Page 8 of Hot Ghoul Summer (Pine Ridge Universe)

O ne of the things I learned about in my years of therapy (thanks, Dad AKA Loser One) is that betrayal has its own special groove in your emotions. The feeling of betrayal is so complex. It’s shock, it’s anger, it’s a loss of trust—and then there’s the grief and the loss of safety and confidence.

When my dad left Mom and me when I was a kid, the feeling of betrayal was huge. The self-doubt hit hard. Was I the cause of the divorce? Was it because I wasn’t good enough as a daughter? Would he have stayed if I’d have been smarter, prettier, or just a boy?

I didn’t have any of those issues after Mom kicked Gary Garmin to the curb. I got what I expected out of him—nothing—but that was okay. It was as if he never existed after a while. He didn’t hurt me, I didn’t want him around—he was just gone.

I didn’t think he was a bad person, just a sketchy person, a little bit of a gross, grabby, middle-aged man. A creep in a world full of creeps.

To find out that he actually tried to get me killed—in two different ways—it leaves a hole in my psyche that I can’t figure out how to fill.

Toby’s arms feel good around me as he rocks me and explains again how he’s going to protect me and take care of me, how as long as I’m on this sacred, protected property that ordinary people can’t see unless he allows it, I can’t be hurt.

I don’t want to be a prisoner, but the feeling of being in a safe, undetectable place where I can’t be hurt by someone I used to trust—it’s surprising how comforting that is.

Tomorrow, I’ll be a fighter. Tonight, I’m a vulnerable, huddling mass who won’t leave Toby’s lap. I keep hearing snippets of Theo’s conversation, my body shuddering when I realize how my innocence means nothing to that man. I could beg him to stop, and he wouldn’t. I could tell him it was Gary, all Gary, and I think he’d still punish me to hurt him. For the first time in my life, I feel less than human. I’m a pawn in a dark, messy game where people will get killed.

Death is no stranger to a nurse.

This kind of death just seems so—brutal and evil, so unnatural.

It’s funny that Toby is an example of death, too, but right now he’s so gentle, so reassuring.

My brain hurts.

Toby carries me around as if I weigh nothing, my legs crossed around his hips, his arm around my waist. With his free hand, he fills the electric kettle, measures out tea in a strainer, grabs a cup, and dumps in way too much sugar. In moments, he hands me the cup and carries me to my bedroom.

“I’ll bring you up some dinner. I’ll leave Musketeer to guard you,” Toby murmurs.

My fingers clamp down on his arm. “No! No. Can you... Do you have to go right now?”

I can’t believe how quickly things have changed in my head—although some part of me wonders if this is some kind of Hell or a sick joke, a vision he concocted to force me to stay.

That part is drowned out by the memory of the sights and smells of Theo Cross’ office, the sound of grim chuckling on the other end of the phone. Memories of Gary’s lies. I know he manipulated me into coming here, and the snowball of shit just keeps rolling down the hill, picking up speed and getting bigger.

Toby sits down next to me on the bed. “No. I can stay as long as you want me to.”

I DRIFT INTO A HAZY slumber, curled to his chest. He smells good, this guy, not like brimstones or sulfur. He smells like rain, Earl Gray tea, and faintly chocolatey as if he’s been munching on cookies. I like it.

I like how his fingers ghost softly through my hair, my hair which normally defies everything short of detangler and an industrial-strength comb. Toby’s fingers glide through, and he hums.

“Why me?” I ask finally.

“Because you’re so good and so giving that bad people take advantage of you. Garmin knew you’d come to help him.”

“They’re going to watch my mom’s house. She’s on a cruise right now. What if they break in? What if they’re waiting for her when she gets back?”

Toby’s laugh is soft and easy, his hand moving tentatively down my neck to my shoulders. I know I should recoil from his touch, but I don’t. He smoothes out my nerves like magic, knots and bundles of tensions dissolving as the heel of his hand sweeps in gentle, steady arcs. “Do you think I’d let them hurt anyone you care about?”

I know he said I remind him of the girl who tried to save him, that Molly chick from the 1600s, but that’s no reason to take such an interest in my life.

“Would you do this for anyone?”

