Bite Me

CHAPTER 14

Vic stood Livy in front of the couch in the house he’d gotten for the night. It was one of Rita’s rental homes. A pot-smoking hippie she might be. But a capitalist one. She charged an exorbitant amount of money for the one-night use once she found out about the free honey deal her brother had made with Livy, but Vic wasn’t about to drive back to New York now. The traffic alone would make him homicidal.

Moving slowly, Vic removed Livy’s helmet, which he’d been unwilling to do at the joust. He grimaced when he saw her face. By now the blood had dried, and he could see the myriad other bruises and cuts she’d gotten from all the jousts.

“That bad?” she asked.

“Yes.” Why beat around the bush when dealing with a crazy person? He didn’t see the point in bothering.

“Then if I were you, I wouldn’t take off the rest of my armor.”

“I have to. I need to make sure none of your ribs are piercing something important. I’d rather not find you dead tomorrow, blood everywhere.”

“Well, when you put it like that . . .”

Vic turned Livy to the side and crouched down so that he could unbuckle her breastplate. Once he had all the straps apart, he lifted the metal up and over her head. When he did that, the padded shirt she’d worn under the armor was lifted up, as well, and all Vic could do was sigh out, “Oh Livy . . .”

Vic quickly set aside the armor, then removed the shirt completely. He couldn’t believe how bruised her body was. Not just in one spot, either, but all over her chest, neck, and shoulders. Even her breasts. She was just one big bruise.

“Tell me honestly,” Livy whispered. “Will I ever bikini model again?”

“Not funny.”

Livy chuckled. “Come on. It’s a little funny.”

“Did you lose any teeth?” Vic asked, as he worked on getting off her chain-mail leggings after making Livy sit on the couch.

“Me? My teeth are like granite.”

“Granite breaks.”

“Not from some cat.”

“Lift your right leg,” he ordered, easing the leggings down as she lifted her right leg, then the left.

“So what are we doing?” she asked.

“Crashing here for the night. After what you put me through, I’m not in the mood to drive.”

“Put you through? What are you . . . my mother?” She held up her hand. “Check that. What are you . . . Toni?”

“I now understand that poor jackal a little better. You must have put her through hell all these years.”

“She might have implied that . . . more than once.” Livy drummed the fingers of one hand against her knee. “I’m hungry.”

Vic tossed aside the leggings. “We can order food. Bears love free delivery. Why hunt when it can be delivered right to your door?”

He examined her legs. “At least these look pretty good.”

“Why thank you.”

Vic blinked. “I mean they look relatively undamaged.”

“So you don’t like my legs?”

Frowning, he looked at her. “I never said I don’t like your legs. Why wouldn’t I like your legs?”

“I see the She-bears around here. They have long legs.”

“Because most of them are over six feet tall. Some are over seven and play on the WNBA. Of course they have long legs.”

“You’re very logical, aren’t you?”

Vic had no idea where this conversation was going. Did she have a head injury? Well . . . more than just the obvious ones he could see?

“I guess.” He shrugged. “Being logical is part of what I do.”

Livy nodded. “It’s very sexy.”

Vic quickly stood and began to feel around Livy’s head.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Trying to see if you have any skull damage. Did you black out at any point today?”

She slapped his hands off her head. “No.”

Vic stood back. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “All right. But we should watch for signs of concussion.” He looked around until he found the doorway leading to the kitchen. “I bet that’s where Rita keeps the delivery menus.”

Vic turned to walk to the kitchen.

“You’ve got a nice ass, too.”

Vic froze mid-step. “Livy—”

“Don’t ask me again if I have a concussion. I don’t.”

He faced her. “Then what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Which was why I was going to get the menus . . .”

“And a little horny.”

Vic took a step back. “What?”

“I can’t help it. I think it was the jousting. Beating the crap out of those cats has got me kind of . . . worked up.” She gazed at him, then raised an eyebrow.

Vic pointed at himself. “And you want me to do something about that?”

“Well, you’re here.”

“Gee. Thanks. That’s so romantic.”

“I’m not talking romance. In fact . . . I’d like to avoid romance as much as possible. My parents had romance . . . that didn’t end well for them.”

“Because your dad passed away?”

“No.”

Vic sighed, rubbed his eyes with his fists. “I am unsure where this is going, Livy.”

“Bedroom?”

Vic quickly dropped his hands. “Livy.”

