Dead Over Heels

There is no silver bullet and frankly you probably don’t need one. It is far more important to be able to find the right kind of gun, be able to load the gun . . . and perhaps most importantly, be able to figure out where the werewolf is.

—MATTHEW OLIPHANT, USEABILITY WORKS

The werewolf is neither man nor wolf, but a satanic creature with the worst qualities of both.

—JOHN COLTON, STUART WALKER

The werewolf instinctively seeks to kill the thing it loves best.

—JOHN COLTON, STUART WALKER

I have led her home, my love, my only friend.

There is none like her, none.

And never yet so warmly ran my blood

And sweetly, on and on

Calming itself to the long-wished-for end

Full to the banks, close on the promised good.

—ALFRED TENNYSON, TENNYSON, A SELECTED EDITION

There’s no such thing as a werewolf.

—ERIC SINCLAIR, VAMPIRE KING

For all the Wyndham werewolf fans out

there, this one’s for you. And yes, I’ll

probably do another single title one of

these days. You know, when I kick my

booze and prescription pill habit.

Author’s Note

The events of this novella take place four days after the events in Undead and Uneasy.

Chapter 1

Most people wouldn’t know a werewolf if said werewolf (literally) bit them in the face.

Werewolves look like you or me; perhaps a bit more muscular, yes, and their reflexes are much quicker, but it is the nature of man to not notice such things, and so . . . most people wouldn’t know a werewolf if they saw one.

Not so with Cain.

Cain just looked wrong. Your brain registered it, even if the eye did not. She was short, almost petite—barely five feet tall. She wore her coffee-colored hair brutally short, in a buzz cut that emphasized her sharp cheekbones. She tended to run around in jeans and tank-tops, which showed off her smoothly muscled legs and arms.

Most arresting of all, she had a sharp, fox-like face, with a pointed chin and glaring green eyes. Cat green. And some people described them as poison green.

A striking woman who moved just a little too quickly, who seemed a little too strong for her size. A small woman who ate two steaks a night, just about every night. And multiple raw eggs for breakfast.

Yes. Something wrong. Even if you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

Cain was pondering this phenomenon as the mugger, who was over a foot taller and several pounds heavier, got a good look at her eyes, dropped the knife, and fled. She hadn’t even had to say anything. She had just looked at him.

She bent and picked the knife up off the street, wary of some tourists stepping on it and hurting themselves, snapped off the blade, and dropped both pieces into a nearby trash can.

She’d been back on-Cape for just a couple of days and already some idiot tried to mug her? On the Cape?

She had decided long ago that she would never fit in—except, of course, with the Pack, and what else mattered?—so why bother trying? It’s not like the monkeys ever paid attention. They stayed away from her or they ignored her. Or they tried to mug her—apparently that was the new thing.

For this reason she had never once left Cape Cod, not in twenty-nine years.

Except once.

Which was why she was in her current predicament.

Antonia, the unbelievably bitchy werewolf (except she was a freak; she never changed . . . she saw the future instead) who had taken off for Minnesota ages ago, had gone missing.

And Michael, their Pack leader, had instantly formed a small group to hunt her up. He had politely invited Cain to join them—except with Michael, a polite request wasn’t really a request at all. And so she had gone.

And seeing all her old friends again, catching up on their lives, she had been amazed to find them all . . . settled. Domesticated, even.

Jon had been bad enough, but then Michael . . . and Derik . . . and Brendan . . . they were all happily mated and having cubs, for God’s sake.

And they had grown up together, had been cubs together, and had sworn not to settle down before age thirty. Now they were all settled, and she was the only single one, and damned if her competitive streak wasn’t kicking in. Now she had until her thirtieth birthday to find a mate.

In other words, she had twenty-two days.

Cain irrationally blamed the entire thing on the vampire queen, because if she had been able to keep her house in order, Cain would never have been forced to face certain facts she’d been successfully ignoring by living in Provincetown . . . as far from Wyndham Manor as she could get without actually leaving the Cape.

So the hunt was on. Time to find a Pack member who needed a mate and didn’t mind a quickie wedding.

How she was going to do this, she had no idea. Thus, the late-night stroll to clear her head. The only man in her life so far had been the mugger.

Stupid vampire queen.

Chapter 2

I need to find a mate,” she announced to her oldest friend, Saul, who froze with a forkful of clam linguine halfway to his mouth. “Right now.”

“And you’re, uh, telling me why?”

“Because you know a lot of guys, and I don’t. You’ve got to help me hook up.”

Her only single friend blinked at her as he chewed his pasta. She had known him forever—they had been babies in the crib together, their mothers had been best friends—and they always told each other everything.

When he’d left the Cape after they graduated high school she had been afraid he would never return, but they’d stayed in touch with weekly phone calls and after he got his degree in engineering from (of all places!) the University of Wisconsin, he had come back and settled into a job at Excel Engineering. Within five years he was the number two man there.

It didn’t surprise her. Saul had always been brilliant around machines and gears and things. It was people who gave him trouble. He had a tendency to stammer when nervous or angry, didn’t seem to know what to do with his long arms and legs at parties, and, in short, was a classic beta male.

That wasn’t to say he wasn’t pretty cute, because he was. Tall and lean, with a shock of black hair that tended to fall into his eyes at inopportune moments, and chocolate brown eyes. At least he had stuck to their deal, because otherwise some bim would have snatched him up ages ago. He’d be a great husband for some lucky woman. Hmm. Maybe after she was settled, she’d think about fixing him up with somebody. Problem was, he was her only real friend, she didn’t really know a lot of—

“Why the big rush to find a mate?” he asked after swallowing.