Toby’s hand pauses, then resumes its waltz across my spine. “The first thing I did? Stopping a sleazy old man from giving an innocent woman to a gang of ruthless criminals? Yeah, I think I would have stepped in. Right place, right time. The instant obsession I had with protecting you? That’s not normal.” He sighs. “I know a sign when I see one. I’ve been alone for so long. Even in the little town I’ve lived in for years—I don’t ever spend the entire day there, I rarely talk to anyone but Sera and my dog. I don’t know... I thought maybe you needed someone to protect you as much as I need someone to care about.”

Yesterday, I would have retorted that I’m a badass nurse who never needed help from any man, a woman who would never trust any man after watching my mom and my aunts go through a string of losers (although Gary clearly takes the prize).

Tonight? The world is scary and doesn’t make sense. The fact that some guy who offs people for a living is protecting me is just another nonsensical thing that I’ll deal with once I get to the psych ward.

“Maybe needs is the wrong word. Wants. I want someone to love and look after. Do you... Do you ever think about having someone around who would look after you?”

“You make me sound like a clumsy toddler,” I mumble, but I’m smiling a little.

“Someone who would care about you. Make sure you’re okay.”

I shrug. “I take care of myself.”

Toby scoots up onto one elbow and nods down at me. There’s a little roll of paper in his hand, glowing with hints of golden light. “Martina Bianchi. Father abandoned the family—rarely in contact. Mother goes through a string of boyfriends and keeps promising you that she’ll find a father to make you ‘a family again.’”

I wince. “Mom watched too many Lifetime movies, okay?”

Toby closes his fingers, and the scroll is gone. “You took care of yourself. And then you started taking care of others. Your mom and your aunts seemed to need a lot of guidance, when they should have been guiding you. Then Gary—”

“I hope he rots.”

Toby bites his lip. “Well... Scrolls are changeable, but from what I see—he’s not looking at a rosy future.”

It’s my turn to sit up. “What does mine say? Do I make it? How long do I live?”

“That’s confidential.”

“It’s my scroll! How is it confidential?”

His face hardens. “You don’t want to look at it yet, Moll. It’s not fixed.”

All the warm, sleepy feelings evaporate. “It says I get murdered by Theo Cross, doesn’t it?”

Nothing. Thinned lips. Closed over eyes. “I’m not going to let that happen to you. Why do you think I acted like an utter psycho, forcing you to stay here, ripping you out of that car? Nothing can hurt you here. No one can touch you here.” His fingers clamp down on my shoulder. “No one but me.”

Call it being vulnerable. Call it being stressed or stupid.

Or maybe... Call it a sign. Like Toby does.

All I know is that I suddenly lean forward and kiss his startled mouth, and after a second, he kisses me back.

MOLLY KISSED ME. SHE’S still kissing me.

This isn’t just a little peck, this is a full-on proper snog, with her soft lips open and pulling on mine, her talented tongue sliding between my lips and dancing with mine.

I don’t even know how to contain the fluttering inside my chest, the feeling that this is so right—and also so wrong. We should wait. I don’t want Molly to think I expect “payment” for saving her or that I would force her to be with me.

“What are you doing?” I ask her when she pulls back to breathe. I don’t need air. I could have kept kissing her for hours. Maybe weeks.

“Kissing you?” Molly arches one eyebrow, and I like seeing that little snippet of sass come back into her soul (especially when it’s not bent on insulting me).

“Why?”

“Because... I’m pretty sure I was wrong about you.” She tilts her head, squinting at me. “You’re cute, too.”

“Thank you.”

“If I take everything I know about you out of the creepy kidnapper column and transfer it to the protective supernatural bodyguard list—” a little laugh bubbles out of her. “You’ve been amazing, and I’ve been a handful.”

“Can’t argue with that. But it’s worth it. Just you, you, yourself are worth it. You don’t have to... You don’t have to ‘offer’ anything for me to make sure you’re safe. In case that kiss was out of misplaced obligation.” I’m trying not to stammer. My palms are sweating. I don’t usually sweat.

For some reason, I think the fact that I’m a little nervous makes Molly feel better. (Misery loves company, eh?) All I know is that one minute she was smiling and nodding, and the next she was kissing me again.

“You’re sure we’re safe?” she whispers between kisses.

“No one gets in here without my say-so. I put Musketeer on guard duty, too.”

“He’s just a puppy!” Molly seems genuinely worried about my little freak of a mixed breed, and that makes me insanely happy.