“What? I’m young and healthy—”

“And battered!”

“—you’re young-ish and healthy—”

“I’m only thirty-three,” he snapped, insulted.

“—so why can’t we work off some of my untapped energy?”

“Because you may be operating under some kind of temporary brain damage. You’ll hate yourself in the morning . . . and I’ll be forced to hate myself for taking advantage of you.”

Livy snorted.

“What?”

“I like that you think you can take advantage of me.” She stared at him a moment, snorted again. “You.”

“And I’m out,” Vic snarled before turning away.

Giggling, in a tremendously good mood after going toe-to-toe with those cats, Livy reached out and grabbed Vic’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m being a douche.”

“You are!”

“And I’m sorry. Really.” Livy realized that she was making the bear in him panic. Vic, at least while human—she had yet to see his shifted form—was so very much bear. And grizzlies were easy to startle, quick to enrage, and not at all hard to panic. Livy was managing to do all three without much effort.

Then again, Vic had never seen her after she’d worked off her rage. She was probably completely freaking him out right now. And she really needed her friends.

She’d thought about telling Vic what she’d found in Allison Whitlan’s apartment. That she’d found her father. But she wasn’t ready to talk about it. She wasn’t ready to think about it. She definitely wasn’t ready to get Vic’s pity over it. And although he knew something was wrong, he was still giving her space. As much as she liked tucking herself into cabinets and under beds, Livy still needed space when it came to everything else. She hated being crowded.

Livy knew she’d eventually tell Vic what was going on, but not until she knew what she wanted to do. And, at the moment, she had absolutely no idea.

“I’m starving,” she told him. “I’d love some Chinese food.”

Vic eyed her suspiciously. After a few seconds, he said, “There’s Honey Panda Inn. They deliver. And have a really good General Tso’s Honey Chicken.”

Livy held her arms up and away from her body. “Now how do we say no to that?”

Vic paid the giant panda and took the large box filled with food. Closing the door with his foot, he walked into the kitchen.

Livy, now thankfully back in her jeans, boots, and a cub-sized Honeyville T-shirt that reached down to her thighs, was pouring two glasses of white wine after discovering the wine fridge tucked between the dishwasher and the cabinet filled with local honeys.

Placing the box down on the counter, Vic briefly studied Livy. “Are you sure you should be drinking?”

“You don’t like girls who drink?”

“No, no. It’s not that. It’s just . . . you’re healing. Liquor can mess with that. Especially if you get the fever tonight.”

“What fever?”

Vic blinked, faced Livy. “The fever. The fever that every shifter gets when they heal from a traumatic injury. It allows us to heal from horrific injuries, sometimes within twenty-four hours. You know . . . the fever.”

“Oh. Yeah. Heard about that. We don’t get that. You got two options with honey badgers: kill us or get ready to keep fighting until you’re too tired to fight anymore.”

“You were injured during the joust. I saw the—”

Livy took a gulp from her wineglass while lifting her T-shirt at the same time. And she was right. All those horrifying-looking bruises that had made him worry she had internal bleeding and he’d either have to rush her to the local hospital or she’d be dead by morning were fading away.

He also saw that Livy’s bra seemed to have faded away, as well.

Vic swiftly focused on the cabinets rather than Livy’s perfect tits before he snarled, “Livy, where the hell is your bra?”

“I took it off. It was too constricting.” She set down her wineglass. “That’s a good Riesling. You should try some.”

Thinking wine was just what he needed to take the edge off, Vic was taking a step toward the other side of the kitchen so he could get the wine she’d poured for him, when Livy suddenly held up her hand.

“Stop.”

Vic did, immediately scanning the room and area for trouble. It was in his training.

“The light in this kitchen is amazing.”

“The light?”

“Yeah. It really highlights your great cheekbone structure.”

That made Vic laugh.

“What?”

“Just wondering if I might have missed my calling as a supermodel.”

Livy smirked at Vic’s remark. “You’re way too big for that.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Not an insult. Those male models are surprisingly thin and not nearly as tall as you. I used to work for a fashion photographer one summer and I was way unimpressed with the models.”

“You wanted to be a fashion photographer? You?”

“I’ll just assume that you’re not talking about my wonderful fashion sense and assume you mean my general distaste for people obsessed with themselves.”

“I mean both.”

