(fic) The Hunted - Chapter 2/? - PSoH
Dec. 2nd, 2007 01:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yellowhordeDisclaimer: I don’t own Petshop of Horrors and I make no money from this or any other fanfic I write.
Pairing: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Alternative Universe
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, Language, Sexual Situation, Hermaphrodite!D
Title: The Hunted
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2007
October, 1980
Rochester, NY
John Orcot didn’t want to be here in this hospital waiting room, didn’t want to see this woman with the long blond hair and wounded blue eyes fall apart as the doctor told her that there wasn’t any hope for her son, her only child.
“It would take a miracle to save him,” had been his exact words and for some unknown reason he had wanted to punch the lousy son of a bitch in his round and red-blotchy nose for hurting her with his cruel, unfeeling, and undoubtedly true words.
“Please, please there must be something you can do for him, doctor,” The pleading in her voice was unmistakable, but for all that, there were no tears in her eyes, not yet. They were dry and had been since her son had been taken into the emergency operating room over twelve hours ago.
“Miss Anderson,” the doctor, an older man with predominately gray hair and a high, receding hairline by the name of Marcus Petersons, removed his obviously prescription eye glasses, folded them carefully, and tucked them into the chest pocket of his white lab coat. “Your son’s injuries-“
“Leon. My son’s name is Leon,” Miss Anderson, first name, Mary, interrupted sharply, her blue eyes blazed with a fierce intensity.
“Uh, yes, Leon,” Dr. Petersons continued smoothly and smiled a bit uncertainly. No doubt he was unaccustomed to people correcting him in such a manner.
Obviously, as one of the top Trauma Physicians in Highland Hospital, he was used to dealing with all sorts of cases from car crashes to attempted murder, but this was, by his own admittance, the first time he had ever preformed surgery on a child, or any other human for that matter, that had survived a vicious Lycanthrope attack. In this neck of the woods it was almost unheard of. Most werewolf attacks took place out in the western part of the country where the land was rugged and mountainous, where humans had not encroached quite so much on Mother Nature’s home turf. The very fact that the child had indeed survived, was extraordinary.
Dr. Petersons gently herded Mary toward one of the hard plastic chairs over by the wall and she went quietly enough and sank down on the chair like one exhausted, resting her hands on the tops of her legs. Both her arms and her clothes, a red flannel shirt and a pair of faded jeans, were still covered in dried blood, stiff and brown. If she was aware of what a frightful mess she was, she didn’t give any indication. All her thoughts were focused on her son.
The doctor took a chair next to her and glanced over his shoulder when John stepped over uncertainly and hovered nearby. John merely nodded his head curtly as if he had every right to be there. Shrugging, Dr. Petersons turned his attention to Mary. His liver spotted hands reached out and took hold of one of hers, but she made no effort to pull away, which John guessed was a good sign.
“Miss Anderson – Mary – your son Leon has sustained life threatening injuries, as you well know. My surgical team and I have worked long and hard to repair those wounds, but the damage was extensive. I must warn you that despite our best efforts, he might not survive.”
Blank blue eyes lifted to stare, not at the doctor, but over his shoulder toward John. Something flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before he could understand what it was he had seen in them. Then she turned her eyes to the doctor. Gently, but firmly, she removed her hands from his.
“My son will survive, Dr. Petersons. He’s a strong boy, a fighter. He’s not going to give up, and neither will I. But I need to be certain that you won’t give up on him, either.”
Her words were slow and wooden, her face blank of emotion. But her eyes, they blazed with a fierceness John had never before encountered. If her son possessed even one tenths of her spirit and determination, then maybe, just maybe, he’d come out of this alive.
“Can you do this for me, Doctor? Can you believe that my son will live through this?”
Dr. Petersons nodded his head, slowly as if in a daze. “Yes, I think I can believe. That is, if that’s what you want me to do, Miss Anderson.”
“I do.” She whispered, “I really do.”
The doctor rose to his feet and shook his head as if he had awoken from a dream. He cleared his throat and tugged at the lapels of his white lab jacket. “I really must be going,” he muttered. “I have to make my rounds.”
“You do that,” Mary replied, “and, Dr. Petersons?” The doctor turned back to her, and she offered him one of the most beautiful, sunny smiles John had ever seen. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“You are most certainly welcomed, young lady.”
John watched in mild amusement as the doctor made his way down the hall. Then he turned his attention back to the woman sitting on the ugly, green plastic chair.
“Wow, you’ve sure got a way with people, don’t you?”
She sighed and suddenly that mesmerizing smile disappeared only to be replaced by a mask of fatigue. Her shoulders slumped and she looked down at her hands, now clasped firmly together and resting in her lap. The knuckles of her hands showed white moons and despite the pressure she was obviously exerting, they still trembled. Something deep inside John’s heart moved as he stood there looking down at her, a need to help her, to make right all that had gone wrong.
He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his faded blue jeans. Suddenly, he realized, glancing down at himself that he wasn’t in much better condition than she was, at least fashion wise. Lord, he must look a fright. His jeans were covered in blood, none of it his, and the white undershirt he had borrowed from one of the paramedics that had arrived on the scene with the ambulance, wasn’t much better off.
“Look, ma’am,” he began, “It’s been a rough couple of hours for both of us. Why don’t I take you down to the hospital’s cafeteria and get you something to eat?” Mary shook her head mutely at this suggestion, and her blond hair slapped against her face with the force of the motion. “Or at least let me get you some coffee or something? You’re exhausted, anyone can see that. And if you aren’t going to at least try to get some rest, then you’ll need so caffeine.”
He held out his hand to her, and offered the best smile he could manage under the circumstances, though it came nowhere near the brilliance she had managed with the doctor a few minutes earlier. “Please? Come on, what do you say? I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. And that’s all there is to that.”
The corners of her mouth twitched and she actually gave a small laugh. “Okay, yeah, sure. Why not? God knows I could really use some coffee right about now.”
She reached out and placed her hand in his and he helped her gently to her feet. “And how would you feel about a piece of pie?” he asked, smiling more naturally. “Cause I could really go for something to eat and I’d hate to eat in front of you. My mother taught me better manners than that.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but not lewdly, “I hear they got a pretty good cheese cake. What do you say?”
She laughed again at this and when she smiled again, it lit up her face. “I don’t know, my mother always told me to never have pie with a man I didn’t know.” Her smile faded and her face was serious again. “You saved my son’s life, sir, and I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s John. John Orcot. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“And I’m Mary Anderson. The pleasure, I assure you, is all mine, John Orcot.”
“So… pie, then?”
“Pie it is.”
John led the way to the cafeteria and bought some coffee and pie for the both of them, then led Mary to one of the small tables near the wall, next to the windows. She added two French vanilla creams and two packets of sugar to her coffee, while he took his black.
They drank their coffee in silence, but to his surprise, there was nothing awkward about it. It was a comfortable silence, a companionable silence, like they had known each other for years rather than just hours. He drained the last of his coffee and held the empty mug in his hands, turning it over and over, as he stared out the window.