“Haven’t you noticed? All our old friends are mated and most of them have cubs, even! So much,” she added bitterly, “for swearing to stay single until at least thirty.”

“Yeah,” he said, idly spinning his fork in the pasta. “I had noticed.”

“Right!” She plopped down in the kitchen chair opposite him. Saul had inherited a beautiful house on 6A from his parents; it was big enough to be a bed and breakfast, but Saul made plenty of dough at Excel. It was a bitch to get to in the summer (awful, awful tourists), but worth the trip every time. She felt more at home here than at her apartment in P-town. “So now I’ve gotta get married by the time I’m thirty.”

“But that’s three weeks away.”

“I knowwwwwww. Thus, the ‘right away’ comment. Remember, when I came in?”

“Yeah, I remember. It was forty seconds ago.”

“Okay, then!” She slapped the flat of her hand on his table. “So hook me up. Maybe we can set up one of those speed-dating things, except with werewolves.”

“Or maybe,” he said, after chewing another forkful, “you could set aside your ruthless competitive streak for once.”

“Fat chance of that happening. It’s me, Saul, Cain. Remember?”

He sighed. She picked up a napkin and wiped a dab of garlic sauce off his chin. “Yeah. I remember. Stop that, you’re not my mother.”

“Aw, Saul.” She tweaked his chin. “I’m practically your sister, and you know it.”

He snorted. “I’ve got enough problems without having you as a sibling. That would complicate my life enormously. And you’ve already done that, and you haven’t been here a minute.” He snorted again. “Speed dating.”

“Aw, come on. I know you can do it. We’ll set it up at Finnegan’s.”

“Forever to be known in the future as Hell on Earth.”

“Will you stop being such a crybaby and help me?”

He sighed. “Yes. And yes.”

She beamed. “Good boy. And you’ve got sauce on your cheek.”

Chapter 3

Candidate number one sat across from her at her table in the back corner of Finnegan’s, her and Saul’s favorite bar in Orleans. And immediately sneezed into his drink.

“Sorry,” he said, whipping out a cloth handkerchief and (ecch!) blowing his nose in it, then stuffing it back into his jacket pocket. “Allergies.”

“But you’re a werewolf!”

“Half. On my mom’s side. And the pollen’s murder this time of—” He sneezed again and a glob of snot actually landed on her arm. Before she could break a chair over his head, he had mopped it up with his damp handkerchief.

“Next!” she called. She wasn’t even going to give this guy the full minute, so she reset the timer.

Candidate number two sat down, clutching two orange drinks—she assumed they were screwdrivers—and frantically waving the waitress down for a third. In thirty seconds he had gulped both drinks, and had the flushed cheeks and bloodshot eyes of a closet drunk. It took a lot of booze to get a werewolf drunk, but he was managing nicely.

“Next!”

Candidate number three sat down, eyed her, then said disapprovingly, “What have you done to your hair? It’s much too short. You’ve got to grow it longer.”

“Next!”

“You’re not even giving them the full minute,” Saul murmured in her ear, making her jump. For a gawky, gangly engineer, he moved like a matador.

“Oh, boy, are you gonna get it when we get back to your place. I can’t believe you picked these guys!”

“Your gratitude is overwhelming.”

“Get lost, here comes number four.”

Saul glided away as number four sat down across from her . . . and instantly pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Mind?”

“Yeah, actually.” She couldn’t abide the smell of cigarette smoke; most werewolves couldn’t. She was amazed he’d picked up the habit.

“Well, this is me, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby. Next!”

Candidate number five sat down and instantly started nibbling on his nails, a filthy monkey habit almost as bad as smoking.

“How do you hunt,” she asked, fascinated, “if you keep eating your claws?”

“Nervous tic.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of skeeving me out.”

He nibbled harder. “It gets worse when I’m under stress. Which you’re definitely putting me under.”

“Pal, you haven’t seen stress. Next!”

“That’s it,” Saul said.

“What?” she cried. “Only five? Five losers?”

“You gave me,” he reminded her, “twenty hours notice.”

“Oh, sure, it’s my fault. Man, if I didn’t know you so well I’d swear you set me up with those idiots on purpose.”

“Now why would I do that?” he asked mildly, sitting down across from her. “You can just call me candidate number six.”

“Very fucking funny, Saul. So now what do we do?”

“Have a drink?”

“After that. My birthday loometh.”

“Well, I did fix you up for a blind date tomorrow night.”

“Excellent!”

“Yeah,” he said, draining his beer. “Excellent.”

Chapter 4

Is that what you’re wearing?” Saul asked as soon as she walked into his living room. He had all kinds of incomprehensible paperwork spread around him, and looked harassed.

She looked down at herself. Clean denim shorts, a navy blue T-shirt. Black suede flats. It was July on Cape Cod; what else would she wear? “What? What’s wrong with it?”

“What if he’s planning to take you somewhere nice?”

She scowled at him. “I’m not wearing a dress or a skirt and that is that.”

He sighed. “You’re not making this very easy.”

“Hey, I never said it would be easy.”

“Yes, you’ve been threatening me with that since kindergarten.”

“What’s all the stuff?” she asked, kneeling beside him. “Work junk?”

“Work junk,” he agreed. “New client. Place is a disaster. I foresee a month of twenty-hour days. Especially now that you’ve dumped your little project on me.”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” she said good-naturedly. “Hey, maybe you can fix me up with some of your clients.”

“We only have three werewolves, and they’re all mated.”

“Rats.”

“‘Rats’ as in ‘Oh, rats’ or rats as in ‘They’re rats to be married’?”

She pondered that one for a moment, then finally said, “Both.” She looked around at all the paperwork with distaste. “Saul, when was the last time you had a vacation?”

