The Beast (8 page)

“Not exactly,” Simon smirked. I shook my head, but I couldn’t keep a matching smirk off of my own face.

"Where did you go?" Jack asked, helping himself to another roll.

I shrugged. "Nowhere."

We sat around, drinking, eating and chatting until Sandra announced that it was time for dessert. I helped her carry the still loaded dished of food back into the kitchen.

"Jessica? Really?" she muttered, as soon as we were out of earshot. I giggled.

Jessica threw in a few empty headed comments, but was otherwise useless in conversation. Maybe it was as simple as that, or maybe it was that she was prettier than me, but I didn't like her.

We brought back a short cake that Sandra had written congratulations to herself on with a steady hand. I could never write on a cake like that. In addition to the cake there were lemon bars, oatmeal cookies, and melon balls.

"The watermelon is vodka watermelon," she said.

"How do you do it?" Jessica asked, picking up a piece and eating it. "Ooh, ew, it tastes like vodka!"

"You just make a hole and keep pouring it in," Sandra said. “Or use an apple corer and stick the neck of the bottle in it and just leave it there. It soaks up the whole bottle."

Jessica stared in astonishment and ate another ball.

"I'm so full," Jack moaned, holding his stomach.

"Oh," Sandra said, looking down at the table cloth. "I guess we won't bring out the rest then."

"There's more?"

Her laugh filled the house with the big, loving sound. "No, that's all of it."

I could only manage a few bites of cake before I gave up.

“Hot tub?” Sandra said, already balancing the bowl of melon balls, the last bottle of wine, and her glass.

“Hot tub.” I agreed.

“Oh, I don’t have a bathing suit!” Jessica said. “I didn’t know there would be a hot tub!”

“That’s okay,” I said. “You can use one of mine.” I had to wear a tank top to conceal the lacerations during their slow evolving into scars across my torso. My bruises were mostly healed and my leg finally almost looked normal, but the thick stripes across my midsection were still visible. Jessica was smaller than me, so she borrowed a halter top and tied it as small as it would go. I tried to hide my drunken superior smirk at the way the cups sagged against her flat chest. The bikini bottom wouldn’t stay up, so she borrowed a pair of shorts that were “sexy booty shorts” on me, but looked like normal comfy shorts on her. Red was my color, but it was definitely not hers. It accentuated the pink splotches that flushed her face and stretched down to her neck. She nearly tripped at the threshold and I caught her arm to steady her.

“Thanks,” she breathed.

“Are you guys wearing the same bikini?” Cole asked.

“No.” I said, releasing Jessica and slipping into the water beside Simon.

“Hey.”

I reached for a melon ball and after what felt like only seconds of chatting and smiling, the bowl was empty. The bottle of wine was empty. Our glasses were empty.

“I’m a little overheated,” Jessica said. “I’m going to sit inside for a minute.”

Cole nodded. “I’ll be right in and we can go if you want. Two minutes.”

Jack grinned. “Yeah, he’s
got
to hear the end of this story!”

When Jessica said that she wasn't feeling well and started for the house, I felt a little bad. I shouldn't be so petty. She was cute and air headed, and what was I? Some kind of prematurely bitter old hag? 

She slipped and screamed before she hit the water.

Everyone rose but I had already launched myself toward the pool, arcing toward the water before the others cleared their seats. In the dim light of the sunset I found her under water, drifting almost peacefully, fighting in slow motion. I pulled her up, spluttering and coughing, and handed her to Simon, who pulled her out and handed her off to Jack and Cole. He pulled me up by one arm as easily as if I was an errant pool toy that finally drifted close to the edge.

Jessica coughed and threw herself forward to kneel in the grass, retching. We all gathered around until she waved us away. Cole wrapped her in a towel, but she tried to wave him away before she threw up on the lawn.

“Oh, God,” she said. “Please just, just go.”

“I’m not leaving your side,” Cole said, patting her back.

The rest of us didn’t have such reservations and we drifted back to the hot tub, where Sandra poured another round of champagne.

“Remember the last time someone got drunk and fell in the pool?” She asked me, laughing.

“Yeah, didn’t they have to get their stomach pumped after that?”

“And stitches!” Sandra kept laughing. “I had to have the pool drained so we could actually get all the glass out.”

Jack looked at her, concerned.

“Oh he wasn’t ever allowed here after that.”

Jack shook his head. Simon laughed.

“I think I’m going to take her home, guys,” Cole called. “Sorry about the… grass.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Sandra waved the mess away with her drink. “It’s biodegradable.”

“Sorry,” Jessica mumbled. Her hair was a disheveled red mess, and the pink towel was wrapped tight around her body. “I’ll get your bathing suit back to you, sometime.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” I said. “Just get some coffee or something. Feel better.”

Jack and Sandra were already on the way to her bedroom before Cole and Jessica were through the door.

"I should go, too," Simon said. "Thank you for inviting me. I had a great time."

