Pucker Up (A Damsels of Distress Novel)

BOOK: Pucker Up (A Damsels of Distress Novel)
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Pucker Up

By R. A. Gates

Copyright © R. A. Gates 2012

Published by Ruthless Publishing

This is a work of fiction and any

resemblance to any persons living or

dead is purely coincidental. All rights

are reserved. No part of this book may

be used or reproduced in any manner

whatsoever without written permission

from the author.

This book is dedicated to my

Mom.

Thanks for always believing in

me.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

“What are you doing out here?”

Ivy asked her young friend sitting on the

back steps of the boarding house. The

wooden gate slammed shut behind her as

she strolled through the back garden, her

skateboard in hand.

Danny didn't answer. His body

shivered underneath his jacket, zipped

all the way to his chin to keep out the

April breeze. Being the youngest

werewolf in Salmagundi, he recovered

slowly after the regular transformations

and the last full moon was only two days

ago. She was thankful that the only

monthly transformation she had to deal

with was of the PMS variety.

Black Converse crunched on the

gravel path leading to the back patio.

She slid her overflowing backpack off

her shoulder and dropped it onto the

patio steps, cracking one of the old

planks. She stretched the kinks out of her

back.

Death by homework,
she thought.

Scooting Danny over, she sat

next to him. The late afternoon sun hung

over the mountains surrounding the

Southeastern Alaska town, casting long

shadows on the ground.

The orphan boy's hands trembled

as he petted Lieutenant Dan, the local

three-legged stray cat. Danny brushed

strands of blond hair out of his eyes and

looked up at her. “I’m in big trouble,

Ivy. He’s gonna kill me this time, for

sure.”

At first, she dismissed his

dramatics

as

typical

ten-year-old

behavior, but then tears threatened to fall

from his large, blue eyes and her heart

dropped into her gut.

“What happened?”

“You know that antique rug in the

parlor?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,

Athena

said

Mr.

McGregor sold it today, to some dealer

in

Washington

he's

visiting

this

weekend.” He stopped petting the cat

and wiped his sweaty palms on his

pants. “The thing is, about a month ago, I

accidentally spilled grape juice on it and

hid the stain under the chair so he

wouldn’t see it.”

He was right. Danny was going

to die when his foster dad found out.

She'd seen her penny-pinching landlord's

temper flare, especially after a few

drinks. And being a werewolf didn't

soften his disposition, either.

“Has he found it yet?”

“I don’t think so, but he’s gonna

see it when he moves the chair and then

I’m a dead man.”

“What did Athena say to do?”

She assumed he told the boarding

house's only other tenant about his

problem, considering he worshipped the

ground she walked on. What was so

great about Athena anyway? She was

merely a narcissistic bitch who used her

big boobs and Hollywood smile to

charm her way into, or out of, any

situation.

“She said, 'Sucks to be you' and

left for her date.”

Yep, that sounds about right
.

“Danny!” They both jumped

when Mr. McGregor's voice boomed

through the house and rattled the kitchen

window above them.

His whole body shook as he

moaned into his hands. He had never

gotten into any real trouble with Mr.

McGregor because everything always

seemed to be blamed on her. Even

though she was fearful for Danny, a

small part of her looked forward to

seeing someone else get punished for a

change.

“Come on. He’ll just get madder

if he has to come looking for you.” She

nudged his elbow and stood. Pausing at

the screen door, she waited for him to

follow.

He reluctantly dragged his shoes

along the scuffed wooden floor of the

old Victorian house towards the scene of

the crime. On the way, he mumbled a

little prayer to spare his life.
Talk about

overreacting
. But when they entered the

room, Mr. McGregor's cold, dark eyes

narrowed into slits as they homed in on

Danny.

Or, maybe not
.

Every line etched in the older

man’s face from decades of harsh

transformations deepened under his

scowl. His chest rose and fell with each

controlled

breath.

“Do

ye

have

something to tell, laddie?” His Scottish

brogue was low and slurred, but the

anger was loud and clear.

Danny froze. His eyes grew wide

and his face paled two shades. He

looked like he was going to throw up.

