Excessica Anthology BOX SET Winter (57 page)

How’d it happen? Don’t
ask me. Maybe I nipped her during our lovemaking and she was infected in the
traditional way. Maybe I'd left part of the infectious agent on her half of the
rabbit. Another mosquito? Or her kiss after we'd wolfed down the rabbit. Maybe
something else entirely. I didn’t know how I got infected, I couldn’t explain
anyone else’s situation. Maybe God just had an outstanding sense of
humor—or justice.

One thing I could tell
for sure though was that she was very startled and confused. I held her and
stroked her and spoke softly to her. I relied on my touch, scent and tone of
voice to soothe her.

I guess it worked
because she didn’t run off or anything. We stayed out in the forest that entire
day, drinking from a nearby stream, but not eating.

At sunset we both
transformed into dogs—big dogs—and I finally led her back to my
room.

Somehow no one found out
what was going on in the early days. I named her Shannon, because she seemed to
like the tone of it when I spoke it to her. It was my mother's name.

Later we moved up to
Denali National Park, which is just about the edge of civilization as humans
know it. Despite thinking no one had cared about my internship, someone had
seen something special in me, and I had been offered a starting Ranger's
position before I knew it.

My ranger work made us
enough money for our simple needs and the government benefits more than made up
for the meager starting salary. I was prepared for us to live there forever,
and for several seasons, we did exactly that.

* * * *

Although the transition
had been far rougher on Shannon than it ever was on me, leaving her as a wolf
for only three nights out of every lunar cycle, I felt she was adapting to it.
While she had given up much more than I felt I had, wolves do mate for life.

I would admit going
through periods of both joy and guilt. Although it was hardly my fault Shannon
found herself in the position she was now in, I still unnecessarily blamed
myself. As such, I pledged to take care of her, no matter what.

It was hardly all bad.
We were very compatible in each of our forms, and very sexual. And although I
quickly got her human clothes, she really didn't see the need for them, except
when I insisted. And while wolves and dogs have their breeding cycles of being
in, or out, of heat, Shannon never said no to affection, or sex, in her human
form.

With no friends to need
to explain her to, the incidental meetings simply resulted in my telling people
she was from another country, and didn't speak English yet. Her exotic looks
gave credence to this story and kept anyone from trying to strike up a
conversation with her.

In whatever form we were
in, we were close and playful, although I sometimes saw sadness in her human,
or expressive canine, eyes. And while it all sounded very complicated, it
actually worked out rather well. Shannon was amazingly loyal, inquisitive, and
picked up her new spoken language quite quickly.

The most important thing
was Shannon never once blamed me for what happened to her. Whether she simply
didn't connect me to it, or considered the tradeoff worthwhile, I'm wasn’t
sure, but all my guilt was of my own creation.

On a good day, I felt
like we'd become the first of a new species on the planet. On a bad day, I
didn't want to describe how I felt about all that had happened.

Oh, and on my three
"free" nights when I was just plain old me, Shannon was just her own
plain old wolf self. And we got along great!

* * * *

Last week a small
package somehow found me. It was from one of the companies I once sent my blood
and tissue samples to. I'd long given up hope of a cure and was much more
concerned with the fact that they had been able to locate me at all. I wondered
if we'd better move again, changing our names this time.

Inside were two vials
and a note:

Dear Mr. Stevens,

Thank you for the
supplied tissue samples and we would like to extend our apologies for your
unfortunate condition. The enclosed vial contains re-sequencing information
that will permanently return you to your original state. You may either drink
or inject the contents as you prefer, but you do need to use all of it. A
second vial is included just in case. If you should experience any
difficulties, please contact us immediately at the number provided. We assure
you this formula has been successfully tested and is safe.

Note, there is no charge
for this service. However we are patenting our results, which will defray our
costs in that manner. If you wish to contest our rights or ownership of this
intellectual property, you must contact our legal department at the address
above. It is our hope that legal formalities will not be necessary.

In a good faith gesture,
enclosed is a warrant for ten thousand shares of our stock at par value of one
dollar per share.