The clouds from the night before had cleared leaving the sky a clear and fabulous blue, so intense, it looked like it had been colored by a child’s primary crayon. The leaves of the trees were a rich, gold that stood out against the sky as they shimmered in the afternoon light. It seemed wrong somehow that the world around them could contain such wonder and beauty when their lives were falling apart around their ears.
Mary set down her own coffee mug, picked up her fork and cut off a piece of the pie. She put it into her mouth and closed her eyes as she chewed slowly, savoring the taste. The expression on her face was one of fascinated rapture.
She opened her eyes and laughed when she saw John staring at her with amusement. “You know what?” she laughed, “For a hospital cafeteria, this is some might fine cheesecake.”
“I told you it was good, didn’t I?”
She forked off another piece and paused, fork in mid-air. “And you were right. This is practically sinful.” The cheesecake disappeared in her mouth and Mary sighed rapturously. “Man, but does that hits the spot!”
John leaned forward on one elbow, a slow smile forming as he watched her take a third bit of her cheesecake. He glanced down at her left hand, resting lightly on the tabletop, and couldn’t help but notice that there was no gold wedding band on her ring finger. That and the fact that Dr. Petersons had addressed her as Miss Anderson led him to believe that there was no Mr. Anderson in the picture. And that meant that she wasn’t, theoretically at any rate, involved with any other men. This made him happy for reasons he wasn’t yet willing to explore.
“So, tell me, John,” Mary set her fork down and looked at him with those intense blue eyes. “What brought you into our lives last night? You just happened to be in the right place at the right time? Or were you just out jacking deer?”
John pulled himself into a more upright position. “Well, I guess you could kind of call it being in the right place at the right time, but to tell the truth, I was there… “ Suddenly frustrated, he picked up his fork and attacked his own piece of cheesecake, but he didn’t eat any of it, he just cut it into tiny pieces with the edge of his fork.
“Look, Mary,” he looked up at her and hoped she wouldn’t be angry at what he was going to say, “I wasn’t just out for a stroll last night. I was hunting that werewolf with a good friend of mine, Vesca Howell.”
“You mean, the man who was in the ambulance with me and my son?” Mary asked, “The one with the gaping wounds in his chest?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” John confirmed, “We’ve been hunting werewolves together for the last five years or so. Ever since his brother, his sister-in-law and their son were killed by a werewolf back in Washington State when he was a teenager, Vesca has had some sort of personal vendetta against werewolves.”
He forked a piece of cheesecake into his mouth, chewed and swallowed without really tasting it. “One of the forest rangers told us that a werewolf had been spotted over at Timberline Lake Park and we set out to take care of the problem.”
Mary had set her fork down and was now staring at him with something very close to horror. He hated to see that expression on her face and it cut him deeper than he would have thought possible to think that that expression might be directed toward him.
“You… set out to take care of the ‘problem’? Am I correct in what you just said?”
“Yes. We went to that Park with the intentions of killing that werewolf before it could harm any of the families that were still camping there. But,” he swallowed and it felt like a piece of cheesecake had lodged itself in his throat. “We had reached a densely wooded area and Vesca and I had separated, you know, fanning out a little to try to catch his tracks.”
He paused for a moment. “But werewolves aren’t like animals, you know? They’re smart and cunning and they can think just like human beings.”
“Just like human beings,” Mary echoed faintly.
“Yes, that’s it exactly.” The words began to tumble out of John’s mouth and he let them because he had to tell her everything, she had to know the truth, the whole truth, even if it meant that she’d never have anything to do with him after she knew… that it was his fault. Everything was his fault.
“But, it somehow got the drop on us, see? It had hidden itself up in the trees and it saw its chance and it dropped out of the trees and it attacked Vesca.” John’s hands curled up into fists and he banged one against the tabletop, causing the silverware to jump with a musical clink. “It cut him up pretty bad. And I couldn’t shoot it from where I was because I didn’t want to risk hitting Vesca. But then I did shoot, but I only wounded it and it ran off into the woods.”
“And that’s when it found Leon, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched out between them and John was certain that Mary would stand up and walk out of the cafeteria, walk out of his life, and he didn’t want to let her go because something in him wanted to be with her, to take care of her and her son. But there was no way he could stop her if that’s what she wanted to do. He didn’t have the right. After all, if he had killed that son of a bitch when he had the chance, none of this would have happened… and then he would never had had the opportunity to meet this extraordinary woman.
God, that sounded awful, but it was true.
Then, Mary did something he didn’t expect; she reached out and placed her own small hand over his clenched fist. It was a reassuring touch, nothing overtly sexual, but it sent a surprisingly fierce electrical heat racing up his arm, the small hairs of his arm stood on end and he trembled as if he had caught a sudden chill.
“It wasn’t your fault, John Orcot,” she all but whispered and it was a fierce sound. “Don’t go on thinking it was your fault, because you really don’t want to start blaming yourself. And where will it get you? Nowhere.”
“I could just as easily blame myself, you know,” she continued huskily and for the first time, John saw that she was close to tears. Her eyes were red rimmed and wide in her efforts to stop her tears and her face was becoming blotchy with the effort to regain control.
“If I hadn’t taken Leon out to Timberline Lake Park in the first place, he wouldn’t have been in any danger. If we had gone home after a long day of hiking instead of pitching camp, he would have been home safe in his bed. If, if, if, if!” And now she blinked her eyes and the tears burst over her lashes and streamed down her cheeks.
“All of the ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’ in the world won’t change what has happened and it doesn’t do you or me any good to dwell on things that could have been, should have been. And it doesn’t do any good to blame ourselves. What we have to do now is pull ourselves together and get through this mess one step at a time.”
She sniffled and released her hold on his hand. Then she reached for a napkin to dab at her tears and blow her nose. “I’m sorry,” she gave him a watery smile. “I didn’t mean to go off on you. I’m really sorry.”
“No, you have every right to be emotional,” John sighed, shook his head sadly, “And I’m sorry for upsetting you. Look, Leon’s going to be in the Intensive Care Unit for a while and they won’t let you go in to see him for a couple more hours at least. Maybe you should head on home for a bit.”
Mary opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, holding up a finger in a shushing gesture. “Just for a little while, that’s all I’m saying. I mean, look at you! You’re covered in blood and I know you’ve got to be beat. A shower, some clean clothes and some sleep would be the best thing for you right now.”
Slim shoulders rose in a careless gesture. “I can’t, really.”
“Why not?” John demanded gently. “You won’t be any good to your boy if you’re dead on your feet.”
“No, it’s not that. I don’t have a way of getting home. I rode in the ambulance, remember? My car is still back at Timberline Lake. And I don’t have any family or friends in the area that I can call.”
“Well, shit, I can give you a ride home, if you want. It wouldn’t be a problem. And it would be the least I could do for you after-“ he was about to say ‘the least I could do after causing all of this in the first place’, but he cut himself off in time. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the last thing they needed to do was to go placing blame. “It’s the least I could do.”