Swallowing hard, he raised his chin to

look Mr. McGregor in the eye and said,

“Ivy did it.”

That little shit!
She opened her

mouth to set the record straight, but by

the way his legs shook in his jeans, she

couldn’t do it.

Throwing a glare at the little liar,

she faced Mr. McGregor. “Yeah, I

ruined the rug, sir. I was running late for

work, so I covered it up thinking I’d

clean it later. I must’ve forgotten about

it. Sorry.” She stood there, completely

still, trying not to set off his hair trigger

temper bubbling under the surface. Even

breathing too loud seemed risky as she

waited for him to speak.

Mr. McGregor regarded them

both for a few moments, one bushy

eyebrow raised, before uttering a word.

“Danny, go to yer room, and shut the

door behind ye.”

Danny glanced at her, uncertainty

in his eyes.

Oh sure, now you worry about

me. Where was the concern when you

threw me under the bus?
She nodded

her head, keeping her thoughts to herself.

He stepped away, watching her until he

disappeared around the corner.

Mr. McGregor loomed before

her, like a bull before a matador, staring

her down. His scotch-soaked breath

hung in the air between them like a toxic

cloud. She had to close her mouth to

keep from gagging.

“Ye did this?”

Her eyes followed his meaty

finger pointing to a large purple spot on

the very beautiful but very
ruined

Oriental rug. She expected to see a spot

about the size of a dinner plate, at the

most. But no, Danny must have spilled

the entire bottle of juice to get a stain so

large. It was at least two feet across.

“Yes, sir.”

He stood there, staring. The vein

at his temple throbbed close to the point

of bursting and his worn face was so

red, he looked like he'd have a heart

attack right in front of her.

She’d met younger, stronger

werewolves in the past, but there was a

feral glint in his eyes that twisted her

stomach. Her fingers twitched, eager to

grab the silver stake she would normally

keep on her belt. Too bad it remained

hidden in her backpack on the porch.

Silver wasn’t allowed in the boarding

house.

“Are ye trying to make me look

the fool? Do ye think I don't know the

boy did this?” Foam gathered at the

corner of his mouth as the tone of his

voice took on a dangerous growl.

Her body tensed as adrenaline

sped to every muscle, preparing to put

her childhood years of combat training

to use. Or at least she hoped. It had been

over a year since her last fight and she

was rusty.

His nostrils flared with each

restrained breath as he waited for her

reply. Should she stick to the lie or fess

up? Deciding that a noncommittal,

middle ground was her best bet, she

shrugged.

Suddenly, air heaved from her

lungs as her body was slammed

backwards into wall. Being drunk hadn’t

slowed him down at all. A dense fog

invaded her brain, shutting down any

coherent thought. When the fuzz cleared

a moment later, she became aware of his

forearm crushing against her windpipe

and her right wrist was pinned above her

head. Fear flared up inside her when

repeated attempts to draw more than a

trickle of air proved impossible.

Don’t panic, don’t submit
.

That’s what he wanted. Gathering

courage, she pushed down the hysteria

that sloshed at her calves like a rising

tide, threatening to swallow her whole.

She defiantly maintained eye contact

with the crazed man, daring to call his

bluff.

“Ye think that ‘cause yer a witch,

ye can disrespect me?” He leaned

forward, pressing into her throat even

more. “I will not be lied to in my own

home.”

An excruciating minute passed

before she succumbed to the panic she

bravely fought off. Frantic fingers

clawed at his face. Too bad she had

already gnawed all her nails down to

stubs. Changing tactics, she pushed the

heel of her free hand at his chin,

stretching his neck. Her hand slipped

when he wretched his head sideways

and the side of her wrist scraped across

his teeth, nicking the skin. How much

longer could she hold out?

She punched and kicked at any

and every part of him. Then, a warm

buzz, like a hive of angry bees, swelled

inside her. Her magic ached to explode

and end her torment. Gathering the will

to ignore her choking, she placed her

palms on his chest and released all the

BOOK: Pucker Up (A Damsels of Distress Novel)
11.63Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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