He started for the walkway but I grabbed his wrist before he got past the threshold.

"No," I said quietly. "Stay."

chapter 8

Simon looked down at my hand clamped around his wrist, then up to my face.

"We shouldn't do this again," he said. "I think your friend knows it was us in that video."

I pulled his wrist down so he had to lean toward me and I kissed him.

I closed the door.

"It doesn't matter," I said. "Come on, let's go back outside."

The sun hadn’t quite made its way to the other side of the world, and the world was glowing orange and red when we got back into the steaming water. It was still so early. I picked up my forgotten glass and Simon lifted his.

"Here's to-."

"Your recklessness?" he interrupted.

"I was going to say new friends."

We clinked glasses and sipped.

"So we're friends now?" he asked. "Or were you talking about Jessica?"

I gave a short snort of amusement. "She's not so bad," I admitted. "But I was talking about you. Or do you go around getting in cars with just any old stranger?"

He gave a returning snort of laughter and we leaned back in our concrete seats, looking up at the darkening sky.

"I can't stay long," he said.

I nodded. "You have to go bay at the moon?"

"Mm. Something like that."

I nodded. "I want you to look at something first."

"Sure, what is it?"

"It's in my room."

I got out of the hot tub, at once cool and heavy and elated and nervous. I took Simon’s hand and led him dripping, into the room of the house that was mine. The sounds of Sandra and Jack romping in her room drifted into mine. I picked up the little white gift box and pulled out the
macaron
.

"Eat me," Simon read. His breath tickled my cheek. We hadn’t even bothered to put towels on. I was clearly drunk. I would never subject Sandra’s frilly bedding and her tiny shag rug to hot chlorine water otherwise. I kicked the rug out of the way.

“What is this?” Simon asked.

"It came with the vial of b-." I stopped, staring at the pale scar on his cheek. "With that stuff."

He gave it a more interested look. "I don't think that there's anything special about it. Other than that it looks like one of those stupid six dollar cookies from the mall. I don't smell anything strange. I hope you’re not thinking of eating it, though. I wouldn't trust anything they give you."

I nodded and put it back in the box. "I wouldn’t. Thanks."

"So you asked me here just to show me a cookie?" 

"Can you blame me, considering where it came from?"

"I guess not."

"Thanks," I said again. Suddenly we were nervous teenagers seated on my bed, side by side. At least he had the foresight to bring a towel in. The bedding might be salvageable after this.

I looked up at him, heartbeat swishing in my ears. I felt my skin prickle under his gaze.

"I should go," he said. He didn’t move.

"Yeah," I said, reaching for his hand.

He kissed me. It was a long, deep, hot kiss. His tongue searched for mine and they met and parted, dancing in the space that wasn't his mouth or mine. He pulled me closer until I climbed onto his lap. My wet hair clung to my face in some places and reached upward in others. He tensed when my breasts brushed against him and when it seemed like he would break away I wrapped my fingers in his hair and pulled him close.

I straddled him, still kissing him, reaching my fingers under his shirt to pull it off and only let our lips part to pull it off over his head. He grabbed me and turned so that my back was on the blanket and he started to peel the wet shirt from my body. I wiggled and writhed to help it off and locked my legs around his thighs. The shirt made a satisfying plop when it hit the floor, but I noticed that Simon's eyes were fixed on the bruises that were still visible across my ribs. He opened his mouth to say something. Like I was some kind of delicate flower that he didn’t want to crush. Like I didn’t know my own mind and body enough to know that I had to have him.

"Shut up," I said. I pulled him down to kiss me. He didn’t need to feel sorry for me. He needed to feel what I felt, to share the desire that was burning in my face and in my fingertips all the way down into my soul. Every muscle ached for him, every nerve hummed in anticipation.

I went for the button on his pants and in one quick motion had it undone and his zipper down. I pushed the waistband down with my feet, hands still exploring the muscular landscape of his back, his stomach, and his chest. My fingers twisted in the curls of hair and my back arched when his hand found its way between my legs. I was still wearing shorts and he was still wearing gloves, but I could feel his heat burning through the layers like they weren't there at all. He straightened and with one hand teased me through my clothes while the other hand pulled the triangles of the bikini top out of the way.

He groped and grabbed at me with gloved hands. I wanted him touching me, not the gloves. I thought of pulling them off, but thinking of his glossy scarred hands touching me cooled my passion, just a little.

As if he knew what I was thinking, he bent down and bit my neck, pulling me painfully back into the moment. I moaned.

He kissed me all over, nipped at my nipples, teased me with his hands and his tongue and moved so slowly downward it was almost painful. His tongue played just under my waistband and I arched up against him. When he finally pulled my shorts down and stood to remove his pants, I kicked furiously to be free of my clothes. He was beautiful naked. I was embarrassed by him staring at me, but it didn't last long. I reached out and seized hold of him in one hand. He shuddered as though his legs might give way as I pulled him closer to me, on top of me, but he pushed himself back and turned away.

