Werewolf Sings the Blues (19 page)

An image of blood pouring out of Mick's mouth as I drove the bar into his side over and over breaks the tranquility I was fighting hard to maintain. My eyes open to banish it. Nope. Not going there. No way in hell. I chug my beer. I blink, and for that instant I see him again, lying on that dirt floor. The crickets' song is overshadowed by his gurgling. Choking on his own blood.
Stop it
. Another blink, another horror show.
Stop
. It had to be done. He was going to kill me. Kill Jason. It was self-defense. Him or me.

Still … I took a life. I'm a killer.

He may have had a family. People who loved him.
He'll
never
see the sun again. Enjoy a beer. Take another breath. His blood will always be on my hands. And yet, if I'm honest, the guilt weighs
about an ounce. I feel worse about feeling next to nothing. Maybe I'm still in shock. I'll be in the grocery store one day, and it'll whack me against the head. I'll have a nervous breakdown in produce. I mean, is this lack of intense guilt normal? Am I just a despicable human being?

I've done a shit ton of things I'm not proud of, that's for damn sure, but in a weird, fucked-up way I'm … kind of proud of this. He was a threat to me, to Jason, and I had the strength to do what had to be done. I didn't enjoy it, don't want to have to ever do it again, but I would if I had to. No question. I pull my feet out of the water and hug my legs against my chest, resting my good cheek on my knees to stare at the tranquil water. I'll ask Jason if this is normal.

Jason.
Now
, the guilt comes? My throat closes up as another memory floods my brain. Me, seconds away from abandoning him in that motel. The man risked his life for me a dozen times over, but the second he bruises my feelings, I cut and run? And even after that, he risked it all over again. Even if he didn't have the others for backup, there isn't a doubt in my mind he'd have
stormed that house alone. For me. I owe him my everything. He's …
right behind me.

The dock shakes as someone steps onto it. I turn and almost burst into tears at the sight of him standing there, staring at me as if I were a mirage with equal parts astonishment and disbelief. I know because I'm gazing at him the same way. His emotion vanishes behind that mask of his an instant later. The sun almost halos his messy, wild blonde hair as if he's an angel. He is in my estimation. My blonde guardian angel. I slowly rise, but after that I'm not sure what to do. The last time I saw him he was eating Donovan. The time before that he was disgusted. By himself. By me. He—

Oh, fuck it.

I sprint up the dock as fast as I can, throwing my arms around his neck and squeezing until my arms hurt. He doesn't hesitate. His solid arms embrace me back so tight if he hadn't already taken my breath away it'd be forced out now. He's here. He's holding me. I was wrong,
this
is heavenly. In his arms. Heaven on this damned earth.

We cling to one another for a few seconds as if we were life rafts in the choppy ocean. I listen to his strong heartbeat, his breathing, and part of me can't believe he's really here. That he doesn't hate me. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” I whisper.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I shouldn't have left. I shouldn't have let him get you. I should have protected you. He never should have …” he says, voice cracking.

Guilt pierces me down to my very core. I have to tell him. Even if he loathes me forever, I could live with that better than I could with him hating himself. I pull away to meet his eyes. “I … it was me. It's all my fault. I made us stop. I made you run. I was leaving you, and that's why the police took us. I got arrested. I got caught. You, you did
nothing
wrong. Don't you
dare
blame yourself. It was me. It was my stupidity. My selfishness. It was all me. You did everything right. You saved me. And I'm sorry. I am
so
sorry. Just please,
please
don't hate me. I couldn't bear if you hated me. I—”

“I don't hate you,” he whispers sadly, “I could never hate you.
Never
.”

“Really?”

“Of course not.”

My legs almost give out in relief. I wrap my arms around him
again not in case they do fail me, but because I want to hold him again
.
I just want to touch him, savor his body against mine for as long as he'll allow. He nestles me back, heightening the joy of the moment. “I thought I'd never see you again,” I whisper. “I was so scared.”

“Me too,” he whispers, squeezing tighter. “I almost went inside that house a thousand times.” He releases me just enough to see my face. “Did they hurt you? Did they …” he can't finish.

“No. Broken finger, some stitches and bruises, I'm fine. Really. I just, I—” I look down. I don't want to see his face when I confess this. “I killed one of them last night. I stabbed him and I stabbed
him until I lost count,” I say, voice quaking. “All I could think about
was you coming in the house and them killing you. I was so scared
, and I killed him.”

“Good,” Jason says. I gaze up at him with surprise. “He deserved
it. You saw what you had to do, and you had the strength to do it. Most wouldn't. And I am
so
proud of you.”