If you need additional
doses, they are available at no charge provided you sign a nondisclosure
agreement and waiver of all future rights.

We would enjoy the
opportunity to meet you in person on some bright sunny day.

This concludes our
business.

There it was. Not even a
goodbye, sincerely, or good luck.

* * * *

I looked at the vials.
There it was. The one thing that I'd wanted most sincerely in life—my
cure.

Then I looked over to
the couch where Shannon lay dozing—so very beautiful.

Would this return
Shannon to full-time wolf? If what the note said was correct, that seemed
likely.

I could be human and
have a life with the rest of the population of the planet. Shannon would again
be herself, as the wolf she loved so much. Getting enough for the kids wouldn't
be a problem, since I didn't really care about the rights to the cure. I did
check the value of the stock once, and because of some new mystery cures they'd
come up with, money wouldn't ever be an issue for me.

Except last night
Shannon told me she loves me, that she’d follow me anywhere, in any form, to
keep us together. It was a surprise revelation because, ever since we became
able to communicate with each other—both as human and wolf—I'd
known how unhappy she has been to lose so very much of her former life. She
treasured those six nights a month now above all else, and she often ran both
of us into exhaustion as she exulted in the freedom and strength she felt. Or I
thought she did, until she told me of her love. Wolves do mate for life.

* * * *

I loved her—more
than anything else in this world. Our life together was one of love and
affection. We clung to each other knowing we weren't likely to be accepted or
welcome anywhere else yet, if ever. She was by far the sexiest woman I'd ever
known, let alone actually had. Our lovemaking in each of our forms was almost a
daily ritual.

Our children from our
first mating were pure wolf and already out on their own. Shannon had been
able, somehow, to remain as wolf during their raising, yet still shared herself
with me as much as possible. In return, I'd done everything I could to hold
things together for us during that time, as well as forgiving her for her wolf
laughs at my dog form most nights.

She'd seemed sad when
that had been over and she'd again started matching my forms again. I didn't
know if it was seeing the pups leave, or knowing her own time as pure wolf was
over once more. I do know she was as close and affectionate with me afterwards
as she’d ever been.

Should I tell her first,
then let her decide? It was a terrible decision. Would it be a favor to never
let her know we had this choice at all, since it would separate us forever? Or
should I just give it to her now without saying a thing?

I’ve never been good at
decisions.

I just don’t know what
to do.

About
D.B. Story

D.
B. Story is a writer living in the southwestern United States. While that
territory can cover anywhere from New Mexico to Hawaii he declines to be more
specific at this time. His use of the time-honored artifice of writing under a
pseudonym comes from the necessity to still maintain a day job and the habit of
employers to Google new applicants to discover what stupid things said
applicant is willing to foolishly do, and then doubly foolishly post for the
world to see afterwards. Such invasions of one’s personal life become an
unnecessary distraction. D. B. Story has long had interests in both Science
Fiction (since first discovering his mother’s secret cache of Ace Doublebooks
stashed under her bed) and writing. In fact, anything he has enjoyed participating
in he eventually has a desire to create as well. He seriously began writing
(although not selling) stories ten years ago due to a dissatisfaction with what
he was reading at the time and the belief that he could do it better. He
started out with the interaction between humans and the sexy robots they would
inevitably create and later branched out to other erotic Fantasy and SF genres.
During that time he has written everything from flash fiction to a 402,000 word
novel and a screenplay based on his other writings, as yet unsold. Whether his
writing is actually “better” he admits he must leave to his readers to decide,
but he likes his stuff a lot. He has often said that, “Writing time is always
good time.” He also says that with the advent of cheap computers, word
processors, eBooks, and the Internet that times have never been better for a
diversity of writers to be heard.

MARKS

By Sommer Marsden

The
first time David bit me, I wasn’t expecting it. I was also shocked by how
quickly I came. The shock was instant—the orgasm a close second. Hard.
Intense. Like nothing I had ever experienced before. And I was hooked.