“Are you sure it wouldn’t be a problem?” She looked at him and suddenly she seemed less sure of herself and very shy. It made her look younger than she was, and vulnerable.
“I wouldn’t have offered if it was a problem. Hell, I could even tow your car and gear back to your place for you.”
“That would be really appreciated.”
“Hey, it’s my pleasure. Believe me.”
Mary Anderson lived in what he liked to call a ‘shoebox with a pointed lid’. It was a small, square house with the standard two bedrooms, one bath arrangement. And, except for its color, it looked exactly like every other house in the quiet residential area. He pulled his blue pickup into the driveway and killed the engine.
“Well, here we are, safe and sound.” John announced unnecessarily. “And I didn’t get lost once.”
Mary laughed at that and it did his heart good to hear it. “That’s only because you had a woman co-driver who knew that way. If I would have had to depend on you finding my house, we’d still be circling the neighborhood like restless vultures.”
“Is it my fault that every single house out here looks exactly the same? I mean, seriously, did they make the designs using a cookie cutter, or what?”
“Yeah, I guess the do all look alike to the untrained eye.” Mary admitted with a smile.
John looked out across the tiny yard toward the house. The sidewalk was covered in chalk drawings with stick figures in a rainbow of primary colors. He could make out figures that that obviously represented a woman, a child and a dog. There were suns with yellow lines of brilliance encircling them and triangle boats on choppy seas. They weren’t Picassos by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d seen worse… and done by adults at that.
The exterior of the house was a cheerful, pastel yellow and the shutters were a light blue. Though definitely not new, the house showed obvious signs of being well-cared for. The leaves had been recently raked up and the lawn freshly mown and the flowerbed, its bright colored flowers already starting to fade toward November dull, was neat and weed free even this late in the season.
“I guess this is where we part, isn’t it?” He said, turning toward her and offering what he hoped was a cheerful smile. “I got you home, safe and sound, just like I promised I would.”
“You did, indeed. And I want to thank you for everything you’ve done.”
John shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal, believe me.”
“Thanks, John.” Mary leaned over and gave him a quick peek on the cheek. He could smell the baby powder on her skin and the faint scent of her shampoo, something feminine but not overly flowery. “I mean it, really.”
She slid back over the seat and opened the passenger side door. But she didn’t get out. Instead she looked over at him with something very much like uncertainty.
“You know, you could probably use a shower yourself,” She began slowly. “I’m sure I would have something clean you could wear until you got back home… wherever home is for you. I think my fiancé was about yours size.”
“I don’t know,” John said slowly. Inside his heart was doing flip-flops of joy at the chance of being with her just a little bit longer, but he didn’t want to scare her off by appearing to be too eager. “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. Believe me.” Mary replied, echoing the very same words he had spoken in the cafeteria back at him. “And it’s the least I could do in exchange for your kindness. Besides,” She added with great sincerity, “If you keep running around with blood caked all over yourself, you’re going to scare the holy hell out of my neighbors.”
She discreetly pointed one finger toward one of the windows of the nearly identical house next door. John noticed one of the window curtains twitching back and caught a glimpse of an old, white haired lady with thick, horn-rimmed glasses.
John couldn’t help himself as he burst into a fit of laughter. “No, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
“No, we wouldn’t.” Mary agreed and slid out the door, bumped it shut with one hip, then strode easily up the sidewalk to the front door, waving her hand and calling out a cheerful greeting.
“Good morning, Mrs. Robinson! Lovely day, isn’t it?”
The curtain quickly fell back into place and John smothered another burst of laughter. It served the old biddy right for snooping on her neighbors. Still grinning, John followed Mary to the front steps and waited for her to dig out her house keys so she could let them in.
“Well, here we are,” Mary announced once she had let him into a small foyer that opened up into a comfortably furnished living room, “Home sweet home.” She pointed to a small hallway that led off to the left. “The bathroom is just down that hallway there, last door on the right. I’ll get you those clean clothes.”
“Shouldn’t I let you go first?” John asked, shuffling his feet nervously. “I mean, it is your house, you know.”
“Yeah, I do. But you’re a guest, so I’ll let you use the shower first.” She poked one finger lightly into his chest. “Just don’t use all the hot water, got it, buster?”
“No, ma’am, I won’t.”
“Good.” She hummed a few notes under her breath. “Now, shoo! The towels are in the linen closet right next to the bathroom. You can’t miss it.”
Smiling, John made his way down the bathroom, after making a stop to pick up the required towel. The bathroom was small, but cozy and it was obvious from the plastic bucket in primary red full of various toys and action figures, that this was a house that had at least one child. The smile on John’s face faded as he regarded the GI Joe figures and he wondered if the little boy – Leon, he reminded himself, his name is Leon – would ever play with his toys again.
Sighing unhappily, John stripped off his shirt, and then sat on the toilet to unlace his hunting boots. He then shimmied out of his jeans and briefs, stood up, folded them carefully and set them down on the lowered toilet bowl lid, making sure the undergarments were at the bottom of the pile. It didn’t feel right to leave them sitting out in the open, not while he was in a lady’s home using her hot water and soap. It wasn’t like they were horribly dirty anyway, but he still figured that she probably didn’t want to see something like that.
Naked, he reached into the tub and twisted the water faucets to release a stream of tepid water. He adjusted the temperature by turning the hot and cold water faucets and once it was where he wanted it, he stepped in, pulling the shower curtain closed behind him.
The hot water pelted his skin and it felt so good to wash away the grime and blood of the hunt. Picking up a cake of soap, he worked up a good lather, then washed his first his face then the rest of him. He rinsed off then debated whether he should wash his hair. Since he was taking a shower, he might as well. His lips twisted in amusement as he regarded the selection of shampoos available. There was some fruity smelling stuff that Mary obviously used, and then there was Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo, obviously belonging to the little boy.
Not wanting to smell too girly, he opted to use the Johnson & Johnson. He poured a dollop of thick, gold lotion into his palm and worked it into his hair, working up a good lather. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he pulled his hair up into comical spikes before rinsing the suds out of his hair. Satisfied that he was clean from head to toe, he shut off the water and reached for the towel he had hung on the towel rack on the wall nearest the bath.
He vigorously dried himself, then stepped out onto the bath mat and wrapped the towel around his middle. Suddenly, there was a soft wrapping and then the door opened as Mary entered carrying a clean bundle of clothes.
She pulled herself up short when she saw him standing on her bathmat clad only in a ducky yellow towel. “Oh.” She said and her cheeks pinked even as her eyes trailed their way down his bare chest. “Uh, I brought you some of Mark’s old clothes. I’m pretty sure they’ll fit you.”
She handed John the bundle of clothes then gathered up the dirty clothes piled neatly on the lowered toilet seat. “I’ll just go and throw these in the washing machine. It won’t take too long.”
