A Lion After My Own Heart (10 page)

I dry swallow. I want to ask about us. What we just did. The searing intimacy and the heights of ecstasy. Was it just a release for both of us? Impersonal? The scratching of an itch? No no no. It was much more. So much more. Wasn't it?

"OK." It's all I can manage.

I head down the steps, put on my shoes, and let myself out. The air has a cutting chill to it that I welcome. I don't want to be warm and snug right now. I need a clear head. I need to think, to ask myself some basic questions. Who am I? What do I stand for? Can I change? Do I want to?

I walk up to Bridge Street, and take the left to the trestle bridge. I want to gaze at rushing waters. They're black now, reflecting the lampposts and lit windows of Mindy's General Store across from me. People are out and about, arms linked, heading to dinner, or drinks, or whatever it is that normal, happy people do. I hunch my shoulders and stare at the rushing waters. Downriver a ways I can hear an actual waterfall. I want to slip down into the icy cold waters and let them bear me away from my twisted heart and my insurmountable problems.

I sigh. What do I really want? It's easy. Alexander. I picture him in front of me, haloed in light, a genuine smile on his face. The pain scrubbed away. The melancholy. A man fully at peace with himself, loving me, wanting me, wanting to create a life together. A little home, maybe. Something out of a 1940s painting. Here in Honeycomb Falls?

I turn to regard the picturesque street, and suddenly I want more than anything to be part of this crowd, to have a little home here, a quiet life rich with friends and love. Boston seems to be a million miles away, a great and thriving city that's going to churn me up and spit me out a few decades from now, lonely and old and bitter.

I sigh again. Would Alexander ever give up on his dreams? No. He's only come back here because of my snooping. I know he's attracted to me, to my body, but does that equal love? Of course not. We're both adults. We both needed release, and that's what we had. I'm not a teenage girl anymore. I shouldn't build castles on clouds.

And yet. And yet.

"Hello, Myra." The voice is cold and amused, and I startle as I recognize the man standing in front of me. Timothy McGrant, a reporter for the
Boston Inquirer
. "Fancy seeing you here."

Chapter 11

Crap crap crap! Timothy "Slimeballs" McGrant is one of those mud sharks who ooze through life making a quick buck wherever they can, publishing crap and lies on the off chance that they'll hit a nerve. The kind of tabloid schlock that no true journalist would work on, but which can go big and move copies like nobody's business. One step above a muckraker, the worst thing about McGrant is that he's actually really good. He's got a killer instinct to rival mine. He's like a Jedi who's gone to the dark side, and that makes me despise him all the more.

"McGrant," I say, quickly take a sharp sniff and stand straight. Why the heck did he have to find me now, when I'm like this?

"How you doing, love? No hug?" He grins his yellowed canines at me and leans against the railing, surveying Bridge Street. "What a cute little town, hey? It's so Hallmark I could puke."

"It's not Hallmark," I say. I don't know why I'm suddenly feeling so defensive for this small town. "Hallmark's fabricated. This is the real thing."

"The real thing, hey?" He's chewing on a toothpick. Of course. All he needs to complete his outfit is a pair of aviators and a broad-collared striped shirt. "Like your boyfriend Alexander Adams?"

"My - what?" I resist the urge to shove him. Hard. "What are you talking about?"

His grin gets all the wider. "You gonna deny it, love?"

"Don't call me 'love', McGrant. You wouldn't know what that word meant if it gave you a colonoscopy."

"Ooh, feisty." He's totally unfazed. "You gonna deny you just spent the afternoon sucking on his bits and pieces?" This time I do shove him, but he's ready for it and dances back, hands up, laughing delightedly. I turn to stride away, but he calls after me. "C'mon now, Myra. Tell me you weren't in his apartment for the past few hours, down across from the Conway Studios. And if you were just doing homework together, why's your makeup all messed up, and why do you smell like dirty, dirty sex?"

I freeze, my stomach turning into a bowling ball and my blood turning to ice.

Oh, no. Slimeballs didn't just go there.

I turn around.

Slimeballs' eyes go wide and he takes a step back.