Once again those words light me up more than all the lights of Broadway on at once. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he says with utter certainty.

I rest my head over his heart again. “Thank you.” Then, when
the absurdity of those words penetrates my brain, for the first time
in days I chuckle.

“What?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing,” I laugh. “Just, only you would respond with ‘I'm
proud of you' after I told you I stabbed a man to death.”

“Is that wrong?”

“God, no. It's one of the things I love about you.”

For some reason he goes stiff as a corpse against me. “Thank you.” His arms drop from my body, and he steps away with his eyes to the deck.

I've done something wrong again. The compliment. I forgot he hates when I praise him. I'm going to do my damndest to break him of that habit. “You're welcome, Blondie. I mean it.”

“Thank you,” he says, head still hung. “I'm going to, um … excuse me.”

He turns his back on me and starts back toward the house. I've just been dismissed, haven't I? Yeah, that's not happening. “Must feel good to be home,” I say, following behind.

“Yes.”

“Your house is beautiful. Adam said you built it yourself.”

“Yes.”

“See? I was right.”

“How?”

“In the car. I guessed you were a master craftsman, and I was right.”

“Oh. Thank you,” he practically whispers.

We step onto his porch, then through the sliding glass door inside. He picks up the pace into the kitchenette, but I will not be ignored. He's going to have a hard time shaking me this time. No escape. “Would you like me to make you something to eat?” I ask.

“No,” he says, pulling out frozen chicken from the freezer.

“Really, if you want I can. I know how to cook a thing or two,” I lie. “I've already cleaned your place, one more domestic duty won't kill me. Least I can do after everything you've done for me.” I chuckle at the idiocy of that statement. “The
very
least. Feels like I should give you my firstborn or something.”

His mouth sets tight as the mask falters, throwing me a glare that'd turn Medusa to stone. “You don't owe me anything, Vivian.” His eyes lower but the glower remains. “You never did.”

I never knew subtext could pack such a wallop. My stomach
actually lurches. Anger blooms from the sharp point of those words.
“After all we've been through together, do you still think so little of me?”

“What?” he asks, seeming genuinely confused.

“Do you think so little of me,” I say drawing out the words, “that you really believe I only slept with you out of gratitude? To pay off my debt like a prostitute?”

“No! I … I don't want to talk about that,” he says, eyes down again.

“Tough shit, Blondie.” I bridge the gap between us, his body visibly stiffening with each of my steps. “You listen to me, Jason Dahl. I've done a lot of low-down shit in my life, but I have never sold my body for anything. Not for a record deal, not for rent, and certainly not because I thought I owed it to someone. I slept with you because you're sexy and adorable and noble. You're the best damn man I've ever met in my life.
That
is why I slept with you. Because I wanted
you
. It
meant
something to me. Don't you dare
try and sully what we shared with your guilt or fear or whatever is making you act like an ass. It's beneath you. So stop it. Right now.
And just kiss me like we both know you want to. Just … kiss me. Please.”

His ice eyes have slowly advanced up with each declaration until they finally meet mine. I expect to find lust but see nothing but
sadness. Pain. Desperation. Frustration. Fear. His hands ball into fists, I think to stop them from grabbing me. He's fighting like hell, the war visible in every contour of his face. In every twitch. In every tense muscle and crease in his forehead. Those hands slowly start inching toward me as the turmoil churns like a windmill in a tornado in those eyes. He touches my bruised cheek, my split lip with a feather light caress. “I …” he whispers.

Suddenly, his eyes abandon mine as his gaze jerks toward the front door. His hand drops like my face was a hot potato. What the … ? I hear wheels crunching gravel a second later. Fuck. Jason
steps away from me, eyes on the floor again, almost dazed. “You …
you don't belong here,” he says. “Excuse me.”

Great. Goddamn it.

I follow him a few seconds later out the front door. Of course. Who else would it be? Frank steps out of his SUV with a smile for his son. His daughter, not so much. The moment he sets eyes on me, the smile briefly falters then reappears, just not as glittering. Haven't seen that look since high school when my honor roll boyfriend brought me to his house after my first arrest and his parents realized I was
that girl
. The bad seed sent to corrupt their precious angel. The cracks in those pleasant smiles told all, just like now. On my own father's face. This stings more than I care to admit.

“Hi, Dad,” Jason says as he hugs Frank.

“Son,” Frank says, gripping tight. They break apart. “I was just coming to check on you.”

“Don't worry, I've been taking good care of him,” I say with a smirk.