"I should really go now," he said, looking at the curtained window. "It's getting late."             

"I want you," I said, pulling him back to face me. It seemed to do the trick. For a moment he teased at the slick opening that awaited him and then he was inside of me.

Every thrust, every stroke, every sigh made me want more. I grabbed at his hair and he grabbed at mine. I barely felt the pain in my healing scalp and bruised ribs as we moved together.

I felt that I was close to climax and I clawed at him desperately, felt him gripping my arm with his bandaged hands, the gloves were off and the rough gauze scraped at me. I felt something tear through my shoulder, just enough to draw blood, but I didn't care. My throat vibrated between his teeth and I couldn't tell who was causing it. Was he moaning or was I? It didn't matter.

I squeezed my eyes shut and when I opened them it was like the whole world had fallen away. It was like the night we'd met, on top of the world and floating in space. A sudden violent shudder brought me back to earth. He nuzzled up against my neck and rolled over, pulling me on top of him. I started to move, but he held me still.

"…shouldn't have… should go now…" he panted between deep breaths.

"Shut up," I breathed, letting myself down onto the bed. I kissed his neck, which made him groan with pleasure and I tucked myself in between his arm and his body. The light smell of fresh sweat made me want him all over again, but I was too tired. I sighed and closed my eyes.

I woke up to tapping on the window. Sandra had trees that reached the second story, they brushed the windows sometimes. That was how she knew when it was time to cut them back. I was no longer tucked into Simon's arm but I could feel him close by. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Tap, tap, tap.

Something about it wasn't right. I fought for consciousness through wine and exhaustion. Simon was snoring somewhere to my left.

Tap, tap, tap.

It was too familiar. I looked at the curtains covering the window. It could only mean one thing.

It was Harold.

I threw a nightgown on and opened the window. Harold turned his head and raised a hand to his nose like I'd just blown smoke in his face.

"That smell is horrific," he said. "Oh god, don't tell me it's still here."

"How did you find me?" I asked, emboldened by both the sick feeling from too much wine and the comforting presence of Simon nearby. "What do you want?"

"I am perfectly willing to have a conversation with you," Harold said, waving a hand in front of his face. "But that odor is completely offensive."

"What do you want?" I repeated.

"The same thing that I wanted before. I want you."

Looking into his eyes, I felt woozy. Like I was falling and the world was moving around me while I stood still. I felt like I wanted him too. I blinked and shook my head, trying to clear it.

"Drink the blood I gave you," he said.

I nodded, prepared to do it. It would be okay. He would protect me if I did it.

A deep growl broke the spell.

"Invite me in," Harold said. "I'll get rid of that nasty little dog for you."

"No," I said. "I don't want you here."

"Fine. To hell with manners," Harold replied, with a bored little shrug. He shot through the window like a bullet. Glass sparkled in the light of the full moon and I watched Simon fall back from the force of the vampire. Simon shimmered and rippled like a mirage and snarled like a beast as his chest expanded suddenly. I backed over a chair and broke it when we both tumbled to the ground. Glass shards embedded into my palms. I gripped the broken leg like it was a spear.

Or a wooden stake.

My jaw clenched, fighting against a scream as Simon's face turned black and stretched into a muzzle. His ears shifted and his feet elongated. While they fought, pushing each other round and round, he was changing. He looked like a Hollywood werewolf when the change was complete, all at once terrifying and ridiculous and majestic and awful. He spread his arms and snarled.

Harold stood a few paces away, looking elegantly bored. He glanced up, and in a blur was headed for Simon. The Simon-beast raised one massive clawed hand and knocked the slim vampire down. Almost too quickly to see, Harold was back on his feet, face still expressionless. I could see they were both looking for weapons as they threw each other around. Their bodies recovered their positions but their eyes were searching wildly. I kicked one of the broken chair legs and hoped that Simon would get it. He did. He waved his long black arms around, trying to get hold of Harold, but Harold was too quick. He almost seemed to appear and reappear all around the room with that bored look on his face while Simon whirled and snarled in anger.

Harold ran a few steps up a wall and like an arrow launched into Simon’s chest, knocking him over. I felt as if a spotlight had suddenly been turned on me and I raised the broken leg in a sad attempt at defending myself. I cringed, knowing I was about to die, drunk, smelling of sex and with a look of total fear on my face. Simon kicked his long, clawed foot and caught Harold just in time to send him tumbling into me and the raised stake. The weight of his body pushed the blunt end into my chest and I heard a crack accompanied by white hot blinding pain.

Simon's huge furry hands, no longer bandaged but pink and scarred, startling against his black fur, pulled the dead vampire carefully off of me. He pushed the body out the window, took a long look at me, sniffed and then jumped through, knocking loose more of the glass. Before it even hit the floor, I blacked out
.