I
would look at them in the mirror every chance I got. I kept it a secret, even
from him. I tried to ignore the secret thrill I would get when I touched one.
Pushed on it. How the skin sang with the tender pain that only comes from
abused flesh. I always felt a little sad when the marks faded, when the bruises
slipped away from me.

In
time, I found myself praying he would bite me while he was fucking me.
Sometimes he did. Sometimes he didn’t. When he did, I always wanted more,
wanted him to push me further—up the ante of pain and pleasure. The
anticipation would get under my skin and make me itch. Would he do it this
time? I wanted him to so badly. Not once in awhile. Every time. And yet, I
couldn’t bring myself to ask for it.

It
got to the point that I wasn’t above biting myself on the shoulder while he
fucked me. Just to get that rush. Just to feel that exquisite pain. I found
out, though, that I didn’t cherish those marks. The marks I cherished were the
ones he left. An alpha symbol that I was his? A territorial claim? Whatever the
reason, those were the ones that made me wet by doing nothing other than
provoking them with a harsh poke from my finger.

The
time had come to confess. I was thirty-five this month. A fancy dinner. A
special celebration. I would tell him what I wanted. For my birthday. A
treasured gift from him to me. He would understand.

David
came at dusk, at the end of his shift. I’m a night owl, so I didn’t have a
problem with our late night dates. They worked just fine for me. He looked good
enough to eat. Tall and broad-shouldered, he filled out the tailored black
pants and pin-striped shirt flawlessly. His dirty blond hair was the perfect
mixture of groomed and mussed. I could smell his distinctive scent—a
cross between spice and musk. I wanted to skip dinner and haul his ass up to
the bedroom. I could use the time during dinner, though, to gather my strength
and try to figure out how to explain what I needed from him. How
badly
I
needed it.

“You
look lovely, as usual,” he said and kissed me. A good kiss. The kind that
curled my toes and heated my blood. I murmured my appreciation. He inhaled the
scent of me and I almost blurted it out then and there, just from the way he
took a good deep breath of me, like I was perfume or fine wine. “Is my lovely
Rowan ready for her big night?”

I
nodded, tucking my chin for a moment in case he could detect that look on my
face, the look that says I have something to get off my chest. “Of course I
am.”

David
lifted my chin with his finger and stared at me, a little too hard, a probing
stare. “You sure? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing.
Just hungry and ready to go,” I said and tucked my arm in his. “Let’s go. Feed
me. I’m dying.”

“Well,
we don’t want that, now do we? I like you very much alive. All rosy and glowing
and thirty-five. Ripe.”

The
tiny hairs along the back of my neck perked up when he put it that way. Ripe.
Like a peach. Ready. David had no idea how ready I was. What I wanted. I was
determined to ask. At thirty-five, you can’t be shy about what you want. No. It
was time to speak up.

I
straightened my shoulders and started to think about how I would put it, how I
would phrase my request. Maybe it was really a demand, though. I wasn’t sure. I
had chosen a tiny black dress for our dinner. It stopped just above my knees.
It was tight enough to be revealing without being slutty—low-cut, not
plunging—but the back was nearly missing, my shoulders bare and my neck
exposed. The ties around my neck were the only fabric holding the bodice to my
breasts.

I
shivered and smiled. “Let’s go! I’m ready.”

And
I was. I would explain over an elegant dinner. Then, if all went well, I’d get
my way. I’d have my present.

The
restaurant was barely lit. I could hardly see David across the table. The
ambiance was perfect for a little debauchery. I wondered briefly how many
couples had gone at it in the dark booths or perhaps ducked under the elegant
white tablecloths. The whole place had that kind of feel. Very posh but a
little wicked. I liked the choice. Very much. This was the kind of place in
which I could confess my secret wants. I could find the courage in the shadows
and the flickering candlelight.

“Something’s
on your mind.” David said softly. “You’re not yourself.” He was taking tiny
bites of his barely cooked filet mignon. The way David liked his steaks took
“rare” to a whole new level. I called it “mooing.”

“There
is,” I sighed. Time to stop
thinking
about telling him and actually
fucking tell him. “There’s something I want from you.”