Both men's smiles falter, and Jason's eyes narrow with warning. Frank clears his throat. “Good.” He looks at Jason again. “We have a lot to go over. You up for it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent,” Frank says, patting his back. The pride on Jason's face could be seen by Stevie Wonder. I compliment him, he pitches a fit. Frank does and it's word from on high. Frank's gaze moves my way. “Vivi, why don't you take my car back to the big house? They're beginning dinner prep. Could always use an extra hand.”

“So, I'm dismissed?” I ask with a fake smile. Frank's expression remains neutral, but Jason's is a mix of anger and fear. I do bring those two emotions out of him quite a bit. And, as usual, those bring out the guilt in me. I drop the smile. “Sorry. That was bratty. I'm tired. Um, I'll leave you two alone. You have a lot to catch up on.”

“Thank you,” says Frank. Jason's eyes remain downcast as Frank
and I wander toward one another. Frank hands me the keys with a quick smile. “Just follow the path.”

“Think even I can manage that,” I say. “Not one of my strengths,
though. Following the right path.” I arrive at the SUV, and the men
to the door. “Hey, Blondie?” I call. Both men pivot around. “Just remember what I said, alright? I meant every word. Every one.” I nod to my father. “Frank.”

With a wink for both, I climb into the car and start the engine as the men exchange an uncomfortable glance. I leave them in my rearview. That man's going to ruin all my hard-won progress, I guarantee it. Still got some fight in me, though. To the damn bone if necessary. For once in my miserable life, I'm gonna get what I want.
Him
.

No. Matter. What.

twelve

Since I'm not in
the helping mood, and I could only stand the glances and whispers for all of a minute downstairs, I retreat back to my bedroom. I'm sure they all mean well, but it feels as if I've landed in a hippie commune with all the smiles and togetherness,
neither exactly coming naturally to me. Of course not even the bed
room is safe. I find that stringy-haired teenager sitting at the small desk in the corner typing on his laptop. He leaps up in surprise when I step in. “Oh, God! I'm-I'm-I'm sorry. I was just
…
I needed to get online. This was the only place to—”

“It's okay. Chill.”

His bony shoulders lower an inch. “I-I'm Devin.”

“Viv.”

“I-I know. We-We all know.”

“God, been up for two hours and already I'm infamous,” I say, walking over to the bed. I lay down. “It is a gift.”

“N-No,” Devin says, even more skittish than before. “I just, I meant we all know you're Mr. Dahl's daughter and-and you fought like five werewolves and saved Jason's life, and you're a singer, and … most of us never knew you were alive, and you're awesome. It's … cool.”

I stare at this strange boy, assessing if he's bullshitting me or
not. The huge brown eyes that match his hair over a small nose continue twitching slightly. No, this boy isn't capable of tricks. “Really?
I thought they all hated me or something.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. I almost got Jason killed. I was rude. I'm an interloper. I'm … me. Pick one.”

Once again his eyes grow double in confusion. “You're not an interloper. You're Mr. Dahl's daughter. You killed to defend us. You're pack.”

Jesus Christ, they know I killed someone? Of course they do. No secrets within the pack. I grab a pillow to hug. “Right.” Devin's
quiet for a second, just gawking at me as if he wants me to read his
mind and answer some unknown question. “What? Ask.”

“How did you do it? How did you … fight? How did you not freeze?” The boy asks me this with almost desperation, as if my response will save him. God, everyone's so intense here. Must be a werewolf thing.

All I can say is, “I don't know. Didn't have much choice really. All I could think of was how Jason was out there. Alone. How it was one against five. That if I didn't fight, they'd kill him. He was willing to fight for me, I had to be willing to fight just as hard for him, no matter the cost. I was petrified, almost chickened out nine hundred times. I broke a finger, got shot, was beaten to crap, but I had made up my mind to keep going. You just … summon the strength. Find the right fuel for any fire and you can run around the planet twice. Nothing can stop you.”

The kid's quiet again, even hanging his head. Great, I've said something wrong again. I wonder if they have a muzzle around here before I get myself into more trouble. “I …” he finally works up the courage to say, “my-my dad. They-They s-shot him. In front of me. I just, I couldn't move. I couldn't get out of the car. His-His head …”

“Jesus Christ, kid.” I sit up. “I-I'm so sorry.”

“But I froze! I didn't chase after them! I could have … I should have fought. That's what we're supposed to do. He was my dad. He was pack. I—”

“How old are you?” I cut in.

“Eighteen.”

“How many were there?”

“T-Two.”

