted me to lay down on the ground.

"I'm alive, just nearly scared out of it."

"Were you attacked?"

"I was shaken, not stirred, but if you guys hadn't come along parts of me probably would've been ventilated."

"One of the Bandanna men?" Cranston guessed, and I nodded.

"In the unbathed flesh. He wanted to know what happened that night because he said his guys were-"

"-dead," Cranston finished for me.

I whipped my head up and saw his face was deadly serious about this deadly situation. "All of them?"

"As far as we can piece together their bodies. They were found in a dumpster this morning by a cleaning lady a couple of blocks from here."

"Piece together?" I repeated. "You make them sound like they were sliced into puzzles."

"One our coroner will have to piece together," Cranston agreed. "Whoever saved you was more sadistic than them because he ripped them up pretty bad before he dumped the bodies." The officers jerked around when a car drove by.

"Maybe we'd better take her inside, sir," the other officer suggested.

"Good idea. Can you walk on your own?" Cranston asked me.

"Yeah, I think so." I used the railing to stand up, but when I tried to turn toward the door I fell forward onto the steps. "Or maybe not." The cops helped me up, and the front door opened. Garrison stepped outside and wasn't surprised to see us there.

"Did you officers need some assistance?" he asked them.

Cranston didn't miss the unsurprised entrance of the apartment manager. "How long were you standing there on the other side of that door?"

"Long enough to know Miss Taylor needs help getting inside. Did you want her taken to her apartment?"

"Yours would be better. Fewer chances of somebody listening in on our conversation without our knowing." I knew Cranston implied Garrison as much as any Bandanna thug, but Garrison didn't take notice of the accusation.

"All right. She can lay on my couch." Garrison brushed aside the cops, slipped his arms beneath me and hefted me into his arms, surprising the officers. He was thinner than me, and didn't look like he could lift a box of marshmallows much less hefty old me.