“Oh, he has a uniform, just like me.” I snap my fingers and whistle once.

A huge three-headed dog the size of a Clydesdale suddenly bursts through the door, translucent body ringed in flames. All three heads are panting with sloppy tongues lolling. One stumpy tail wiggles his entire back end.

Molly’s single shriek dies abruptly as she realizes Musketeer is still a friendly goofball—at least to her.

“Musketeer. Settle.” I pat the bed next to me, and the next second he’s a small ball of fluff resting by our ankles. That’s right. Our ankles. Her legs are criss-crossed with mine. She’s clinging to me like I’m the hero, not the bad guy.

I should get up and patrol, but I want more of this. More clinging. More cuddling. More kisses.

More, full stop.

“If you let him outside, won’t there be lots of ghost moths and things?” she asks with a guilty smile, reaching down to ruffle the fur on each little head.

“Not unless they’re evil moths. Musketeer takes his duty very seriously—unlike when someone just lets him roam free in the yard to distract Sera.” I poke Molly’s shoulder lightly, and she tosses her thick, curling hair.

“It was a good plan. It worked.”

“And it almost got you kidnapped by four of Cross’s men.”

“Fair point.”

“This is different. I don’t normally ask him to ‘suit up,’ so he’ll be on his best behavior.” Please, God. “Go, boys. Do your thing.”

With a blast of blue and orange flame, Musketeer leaps off the bed and disappears through the door. “Should I clear off, too?” I offer again. I’m trying to be a gentleman, but parts of me don’t want to be. The last time I was with someone in a carnal sense was after a union Christmas party in 1983. My libido is being bossy and telling me I ought to give Molly every comfort—even physical ones.

“Do you want to stay?” Molly’s eyes are wide and still have puffiness all around them, reminding me of how scared she’s been and how hard she’s fought. She doesn’t deserve any of this and so many of the fears and tears were my fault.

“I would love to stay. I’d love to show that there are still good things in this world. I’m one of them.”

There’s a kiss, a long, searching kiss that feels different. Molly’s head twists, and she pulls away. “Good? You’re still—what you are. You kill people.”

“I don’t. Well, normally, I don’t. Their souls would leave this mortal plane, anyway. Souls can wander and get lost, especially if the person’s faith has weakened or they’ve been struggling for a long time. I’m like a shepherd. A sherpa. A guide dog!” I don’t want to raise my voice.

I’m just afraid she’s right. I would so gladly kill anyone who hurts my Molly, and she’s not even mine.

Molly regards me skeptically. “I think you have a good side, but good? I’m too tired to understand right now.” Her fingers trail down my chest, and my cold blood that doesn’t flow suddenly heats and rushes. “To a nurse, death still takes people all too soon. You ruin the work I do.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to burst out that she’s young and idealistic. If she’d seen what I have— centuries of war, famine, plague, poverty, and disease, she would know that sometimes, death is a welcome old friend.

“If I can prove to you that sometimes death is not just necessary, but even a comfort, will you... Will you go on a date with me?”

“A date where? The living room?”

She laughs at me, but I still revel in the sound.

“I’ll handle the arrangements,” I say with more confidence than I truly feel. This house can stock the fridge, surely it can put a romantic dinner for two in the oven. And maybe a steel band and some tropical breezes in the back garden? “It will be a beautiful, tropical, summer evening with a man who wants to get to know you better.”

The hand on my chest doesn’t waver. It kneads. Blood rushes south and concentrates into a pulsing pole between my legs.

“Well, my hot girl summer is shot to hell, seeing as I’m being hunted down one way or another.”

“Not too late to make it a hot ghoul summer,” I say, flashing my cheesiest grin.

Molly rolls onto her back, her warmth leaving me. She laughs in exhaustion, groaning out, “Oh, God. That was bad. So, so terrible.”

I risk rolling until I’m halfway on top of her, my weight pressed to her outer thigh. Her eyes widen at what she feels, but I don’t move away. Not yet. “My jokes and my anger at people who try to hurt my girl are the only terrible things about me. I promise that if you keep giving me chances, I’ll prove everything else about me is good. Or at least average.”

Molly’s eyes hold mine, and the soft lights in the room dim further without either one of us touching a thing.