Then she was gone and John was left alone in the bathroom, almost naked and holding a dead man’s clothes in his arms. “You do know how to get yourself into the strangest predicaments, don’t you, Orcot?” he asked himself with a rueful grin as he began to dress.
Once dried and fully dressed, John made his way from the bathroom to the living room, where he found Mary picking up some toys from underneath a coffee table. She straightened and turned when she heard him enter the room and offered another warm smile.
“See? I told you they’d fit!”
“Yes, ma’am, they sure do.”
She held up one hand, palm vertical, like a traffic police man. “Please, don’t call me ma’am.” She said with a small laugh, “It makes me feel old.”
“Yes, ma- I mean, sure. No problem. I have the same problem being called Mr. Orcot. It throws me for a loop every time. I mean, seriously, Mr. Orcot is my dad.”
“Well, have a seat on the sofa, John. You’re clothes are in the washer so I guess you’ll be stuck here for a while.” She moved toward him and came to a stop in front of him. “Is there anything you’d like? I mean, while I’m taking my shower?”
”Nope, nothing I can think of.” He lied. He knew exactly what he wanted, but he wasn’t the sort of beast who would say something like that to a lady. After all, she had let him into her home and showed him such warmth and hospitality. The last thing he’d tell her is that he wanted her more than any woman he had ever known. He couldn’t say something like that, even if it was the truth.
“There’s the television if you’re so inclined, or I have some books on the shelf next to the sofa. I’m sure it’s nothing that you’d be interested in, though, I’m afraid. But I’ll be done in no time and then, we’ll see…”
She trailed off and disappeared around the corner and into the hallway. There was the sound of the linen closet door being opened and closed, followed by the bathroom door. A few moments later he could hear the faint sounds of water. It was almost unbearable, sitting here on the couch like an imbecile while one of the most attractive women he had meet in a dog’s age was stripping down to her birthday suit just a few yards away.
“Easy, Orcot, easy,” he cautioned himself and tried to put his mind anywhere but where it currently was. I wonder if she’s a natural blond? He found himself thinking and then felt the heat flood to his face as he imagined hot jets of water beat along her smooth, soft skin, sliding along each and every curve of her body.
“Jesus, Orcot!” he chided himself under his breath, “Get a goddamn hold of yourself, will you? The woman’s only child is in the hospital fighting for his life and you’re sitting here, having sexual fantasies about his mother.”
Desperate to keep his mind from going where it wasn’t allowed he leaned over and scanned the selection of paperbacks that lined the bookshelf next to the sofa. There were a few harlequin romances, or ‘bodice rippers’ as his mother used to call them, but there were also a surprising number of horror novels, mostly by authors such as Stephen King and John Saul. He selected a book at random, Come the Blind Fury by John Saul, and tried to lose himself in the words.
Unfortunately, the plot just couldn’t hold his attention. This wasn’t a bad reflection on the author himself, it was just that his mind kept turning back to the woman in the other room. He closed his eyes and tried to force her image out of his mind, but when he opened them again, she was standing in front of him, clad in only a white fluffy robe.
He practically tripped himself up in his hurry to stand. “Well, I want to thank you for your hospitality, Miss Anderson,” he stammered. “But I should get going so I can get your car and your camping gear hauled back before night fall.” Like a tin solder, he turned, with stiff and jerky movements and made his way toward the front door.
“Please, don’t go.”
Something decent and old fashioned in his mind told him to just keep on walking, but he just couldn’t ignore the soft pleading in her words. Then he felt her hand on his arm and he knew he wouldn’t leave, not if that’s not what she wanted. Not what he wanted.
He turned to her and gazed down into her eyes. He didn’t move closer, but he didn’t have to for Mary had taken the last step between them and rested her head against his chest. Her arms came up to wrap around his waist and his own arms moved to embrace her. Her long blond hair was still damp and fragrant from her shower and she shivered slightly, though he wasn’t sure if it was from being chilly or not.
Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he inhaled the clean scent of her and was surprised at the sudden strength of his desire. He wanted her, this young woman that clung to him almost like a child afraid of the dark. And she wanted him. His throat worked as he swallowed and brought his arms up to her shoulders and gently disengaged himself.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Mary,” he breathed, “But I don’t want to take advantage of you when you are so emotionally vulnerable. It wouldn’t be right to do so. And I’m not that king of man.”
Mary raised her head to meet his eyes without flinching. “I don’t usually throw myself at men like this,” she whispered. “But I want to be with you, John Orcot. I don’t know if it’s wrong or right, but that’s how I feel. It’s what I want. And,” she swallowed and dipped her head. Then brought her gaze back up to his, resolutely, “And that’s what I thought you wanted as well.”
He traced one hand down the side of her face, gently. She shivered again and this time he knew it wasn’t because she was cold. “I do,” he whispered hoarsely. “God, I do, more than anything.”
“Then stay,” she pleaded. “Stay with me. Please.”
Never one to refuse a lady, John lowered his lips to her and kissed her, a soft brush of flesh against flesh. A small sound of need escaped Mary’s throat and he kissed her again, pulling her against his body as if he never wanted to let her go.
“The bedroom?” he asked, ending their kiss long enough to get directions.
“Right next to the bathroom, across from the linen closet,” she panted and giggled lightly as John swept her up into his arms and strode purposefully through the living room and down the hall.
He managed to get the bedroom door open without dropping her, and then stumbled to the king sized bed against the far wall. He staggered over to the bed and fell onto the bed with her still in his arms. More laughter ensued, but on both their parts. Kissing her throat and working his way lower, John parted the robe’s cloth until he exposed her breasts to his view, his touch. Her nipples were erect and he took one into his mouth and suckled eagerly, making small happy sounds in his throat while his hands fumbled with the sash. To his delight, he found that she was indeed a natural blond.
His clothing was discarded in a messy heap on the floor and gently, he parted her thighs and slid between them, hard and ready. She arched against him as he entered her slick warmth and wrapped her long legs around his back, pulling him to her. Their love making was slow and gentle and when she came, a few moments before he climaxed, it was in with a series of escalating cries that she stifled with the back of one hand, as if afraid to make too much noise lest she awaken her son… only her son wasn’t here and may not be ever again.
Tears spilled over her lashes and she clung to John as she cried softly into his chest. He held her in his arms and stroked her hair, reassuringly. “Shh… Mary, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”
He would have promised her the moon if that’s what she wanted, he would have promised that her son would be good and whole again without the taint of the werewolf curse if it would have eased her tears, but he couldn’t lie to her, not like that. The truth of the matter was that even if her son survived the initial attack, he would most likely not survive the inevitable transformation at the next full moon. At his young age, it would most likely tear his body apart. Either way, he had all but condemned her only child to a horrible death. And it didn’t matter what she said about blame, because he did blame himself for the misery that had been inflicted upon her and her son. But he couldn’t tell her this, so he held her, stroked her hair, and listened to her cry until she finally fell asleep.