"Listen, you sniveling, crap-shoveling excuse of a bottom-feeder." I advance on him, and I feel righteous and furious and ready to wreak havoc. He backs up against the railing and then actually leans back from me, eyes wide. "If you think you can fuck with me and get away with nothing more than a smile, you're in for something. I will call in every single favor I have, and turn every single politician, policeman, councilman, board member, journalist, county clerk, judge, and fucking hobo against you. I will rain hell upon you and when I'm done you won't even know how to cup your balls for comfort." I bare my teeth and lean right into his face. "Do you copy me?"

Slimeballs' eyebrows go higher and higher, and when I'm done he just nods rapidly.

"Good. You mention what you just said again, in person or print, and you're done. Don't. Test. Me."

Shaking with fury, I stalk away. I want to punch something. I want to go all She-Hulk on that man. I'm halfway across the bridge, heading back toward my car where I parked next to the Wise Salmon, when McGrant yells out, "I got pics, you chubby whore! I'm going to post them everywhere I can so sad thirteen-year-olds can jerk off to your fat ass!"

I spin around, but he's already taken off at a sprint, laughing as he tears off down Bridge Street. I swear, if there's ever been a time I wanted to manifest superhero powers so I could smite down the wicked, it's now. But no laser beams shoot out of my eyes, I don't gain the power of flight. All I can do is slump.

Damn
. I should know better than to think I could intimidate McGrant. But damn, at least I had the pleasure of making him flinch.

I make my way back to my car and get in. Where to? Boston is three hours away and I'm not up to the drive. The only place I've got left to go is Honeycomb Hall. Rachel and Blake were good to me. Wary, but generous. So I drive out of the little town, follow the country road for a few bends, and then pull into the grand driveway and park in front of the house.

Most of it is dark, and I guess that the guests they had before have left. I step up to the porch and knock on the great front door. I half expect that mean Asian lady to open it again, but instead, after thirty seconds it's Rachel who does so.

"Myra?" She steps out and peers into my face. "Are you OK?"

I purse my lips and shake my head. I feel like my head is going to burst.

"Come inside." Rachel takes me by the arm and ushers me over the threshold. Everything is lit by amber-colored lamps, and somewhere a scratchy 1930s song is playing, a wistful man crooning over a distant orchestra. "Come on." Rachel doesn't give me a choice, but instead leads me past the grand rooms, the library and parlor and what looks like a real-life ballroom, to the back where the kitchen is.

Blake is seated at a large table, dark windows behind him, and a modest feast is spread before him, Rachel's plate showing that I've interrupted them halfway through their dinner.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to -"

"Nonsense." It's like Rachel knows what I have to say. "Sit."

There's something about her tone of voice. She's my age, maybe a little older, but oh, my, she's got the command and confidence of a five-star general. Rather than argue pointlessly, I sink into a chair.

"Hey, are you OK?" Blake's voice is gentle.

Rachel sits down across from me, and they both wait, watching me, giving me time to catch my breath, marshal my thoughts and collect myself. As I do so, Rachel cuts a thick slice of dark, nutty bread, slathers rich cream onto it, places several slices of smoked salmon on that, squeezes some lemon, and places it in front of me. "Take a bite. There's no rush."

I nod, and suddenly I'm famished. I take a bite and nearly fall off my chair. The bread is divine. I didn't even know it was possible to make bread like this, so rich and dark and full of flavor. I feel like I could live off just this bread forever. The salmon, lemon and cream all blend together seamlessly, and all I can do is shake my head as I munch.

Rachel snorts. "Anita's baking will cure all ills. Here. A little Pinot Grigio will help wash it down." She pours me a glass, and then when the song ends, rises to turn an actual record that's spinning on an old-time gramophone.

I compose myself. The warmth of the kitchen and their presence help me get my bearings. When I finally finish the slice, I'm ready. I brush the crumbs off, and from the way they're watching me, I know they actually are genuinely curious and care about my situation.

"It's Alexander," I begin. Blake nods, clearly expecting this. "I'm - damn it, I'm falling for him. Hard. And at the same time, I have to write a story that will end his career. And maybe really damage shifter-human relations." Tears prick my eyes as I say this. "I've worked so hard my whole life to get to where I am. To be ready when a big story presents itself. And now that it's here, I don't want to write it. I want to be with Alexander, but how can that be? He's doomed. He denies who he is. He's going to be destroyed, if not by me, then by some creep like Slimeballs -"

"Slimeballs?" Rachel frowns.