“What year is it?”

“If you have to ask, it’s been too damn long.”

He shrugged. “I like my work.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, but you should think about settling down, too. You don’t want to be the only one in the old gang not mated.”

“God forbid,” he said dryly. “Plague and famine would be more welcome.” There was a polite rap on his door. “Ah. Prince Charming has arrived.”

“Please God,” Cain said fervently, and went to answer the door.

Chapter 5

My patients are really my life, and they’re all so different, that’s what I love about my work, the constant variety, I mean, every single day is different—”

Oh my God. This guy hasn’t stopped talking since he picked me up at Saul’s.

“—Dr. Williams is so arrogant, he just won’t tolerate any nurses, thinks we’re all trained monkeys—badly trained monkeys—and—”

Jesus. He’s never going to stop talking.

“—and then there was Mrs. Jenkins, boy, she was a firecracker! D’you know she was friends with Michael’s mother? Man, the stories she told! They were—”

I’m going to have to kill him and escape.

“—of course, what I’d really like is to go back to school and become a nurse practitioner. With the national nursing shortage, I can pretty much—”

Should I hit him until he shuts up? With what? A fire extinguisher?

“—they can write prescriptions and the money’s really great, not to mention—”

I’ll hit Saul. That’s what I’ll do.

“—you’re really great to talk to, you know how to listen, which I really—”

First this guy, then Saul, then myself. A double murder/suicide.

“—work such long hours, it’s so hard to meet people, but of course it’s worth it for the job, I mean, it’s just so rewarding—”

Oh my God. Where is that waitress? I need another drink so badly.

“—couldn’t believe it when Saul called me up and said you wanted to go out, I mean, we’ve all wondered why you haven’t settled down—”

At this rate, I’ll be unmated when I’m fifty.

“—then you had that cool mission to Minnesota, something about Antonia and—can this be right?—a vampire queen? I mean, it’s like something out of a Stephen King novel—”

Stupid vampire queen.

Chapter 6

Come on,” Saul said, setting a plate of steak and fries in front of her, along with a glass of six raw eggs. Among other things, Saul was a good cook and knew all her favorites.

“What, come on? It was awful!”

It was eleven o’clock at night; her date had ended early. Except it hadn’t felt early, God no.

Saul was unruffled. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“He never shut up! It was work, work, work, and blah, blah, blah—he doesn’t know a thing about me because I couldn’t get a word in edgewise!”

“He’s single, makes a good living, good-looking (not that I see him that way), and wants to settle down.”

“No, he’s looking for a blow-up doll that will listen all day and all night. God!” She drained her glass of eggs in three swallows. “I didn’t think I’d ever get out of there.”

“Well, you did. And here you are. Again.”

“You never used to mind when I dropped by,” she grumped. She chewed her steak furiously, then said, “You look like hell. You’re working too hard. Take a damned vacation already.”

He shrugged. “From what? Excel, or you?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“The good news—if you can call it that—is that I’ve set you up with another date for tomorrow night. Word’s getting around that you’re looking to settle down.”

“Excellent! There’s no way this guy can be worse than the other six.”

“You really do like to jinx yourself, don’t you?”

“Nuh-uh! Okay, maybe that was a dumb thing to say. I guess we’ll wait and see how it goes tomorrow night.” She chewed another piece. Then: “Word’s really getting around?”

He shrugged and flipped his black hair out of his eyes. “You know how our kind are. We’re genetically inclined to settle down young and have cubs. So the news that the infamous Cain, single for almost thirty years—”

“Because of the pact!”

“—wanting to settle down is pretty good gossip.”

“A dream come true. I’m gossip fodder.”

“There’s worse things,” he said, and cracked two more eggs into her glass.

Chapter 7

She didn’t care for number seven—Geoff Ren—and she couldn’t put her finger on why. Certainly he was smooth, and handsome (in a distant, icy blond, blue-eyed way), and charming. He listened to her, courteously offered to move them away from a cigarette smoker, and sent her steak back when it showed up overcooked. He made sure her drink glass was always full, and offered to take her somewhere else for dessert when nothing really grabbed her on the menu.

Maybe he was a little too—controlling?

Stop it, she scolded herself. You’ll never get mated at this rate. Now you’re just looking for reasons to reject these guys. Geoff’s been a great date. The best of a bad lot, that’s for damn sure.

They had pulled up to Saul’s house in his Lexus hybrid, and she turned to him to say, “Maybe we could get together tom—” when all of a sudden he’d yanked her toward him (breaking her seat belt) and mashed his mouth down on hers.

Outraged and startled, she tried to shove him away. When that didn’t work (he was over six feet tall, and much, much stronger), she bit him.

“Ouch! You little bitch. Why did you come out if you didn’t want some?”

“It’s our first date, Geoff, you ass! Jeez, I’m gonna have a friction burn on my neck from the seat belt.”

“You’ll heal,” he snapped, then snatched at her again, this time shoving his tongue into her mouth. Her back slammed against the steering wheel and there was a sonorous honk. His hands groped, reached, grabbed, and she could feel him yanking at her bra.

She fumbled for the driver’s side door handle and, when the door swung open, tumbled out and hit the pavement with a teeth-rattling thud.

He jumped out, his legs landing on either side of her back, and she scrambled to get away from him. He caught the back of her T-shirt and she wrenched away, hearing the fabric tear.

“Cut the shit!” she yelled, only to hit the side of the Lexus with a bang when the back of his hand caught her full across the jaw. God, he was fast! She hadn’t even seen his arm move. “Geoff, stop it!”

“You stop it, you fucking cocktease.”