TO BE CONTINUED…
CHAPTER 03
Pairing: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Alternative Universe
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, Language, Sexual Situation, Hermaphrodite!D
Title: The Hunted
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2007
October, 1980
Rochester, NY
John Orcot didn’t want to be here in this hospital waiting room, didn’t want to see this woman with the long blond hair and wounded blue eyes fall apart as the doctor told her that there wasn’t any hope for her son, her only child.
“It would take a miracle to save him,” had been his exact words and for some unknown reason he had wanted to punch the lousy son of a bitch in his round and red-blotchy nose for hurting her with his cruel, unfeeling, and undoubtedly true words.
“Please, please there must be something you can do for him, doctor,” The pleading in her voice was unmistakable, but for all that, there were no tears in her eyes, not yet. They were dry and had been since her son had been taken into the emergency operating room over twelve hours ago.
“Miss Anderson,” the doctor, an older man with predominately gray hair and a high, receding hairline by the name of Marcus Petersons, removed his obviously prescription eye glasses, folded them carefully, and tucked them into the chest pocket of his white lab coat. “Your son’s injuries-“
“Leon. My son’s name is Leon,” Miss Anderson, first name, Mary, interrupted sharply, her blue eyes blazed with a fierce intensity.
“Uh, yes, Leon,” Dr. Petersons continued smoothly and smiled a bit uncertainly. No doubt he was unaccustomed to people correcting him in such a manner.
Obviously, as one of the top Trauma Physicians in Highland Hospital, he was used to dealing with all sorts of cases from car crashes to attempted murder, but this was, by his own admittance, the first time he had ever preformed surgery on a child, or any other human for that matter, that had survived a vicious Lycanthrope attack. In this neck of the woods it was almost unheard of. Most werewolf attacks took place out in the western part of the country where the land was rugged and mountainous, where humans had not encroached quite so much on Mother Nature’s home turf. The very fact that the child had indeed survived, was extraordinary.
Dr. Petersons gently herded Mary toward one of the hard plastic chairs over by the wall and she went quietly enough and sank down on the chair like one exhausted, resting her hands on the tops of her legs. Both her arms and her clothes, a red flannel shirt and a pair of faded jeans, were still covered in dried blood, stiff and brown. If she was aware of what a frightful mess she was, she didn’t give any indication. All her thoughts were focused on her son.
The doctor took a chair next to her and glanced over his shoulder when John stepped over uncertainly and hovered nearby. John merely nodded his head curtly as if he had every right to be there. Shrugging, Dr. Petersons turned his attention to Mary. His liver spotted hands reached out and took hold of one of hers, but she made no effort to pull away, which John guessed was a good sign.
“Miss Anderson – Mary – your son Leon has sustained life threatening injuries, as you well know. My surgical team and I have worked long and hard to repair those wounds, but the damage was extensive. I must warn you that despite our best efforts, he might not survive.”
Blank blue eyes lifted to stare, not at the doctor, but over his shoulder toward John. Something flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before he could understand what it was he had seen in them. Then she turned her eyes to the doctor. Gently, but firmly, she removed her hands from his.
“My son will survive, Dr. Petersons. He’s a strong boy, a fighter. He’s not going to give up, and neither will I. But I need to be certain that you won’t give up on him, either.”
Her words were slow and wooden, her face blank of emotion. But her eyes, they blazed with a fierceness John had never before encountered. If her son possessed even one tenths of her spirit and determination, then maybe, just maybe, he’d come out of this alive.
“Can you do this for me, Doctor? Can you believe that my son will live through this?”
Dr. Petersons nodded his head, slowly as if in a daze. “Yes, I think I can believe. That is, if that’s what you want me to do, Miss Anderson.”
“I do.” She whispered, “I really do.”
The doctor rose to his feet and shook his head as if he had awoken from a dream. He cleared his throat and tugged at the lapels of his white lab jacket. “I really must be going,” he muttered. “I have to make my rounds.”
“You do that,” Mary replied, “and, Dr. Petersons?” The doctor turned back to her, and she offered him one of the most beautiful, sunny smiles John had ever seen. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“You are most certainly welcomed, young lady.”
John watched in mild amusement as the doctor made his way down the hall. Then he turned his attention back to the woman sitting on the ugly, green plastic chair.
“Wow, you’ve sure got a way with people, don’t you?”
She sighed and suddenly that mesmerizing smile disappeared only to be replaced by a mask of fatigue. Her shoulders slumped and she looked down at her hands, now clasped firmly together and resting in her lap. The knuckles of her hands showed white moons and despite the pressure she was obviously exerting, they still trembled. Something deep inside John’s heart moved as he stood there looking down at her, a need to help her, to make right all that had gone wrong.
He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his faded blue jeans. Suddenly, he realized, glancing down at himself that he wasn’t in much better condition than she was, at least fashion wise. Lord, he must look a fright. His jeans were covered in blood, none of it his, and the white undershirt he had borrowed from one of the paramedics that had arrived on the scene with the ambulance, wasn’t much better off.
“Look, ma’am,” he began, “It’s been a rough couple of hours for both of us. Why don’t I take you down to the hospital’s cafeteria and get you something to eat?” Mary shook her head mutely at this suggestion, and her blond hair slapped against her face with the force of the motion. “Or at least let me get you some coffee or something? You’re exhausted, anyone can see that. And if you aren’t going to at least try to get some rest, then you’ll need so caffeine.”
He held out his hand to her, and offered the best smile he could manage under the circumstances, though it came nowhere near the brilliance she had managed with the doctor a few minutes earlier. “Please? Come on, what do you say? I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. And that’s all there is to that.”
The corners of her mouth twitched and she actually gave a small laugh. “Okay, yeah, sure. Why not? God knows I could really use some coffee right about now.”
She reached out and placed her hand in his and he helped her gently to her feet. “And how would you feel about a piece of pie?” he asked, smiling more naturally. “Cause I could really go for something to eat and I’d hate to eat in front of you. My mother taught me better manners than that.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but not lewdly, “I hear they got a pretty good cheese cake. What do you say?”
She laughed again at this and when she smiled again, it lit up her face. “I don’t know, my mother always told me to never have pie with a man I didn’t know.” Her smile faded and her face was serious again. “You saved my son’s life, sir, and I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s John. John Orcot. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“And I’m Mary Anderson. The pleasure, I assure you, is all mine, John Orcot.”
“So… pie, then?”
“Pie it is.”
John led the way to the cafeteria and bought some coffee and pie for the both of them, then led Mary to one of the small tables near the wall, next to the windows. She added two French vanilla creams and two packets of sugar to her coffee, while he took his black.
They drank their coffee in silence, but to his surprise, there was nothing awkward about it. It was a comfortable silence, a companionable silence, like they had known each other for years rather than just hours. He drained the last of his coffee and held the empty mug in his hands, turning it over and over, as he stared out the window.
The clouds from the night before had cleared leaving the sky a clear and fabulous blue, so intense, it looked like it had been colored by a child’s primary crayon. The leaves of the trees were a rich, gold that stood out against the sky as they shimmered in the afternoon light. It seemed wrong somehow that the world around them could contain such wonder and beauty when their lives were falling apart around their ears.
