SIX
Jo could still feel Rune’s gaze on her back, so she kept up her casual pace down the street.
She’d just met another freak! Had talked to one!
But even he hadn’t known what she was. So she’d ended her encounter with the womanizing dark fey, the dogged one obsessed with sex. He truly would have lined her up like those others, making Jo fifth of the night (if not more).
Now that she knew what to look for, she would find other paranormal-type people, more knowledgeable ones.
Despite his arrogance, she burned to glance back. Were all male freaks that conceited? Were they all so seductive?
The more she’d talked with him, the more attractive he’d grown. She’d watched that calm, steady pulse point of his beating faster and faster as they’d bantered. And she’d dug the hints of tattoos peeking up from his collar and the ancient-looking silver bands he wore on most of his fingers. When he’d lifted his hair to reveal one slightly pointed ear (which was badass), she’d seen that the sides of his head were partially shaved (also badass).
And, good God, that man could wear leather. His powerful, lean legs had stretched his pants just right, as had his huge cock—which he’d put her freaking hand on! The temptation to keep rubbing it had almost won out.
Even if she hadn’t witnessed him in action, she’d deem his look: bad-boy lady-killer with a big, swinging dick.
His grin had been so sexy she’d had to cover her gasp with a feigned yawn.
Yet more than just his appearance attracted her. Beneath the smell of sex and nymphs, his innate scent was irresistible. Like leather and evergreen.
After one hit of that, she’d had the urge to kiss him, despite his poison. She could’ve reached up and fisted his cool hair, yanking him down to kiss until her fangs sliced his tongue.
Whoa. Sharing blood through a kiss? Stutter-step. She’d never fantasized about that before. Her fangs had always remained dormant during hook-ups.
Damn, that image was filthy hot. Instant wettie.
She needed to get hold of herself. Just as her emotions could make her embody, she could accidentally ghost as well, and Rune might still be watching her.
The lady-killer had wanted to know her name. He’d wanted to screw her, lining her up and knocking her down like the nymphs. He’d wanted a connection to her, however brief.
She’d craved a connection too.
So she’d stolen the contents of his pocket, one rectangular object. When she turned the corner, she opened her palm, peeking at her take. It was some kind of etched bone.
How weird. He must value it for some reason. Not as good as the “priceless” bow she’d eyed, but she’d have to make do.
Would he notice his empty pocket soon? She grinned. How pissed would he be that a dove had rolled him?
Her grin faded. Aside from her name and her body, he’d wanted her truth.
I could contact my little brother at any time, barging into his can’t-possibly-get-better life, and he’d welcome me with open arms. No damage done to my boy at all. For now, I’m fine. I’m not slowly dying of loneliness. I don’t fear I’ll float away. I don’t regret that no one will even know I’m gone.
Her truths were all lies.
She reached for her necklace. You can never go back for him.
Never. Never. Never.
So why did she continue to look for excuses to do just that?
She was antsy, not ready to return “home” to her dingy room at the Big Easy Sleeps motel (known to regulars as the Big Sleazy Weeps).
She needed a hit of her favorite drug. Just a little one. Her eyes darted. Suppliers. She needed suppliers—
There! A middle-aged couple strolling hand-in-hand.
Perfect. She ghosted into the woman, relaxing to flow with her. Boneless. Effortless. Like floating in water.
Jo imagined she could feel the man’s rough hand, the warmth coming off his body. She pretended she was the one he loved.
The two walked along in silence, but the vibes between them weren’t awkward or strained, just . . . peaceful.
She inwardly sighed. People took the wonder of hand holding for granted.
Down by the river, the couple sat on a bench. Stars twinkled above, a half moon low over the water. Strains of jazz carried on the breeze.
The man took his hand away. No—
Only to wrap his arm around his woman. He tugged her close. Bliss. They murmured in a foreign language, but Jo didn’t need to understand it. Whatever he said made the woman rest her head on his shoulder, as she’d probably done a thousand times before. They leaned back and gazed at the stars.
Jo’s past was a mystery, and she sometimes sensed the stars held the answers. She loved to stargaze. Well, she did for the first ten or so minutes. Then the realization of her friendlessness would steal over her. Stargazing for one had to be the loneliest hobby.
Now she had company. This couple.
For what might have been hours, they remained like that, lost in their own little world as a mist rolled in from the Mississippi.
No one had ever cherished Jo. No parents, no boyfriend. All on her own, she’d discovered how much she craved this: an unbreakable bond between two people.
Love and a future she could count on.
She was a killer with blood on her hands, but she wanted to give her heart away. As these two had. They were partners, two halves of a greater whole. Jo yearned for her other half with all the desperation of someone who’d always known something was missing.
She soaked up the feelings between these two like a sponge. Maybe she was a love junkie.