Well, at least now she could put her finger on what was wrong with number seven.

For the thousandth time she blessed her size, as she slithered down the side of the car and scooted underneath, out of reach of his grasping hands. She scrambled across the tarmac and emerged on the other side of the car. Saul’s front door was only twenty feet away.

She’d only gotten five steps when he tackled her from behind. Her face banged into the lawn and she felt blood start to trickle from her nose. He flipped her over—and caught her fist on the point of his chin. In return he gave her an eye-watering slap. So she reached down, groping for his crotch.

“Now you’re getting with the program,” he grunted. “That’s—eeeeeeeee-yowwwwww!” She’d found his balls, and squeezed so hard she felt the veins pop up on her forearm.

Then, suddenly, he was yanked off her, and Saul, oh thank God, Saul was there, holding the guy by the scruff of his neck like a puppy.

“Oh, Christ, my balls, oh my fucking balls, Jesus, I gotta get to a hospital, agh, my balls!” Geoff writhed and moaned at the end of Saul’s arm.

“Then let m-me assist y-you to your car,” Saul said, and threw Geoff into the side of the Lexus. The car door actually dented and Geoff flopped to the pavement, unconscious.

“Are y-you okay, C-cain?”

She sat up and spat to get the blood out of her mouth. “Wow,” she said. “Saul. Jeez. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Then she burst into tears.

Chapter 8

Cain woke up the next morning in her room.

Well, not her room, the room at Saul’s she always stayed in when she slept over. She’d been having sleepovers in this house for twenty-five years.

Saul must have heard her stirring—he had ears like a lynx—because there was a gentle rap at the door.

“C’mon in,” she yawned, stretched. She had slept in one of Saul’s old shirts and her underpants; her T-shirt, of course, had been ruined.

He poked his head in. “Sleep okay?”

“Like a rock.”

“Christ!”

“What?”

He crossed the room and put a finger under her chin, tipping her face up. “You’ve already got a shiner. That fucker.” For Saul, that was big talk. “Should have kicked in his ribs, too.”

“I’m pretty sure I ruptured his sack,” she said, gingerly feeling her left eye and wincing. Yep. Puffy, swollen, and probably a lovely purple black. “And I’m pretty sure you fractured his skull. Trust me, he’s hurting way worse this morning. My bruises will heal up in a day or two.”

He sat down on the edge of her bed. “I don’t think you should do this anymore,” he said abruptly, squinting at her.

“Granted, it hasn’t been going well,” she said dryly.

“You know how I said word was getting around that you wanted a mate? I think some guys are interpreting that as you want to get laid. Case in point: Geoff the asshole.”

She smirked. “Is that his family name?”

“Cain. I’m being serious.”

“I’m not letting Geoff the asshole scare me off the dating scene. It was a temporary setback at best.”

“Temporary setback?” Saul practically yelled. “Y-you almost got r-raped!”

“Calm down, you’re going to give yourself a stroke. Besides, you swung to the rescue like—like frickin’ Tarzan or something. I must admit, Saul, I didn’t think you could surprise me anymore.”

“You never think that,” he grumbled.

She yawned again. “So what’s on the agenda for tonight?”

“You’re taking tonight off,” he said firmly.

“Spoilsport.”

“Damn right.”

“Saul, I’m fine.”

“You didn’t l-look fine last n-night.”

She thought about it. Screaming, punching, and, finally, crying. The overwhelming strength of Geoff, how he wouldn’t listen, how she had been fairly powerless against him. The hits. The things he had said.

Yeah. Saul had a point.

“But I had you to come to the rescue,” she teased, putting her hand on his. “I’m the one usually saving your ass.”

“So. I owed you one.”

“Actually, if we’re gonna go back to kindergarten, you owe me about fifty.”

“Well, I sure as shit don’t want to even up!” he yelled, face reddening.

“You’ve really got to take a vacation. You’re so stressed!”

“Is it any fucking wonder? Your social life is killing me.”

“Stop exaggerating. What’s for breakfast?”

He collapsed next to her. “I hate you.”

“Aw, you know you can’t resist me. Breakfast?”

“More than life itself, I hate you.”

“Pancakes and bacon?” she asked hopefully. “And eggs? And maybe a pork chop?”

“You know, most women, after being assaulted, would be, I don’t know, traumatized? Not looking for a damned pork chop!”

“Well,” she said reasonably, “if you don’t have one, we can always heat up the leftover steak.”

Chapter 9

As usual, she had a ton more fun with Saul than all her other dates put together, multiplied by ten. They had a terrific dinner, most of which he made on the patio grill, chased with several ice-cold Coronas. Then they watched Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, and 300—300 being her favorite movie of all time.

“My God,” Saul commented, munching popcorn. They were sitting together on the couch in front of the TV. “This movie is made for women and gay men. Look at the abs on all those guys.”

“You have abs like that.”

“Yeah, but I’m an unnatural creature of moonlight. Most men do not look like that. It’s kind of cruel, really. To do this to the women and the gay men.”

She laughed and drained her third beer. “You think any of the cast is Pack?”

“They must be. Look at them.”

“Wouldn’t the producer just shit?”

“What a vivid mental image, my dear.”

“Oh, here it comes! He’s gonna throw the spear at that creepy fucking Xerxes. You believe the guy playing Xerxes? Yech. Creepy.”

“More androgynous than creepy.”

“Androgynous is creepy. Men should look like men, and women should look like women.”

“Says the woman with biceps and a buzz cut.”

“And a C cup.”

“That’s true,” Saul said thoughtfully, glancing at her tits. “I forgot about that.”

“Well, mention it to the next blind date.”

He groaned. “I can’t believe you’re sticking with this.”