Mary set down her own coffee mug, picked up her fork and cut off a piece of the pie. She put it into her mouth and closed her eyes as she chewed slowly, savoring the taste. The expression on her face was one of fascinated rapture.
She opened her eyes and laughed when she saw John staring at her with amusement. “You know what?” she laughed, “For a hospital cafeteria, this is some might fine cheesecake.”
“I told you it was good, didn’t I?”
She forked off another piece and paused, fork in mid-air. “And you were right. This is practically sinful.” The cheesecake disappeared in her mouth and Mary sighed rapturously. “Man, but does that hits the spot!”
John leaned forward on one elbow, a slow smile forming as he watched her take a third bit of her cheesecake. He glanced down at her left hand, resting lightly on the tabletop, and couldn’t help but notice that there was no gold wedding band on her ring finger. That and the fact that Dr. Petersons had addressed her as Miss Anderson led him to believe that there was no Mr. Anderson in the picture. And that meant that she wasn’t, theoretically at any rate, involved with any other men. This made him happy for reasons he wasn’t yet willing to explore.
“So, tell me, John,” Mary set her fork down and looked at him with those intense blue eyes. “What brought you into our lives last night? You just happened to be in the right place at the right time? Or were you just out jacking deer?”
John pulled himself into a more upright position. “Well, I guess you could kind of call it being in the right place at the right time, but to tell the truth, I was there… “ Suddenly frustrated, he picked up his fork and attacked his own piece of cheesecake, but he didn’t eat any of it, he just cut it into tiny pieces with the edge of his fork.
“Look, Mary,” he looked up at her and hoped she wouldn’t be angry at what he was going to say, “I wasn’t just out for a stroll last night. I was hunting that werewolf with a good friend of mine, Vesca Howell.”
“You mean, the man who was in the ambulance with me and my son?” Mary asked, “The one with the gaping wounds in his chest?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” John confirmed, “We’ve been hunting werewolves together for the last five years or so. Ever since his brother, his sister-in-law and their son were killed by a werewolf back in Washington State when he was a teenager, Vesca has had some sort of personal vendetta against werewolves.”
He forked a piece of cheesecake into his mouth, chewed and swallowed without really tasting it. “One of the forest rangers told us that a werewolf had been spotted over at Timberline Lake Park and we set out to take care of the problem.”
Mary had set her fork down and was now staring at him with something very close to horror. He hated to see that expression on her face and it cut him deeper than he would have thought possible to think that that expression might be directed toward him.
“You… set out to take care of the ‘problem’? Am I correct in what you just said?”
“Yes. We went to that Park with the intentions of killing that werewolf before it could harm any of the families that were still camping there. But,” he swallowed and it felt like a piece of cheesecake had lodged itself in his throat. “We had reached a densely wooded area and Vesca and I had separated, you know, fanning out a little to try to catch his tracks.”
He paused for a moment. “But werewolves aren’t like animals, you know? They’re smart and cunning and they can think just like human beings.”
“Just like human beings,” Mary echoed faintly.
“Yes, that’s it exactly.” The words began to tumble out of John’s mouth and he let them because he had to tell her everything, she had to know the truth, the whole truth, even if it meant that she’d never have anything to do with him after she knew… that it was his fault. Everything was his fault.
“But, it somehow got the drop on us, see? It had hidden itself up in the trees and it saw its chance and it dropped out of the trees and it attacked Vesca.” John’s hands curled up into fists and he banged one against the tabletop, causing the silverware to jump with a musical clink. “It cut him up pretty bad. And I couldn’t shoot it from where I was because I didn’t want to risk hitting Vesca. But then I did shoot, but I only wounded it and it ran off into the woods.”
“And that’s when it found Leon, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched out between them and John was certain that Mary would stand up and walk out of the cafeteria, walk out of his life, and he didn’t want to let her go because something in him wanted to be with her, to take care of her and her son. But there was no way he could stop her if that’s what she wanted to do. He didn’t have the right. After all, if he had killed that son of a bitch when he had the chance, none of this would have happened… and then he would never had had the opportunity to meet this extraordinary woman.
God, that sounded awful, but it was true.
Then, Mary did something he didn’t expect; she reached out and placed her own small hand over his clenched fist. It was a reassuring touch, nothing overtly sexual, but it sent a surprisingly fierce electrical heat racing up his arm, the small hairs of his arm stood on end and he trembled as if he had caught a sudden chill.
“It wasn’t your fault, John Orcot,” she all but whispered and it was a fierce sound. “Don’t go on thinking it was your fault, because you really don’t want to start blaming yourself. And where will it get you? Nowhere.”
“I could just as easily blame myself, you know,” she continued huskily and for the first time, John saw that she was close to tears. Her eyes were red rimmed and wide in her efforts to stop her tears and her face was becoming blotchy with the effort to regain control.
“If I hadn’t taken Leon out to Timberline Lake Park in the first place, he wouldn’t have been in any danger. If we had gone home after a long day of hiking instead of pitching camp, he would have been home safe in his bed. If, if, if, if!” And now she blinked her eyes and the tears burst over her lashes and streamed down her cheeks.
“All of the ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’ in the world won’t change what has happened and it doesn’t do you or me any good to dwell on things that could have been, should have been. And it doesn’t do any good to blame ourselves. What we have to do now is pull ourselves together and get through this mess one step at a time.”
She sniffled and released her hold on his hand. Then she reached for a napkin to dab at her tears and blow her nose. “I’m sorry,” she gave him a watery smile. “I didn’t mean to go off on you. I’m really sorry.”
“No, you have every right to be emotional,” John sighed, shook his head sadly, “And I’m sorry for upsetting you. Look, Leon’s going to be in the Intensive Care Unit for a while and they won’t let you go in to see him for a couple more hours at least. Maybe you should head on home for a bit.”
Mary opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, holding up a finger in a shushing gesture. “Just for a little while, that’s all I’m saying. I mean, look at you! You’re covered in blood and I know you’ve got to be beat. A shower, some clean clothes and some sleep would be the best thing for you right now.”
Slim shoulders rose in a careless gesture. “I can’t, really.”
“Why not?” John demanded gently. “You won’t be any good to your boy if you’re dead on your feet.”
“No, it’s not that. I don’t have a way of getting home. I rode in the ambulance, remember? My car is still back at Timberline Lake. And I don’t have any family or friends in the area that I can call.”
“Well, shit, I can give you a ride home, if you want. It wouldn’t be a problem. And it would be the least I could do for you after-“ he was about to say ‘the least I could do after causing all of this in the first place’, but he cut himself off in time. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the last thing they needed to do was to go placing blame. “It’s the least I could do.”
“Are you sure it wouldn’t be a problem?” She looked at him and suddenly she seemed less sure of herself and very shy. It made her look younger than she was, and vulnerable.
