Hair of the Dog (10 page)

From across the expansive wood floor littered with
rhythmically challenged preteens, he spotted Ivy. His breath caught. She
surveyed the meeting hall in all directions. She grabbed a kid running by and
scolded him for something, probably running. If she were at the dance with
someone else, Grant would be the one demonstrating bad behavior. For now he
decided to merely follow her with his gaze, which was different than his
obsessed stalking of her home and office on the pretense of business.
When
did I become this pathetic shell of a man, unable to control his thoughts and
feelings?
He knew the answer—the day Ivy came to town.

A vain woman might have slinked into a little black dress
and high heels. Not Ivy. She’d dressed appropriately for a prepubescent party.
Pretty. Colorful. Flirty. Not too much skin showing. Her hair bounced around
her shoulders with each step she took in her flat dress shoes.

Ivy nearly skidded to a stop when she saw him. He raised his
hand in an apprehensive greeting. Wherever she’d been headed off to, she took a
detour to confront him. Grant met her halfway, striking a defensive pose.

“Hey,” he said. The music volume was such that they’d never
be able to have a meaningful conversation. A hip-hop beat thrummed through his
body, dueling with the steady beat of his heart.

Her head inclined. “Hey yourself.”

Perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part, but he’d say
she appeared happy to see him. Grant relaxed his shoulders and asked, “You
working?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Sort of. What’s your excuse?”

All he could come up with was, “Civic duty?” Kids don’t
vote, but their teachers and parents did.
And I’m a pushover
. “You?”

Shrugging, she said, “Can’t say no.”

He concentrated on his shoes. “Are we pathetic or what?”

Ivy swayed a little to the music, though he couldn’t tell if
it was conscious or not. “I’d like to say ‘or what’, but I’m going with
pathetic.”

He instinctively grimaced. “Would you like to dance?” The
grimace was a reflex from a bygone era. Grant braced himself for her answer.

She froze. “God no.”

He wiped his brow. “Whew. Dodged a bullet.” He wouldn’t even
begin to know how to dance to the noise these kids called music. He’d never
gotten the hang of dancing to
his
generation’s music. “How ’bout a
soda?”

She nodded.

Sodas in hand, they stood in the shadows like prison guards
awaiting a riot and sipped their beverages. They took turns squelching pranks,
preventing fights and enforcing proper dance floor etiquette. If Molly had
lived, he’d have one or two smaller versions of the little troublemakers.

“I’ve seen zoo animals behave better,” Ivy said. Her foot
tapped to the music.

Grant leaned in and asked her, “What makes us qualified to
police them?”

“I know, right?” Her brow drew together. “Who in their right
mind would allow
us
to monitor children?”

Especially if they knew he wanted to drag his chaperone
buddy into a dark corner and ravage her mind, body and spirit. Yes, he
absolutely wanted her to be his and only his, completely. Not only physically
but also spiritually and psychologically. Grant wanted her love as well as her
body. And felt like a shit for it. He’d pledged his eternal devotion to Molly,
his life mate, and hadn’t lasted quite two years before giving in to his
desire.
Am I weak or is Ivy exceptional?

Maybe it was Ivy’s magic possessing him. He didn’t believe
in excuses. He also didn’t give a damn about the why of his desire for her. A
wicked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Are you thinking about last
night?”

“No. I’m thinking about this morning,” she admitted with a
sly grin.

“Which time?”

Ivy giggled. “The really naughty time.”

“Like I said, which time?” Grant rocked sideways into her,
giving her a playful shove.

They were getting back to where they’d left off about
twenty-four hours ago. Playful. She’d forgive him for the answering machine
incident. This time. Clearly he needed to make a change. Move on. Get closure.
Make peace with the fact he couldn’t fulfill his pledge to Molly. A pledge she
had never asked him to make. In the hospital, before she’d slipped away forever,
she’d urged him to be happy—with someone else, if that’s what he needed.

Molly had been wise. When alive, she’d always complained he
didn’t listen to her. Grant decided he should listen to her in death.

The band announced a plan to slow things down. Grant thought
he’d need to bribe someone to get a change in tempo. Matt Lympky, the science
teacher turned the lights down a bit, flashing Grant a double thumbs-up. For a
cat person, he wasn’t a bad guy.

“Dance?” Grant asked Ivy.

Ivy gnawed on her lower lip and shook her head. “We’re
supposed to be the level heads of reason and responsibility.”

“It would be easier to spot inappropriate behavior if we
infiltrate them from the dance floor.” She couldn’t argue with logic like that
unless she knew he’d be focused on her, not the hand placement of some
zit-faced boy.

She wrinkled her button nose at him. “I’m no good.”

“Perfect.” Grant took her hand, leading her into the fray.
“Me either.” But he had to touch her and this was the least conspicuous plan of
attack.

Along the way he tapped a kid on the shoulder for dancing
entirely too close to his date.
If I can’t, he can’t.
Stopping in the
center of the floor, Grant pulled his partner into his arms, leaving a
respectable space between their bodies and swayed. That was the extent of his
dance moves. No dipping, spinning or twirling. The mirror ball cast a sparkly
glow on her skin.

Ivy wagged her finger at a girl exchanging gum with her
dance partner. She had an arsenal of hand signals to get her point across. The
finger wag. Finger snapping. Clapping of hands. The slicing gesture to the
throat indicated her limit before expulsion from the dance floor. She’d make a
great mother someday, which only proved to remind him how fragile their
relationship was. Fate might have other plans for them. Her children might be
fathered by some other schmo. Not Grant.

“We’re not awful,” Grant said. They fit together nicely,
moving with fluid motion. All in all, they made a nice-looking couple,
complementing each other in height and proportion. Chemically, they had
it
going on. He wouldn’t be surprised if a fog of attraction surrounded them.