Jo could still feel Rune’s gaze on her back, so she kept up her casual pace down the street.
She’d just met another freak! Had talked to one!
But even he hadn’t known what she was. So she’d ended her encounter with the womanizing dark fey, the dogged one obsessed with sex. He truly would have lined her up like those others, making Jo fifth of the night (if not more).
Now that she knew what to look for, she would find other paranormal-type people, more knowledgeable ones.
Despite his arrogance, she burned to glance back. Were all male freaks that conceited? Were they all so seductive?
The more she’d talked with him, the more attractive he’d grown. She’d watched that calm, steady pulse point of his beating faster and faster as they’d bantered. And she’d dug the hints of tattoos peeking up from his collar and the ancient-looking silver bands he wore on most of his fingers. When he’d lifted his hair to reveal one slightly pointed ear (which was badass), she’d seen that the sides of his head were partially shaved (also badass).
And, good God, that man could wear leather. His powerful, lean legs had stretched his pants just right, as had his huge cock—which he’d put her freaking hand on! The temptation to keep rubbing it had almost won out.
Even if she hadn’t witnessed him in action, she’d deem his look: bad-boy lady-killer with a big, swinging dick.
His grin had been so sexy she’d had to cover her gasp with a feigned yawn.
Yet more than just his appearance attracted her. Beneath the smell of sex and nymphs, his innate scent was irresistible. Like leather and evergreen.
After one hit of that, she’d had the urge to kiss him, despite his poison. She could’ve reached up and fisted his cool hair, yanking him down to kiss until her fangs sliced his tongue.
Whoa. Sharing blood through a kiss? Stutter-step. She’d never fantasized about that before. Her fangs had always remained dormant during hook-ups.
Damn, that image was filthy hot. Instant wettie.
She needed to get hold of herself. Just as her emotions could make her embody, she could accidentally ghost as well, and Rune might still be watching her.
The lady-killer had wanted to know her name. He’d wanted to screw her, lining her up and knocking her down like the nymphs. He’d wanted a connection to her, however brief.
She’d craved a connection too.
So she’d stolen the contents of his pocket, one rectangular object. When she turned the corner, she opened her palm, peeking at her take. It was some kind of etched bone.
How weird. He must value it for some reason. Not as good as the “priceless” bow she’d eyed, but she’d have to make do.
Would he notice his empty pocket soon? She grinned. How pissed would he be that a dove had rolled him?
Her grin faded. Aside from her name and her body, he’d wanted her truth.
I could contact my little brother at any time, barging into his can’t-possibly-get-better life, and he’d welcome me with open arms. No damage done to my boy at all. For now, I’m fine. I’m not slowly dying of loneliness. I don’t fear I’ll float away. I don’t regret that no one will even know I’m gone.
Her truths were all lies.
She reached for her necklace. You can never go back for him.
Never. Never. Never.
So why did she continue to look for excuses to do just that?
She was antsy, not ready to return “home” to her dingy room at the Big Easy Sleeps motel (known to regulars as the Big Sleazy Weeps).
She needed a hit of her favorite drug. Just a little one. Her eyes darted. Suppliers. She needed suppliers—
There! A middle-aged couple strolling hand-in-hand.
Perfect. She ghosted into the woman, relaxing to flow with her. Boneless. Effortless. Like floating in water.
Jo imagined she could feel the man’s rough hand, the warmth coming off his body. She pretended she was the one he loved.
The two walked along in silence, but the vibes between them weren’t awkward or strained, just . . . peaceful.
She inwardly sighed. People took the wonder of hand holding for granted.
Down by the river, the couple sat on a bench. Stars twinkled above, a half moon low over the water. Strains of jazz carried on the breeze.
The man took his hand away. No—
Only to wrap his arm around his woman. He tugged her close. Bliss. They murmured in a foreign language, but Jo didn’t need to understand it. Whatever he said made the woman rest her head on his shoulder, as she’d probably done a thousand times before. They leaned back and gazed at the stars.
Jo’s past was a mystery, and she sometimes sensed the stars held the answers. She loved to stargaze. Well, she did for the first ten or so minutes. Then the realization of her friendlessness would steal over her. Stargazing for one had to be the loneliest hobby.
Now she had company. This couple.
For what might have been hours, they remained like that, lost in their own little world as a mist rolled in from the Mississippi.
No one had ever cherished Jo. No parents, no boyfriend. All on her own, she’d discovered how much she craved this: an unbreakable bond between two people.
Love and a future she could count on.
She was a killer with blood on her hands, but she wanted to give her heart away. As these two had. They were partners, two halves of a greater whole. Jo yearned for her other half with all the desperation of someone who’d always known something was missing.
She soaked up the feelings between these two like a sponge. Maybe she was a love junkie.