“I wouldn’t have offered if it was a problem. Hell, I could even tow your car and gear back to your place for you.”
“That would be really appreciated.”
“Hey, it’s my pleasure. Believe me.”
Mary Anderson lived in what he liked to call a ‘shoebox with a pointed lid’. It was a small, square house with the standard two bedrooms, one bath arrangement. And, except for its color, it looked exactly like every other house in the quiet residential area. He pulled his blue pickup into the driveway and killed the engine.
“Well, here we are, safe and sound.” John announced unnecessarily. “And I didn’t get lost once.”
Mary laughed at that and it did his heart good to hear it. “That’s only because you had a woman co-driver who knew that way. If I would have had to depend on you finding my house, we’d still be circling the neighborhood like restless vultures.”
“Is it my fault that every single house out here looks exactly the same? I mean, seriously, did they make the designs using a cookie cutter, or what?”
“Yeah, I guess the do all look alike to the untrained eye.” Mary admitted with a smile.
John looked out across the tiny yard toward the house. The sidewalk was covered in chalk drawings with stick figures in a rainbow of primary colors. He could make out figures that that obviously represented a woman, a child and a dog. There were suns with yellow lines of brilliance encircling them and triangle boats on choppy seas. They weren’t Picassos by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d seen worse… and done by adults at that.
The exterior of the house was a cheerful, pastel yellow and the shutters were a light blue. Though definitely not new, the house showed obvious signs of being well-cared for. The leaves had been recently raked up and the lawn freshly mown and the flowerbed, its bright colored flowers already starting to fade toward November dull, was neat and weed free even this late in the season.
“I guess this is where we part, isn’t it?” He said, turning toward her and offering what he hoped was a cheerful smile. “I got you home, safe and sound, just like I promised I would.”
“You did, indeed. And I want to thank you for everything you’ve done.”
John shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal, believe me.”
“Thanks, John.” Mary leaned over and gave him a quick peek on the cheek. He could smell the baby powder on her skin and the faint scent of her shampoo, something feminine but not overly flowery. “I mean it, really.”
She slid back over the seat and opened the passenger side door. But she didn’t get out. Instead she looked over at him with something very much like uncertainty.
“You know, you could probably use a shower yourself,” She began slowly. “I’m sure I would have something clean you could wear until you got back home… wherever home is for you. I think my fiancé was about yours size.”
“I don’t know,” John said slowly. Inside his heart was doing flip-flops of joy at the chance of being with her just a little bit longer, but he didn’t want to scare her off by appearing to be too eager. “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. Believe me.” Mary replied, echoing the very same words he had spoken in the cafeteria back at him. “And it’s the least I could do in exchange for your kindness. Besides,” She added with great sincerity, “If you keep running around with blood caked all over yourself, you’re going to scare the holy hell out of my neighbors.”
She discreetly pointed one finger toward one of the windows of the nearly identical house next door. John noticed one of the window curtains twitching back and caught a glimpse of an old, white haired lady with thick, horn-rimmed glasses.
John couldn’t help himself as he burst into a fit of laughter. “No, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
“No, we wouldn’t.” Mary agreed and slid out the door, bumped it shut with one hip, then strode easily up the sidewalk to the front door, waving her hand and calling out a cheerful greeting.
“Good morning, Mrs. Robinson! Lovely day, isn’t it?”
The curtain quickly fell back into place and John smothered another burst of laughter. It served the old biddy right for snooping on her neighbors. Still grinning, John followed Mary to the front steps and waited for her to dig out her house keys so she could let them in.
“Well, here we are,” Mary announced once she had let him into a small foyer that opened up into a comfortably furnished living room, “Home sweet home.” She pointed to a small hallway that led off to the left. “The bathroom is just down that hallway there, last door on the right. I’ll get you those clean clothes.”
“Shouldn’t I let you go first?” John asked, shuffling his feet nervously. “I mean, it is your house, you know.”
“Yeah, I do. But you’re a guest, so I’ll let you use the shower first.” She poked one finger lightly into his chest. “Just don’t use all the hot water, got it, buster?”
“No, ma’am, I won’t.”
“Good.” She hummed a few notes under her breath. “Now, shoo! The towels are in the linen closet right next to the bathroom. You can’t miss it.”
Smiling, John made his way down the bathroom, after making a stop to pick up the required towel. The bathroom was small, but cozy and it was obvious from the plastic bucket in primary red full of various toys and action figures, that this was a house that had at least one child. The smile on John’s face faded as he regarded the GI Joe figures and he wondered if the little boy – Leon, he reminded himself, his name is Leon – would ever play with his toys again.
Sighing unhappily, John stripped off his shirt, and then sat on the toilet to unlace his hunting boots. He then shimmied out of his jeans and briefs, stood up, folded them carefully and set them down on the lowered toilet bowl lid, making sure the undergarments were at the bottom of the pile. It didn’t feel right to leave them sitting out in the open, not while he was in a lady’s home using her hot water and soap. It wasn’t like they were horribly dirty anyway, but he still figured that she probably didn’t want to see something like that.
Naked, he reached into the tub and twisted the water faucets to release a stream of tepid water. He adjusted the temperature by turning the hot and cold water faucets and once it was where he wanted it, he stepped in, pulling the shower curtain closed behind him.
The hot water pelted his skin and it felt so good to wash away the grime and blood of the hunt. Picking up a cake of soap, he worked up a good lather, then washed his first his face then the rest of him. He rinsed off then debated whether he should wash his hair. Since he was taking a shower, he might as well. His lips twisted in amusement as he regarded the selection of shampoos available. There was some fruity smelling stuff that Mary obviously used, and then there was Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo, obviously belonging to the little boy.
Not wanting to smell too girly, he opted to use the Johnson & Johnson. He poured a dollop of thick, gold lotion into his palm and worked it into his hair, working up a good lather. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he pulled his hair up into comical spikes before rinsing the suds out of his hair. Satisfied that he was clean from head to toe, he shut off the water and reached for the towel he had hung on the towel rack on the wall nearest the bath.
He vigorously dried himself, then stepped out onto the bath mat and wrapped the towel around his middle. Suddenly, there was a soft wrapping and then the door opened as Mary entered carrying a clean bundle of clothes.
She pulled herself up short when she saw him standing on her bathmat clad only in a ducky yellow towel. “Oh.” She said and her cheeks pinked even as her eyes trailed their way down his bare chest. “Uh, I brought you some of Mark’s old clothes. I’m pretty sure they’ll fit you.”
She handed John the bundle of clothes then gathered up the dirty clothes piled neatly on the lowered toilet seat. “I’ll just go and throw these in the washing machine. It won’t take too long.”
Then she was gone and John was left alone in the bathroom, almost naked and holding a dead man’s clothes in his arms. “You do know how to get yourself into the strangest predicaments, don’t you, Orcot?” he asked himself with a rueful grin as he began to dress.