I nod. "Yeah, this creep of a reporter. I-I don't know. I feel overwhelmed and sad and scared for him and just so confused."

Rachel puts out her hand to cover mine and gives it a squeeze. "There's always a solution. Always."

I sigh and smile gratefully at her. "Well, for the first time, I don't see one."

Rachel and Blake exchange glances, a wealth of information passing between them that I don't understand. I want to sigh all over again. They seem to have the perfect marriage. "What is it?"

"Well," says Blake. "I hoped his return might mean more than just a day or two in town. Aurion - how can I put this? He's getting even more extreme. He's going to call a convocation of the shifter cairn elders. He's going to use an ancient tradition to declare our way of life under attack, and urge all the cairns to unite to defend themselves."

My eyes go wide. "Against what?"

"Humans," says Blake in disgust. "He says we should be given power and authority instead of being relegated to little cairns on the edges of the wilderness. We need to be put in charge of the government so as to protect the planet from humanity. And if the humans refuse, then we should end our Accord, and make our case with violence."

"That's - that's madness," I say.

Blake nods soberly. "But he's Aurion. The eldest cairn leader in the northeast, and even wise men listen to his words. If he succeeds... well."

"So you wanted Alexander to challenge him?" Blake nods. I shift in my seat, anxious. "But he wants nothing to do with shifters and his father. He wants to belong to the world of humanity. To lead them by example."

"Which," says Rachel, "I might be able to help him with. If he really wants."

I blink. "What? How?"

Rachel stares deep into my eyes, and for a moment everything disappears but her face. I feel like the kitchen has been replaced by the vast cosmos, as if she and I are floating in the depths of space, and all my secrets are open to her, my hopes and dreams, my mistakes and regrets. Then the kitchen snaps back into place, leaving me a little stunned, and Rachel nods her head as if she's confirmed something.

"I'll share my secret with you, Myra. You're good people. I'm a witch. Of sorts. I'm not nearly as powerful as my grandma was, but slowly I'm coming into my own. And I know of an ancient ritual that will remove the shifter side of Alexander's nature and leave him just a man."

I take a moment to process. Rachel said that so calmly that I can't help but believe her. I know there are witches out there, just like I know there are billionaires and albino tigers. I just never expected to have dinner with one. "You're sure? You can do that?"

Rachel nods. "Yes. It's very painful, but it can be done. And there's no reversing the process. Once I take the lion from Alexander, he will never get it back."

"Oh," I say. "Then he could run for mayor. Any attempt at exposing him would fail."

Blake nods. "A simple blood test would prove him human."

I put my hands to my head. "Then I wouldn't have to write the story and ruin everything."

Rachel nods. "You could go back to Boston with him and see where your relationship goes."

I stare from one to the other. "But... Aurion?"

Blake sighs. "We'll have to find another solution. One of us will have to challenge him."

Rachel takes Blake's wrist and squeezes, clear concern on her face.

"Aurion is old school," I whisper. "That would be to the death."

Blake nods. "It would."

I stand up. "I have to call Alexander. Can I ask him to come here?"

Rachel nods. "Of course."

"Excuse me," I whisper, pulling out my phone. With my heart in my throat, I step out into the hallway and call his number.

Chapter 12

I lie in my bed and listen as Myra lets herself out. I feel at once energized and gripped by despair. Never have I connected so powerfully with a woman. It goes beyond her voluptuous, dangerous curves. Beyond her vivacious energy, her irrepressible humor, that spark of life that lights up the darkness in which I've labored. I've mated with plenty of women in my time, and each has been enjoyable in her own way, some even wonderful. But Myra has something special. Compassion. A real desire to make a difference, which I not only understand, but which mirrors my own. She's so special, and I can feel her slipping through my fingers again, slipping out of my life.

How can that be? We just did things that blew my mind, that I know blew hers, spent hours straining and tasting and licking and fucking so that we know each other's bodies better than most married men and women. Yet as she left through my front door, I felt that gulf opening up between us again, her career and her need to tell the truth conflicting with my lies.