“Good at everything ?” There's an unmistakable suggestion in her voice.

I swallow. “At least average,” I remind her.

Her hip wriggles against mine. “A little more than average.”

Mood music starts to play. Molly giggles and pulls me down to kiss her.

This house is the best wingman ever.

LISTEN. SERIOUSLY.

I don’t care what else Toby is (no, I do care, but hold that thought), he is a gentleman. An absolutely old-fashioned, “must save the damsel” gentleman.

I know I’m vulnerable and tired. I want to fuck to fall asleep so that I can forget about all of this. My other vices are alcohol and shopping. With my nerves right now, I think my favorite red wine would come back up. I can’t go hit the mall right now.

Yeah, I’m tempted to do the monster mash out of pure stress relief and some kind of awe.

That’s where the gentleman part of the story comes in.

“You don’t feel well. I don’t blame you. You sleep, and I’ll make sure you’re safe.” He kisses my lips, then my forehead. “All right, Moll?”

I can feel his boner against my leg—and yes, I’m totally saying my savior with a hidden skull face has a boner, because it’s too good not to.

Molly, stop. You’re on the verge of hysteria. Your sense of humor and judgment skills are both at the teenage level.

My inner voice has a petulant comeback. Do you remember all the bad decisions you made during your freshman year of college? What about the guy you met during spring break last year?

That’s what I thought.

Compared to having sex in the back of a Jeep after half a bottle of Jose Cuervo in Cancun, Toby’s gentle kisses and polite refusal practically make him marriage material. I bet you anything he won’t throw up something green in my hotel room and sneak out before I wake up.

“I’m not too tired,” I insist. There’s a pressure between my legs that wants undoing, a knot of stress and worry that begs my body to focus on it instead of the horrors in my mind.

“But you’re not that keen on me.”

“I don’t mind that. Just sex.” I lay it out there.

Toby’s eyebrows jump. “But that’s not what you want. I know that much. You want a man who will stick around, always protect you, always be there for you. You’ve been looking for that for a long time, and I want to help you find it. The same way you help me find things, too, Molly.” His voice is earnest, his eyes sincere, and the tips of his fingers slide through my hair.

I swallow. I don’t like people telling me my business. “So what? Any girl with daddy issues wants that, okay? This isn’t about that. What I need tonight is something that makes me see stars, something that makes me fall asleep with a smile on my face.”

Toby hesitates, then pulls open the drawer beside the bed. He looks into it, then slams it shut. “I think there are some gadgets in there that might work for that.”

“But I want you .”

Say what??

I don’t know why. I just do.

No, I know why, but I don’t need to juggle all those thoughts right now. I don’t need more inner turmoil, I need less.

“You want me?”

“Being a bad host. Making me spell it out.” I twitch my hips forward, one leg curling over his, and Toby’s eyes close. His head dips and captures my mouth with his own, hands grabbing onto my sides.

There’s a tiny tingle of fear—but it’s a good kind. What would sex be like with a monster? With the sweetest, most protective, most caring guy I’d ever met? How could I have both of those things at once?

“You want to fall asleep happy, pet?” His voice is raspy, and the accent blooms in between kisses that go at my pace.

“Make me forget everything but how good this body feels—while mine is still in one piece,” I groan, hands sliding up his back, under his hoodie.

“You let me do all the work.”

That’d be a first. Then men I’ve been with only know how to work towards their own pleasure, not mine.

With a blink, the lights are lower still, a rosy pink dimness that barely wins over the darkness. Toby and I tug and pull, speeding me out of my shorts as I shiver in anticipation and nerves. I gasp when his fingers connect with my curls and stroke between my thighs.

“So warm there.” Toby looks enraptured. “Can’t imagine what it feels like inside of you.”

“Find out,” I challenge, reaching for the button of his jeans.

He moves out of my grasp and rolls down between my thighs. “Shhh.”

I don’t speak, but what happens next is far from quiet. His fingers play against my folds, as gently as possible, so light that it only makes me crave him more. I want sensation. I want friction. I want to fucking come .

“In me,” I insist. This is how sex goes. Frantic kisses. Boob manhandling. If I’m feeling impressive, I might show a guy how I can eat a popsicle in just six licks. Then there’s pounding, grunting, and rubbing, and he gets off, and I get off, always in that order.