Once dried and fully dressed, John made his way from the bathroom to the living room, where he found Mary picking up some toys from underneath a coffee table. She straightened and turned when she heard him enter the room and offered another warm smile.
“See? I told you they’d fit!”
“Yes, ma’am, they sure do.”
She held up one hand, palm vertical, like a traffic police man. “Please, don’t call me ma’am.” She said with a small laugh, “It makes me feel old.”
“Yes, ma- I mean, sure. No problem. I have the same problem being called Mr. Orcot. It throws me for a loop every time. I mean, seriously, Mr. Orcot is my dad.”
“Well, have a seat on the sofa, John. You’re clothes are in the washer so I guess you’ll be stuck here for a while.” She moved toward him and came to a stop in front of him. “Is there anything you’d like? I mean, while I’m taking my shower?”
”Nope, nothing I can think of.” He lied. He knew exactly what he wanted, but he wasn’t the sort of beast who would say something like that to a lady. After all, she had let him into her home and showed him such warmth and hospitality. The last thing he’d tell her is that he wanted her more than any woman he had ever known. He couldn’t say something like that, even if it was the truth.
“There’s the television if you’re so inclined, or I have some books on the shelf next to the sofa. I’m sure it’s nothing that you’d be interested in, though, I’m afraid. But I’ll be done in no time and then, we’ll see…”
She trailed off and disappeared around the corner and into the hallway. There was the sound of the linen closet door being opened and closed, followed by the bathroom door. A few moments later he could hear the faint sounds of water. It was almost unbearable, sitting here on the couch like an imbecile while one of the most attractive women he had meet in a dog’s age was stripping down to her birthday suit just a few yards away.
“Easy, Orcot, easy,” he cautioned himself and tried to put his mind anywhere but where it currently was. I wonder if she’s a natural blond? He found himself thinking and then felt the heat flood to his face as he imagined hot jets of water beat along her smooth, soft skin, sliding along each and every curve of her body.
“Jesus, Orcot!” he chided himself under his breath, “Get a goddamn hold of yourself, will you? The woman’s only child is in the hospital fighting for his life and you’re sitting here, having sexual fantasies about his mother.”
Desperate to keep his mind from going where it wasn’t allowed he leaned over and scanned the selection of paperbacks that lined the bookshelf next to the sofa. There were a few harlequin romances, or ‘bodice rippers’ as his mother used to call them, but there were also a surprising number of horror novels, mostly by authors such as Stephen King and John Saul. He selected a book at random, Come the Blind Fury by John Saul, and tried to lose himself in the words.
Unfortunately, the plot just couldn’t hold his attention. This wasn’t a bad reflection on the author himself, it was just that his mind kept turning back to the woman in the other room. He closed his eyes and tried to force her image out of his mind, but when he opened them again, she was standing in front of him, clad in only a white fluffy robe.
He practically tripped himself up in his hurry to stand. “Well, I want to thank you for your hospitality, Miss Anderson,” he stammered. “But I should get going so I can get your car and your camping gear hauled back before night fall.” Like a tin solder, he turned, with stiff and jerky movements and made his way toward the front door.
“Please, don’t go.”
Something decent and old fashioned in his mind told him to just keep on walking, but he just couldn’t ignore the soft pleading in her words. Then he felt her hand on his arm and he knew he wouldn’t leave, not if that’s not what she wanted. Not what he wanted.
He turned to her and gazed down into her eyes. He didn’t move closer, but he didn’t have to for Mary had taken the last step between them and rested her head against his chest. Her arms came up to wrap around his waist and his own arms moved to embrace her. Her long blond hair was still damp and fragrant from her shower and she shivered slightly, though he wasn’t sure if it was from being chilly or not.
Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he inhaled the clean scent of her and was surprised at the sudden strength of his desire. He wanted her, this young woman that clung to him almost like a child afraid of the dark. And she wanted him. His throat worked as he swallowed and brought his arms up to her shoulders and gently disengaged himself.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Mary,” he breathed, “But I don’t want to take advantage of you when you are so emotionally vulnerable. It wouldn’t be right to do so. And I’m not that king of man.”
Mary raised her head to meet his eyes without flinching. “I don’t usually throw myself at men like this,” she whispered. “But I want to be with you, John Orcot. I don’t know if it’s wrong or right, but that’s how I feel. It’s what I want. And,” she swallowed and dipped her head. Then brought her gaze back up to his, resolutely, “And that’s what I thought you wanted as well.”
He traced one hand down the side of her face, gently. She shivered again and this time he knew it wasn’t because she was cold. “I do,” he whispered hoarsely. “God, I do, more than anything.”
“Then stay,” she pleaded. “Stay with me. Please.”
Never one to refuse a lady, John lowered his lips to her and kissed her, a soft brush of flesh against flesh. A small sound of need escaped Mary’s throat and he kissed her again, pulling her against his body as if he never wanted to let her go.
“The bedroom?” he asked, ending their kiss long enough to get directions.
“Right next to the bathroom, across from the linen closet,” she panted and giggled lightly as John swept her up into his arms and strode purposefully through the living room and down the hall.
He managed to get the bedroom door open without dropping her, and then stumbled to the king sized bed against the far wall. He staggered over to the bed and fell onto the bed with her still in his arms. More laughter ensued, but on both their parts. Kissing her throat and working his way lower, John parted the robe’s cloth until he exposed her breasts to his view, his touch. Her nipples were erect and he took one into his mouth and suckled eagerly, making small happy sounds in his throat while his hands fumbled with the sash. To his delight, he found that she was indeed a natural blond.
His clothing was discarded in a messy heap on the floor and gently, he parted her thighs and slid between them, hard and ready. She arched against him as he entered her slick warmth and wrapped her long legs around his back, pulling him to her. Their love making was slow and gentle and when she came, a few moments before he climaxed, it was in with a series of escalating cries that she stifled with the back of one hand, as if afraid to make too much noise lest she awaken her son… only her son wasn’t here and may not be ever again.
Tears spilled over her lashes and she clung to John as she cried softly into his chest. He held her in his arms and stroked her hair, reassuringly. “Shh… Mary, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”
He would have promised her the moon if that’s what she wanted, he would have promised that her son would be good and whole again without the taint of the werewolf curse if it would have eased her tears, but he couldn’t lie to her, not like that. The truth of the matter was that even if her son survived the initial attack, he would most likely not survive the inevitable transformation at the next full moon. At his young age, it would most likely tear his body apart. Either way, he had all but condemned her only child to a horrible death. And it didn’t matter what she said about blame, because he did blame himself for the misery that had been inflicted upon her and her son. But he couldn’t tell her this, so he held her, stroked her hair, and listened to her cry until she finally fell asleep.
TO BE CONTINUED…
CHAPTER 03
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Date: 2008-03-16 01:41 am (UTC)That one line really got me - it is always the most beautiful day after you lose someone you love.
That was excellent - but I expected no less. I'm glad I saved it to read uninterrupted! Nice smex, BTW!
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Date: 2008-03-16 01:01 pm (UTC)