“I will not be the only one of us unmated at age thirty! You’re eight months younger, you’ve got loads more time.”

“You’re not going to see me speed dating and fending off rapists. I’m pretty sure,” he added thoughtfully. He got up. “Another beer?”

“Yeah, please. Ohhhhhhh! And the spear splits open the side of Xerxes’s mouth! That’s gotta hurt. This used to be my favorite part.”

She heard the hssst! of Saul opening two more bottles. “Used to be?” he called from the kitchen.

“Now my favorite part is when the queen kills the traitor. He did pretty much rape her. Although she was an idiot to put herself—”

“Careful,” Saul warned.

She shut up. Who was she to judge the queen’s actions after what had happened last night? Saul was right, as usual.

“Why, why couldn’t the spear have gone three inches to the right? Killed him dead on the spot. Although,” she admitted, “that was a helluva throw. What is he, two hundred yards away? I don’t know if I could have made that throw.”

She heard Saul walk toward the back of the house—probably headed for the bathroom to get rid of some beer—and stopped with the commentary.

The phone rang, and rang again. So she picked it up in time to hear Saul answer. “Hello?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Darrell. Listen, I heard your friend has an STD, is that true?”

“Totally true,” Saul assured him. Cain felt her mouth pop open in shock and instantly abandoned her plan to hang up.

“But . . . she’s Pack, right? We don’t catch stuff like that.”

“It’s a really nasty one. Trust me, you don’t want to go anywhere near her. Things will drop off of you, I’m not kidding.”

“Thanks for the heads up. I’m sure she’s a nice girl and all, but who needs that shit?”

“Do me a favor,” Saul the unbelievably treacherous bastard said, “and spread the word.”

“Okay. Speaking of spreading the word, one of us is in the hospital—that Geoff guy?”

“Oh?” Saul asked coolly.

“Yeah, and he’s yelling about suing you and your pal for assault. But nobody knows what really happened because he won’t say.”

“Won’t he?”

“Yeah. I don’t suppose you want to say.”

“No,” Saul said calmly. “If he wants to roll the dice, that’s fine, but you might want to mention I haven’t explained the full details of last night to Michael yet. But I’d be happy to. Anytime. And if he needs me to explain it in person, I’ll be glad to visit him in the hospital. Anytime.”

There was a pause, then Darrell said, “Like that, huh? I heard he had a rough hand with the ladies. Somebody’s going to tear his throat out one of these days.”

“You might have warned me before I set him up with my best friend,” Saul said sharply.

“It was just a rumor. Nobody’s ever said anything to Michael. There’s no proof, only some talk once in a while.”

“That,” Saul said, “may change.”

“All right. Later, guy.”

“Good-bye.”

Chapter 10

Saul walked back into the living room and had half a second to duck as an armchair sailed toward his head. He dodged it (barely) and it crashed into the wall behind him.

“You son of a bitch!”

“What? What? Is your beer warm?”

“This is not about the beer!” Four knickknacks arrowed toward him: a Hummel figurine, a glass unicorn, a music box, and a picture of his grandparents. Luckily, they all belonged to his late mother.

He hated glass unicorns. “And you damned well know it!”

Oh, shit.

“You, uh, heard?”

An antique end table soared through the air toward him and he sidestepped it with time to spare. Luckily, when she was pissed, her aim went to shit.

“You’re telling people I have an STD?” She looked around frantically for something else to throw.

“It’s for your own good,” he said, his own temper rising.

“My own good?” She goggled at him, and despite the tension he couldn’t help notice that her black eye had almost disappeared. Thank God. “How is scaring potential mates off for my own—oh my God. Oh my God! You. You! You deliberately set me up with losers and psychos and—and a rapist!”

“I didn’t know Geoff would do that,” he said quickly, though he was still racked with guilt, and longed to visit the hospital and take a bite out of the man’s face. “I figured you wouldn’t click because he’s so dominant. And so are you. So I figured you’d reject him, too.”

“Bastard! You’re supposed to be my friend.” She spied his keys hanging on the board, grabbed them, and threw them at him.

He snatched them out of the air and plunked them on a nearby table. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of being your friend,” he snapped.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you twit, that I’m in love with you. It means I’ve been in love with you since kindergarten.”

“What?” she gasped, almost wheezing.

“Didn’t it occur to you that there’s a reason I’m not mated yet, and it has nothing to do with our stupid pact? For Christ’s sake, Cain, we were seven when we made that pact, did you really expect them all to stick to it? Especially Michael, who has to provide heirs?”

“You—you—”

“Then you come to me asking me to fix you up?”

“But you never said! You never said!”

“I only dropped a million hints, idiot!”

“Don’t call me names, jackass!”

“Don’t expect me to help you hook up with some random jerkoff!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“I’m not staying here another minute!”

“Fine!”

“Except they towed my car this morning so I need a ride!”

“Fine!” He snatched his keys off the table and stomped toward the front door. He’d imagined this scene a thousand times, but never quite like this. In his mind, she confessed she secretly loved him, too, and they ended up in bed, and he eventually knocked her up, and they lived happily ever after.

Not this—this screaming awful fight.

Fuck.

Chapter 11

Five days later, Cain was still fuming, bewildered, and betrayed. She’d ignored Saul’s calls and e-mails. She’d watched 300 nine more times.

And over and over again she thought about dates one through seven, thought about the fact that Saul had cold-bloodedly set her up with the worst Pack members he could find, men he knew (because he knew her as no one else did) she would find repulsive.

She hadn’t thought he had it in him.

And the love thing? Ridiculous.

There was no way.

Right?

Right.