But Toby breaks the mold, parting my thighs and placing light kisses on the thick, protruding inner labia I’m kind of ashamed of. My first partner called them “meat flaps” and I felt so disgusted and ashamed, like I could never be pretty or feminine down there.

I don’t have time to be a head case now. I don’t know why that thought suddenly springs to mind. In seconds, he’ll move on, like everyone else with manners. “Just—”

I expect him to hurry past this part of me, but instead, Toby sucks one of the dark pink folds of my sex into his mouth with a hungry moan.

“God. That’s amazing,” he whispers, and switches to the other.

“Mm?” I’ve never had this kind of attention. I mean, I’m 23 and he’s like five hundred, so... Yeah, that tracks.

“These are such an utter bloody delight.” Toby licks his tongue back and forth, one then the other, moaning when he dares to grab them both between his thumb and forefinger and pull.

The tugging makes warmth gush inside me. Both go into his mouth, and he sucks hard, then soft, hard, then soft, his tongue feeling around each of the slightly wrinkled, irregular surfaces. When I think I’m about to come just from that, he parts my lips and pushes his tongue inside of me. One hand spreads me, one hand rubs the nub at the top of my lips. Even in the dark, I see his eyes shining up at me, seeking approval.

If my loud cries are anything to go by, he has it. But I still want to be full. My walls clench achingly on nothing, trying to catch the shivering slip of his tongue in my entrance before it flicks away.

I grab a fistful of his dark, curling hair and tug.

“Am I doing it wrong?” he asks at once, licking his lips.

“No... It’s just time for the next part.”

“Oh.” He looks down, rubbing his thumb where I’m most sensitive. “I got carried away, didn’t I?”

“I’m not complaining. I wish all guys would get carried away like that.”

“Then why do I have to move on?”

“I just want you to.” It’s what I know. It’ll be over quicker that way.

His already soft voice drops lower as his hand rubs faster. “Right, then. You tell me just how you want it.”

“I want your cock in my pussy,” I spell it out, and Toby jumps like someone caught his dick in a mousetrap.

“What? I mean, thank you! But no. I want to give you this and not take anything from you if it’s all the same.”

“Huh? What? Why?” Does not compute.

Toby doesn’t answer, just dips his head back down and locks his arms around my upper thighs. When I wriggle, I can’t move more than a centimeter. I shiver, but feel safe. This is the sort of superhuman strength he used on me when he first trapped me in here—no, when he first hid me in here. Kept me safe.

And now he’s keeping me still so he can devour me.

But I do want more. I want to feel something thrusting and pushing inside, deeper than his soft, diligent tongue can go.

“Inside. Deeper. Harder,” I grunt, not caring if I sound like a needy slut right now. I want it. And if the goons hunting me get their way, I may never get to feel these things again.

“Deeper? Harder?” Toby’s face lifts, his eyes on mine. “You may not like that.”

“It shouldn’t hurt. Y-you wouldn’t hurt me,” I say with a conviction the complete opposite of the one I held a few hours ago.

I stay still, tensed, the good kind of adrenaline making my pussy tingle as his breath caresses the wet skin, slick with my juice and his kisses.

The pale, handsome face slowly shifts. I don’t scream, but only because my lungs are suddenly frozen. Hard bones and dark hollows around blue orbs shape the face between my thighs, and the smooth, perfectly rigid jaw rubs against my clit and makes my hips jump.

His mouth opens to reveal a long, thick curl of blue-black, a tentacle-like tongue that looks like it would suck out a soul—but instead, it slithers into me, hard and deep, thrusting inside while his jaws trap my soft, squishy mound with its cushion of fat.

“T-Toby!” I cry out as I half-sit, my hands clutching for his hood and connecting with bare bone. I want to be sick or disgusted or turned off—but I’m not. I can’t be.

I’ve never been taken like this in my life. No one has ever fucked my pussy with this kind of obsessed fervor, not with fingers, or toys, or even a cock.

I see stars all right, pinpoints of light in the blackness suddenly floating through my vision.

I thought all those romance novelists were full of shit.

Nope. I scream like a banshee and grind against Toby’s mouth as his tongue does complex maneuvers inside me, figure eights, or maybe some secret linguistic chant to open portals to the afterlife. I don’t care if he looks like a monster at this moment. He takes me to heaven and back. When I collapse, making a noise that’s a cross between a hiccup and a mewl, he rolls me over and slides his hand underneath me, palm flat against my clit.

