Page 45

I See Red

N one of their fucking cars were here when I got home and that put me in an even fouler mood than when I was speeding home like a member of the Andretti family. I stomped into my house with my companions in tow, flicking on lights and tossing my shit left and right. I’m not a slob normally, but I’m too irritated to focus on niceties.

Wanting my guys to see me as a woman who can take care of herself does not mean I’m cool with being ignored. Even a quick emoji would have been better than stony silence, and I’m furious that neither they nor my supposed BFF could make the time to acknowledge my existence tonight.

Fuck all of that.

I was fine on my own before they all came traipsing in, demanding my attention and affection, and I’ll be fine if they’ve all gotten bored with it.

After I tore through the house cursing a blue streak, I changed into a comfortable set of yoga clothes and banged my way through, giving the animals their dinner. When I found I wasn’t the least bit hungry despite not having ‘real food’ all day, I let out a screech of frustration and headed for the basement to find weapons.

Precision fury always helps me find my zen.

Knives fly from my fingertips as I aim at the posts with rapid precision. Each one has a blown up vinyl yearbook photo of the bitches who tormented me in high school, and I painted the bullseye right between their stupid eyes. I had Seer set them up a few weeks ago, and I’m glad I did.

Don’t judge me; it’s therapeutic.

I run out of tossers and with a grunt of irritation; I trudge over to pull the hilts so I can load up another round. Stupid, evil witches. Dumb, bonehead dudes. Flaky, unpredictable friends. Everyone is off doing their own thing while I’m trying to process my parents being murdered, a confrontation with a weirdo in a bar, and that all of this is tied to the very town I’m living in. Not to mention, I just got splashed all over Creation in an article that accused me of being the Whore of Babylon.

It’s not like I have a few things going on that might require a little support .

Jekyll follows me as a line up on the next throwing line—five feet farther than the warm up line I started at—and looks up at me in concern. I don’t know if that’s because he knows I’m upset or because he knows I’m trying to practice while angry and loaded down with an extra thirty-five pounds of emotional support python coiled around me from ankle to shoulder. I’ll admit, it’s making my routine harder, and I have to focus on the balance a hell of a lot more keenly when I let my knives fly.

Maybe there’s money in training like this? I wonder if Isis would like some friends…

Shaking my head, I return my gaze to the post with Amy’s picture. I don’t care if people want to pass their fifties-esque, Southern Boomer hypocrite moral judgements on my lifestyle—their opinions weren’t asked for or needed. However, I do care if those articles affect my ability to run my business or investigate, I now have to ramp up. Fitting in is a huge part of the fabric of this community, and in order to work my way into people’s confidence, they have to feel they can relate to me.

Pictures naming me the town harlot are going to set me back for weeks, if not longer. I’m going to get called in to the office at school again, and I’ll spend far too much time issuing whatever statement Jax comes up with that prevents them from firing me for a moral clause or voiding my contracts at the studio. It’s going to be a PR nightmare, and I have better things to do with my time.

Plus, I have no patience for town gossips meddling in my personal life. This isn’t the life I expected when I moved back, but I have every right to find happiness in whomever or whatever form I choose. If I want one of the Nip/Tucks’ opinions on something, I’ll happily beat it out of them.

Letting another tosser fly, I grin maniacally when it nails Amy right in the new nose she got for her Sweet Sixteen. That would teach her—it’s a shame I can’t give her the same trim off the end in real life. It might force her to eat a serving of humble pie, and maybe she’d back the fuck off for a bit. Hyde mrrps behind me, and I turn, giving her a rueful expression. “No, I will not assault her unless I’m defending myself. It’s not my style, and I’d prefer not to add hypocrite to my resume. But it sure as hell feels good to think about knocking her down a few pegs.”

The animals settle in as I continue to burn off the frustration at my situation and the absence of the people I depend on to manage the wild ebb and flow of my emotions. Once I’ve warmed up, I move back another five feet, and then another, groaning when I just don’t have the arm strength to make the arc at that distance. I didn’t MISS the posts on the last round, but I didn’t cause a cosmetic emergency for my idiotic bobblehead targets, either.

More’s the pity.

I grumble under my breath about the limitations of my muscle development and scoot forward to the first line. The next set of exercises is the hardest, and I’m only accurate about forty percent of the time. With the turbulence in my heart and mind, I can’t guarantee I’ll even swing that, but I’m not the kind of girl to give into bullshit emotional stuff anymore. Turning, I wave the cats back, and give a piercing whistle so Eury will land. I don’t want the darkness and my less than laser focused concentration to result in a tragedy. When everything is quiet and calm, I pull the headband off my head and over my eyes.

The sounds of the night dull to a low roar as I look deep inside of myself, envisioning the placement of the posts, the feel of the light breeze, and the rustle of the grass blades around me. Silence descends in my mind, the only thing in my head a sharp picture of the first target.

The shape of Reese’s face, the contrast in the colors, and the circle I want to hit zoom in like the lens on a DSLR. Raising my arm, I hold the blade with enough tension to keep it steady, but not cause it to catch as I release it. I take one slow breath in, feeling the rise of my chest and expansion of my ribs before I let the knife fly on the exhale.

A loud thwack is the only noise before I refocus and repeat the same process four more times. As the last blade embeds into a target, I relax my limbs and pull the headband up to peer into the distance, dropping the hand holding the last blade to my side.