Because this was Saul. Sweet, stammering, beta Saul. Geeky, engineering, workaholic Saul.

Saul, who’d given her his teddy bear at age five when she’d accidentally (okay, maybe she’d lost her temper a little) ripped the head off hers.

Saul, who gave her his ice-cream cone when she dropped hers the summer they were six.

Saul, who had comforted her when her parents died the fall she was fourteen, as she had comforted him when his mother died a year later, rapidly followed by his father.

Saul, who listened impassively the spring she was seventeen when she told him about losing her virginity, then suggested she dump the guy.

And she had. She had.

Looking back through the years, she could see his subtle maneuverings, the way he always made sure she stayed single, the way he gently discouraged her from pursuing certain men, men she might have fallen for.

Sneaky treacherous bastard!

If she ever saw him again (fat chance of that) she would punch his face in. Repeatedly. Until he was a big bloody mess on the ground. He and Geoff the asshole could share a hospital room.

By the fifth day, she had heaved herself up off the living room couch, hosed herself off, dressed in fresh, clean clothes, and bopped down the street to the nearest bar.

She moved easily, without pain; the damage Geoff had inflicted was long gone—although she had called the Cape Cod Hospital two days ago and established he was still an inpatient. That had put the first smile on her face in seventy-two hours. She hoped his balls still hurt.

After pushing her way past the waiting crowd, after being waved in by the bouncer, she headed straight for the bar. Never had she wanted a drink so badly.

Now she was slumped on a stool, sucking down Coronas and thinking about all the ways she would mutilate Saul if she ever saw him again (fat chance of that).

“Excuse me?”

First, she’d break his nose. Then, she’d break out all his teeth. Then—

“Excuse me?”

She turned to look; a cute redheaded, green-eyed werewolf had slid onto the stool beside her. That was a relief; at least a monkey wasn’t about to put the moves on her. “Yeah?”

“Don’t I know you?”

“I dunno. Do you?”

“You’re Cain, right?”

“Right.” She stuck out her hand and he shook it. He really was cute, with those sparkling green eyes and that big grin. And freckles!

“I’m Darrell.”

“Oh, God,” she groaned, and buried her face in her hands.

Chapter 12

I don’t have an STD. Contrary to rumor.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Buy you another one?” he asked, gesturing to her beer bottle, which was almost empty.

“Sure.”

“So,” he said, while they were waiting for the bartender, “Saul got it wrong, huh? That’s not like him.”

“Oh yes it is. He got it wrong on purpose. He’s been steering guys away from me for years. He just stepped it up this month.”

There was an awkward pause while the bartender plunked down their drinks, then Darrell said, “Jeez, that’s—uh—weird. Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s gone insane?”

“I dunno, sounds like a description of a man in love to me.”

“Please,” she said, furiously chomping on her lime.

“That would explain,” Darrell said thoughtfully, “why I also heard that you were anorexic, hooked on marijuana, and a nymphomaniac.”

She nearly choked on her lime. “I haven’t gotten laid in two years! And all that other stuff isn’t true, either,” she added belatedly.

“You’re right. He has gone insane. Saul, of all people! Crazy over you, at least.”

“Please,” she said again.

“Wow,” he said cheerfully, slurping his Bud. “I heard you were a little slow on the uptake, but does he have to paint it on your forehead?”

“I am not, either!” she said furiously, resisting the impulse to break the bottle over his stupid red head. “And he does not! And he better not. I can’t believe you’re on his side. Men,” she snorted. “You all stick together.”

“We sort of have to,” he said apologetically. “Mars and Venus and all that stuff, right? Guys have to stick together. Otherwise, you’d destroy us all.”

“That’s an interesting worldview. Creepy, but interesting.” She finished her beer and made up her mind. “So. You wanna go out? Tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he said, “but I won’t.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because Saul’s in love with you and you’re probably in love with him, you’re just too pissed to see it. And I’m not getting in the middle of that. Although you are perfectly cute,” he assured her.

“We’re just friends,” she snapped, ignoring the niggle of doubt crawling up her spine. “But thanks for the cute thing.”

“No problem. But you’re one hundred percent deluded about his feelings.”

“Deluded?” she echoed disbelievingly.

“Oh, sure. He’s totally in love with you. That’s why he did all that research on every eligible male Pack member. Guy probably hasn’t slept since you got back to town.”

“He told me that was work!”

“Well, for him, it probably was.”

She banged her forehead on the surface of the bar. “Jerk. Jerk. Jerk.”

“Hey. Quit that.” Darrell shoved his hand between her forehead and the bar, so the next time her head banged down on his hand. “Seriously, stop! You’ll give yourself a concussion.”

“I never could read his writing. I saw the paperwork, it was all over the living room.”

“Well, you should quit bitching that you didn’t have any clues. You had tons of them, sounds like.”

“It’s possible I hate you more than I hate Saul.”

“Problem is, you don’t hate Saul. So why don’t you go see him?”

“Because he’s a treacherous, lying bastard?”

“Who’s been with you through—what’s the phrase? Thick and thin?”

“I have just decided,” she said, “that this is none of your business.”

“Oh, I love to meddle. Besides, you looked so cute and forlorn I couldn’t help coming over.”

“Puppies are cute,” she grumped. “Babies are cute. I am not cute.”

“Awww, don’t be so hard on yourself, cute stuff. And go see Saul!”

“Forget it.”

He cupped his chin in one hand and studied her. “Man, he’s a brave bastard. You’d be a handful.”

“Shut up. Go away.”

“If you promise to go see him, I will.”

“How about if I just beat the crap out of you instead?”

“Oh, no,” he said earnestly. “Then it’d be awkward if we ever ran into each other again.”