“And I worked in almost every area of photography when I was in high school. Even things I would never consider doing long term, just so that I knew what it was like. What it was about. And if there were ways I could twist it to my purposes.”

“There’s the Livy Goal I’m used to hearing about.”

Livy picked up the extra glass of wine and walked over to Vic. She handed it to him and continued to study his face.

“You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re always uncomfortable,” Livy muttered.

“Not always.”

“Huh,” she finally said.

“What?”

“I’m just sorry I don’t have my camera with me. Between the lighting and—”

“Hold that thought!” Vic suddenly told her before putting his wine down and rushing out of the room.

Livy shook her head and sipped her wine. “Such a strange man sometimes,” she murmured.

A few seconds later, Vic returned, placing Livy’s digital SLR camera on the kitchen island.

Livy stared at the camera, then looked back at Vic. “Why?” she asked as she placed her wineglass on the island.

“Because Honeyville is beautiful in the winter. So I grabbed it from your office at the Sports Center. Thought you might get inspired out here, and I wanted you to be ready. And I was right!”

Then he grinned at her. A grin so wide and beautiful and earnest, Livy didn’t know what to think. Although what blew her away was how well he’d handled getting her camera to her. He didn’t push it on her as soon as she got in the car or when they parked near the honey store. He didn’t brag about it or gloat. He didn’t order her to do it. He just brought her camera . . . in case.

In case.

Which meant that he was leaving it up to her. No pushing involved.

Her family was all about pushing. And, to be honest, so was Toni. Although for Toni it was pushing Livy to do the right thing as opposed to getting her to learn better pickpocketing techniques.

Vic’s grin faded. “You’re mad. I pissed you off. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to push—”

“I know,” she cut in. “I know you weren’t.”

And because he wasn’t pushing, Livy climbed up onto the island, dropped her arms on Vic’s shoulders, and kissed him.

She kissed him hard.

And she’d have to admit . . . she was pushing.

Vic fell back against the sink, Livy still holding on to him, her mouth still pressed against his.

Shocked and confused, he pried her off, his hands around her waist, and held her out in front of him.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you.”

“Why?”

“Because I really want to.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Vic placed her on the ground and began backing away from her. “Yeah, uh, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Really?” Livy watched him a moment before she began to move forward, matching him step for step.

“And why don’t you think it’s a good idea?” she asked.

“It’s just not a good idea. We should just stay friends.”

Vic kept moving, and Livy kept tracking him around the kitchen. He felt like a cobra she’d locked on.

Livy gave a very small shrug. “You don’t think I’m pretty. Is that it?”

“Are you kidding? You’re gorgeous.”

“You think I’m gorgeous?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

He looped around the island and she was right with him.

“You think my shoulders are too wide?” she asked. “Make me look too square?”

“Your shoulders work fine because you’ve got that long, sloping neck, and surprisingly long legs for your height.”

“Tits too small?”

“Perfect for your size.”

“Think it’s tacky I used tits instead of breasts?”

“Actually, I thought it was kind of sexy.”

Vic’s back suddenly collided with a corner and before he could maneuver out of it, Livy slapped her hands on the counter on either side of him.

Livy gazed up at him. “Can I ask you a question, Vic?”

“If you really have to.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

“Not exactly . . . unless I made you mad and have no way to protect my eyes and major arteries.”

“You know,” she went on, “Toni thinks you’re shy. But I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t think you’re comfortable around people, but that’s not the same as shy. You’re not desperate to be around people but emotionally unable to connect. You just want people to leave you alone most of the time.”

“Okay.”

“Just like most bears. And the longer I’ve gotten to know you, the more I realize that you live bear.”

“I live bear?”

“Yeah. You live like a bear, which makes me wonder about the feline in you. I mean, Novikov has that weird suddenly growing mane thing he does when he’s angry. But I haven’t seen that with you. I haven’t seen a true, outward sign of your feline side.”

“What is your point, Olivia?”

“I just want you to tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Is the problem that you live like a bear”—she leaned in, lowered her voice even more—“but fuck like a cat? And is that what has you completely freaked out right now? Because the cat in you is the side you can’t control?”

Vic worked hard not to take his eyes off Livy, not to look away. Not to show her any weakness or that there was any truth to her words at all. But she did look away . . . and down at his crotch.

When she finally looked back at his face, she didn’t smirk. She grinned.

“Yeah,” she sighed out, her voice triumphant. “That’s what I thought.”