“I find myself glad to be on your side rather than theirs, Tilly. That was more than a little terrifying,” the husky voice of my ex-bully murmurs as he approaches.

I whip around, glaring at him with all the fear and anger I’ve been stewing since the trip home from the city practically vibrating from my form. “ You !” Stalking towards him, I shake the razor-sharp knife without even thinking about it. “You idiots left me alone with no way to contact you. I wouldn’t have minded being let off the leash a little, but you disappeared for hours , and I was convinced …”

Before I realize it, I’m standing with the blade pressed to Edgar’s throat, a small bead of blood forming near the tip. My eyes feel like they’re burning in the socket, and that weird heat is spreading over me like a wildfire in the dry season. I gnash my teeth as I look at him, all the fury overflowing inside of me at once. A knot of hunger is uncoiling in my gut, and I have no idea what to do with it. The emotions that are flooding me are raw, violent, and outraged in a way I’ve never experienced before.

“You were convinced of what, drugar?” His response is barely more than a snarl, and that should phase me, but it doesn’t.

Instead, it has the exact opposite effect. The low, rumbling growl makes the ball of fire inside spark, and I fling the blade away as I knock him to the ground. My hips bracket his and I pin his shoulders with my hands as I look down at him angrily. The harsh sounds of my breath heaving are the only noise as my body and mind struggle to muddle through what is happening. When he shifts, an answering rumble echoes out and I slam his shoulders down to the ground again.

What in the name of Judas and the eleven traveling hippies is going on with me?

“Tell me what you were convinced about,” his voice whispers.

I understand the words, but I can’t seem to parse a response. All I know is that I want what is mine to be mine . I need to know for certain where I stand, and something deep inside of me is fighting like hell to find a way out to show him that. Nothing is working like it should, and I don’t seem to have control of my mouth or my limbs, so I don’t know how to express it. There’s so much rage and fury, but the fear is behind the wheel as well.

“She can’t tell you, Boone. Don’t you remember the first time? Think about how it felt to have something pushing its way to the surface when it doesn’t know where to go and you can’t control it?”

The voice is familiar, but the scent tips the scales. I smell Presley as he approaches and my head whips around to growl from deep in my belly. The ache in my eyes intensifies as I glare at him in warning—he needs to stay away from what’s mine .

“Holy shit, she’s going to?—.”

“Yes,” McSteamy replies, chuckling softly. “Tonight, of all nights, I think the first tether is breaking free. Be ready, Edgar. You’ll need to move fast to match her so she doesn’t freak out.”

Before I can attempt to respond, the tension in my body snaps and I throw my head back, releasing a howl that echoes off the hills like the beginning of a British mystery. Every bone in my body feels like it’s stretching and snapping and my skin ripples in a way that isn’t possible.

“I can sense emergence, as you know. Control your shift to follow hers so she can see it mirrored back. This is your piece of her, Boone. She needs the bond to be completed, and she needs it now.”

I wish I knew what he’s talking about, but all I can do is continue to scream into the Universe as my vision goes black in the way I’ve been fighting my entire life. This time, however, I don’t see blackness fading into unconsciousness—no, this time my vision flips to red and my fingers dig into his shoulders until the scent of blood permeates the air. It draws me, and I lick my lips, staring at the furrows with a hunger that feels like it’s going to rip its way out of me to be sated.

“ Drugar ! You must feed. Bite and drink… make the mark when the fire fills you. It is how we are made. Burn with me.” Teddy’s voice is dark, rumble and full of the commanding tone that makes my body tremble even in normal circumstances.

My head drops to look into eyes that aren’t aquamarine or even human looking. The rings of fiery lava around his pupils are firm as he waits for his order to be followed, and I snap my teeth at him. A brow arches and I give in, yanking his head to the side and burying my mouth there to tear in as instructed. Teeth slide through skin like my blades in butter, and the spill of heat from his wound pulls a whine of excitement out of me.

I feel hands tugging at my clothes, a cool breeze on fiery skin, and a calming softness behind me. Soft murmurs in my ear tell me to adjust until I’m positioned over Teddy’s cock, then gentle hands guide me to sink down until I’m full. The sensation of feathers draping over my back as a rhythm starts in our hips is a stark contrast to the hunger and heat consuming me inside.

“That’s our girl,” Prez murmurs, his fingers tweaking the nipple shields he loves so much. “Edgar, move faster. She has to come before the change is complete.”

His response is garbled, I don’t understand, but his hips buck up into me, making answering rumbles and snarls escape my lips. A sharp pain right over my clit makes me gasp, and a shudder starts at my toes as the sensations that were building slam into me like a tidal wave. I tear my mouth away from his neck, lapping over the wound as I lift one hand. I don’t know why, but oddly shaped fingers trace a flaming symbol midair before repeating it over the bite mark.

Teddy shouts, his cock spilling inside of me as our bodies stutter to a halt. The waves of pleasure make the burning inside of me fade a little and I hear a loud screech like a pterodactyl from the dinosaur movie. The feathers lift from my back as a whoosh of chilly air hits me and I look down at my former bully with a tilted head. A wolfish grin is his only answer before he whispers, “Now, shift!”

That’s the last thing I hear before my mind goes completely black again.