“What is with you?”

“I’m a huge fan of true love.”

Incredibly, she heard herself promise. Anything for some fucking peace and quiet.

Chapter 13

She charged into Saul’s living room, having rapidly metabolized the beer and deciding to get her promise over with as soon as possible.

“All right, you treacherous son of a bitch, you sneaky sly—shit.”

The house was empty. Which was weird; where was he at friggin’ midnight, anyway? He had no life outside of work! And her! And work!

Probably out spreading more odious rumors about her; she wouldn’t put it past him.

She settled down to wait. She’d wait all night if she had to. All week. And ooooh, she was going to give him such a piece of her mind, and possibly a concussion, and maybe even—

The front door swung open, and Saul staggered inside.

“Oh my God!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, trying to limp past her, but she blocked his way. He had a bloody nose, the beginnings of two black eyes, and there was something wrong with his leg.

“Sit down, let me look at your leg.”

He tried to push her away and nearly fell over. She easily shoved him onto the couch, ripped his jeans open, and examined the bulge.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s broken.”

“Yeah.”

“And it’s healing really fast.”

“Ye—aaaagggggghhhhhh!”

She had slammed her fist down on the bulge, straightening out the greenstick fracture with one blow.

“There!” she said with false cheer. “All fixed.”

Saul leaned over the edge of the couch and threw up.

“I’ll, uh, go get the mop.”

“Go away,” he groaned.

“Well,” she replied, “normally that would be tempting, except now I have to go kill whoever beat the shit out of you. But first I have to mop up the puke.”

So she went to get the mop. Thank God for hardwood floors.

Chapter 14

So who did it?”

“I fell down the stairs.”

She snorted. “How many times?”

“Look, aren’t you furious with me?” He massaged his temples and winced. “What are you even doing here?”

“Sure I’m pissed. But we’ll sort that out after I kill the guy. Which would be a lot easier if you’d give me a name. Hate to eat the wrong guy. So who was it?”

“I walked into a door.”

“A door made of metal spikes?”

He groaned as she shoved a hamburger under his nose. “This thing is burned black on the outside and I just know it’s raw on the inside.”

“You have to eat.”

“You’re a shitty cook.”

“Well, consider it your just reward for past treacheries. Eat!”

He scowled at her, snatched the burger away, and took a big bite. He masticated for a moment, then said, “Dead cold in the middle, I knew it.”

“Shut up.” She handed him a glass of milk, and he drained it in three swallows. “Who did it?”

“I was in a car accident.”

“With how many tractor trailers?” She whipped out the washcloth and set about cleaning the blood off of his face, ignoring his efforts to push her away while he gobbled the burger.

“Cain, stop fussing, it’s been a long damn day.” He batted her hand away like it was an annoying insect.

“Saul, for Christ’s sake, will you cough up already? You—wait a minute.” She leaned forward and took a sniff. He tried to inch away from her but the couch was at his back and he had nowhere to go.

She sniffed harder. “I know that smell! That’s Geoff the asshole! Oh my God! I will kill him! He is dead! So totally, stinking, fucking dead!”

“Actually, Ms. Nosy Parker, he’s back in the hospital.”

“Completely massively dead! Wait. What?”

“He got out today. So I went to have a chat with him about how not to treat people I’ve secretly been in love with for twenty-five years. He disagreed.” Saul touched his left eye, puffing and a hideous greenish brown. “Vehemently. But, as the saying goes, you should see the other guy.”

“You went after that guy? By yourself?” She threw up her hands and he flinched. “Sorry. But Jesus Christ, Saul! What has gotten into you this week?”

“I have no idea,” he said dully.

“If you had that big a beef you should have gone to the Pack leader! Or let me handle him!”

“Ha! Not likely.”

She ignored that. “Not picked a fight with someone like that. God, he could have broken your stupid neck.”

“So? That would solve a lot of problems for you, wouldn’t—aaaagggghhhhh!”

She’d punched his bad leg again. “Now you’re just sounding like a jerk. A pissed-off jerk.”

“Which is,” he admitted, “usually your job.”

“I just cannot believe you went after him!”

“I felt guilty,” he admitted. “Really, really guilty. You—I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen you cry and he made you—he—y-you—and your shirt w-was all torn and he’d h-hit you a-and—a-and—”

She kissed him to shut him up.

Chapter 15

She kissed him as gently as she knew how, delicate butterfly kisses on his mouth, his cheeks, his swollen nose, his bruised eyes, his forehead, and he brought his arms around her with shocking strength and pulled her onto his lap. She gently parted his lips with her tongue and he sucked it greedily into his mouth, making her gasp.

“Wait,” she said, pulling back. “Not to sound like a cocktease, which I’ve already been accused of this week, but you’re awfully banged up. Maybe this isn’t such a good—”

“Are you kidding?” he said, heaving himself off the couch with her in his arms. “And let this chance go by?” And with that he actually ran with her to his bedroom, dropped her on the bed, then started pulling off his clothes as quickly as possible.

“If you don’t quit,” she said, trying not to laugh as a sock sailed past her ear, “you’re going to hurt yourself again.”

“Shouldn’t you be naked by now? No, wait. I want to do it.”

“Bossy.”

“It’s been a weird week.”

So she let him ease her shirt off, pull her shorts off, divest her of panties and bra. Then he was on top of her, his broad chest settling against hers as he kissed her, sucking her lips into his mouth and gently nibbling at the tender flesh. She groaned into his mouth—it had been two years—and arched against him when his big warm hands covered her breasts.