“I assume they had guns. And you had …”

“N-Nothing, but—”

“Then without question you did the right thing. Getting yourself killed too wouldn't have helped a damn thing. It sure as hell wouldn't have brought your dad back. Now you get to live to fight another day, one where you actually can do something other than get dead. You have nothing to feel guilty about, kid. And it doesn't make you less of a man or wolf or whatever. It makes you smart.”

A quick smile crosses his face. “Thank you, Miss Dahl.”

“I only speak the truth, kid. And it's Viv.”

“Viv,” he says with another quick smile as if he's honored by this privilege or something. “So, I better, um …” he gestures to the computer. “Trying to get into that Marshal's computer. It's password protected.”

“Try ‘evil asshole bastard,'” I say, lying down again.

Another brief smile earned. “I-I'll give it a shot.”

I switch on the TV, surfing until I find a mindless action flick
as my new buddy taps away on his laptop. This is nice, doing some
thing normal like watching Angelina raiding tombs. I need a week of laying here, veging and—

The bedroom door opens with a sobbing Nicole being carried into the room by the pretty blonde teen. Guess werewolves aren't big on knocking. The teen sets her big gray eyes on me and stops dead three steps in. “Oh, I'm sorry. I—”

“It's fine,” I reply over my niece's sobs.

“I just, she fell in the mud and the other bathrooms are occupied, and—”

“Do what you gotta do. The more the merrier.”

“Thank you.” The teen rushes into the bathroom, not even glancing at Devin who, despite his lowered head, steals glances at her. Someone has a crush.

The water begins running in the bathroom. “Um, Miss Dahl?” the teen calls a minute later.

Shit. So much for my adventure with Angie. With a sigh, I force
my aching body out of bed. Nicole's still sniffling in the tub as I walk in. “Yeah?”

“I forgot her new clothes. Can you watch her while—”

“Oh, I don't really think she wants me—”

“Thanks,” the teen says, rising and walking past me.

Fuck. Nicole stares up at me, lower lip trembling as she sniffles. “O-kay,” I say, stepping toward her. Those dark eyes bug out of her head as I approach and bend down to her level. “Um, is the water okay?” She barely nods in affirmation. “Right.” Okay, I have zero experience with kids. I can barely keep plants alive. I'm at a loss as to what to say or do next, especially when the kid in question seems shit scared of me. “So, um, how'd you fall in the mud?”

“Mason pushed me,” she says quietly. “He was chasing me, and when he caught me, he pushed me.”

Oh, boy troubles. We've reached my wheelhouse. “He probably did it because he likes you. Boys are weird like that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They chase and chase you, then when they catch you, they don't have a clue what to do with you. They don't get much better
as they get older either,” I say, making a silly face. The girl smiles. Score. “If he does it again, just cry and tell him how much you hate him. It's the girl equivalent of a punch. He'll feel really bad for days.”

“I told Miss Claire. She put him in time-out.”

“That works too.” I grab a washcloth, soak it, and start cleaning her face of the mud. “I can see why he likes you. You're a very pretty
girl. You'll be fighting them off with a stick in ten years, I guarantee it.”

“Eww. Boys are icky. Dustin wipes his boogers on me!”

“Yuck. Well, he doesn't count. He's a brother, not a boy. Not all boys are icky.”

“Yes, they are,” she says with certainty.

“Is your Grandpa icky? Uncle Jason? Your da—” I stop myself on that last one. “They're boys, they aren't icky.”

“Uncle Jason pulls the guts out of fish with his hands. Daddy too. They're icky.”

I think Linda should start saving for law school with this one. “That is pretty gross. Okay, all boys are icky. Congrats, you've sold me.”

The teen, I assume Miss Claire, rushes back in holding another
flowered sundress. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” I say. “If you want, I can finish up here for you.”

“What? Really? Oh, thank you,” Claire gushes. “I don't really trust Mac or Troy to watch the others. It sounds like World War III down there.”

“Yeah, go. We're bonding over the ickiness of boys.”

“I sold her,” Nicole says with pride.

“Okay,” Claire says with a nervous chuckle. “Thanks, Miss Dahl.”

“Viv.”

“Viv. Nicki, be good for your aunt, alright? Bye.” The harried girl scurries off again. Bet this isn't how she imagined her summer, chasing after werewolf children.

I turn back to my niece with a grin, then grab the shampoo. “Let's
wash your hair, huh?”

“I can do it,” she says triumphantly.

I hand her the bottle. “Knock yourself out, kiddo.” I watch as she expertly performs the task. “You have pretty hair.”

“You have hair like Grandpa. It's pretty too.”

“Thank you.” She dunks her head to rinse out the shampoo. When
she surfaces, I wipe the remaining soapy water from around her eyes. “There. Can you do the conditioner too?”