He
raised an eyebrow and for what seemed like the thousandth time, I got sucked in
by those otherworldly eyes, a blue I had never seen on another living person.
Or in nature, for that matter. “A present? Rowan, I got you a present. It’s in
the car. Did you think I would forget?”

“You’re
not getting me.” I laughed. “I know you. You would never forget to get me a
present. I’m also sure I’ll love it. Your taste is impeccable.”

“Of
course—I chose
you
after all.” He took my hand and ran his thumb
along the edge of my palm. “Only the best for me.”

“Yes.
And for me?”

Again,
his thumb traveled my skin, waking up all the nerves that had dared to go to
sleep. I always liked his hands on me. It didn’t really matter where. Some
places were preferable to others, but just the feel of his hands sliding over
my skin was enough to get me aroused. I hummed a little but held my tongue.
Maybe this would work—make him ask me.

“I’m
not the best?” David asked in his best teasing tone, but just underneath was a
hint of wariness.

“You
are...” I sighed and stroked his thumb with mine, relishing the little zings of
electricity coursing through me. “...which is why I should be able to be
honest.”

He
didn’t release my hand but he sat back, straining our contact. His face fell
just a little and he seemed to grow paler. “Are you...breaking up with me?”

“What?
No!” Then I understood the look. As I searched for the right words to explain,
and slowly worked my way up to what I wanted to say, he thought I was trying to
figure out how to let him down gently. I started to laugh. It was too funny.
And I felt very stupid. “I was trying to find the right words to describe what
I want from you...in bed,” I said, letting my voice fall to a barely audible
whisper.

Both
his eyebrows arched. A smile twisted those perfect lips and my body liquefied
for just a moment. “Oh, now the conversation just got interesting. What do you
want, Rowan? I’m dying to hear.”

The
tone in his voice had me shifting on the soft leather banquette. I could tell
him. Why was I so hesitant? I had never been shy about expressing my needs or
wants before. Somehow, this felt different, though. Taboo, almost. Even with
David.

“I
want...” I hesitated another moment, feeling his gaze on me. Something in me
said to just leave it. Not say it. Let it go. I couldn’t, though. I wanted it
too badly. “I want you to break me.”

David
blinked, the smile faltering a little. “I’m not sure I understand what you
mean. I’m curious as hell, sure, but I don’t think I get it.”

I
inhaled deeply, my head swimming from anxiety. “My skin. I want you to bite me,
like you do sometimes. I love it. Live for it. Obsess over it…but I’ve never
told you. And for my birthday,” I went on, my words hurried. “I want you to
break the skin. Break
me.”

His
face grew even paler, his expression darkening. “Row, I don’t think that’s
wise. Really, I don’t. I’d do anything for you, baby, but that can be
dangerous. If you want the marks, I can do that. I will do that. Any time you
want me to, just say the word. But breaking the skin…really biting you. Not
good.” His eyes seemed luminescent in the dim light, his face a carefully
controlled mask. He was turning me down and trying to gauge my reaction.

“I’ve
thought of all that. The safety issues—infection,” I pushed on, not ready
to give up yet. Not sure if I would give up. Ever. “And I’m not talking take a
chunk out of my skin. I mean just a little. Just break it some. Enough that
there’s a little blood.” I laughed and it sounded slightly shrill in the quiet
restaurant. “Don’t go all Bela Lugosi on me. Just a little puncture.”

I
felt a weight settle in my chest. If his face was any indication, I wasn’t
going to get my way. I hadn’t convinced him. He stared at me long and hard
without speaking. I felt the urge to shift and fidget but just stared back.
Body language was everything when you went toe-to-toe with someone. Maybe if I
looked dead-set on my wants, he’d give in. And I was dead-set. Not enough to
lose David over it, no, but I desperately wanted him to cave to my urges. I
would argue a few more rounds if I had to. I took a deep breath but remained
still. I waited.