She ran her hands down his broad back, feeling the smooth muscles beneath the skin, praying Geoff the asshole hadn’t cracked a rib or worse. She ran her fingers through his black pubic hair and grasped his cock, feeling the velvety length pulsing against her hand. He was—my, my.

“Saul, you are hung like a horse.”

“Stop that,” he groaned, “if you don’t want to be done before we really get started.”

“I had no idea.”

“Please stop talking,” he begged.

“Yeah, that’s not really my style. It’s—” He kissed her, effectively shutting her up, and she wrapped her legs around his back as he eased into her, inch by delightful inch. He was panting, harsh gasps in her ear, and moving with maddening slowness. She beat his back with her fists but he ignored her obvious urgency and sucked a nipple into his mouth.

“Saul, for Christ’s sake,” she groaned.

“Please s-stop talking.”

“Saul, please!”

So he obligingly slammed into her and she screamed at the ceiling as sparks exploded in front of her eyes, as he thrust and shoved and pushed, as she tightened her grip on his hips and grabbed his ass and sank her fingernails into him.

Her orgasms were like fireworks—one, two, three, much better than anything she’d been achieving on her own in the last twenty-four months—and still he thrust, still he pushed inside her and withdrew and pushed again, and the sweet agony exploded through her again and she shrieked his name.

“Oh, God, Cain!” he cried, and then he shivered all over and she could feel him pulsing inside her, filling her up, warming her from the inside out, and she shuddered once more in answer to his pure male need.

They lay locked together, gasping.

“Oh my God,” she said at last.

“Please don’t spoil it,” he murmured into her neck.

“Saul, where have you been all my life?”

“Wherever you’ve wanted me to be.” Pause. “Idiot.”

She laughed. “Ooooh, love the sexy pillow talk. I may melt.”

“I actually don’t love you; now that I’ve had you I think I hate you.”

“Oh, you liar.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, and kissed her again.

Chapter 16

Now, don’t go getting a swelled head,” she told him at breakfast. He’d woken her up twice in the night, once to take her from behind, once to lick every inch of her body.

He peered at her over the paper. “No, not at all.”

“Just because you’re the most fantastic lover ever doesn’t mean I’ve magically fallen in love with you overnight.”

“Oh, you love me,” he said casually. “You’re just a little slow on the uptake.”

“That is just what Darrell said,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Never mind. Eat your eggs, you’ve still got two black eyes.”

“My eggs,” he commented, “are runny.”

“You think I cook for anybody, you ungrateful ass? Eat!”

“Runny and you put too much milk in them.”

“Shut up!” she howled, and threw an English muffin at his head. He handily dodged. She tried to calm down. It was difficult, when all she wanted to do was rip his clothes off and fuck him on the kitchen table.

Saul.

Saul, of all people! Who’da thunk it?

“What I am trying to say,” she managed through clenched teeth, “is that we should date.”

“I was thinking more like getting married.”

“Date,” she continued doggedly, “and on or around my birthday, if we think it’ll work out, we can get married.”

“Oh.” He chewed, blank-faced, then said, “I’d rather get married right now.”

“You ass! Jesus, I love you.” Then, horrified, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean it!”

“Yes, you did.” He looked unbearably smug.

“It just sort of slipped out! Like—like verbal diarrhea.”

“You,” he said, “should write greeting cards. You’ve got such a way with words.”

She threw another muffin at him, which he snatched out of the air and devoured in two bites. “Date!” she practically screamed. “We will date! And in two weeks, maybe we’ll get married.”

There was a polite rap on the door, and he instantly got up.

“No, stay put and eat. I’ll get it. Maybe Geoff’s back for round two.”

“Doubt it.”

She went to the front door, opened it, and saw her Pack leader, Michael Wyndham, standing on the front step.

“Cain! Congratulations!”

“Huh? I mean, good morning, Michael.”

“As soon as I heard the great news I went to work.”

“Huh?”

“Jeez, you’re kind of slow on the uptake, aren’t you? I’ve got the paperwork all arranged.” He handed her a sheet on thick vellum.

A marriage certificate.

And Michael, of course, was licensed to marry them.

“Saul!” she screamed, almost crumpling the license in her fist. “You—manipulative—prick!”

“Wedding day jitters?” Michael asked kindly.

“Aren’t you going to invite him in?” Saul called from the kitchen.

She weighed the pleasure of slamming the door in his face against the consequences of slamming the door in his face, then grudgingly stepped aside so he could enter.

Then she trotted down the hall to the kitchen. “This doesn’t prove anything! I’m not signing that thing today!”

“Well, I am.” He was scraping the rest of his runny eggs into the garbage disposal. “You can sign it whenever you’re ready.”

“Which might be a long damn time, Mr. Planned Everything without Telling Me! Ever think of that?”

“Ticktock, Cain. You’re thirty . . . when?”

“You know when!” she yowled.

“So,” Michael said from behind her, “who’s signing this thing? Say, Cain, remember that bet we made when we were just kids, about how we wouldn’t get mated until we—”

She snatched the thing out of his hand. Saul handed her a pen. She signed it with an angry slash. Thrust it at her (groan) husband. Who also signed it.

“Okay,” Michael said, looking at them doubtfully and taking the certificate back. “As you know, you’re now legally married, but we’d love to have a formal ceremony for you at the Manor. When you’re, um, not so stressed. Maybe in a week or two?”

“I’m not stressed. I’m fucking married.”

“Well, ah, congratulations seem to be in order for the, um, happy couple.”

“You bastard,” she told Saul.

Her husband smiled and handed her a glass of raw eggs.

“You’ll pay,” she warned him. “For the next fifty years, you’ll pay.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he said, and kissed her for a lovely long time, and at one point Michael cleared his throat and left, but they didn’t notice.