“Yep.” I slap it in her hands.

“Thank you, Aunt Vivian.”

“You're welcome, Niece Nicole.”

She starts working the conditioner into her black hair. I remove the stray goop from her face with the washcloth. “Am I your only niece?”

“My one and only.”

“Then why didn't you ever send me a birthday present like my other aunt and uncles?”

Oh, boy. “Because I didn't know I had a one and only niece until a few days ago.”

“Oh. Well, will you give me them now?”

“I will. I promise. Now, dunk.”

She takes a deep breath and goes underwater again. When she resurfaces, I hand her a face towel. “I want the big Barbie where you put makeup on her and brush her hair and give her jewelry. My birthday was two months ago, but you can buy her for me now.”

“We'll see. I'm sort of grounded at the moment. Not much shop
ping in my future. Are you all clean? Ready to get out?” She nods. I grab a towel from the rack and lift her from the tub. This kid stuff isn't so terrible after all. Kind of fun actually. After I dry her hair, I pick up her dress. “Need help putting your dress on?” She shakes her head no. “Here you go, kiddo. I'll be in the next room if you need me.”

“Thank you, Aunt Vivian.”

“You're welcome, Niece Nicole,” I say, walking away.

Oh, goody. When I return to the bedroom, Devin is still clacking away on the computer, but we've gained another visitor. Dustin has made himself at home on my bed, flipping through the channels. He's even nested, spreading Legos around like a fan. I feel like I'm in Grand Central Station minus the winos. “Uh, hello. You need a bath too?”

“I hate baths,” Dustin says. “I want to watch
The Fairly Odd Parents
. I can't find
Nickelodeon.”

“Um …”

“Channel 163,” Devin says.

“Thank you,” Dustin says, turning to the cartoon.

“Aunt Vivian,” Nicole says, walking in fully dressed, “can you brush my hair?”

“Don't be a baby, you can brush your own hair,” Dustin chides.

“Don't insult your sister,” I warn. “It's not nice.”

“Well, Aunt Vivian's gonna buy me a Barbie and she's not gonna
buy you anything cause you're mean and icky,” Nicole spews back.

“Nu huh! She's gonna buy me a super-soaker and I'm gonna soak you!”

“Both of you stop it or I won't buy you anything,” I snap. “Nicole, my brush is in the bathroom. Go get it.” I walk to the bed as she obeys. “You. Scoot.” Dustin moves to the right so I can sit down again. I pick Legos out from under my butt while Nicole returns. She leaps up and scooches between my legs before handing me the brush. Dustin lies back to watch the TV. When I finish with her hair, a hundred strokes at her insistence, we follow her brother's example. The show's inane but not terrible. Before it's over, Dustin dozes to my right and a few minutes later to my left his sister follows suit. They don't wake as I change the channel back to Lara Croft or when Devin slinks out. I think they missed their naps.

Not even Lara can keep my mind off Jason. As usual guilt and mortification are the predominant emotions as I conjure up his
face just before Frank arrived. I mean, I understand he doesn't want
Frank to know he banged his daughter, and it'd be hard to hide our trysts now we're here, but he was downright petrified to kiss me as if I'd suck out his soul if our lips touched. I just don't get it. He likes me, the sex was phenomenal, we can be careful, this is do-able. I'll just have to make sure I'm around him as much as possible whether he likes it or not. I literally fought to the death for that man, he isn't getting away from me now. Especially when I know with every one of my cells he doesn't really want to. I'll show him who doesn't belong.

Tomb Raider
ends, switching over to
Men in Black
. As Will Smith chases an alien, Dustin whimpers softly and sticks his thumb
in his
mouth. Bad dreams. Lot of that going around. Poor kid. Poor
kids
,
Devin included. I know what it's like, growing up without a father. The twins will be lucky if they have even a few memories of him. They're probably too young to know what death really means. That he'll never tuck them in again. Never kiss them. Maybe that's a blessing. No grown-up should have to deal with all the shit raining down on us let alone a child. Even if the adults are making this seem like summer camp, kids aren't stupid. They know something's not right. They sense it like an animal does a natural disaster. It prickles their skin, but they're powerless to do a damn thing. I know exactly how they feel.

I smooth Dustin's soft black hair. This is too fucking weird. I have a niece and nephew. They are nestled beside me right now. They were comfortable enough to fall asleep beside me. I apparently have to send them presents every year. They expect me to be in their lives, stick around for parties and dispensing life lessons like their Uncle Jason. Boy are they in for disappointment. Ugh, this family shit makes my head hurt. I turn back to the TV. Take me away, Will Smith.