“Bounce on that love. Fuck that hand,” he whispers, voice like a snarl, and I obey, riding the wave of pleasure that crests and falls, then rises higher. His tongue enters me again from a different angle, and somehow, it’s even better.

I scream out a half-sob, face buried in the blankets. I’m breathing too fast. I’m feeling too much. I might die from this.

I might even be okay with it.

Not that Toby would let that happen.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED .

One minute, I was trying to smooth her hair and hum a lullaby to help relax the traumatized woman in my arms.

The next, I’m in my terrifying Reaper form with my tongue buried in her soaking peach of a pussy, and I’m using my bony jaw to grind on her swollen clit. Her pleasure is like a tonic for me, something warm, wet, and living.

I suddenly understand vampires a little better.

I want to drink her again and again.

My cock is as hard as a rock thinking about being inside of her one day; I’m so lost in hot, lurid fantasies about Molly riding my cock instead of my mouth that I barely register her muffled cries.

She’s collapsed face-first into the pillows. If the way her walls keep jumping around my tongue is any indicator, I’ve done my job. Two good climaxes ought to send her to sleep. With a longing last slurp, I let her rest, my body and face slowly shifting back into my human appearance.

“Wh... How? Oh, God.” Molly moves to her side, a hand on her belly. “I have actual muscle cramps.”

“Heating pad?” I ask, reaching for the bedside table again.

“I’ve never come that hard. Ever. I didn’t know you could. And you... wanted to do that?”

My eyes narrow. “Erm. Yes. Could you not tell?”

She shrugs, not meeting my eye. “A lot of guys don’t do that.”

“Oh. Well.” I rub the back of my neck, trying not to blush as I share my guilty secret. “I never did when I was alive. But I’ve learned a few things.”

Molly’s face falls, ever so slightly. “You’re a real undead Casanova, huh? Making the term lady killer do double duty?”

It’s my turn to groan and put a hand on my head, but I don’t have cramps. I have acute embarrassment. “No! I don’t... I have lots of ideas, very limited practical experience. Where I live, in Pine Ridge, there’s a book club. Sera started going last year, and each week she tells me if books are hot or not. So far, almost all of them have been hot, and then... I read them. It’s the only sex life I have, okay?”

“You read romances?”

“And other things!” I say defensively. “In my day, the hygienic aspects of sex, lack of running water, and all of that would make some sexual practices less—”

“Stop. I’m a nurse. Hygiene is my jam.” Molly’s face is relaxing again, and her smile reappears, small and sleepy. “You did that for me, though. Thank you.”

She doesn’t get it. I move to recline next to her on the bed and risk pulling her hand to my hardness before gently pushing it away. “I did that to give you pleasure without selfishly asking you to return it—but you can see how much I liked it. If you went on that date with me, and that date led to a million more dates...” I sigh and gaze at the ceiling, wondering if God is in the mood to grant my wishes. I haven’t mucked up much in the last half millennia, after all. “Well, I’d beg you to let me do that every night. Amongst other things, of course! I’m not interested in you purely for sexual reasons.” I stop talking and wish I had never started.

Molly’s slow, sleepy voice holds a curious note. “Interested in me? Like—for real? Like, not just because we’re in the middle of The Godfather Hits the Beach?”

“Yes. Because you’re strong and smart and funny, and you have a good heart. A heart and soul so brave and bold that God decided to make you the spitting image of another Molly with the same beautiful spirit.” I curl my arm under her head and stroke her hair. She seems to like that. “I know you’re not her. You’re just a reminder of all the wonderful things she was.” I’m not supposed to fall asleep, but when Molly wriggles into my arms and burrows into my chest, I can’t help the feeling of peace that settles over me. “I didn’t get to know her well. I hope I get the chance to know you.” How stupid does that sound, after I’ve been between her legs? “I mean, I hope we get to know one another better. Sounds as if I’m doing everything backward, I know, but—”

My voice stops, interrupted by a soft whuff of air, an exhausted almost-snore.

I curl myself around Molly and press a kiss on her forehead.

I’ll just sleep for a few minutes. I may never get this chance again, to fall asleep with Molly in my arms.