After
what seemed like forever, he spoke, so softly, I could barely make out the
words. I half heard them and half read his lips. “I’ll think about it. I can
tell how ... important it is to you. I’m still not sure it’s advisable, though.
In fact, I’m
positive
it isn’t, but I’m not saying no. I’m just asking
for dinner and drinks to think it over. Is that acceptable?”

I
let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It wasn’t a yes, but it
wasn’t a no either. It was consideration. Really, all I could ask of the man.
He had reservations and yet he would think it over. I nodded. “That’s
acceptable.”

I
barely tasted dinner.

The
car ride home was quiet—not tense, just quiet. Not the birthday
celebration I had in mind, but I was sure David hadn’t expected me to ask him
to defile my skin either. So we were even. I waited, hoping against all odds
that he would decide in my favor and give me what I needed. When we got home, I
opened the door and stepped in. I didn’t turn on the lights. I let the dim glow
filtering in from the street lamps light my way. I sat on the sofa and steeled
myself.

“Now,
tell me what you decided. The suspense is killing me.” I tried for
lightheartedness, but my words and my tone were tense.

He
sat next to me, gathered me in his arms and pulled me close. He stroked my
thigh and his hands whispered over my dress. My body responded instantly, but
my mind was in a whirl.
What would he say? Would he say yes? Could I handle
it if he said no?

I
waited, the anxiety painting bright colors before my eyes in the dark living
room—swirls of blue and purple and red where there was only darkness.
David sighed and slid his hand up higher, let it rest on my waist. “I still say
it’s not wise but I can feel...” he trailed off.

“...my
desperation.” A bark of nervous laughter escaped me, and I winced. It was true.
I was desperate.

“Tell
me why.”

“I
don’t know.” I shrugged. My shoulder slid along his as it rose and fell. “The
first time you did it, I came. I mean, I came
hard.
Harder than I think
I ever have.” Another self-conscious shrug reminded me how close we were.

“I
remember.” His voice was soothing, but there was just the tiniest hint of
arousal.

“And
the marks you left...” I slid my hand onto his lap and felt how hard he was.
Maybe I would win after all. It was worth a shot. I started to stroke him
through the material as I talked. “They got me off for days after you left
them. I could get wet just pushing my fingers against them. The ache of where
your mouth had been.” My hand slipped up and down the length of his cock,
letting the fabric of his slacks ease my way. “I looked at them all the time.
If I poked at them, I could go right back in my mind to you fucking me.
Pounding into me. I like your mark on me,” I said on a breath. My voice had
gone from tense to a deep purr. I ran my thumb along the head of his cock and
although I couldn’t see it, I knew that if I freed him from his pants, I’d find
a glistening drop of pre-cum there.

He
let out a dark growl in the darkness. His head moved toward me. He took a deep
drag of my scent as if just the smell of me intoxicated him. His mouth was so
close to my throat I felt its presence. If he moved a fraction of an inch, his
teeth would be against my skin. My body twisted into knots—fevered and
taut and fluid. My nipples tightened the way they did when the temperature was
brutally cold. They rasped against my dress and stopped my breath for just a
second. Without thinking, I continued to stroke him.

Another
growl and his hand wrapped around my wrist—a nearly painful grasp that
set my pulse point below his fingers thumping. Even my blood was desperate to
be near him, beating at the cage of skin that held it prisoner.

His
mouth, still maddeningly close to my flesh, whispered, “I still say it isn’t
wise. You don’t know what you’re getting into. You’re pushing the limits.
Walking that line. Rowan, you don’t want to walk that line.”

Oh,
but I did. I wanted to walk that line. I wanted to dance on it and slide on it.
I wanted to cross it. Not just cross it, but leap over it in one freeing act.
Break
me. Make me yours.
I screamed it in my head but waited patiently on the
outside. He hadn’t said no. Yet.

“Please.”
I didn’t pull against his grip, but I leaned in so his mouth was on my throat.
It was all I could think to say at this point. It was my only hope.

He
sighed and his breath was as light as a moth’s wings on my skin. The flesh at
my throat pebbled under the subtle stirring of air. “Rowan.” There was a plea
in the timbre of his words but I ignored it.