“When you stopped by my office earlier, were you going to
invite me? Here? With you?” she asked.

He grimaced. “Lame, right?”

Taking her eyes off their charges, she looked into his eyes.
“Not at all. It’s sweet.”

He threw his head back faking anguish. “You called me sweet.
That’s the kiss of death.”

She scoffed. “Is not.”

“My job requires a lot of these types of functions. Church
picnics. Civic luncheons. Award ceremonies. Banquets.” Sighing, he added, “Very
boring. Takes a special woman to put up with the public life of a politician. I
don’t know how Molly did it.” He shouldn’t have mentioned Molly, but the more
he tried to avoid talking about her, the harder it was to actually not talk
about her.

“Booze?”

They both laughed. “Maybe.”

Averting her eyes, she said, “I thought you just wanted a
hookup. Again.”

“No.” His grip tightened around her waist. “I mean. Yes and
no.” His fingers laced intimately with her hand he held. He doubted anyone else
noticed his familiarity except Ivy. Or maybe he was just fooling himself to
think he and Ivy were fooling anyone else. Physical attraction, chemicals and
magic aside, Grant knew he desperately wanted and needed the woman in his arms.
“How can I say this without sounding like a putz?”

Her bosom rose and fell. Eyes dilated. Her palm sweated in
his. He sensed her pulse quicken. The animal in him picked up on all her
arousal indicators.
Don’t even get me started on her scent.

“Say what?” She swiped her tongue across her lower lip.

Leaning in, he whispered, “I’m crazy about you.”

Blushing, she replied, “Just like that?”

He wanted very much to kiss her on the dimly lit dance floor
beneath the revolving mirror ball. Grant pretended it was enough just to know
she wanted him to kiss her, but it wasn’t. Being a chaperone sucked.

Suddenly a commotion broke out. Grant felt it in the hushed
silence before he heard the buzz of chatter from the kids. They stopped dancing
and gathered in a circle like a ring around a fight, which was what he
suspected. Struggling through the crowd he found a young man thrashing about on
the floor, his breathing labored, his eyes rolling back beyond his lids.

“Stand back!” Grant called. “Give him room.”

“Oh my God!” Matt Lympky said.

“Should I call 9-1-1?” Ivy asked.

Mrs. Ferndale, the PE teacher touched her arm lightly. “No.”
Her concerned gaze cut to Grant. “He’s quite young for this.” Her words were
calm. “Everyone back.”

Grant guessed the boy’s premature shift was another symptom
of their failing spring.

Mr. Lympky dropped to the floor and held the boy down. “Calm
down, son.”

“Don’t restrain him,” Grant said. “That’ll just make it
worse. Loosen his clothes.” The first time shifting was frightening enough
without someone confining you. He recalled his first time. He’d been a bit
older and had been around his family, still it terrified him. Sure, he’d
dreamed about shifting, but nothing prepared you for the real thing. “Relax.
Just breathe.”

“C-c-can’t.”

“What’s going on?” Ivy asked.

Mrs. Ferndale patted Ivy’s arm without offering an answer.
With her other arm she ushered the other children away. “Stay back, kids.”

Ivy dropped to her knees near the boy. “What’s his name?”
She took his hand.

“Colton,” Mr. Lympky replied.

“He one of your kind?” Grant asked Lympky. He knew every
wolf family in town. He suddenly thought to himself that, being the mayor and
all, he should know every family in town. But he needed to know what he was
dealing with. He silently admonished himself for not being a better leader of
his people. All the people in Mystic.

Mr. Lympky nodded.

Still holding the kid’s hand, Ivy ran her fingers through
his hair. “It’s okay, Colton.”

“It’s best not to touch him, Ivy,” Grant said.

So many questions reflected in her eyes. What could he say?
How could he explain? Between the commotion of the other kids gathered around,
along with the two chaperones shouting suggestions and orders, he couldn’t hear
himself think. Ivy gasped when the boy’s features morphed somewhere between cat
and human.

The boy seized and snarled. He hissed at Ivy and swatted at
her with a sharp claw, slashing her skin. Ivy jumped back, clamping her hand
over the scratch on her arm. Things got out of control at that point. The smell
of fear and the sound of panic mingled in the air. And rightly so. If Colton
shifted, he’d be an unpredictable animal in what might look like a grocery
store to him. It sometimes took a while to get a handle on separating the
animal from the human, as well as maintaining some sort of balance between the
two.

“Get everyone out!” Grant demanded. He’d lost sight of Ivy.
He loosened his tie, preparing to shift also. It might take an animal to reason
with an animal. The evacuation of kids was moving too slow through the
emergency exits. “Settle down, Colton.”

The kid was still trapped between cat and human, crying out
in despair. Sometimes it didn’t completely happen on the first try. The
experience was different for everyone. Some thought of shifting as a curse, others
as a blessing.

Grant kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket,
tossing it aside. The other partiers were nearly all to safety on the other
side of the double doors. A couple band members, wolves, hovered in Grant’s
peripheral vision, also preparing to shift. The drummer of the band stripped
his clothes off and shifted prematurely to wolf form.

He snarled and barked at the kid, making things worse rather
than better.

Colton screamed.

Grant looked up in time to see Ivy march across the room, a
pitcher of water in each hand. She tossed one pitcher of ice water on the boy.
The shock to his system worked. He transformed back into a frightened kid. A
wet, frightened, shivering kid.

She splashed the second pitcher of water on Grant—for no
other reason than malice, if the look on her face was any indicator.

Ivy found a pair of rubber boots and a mop in the utility
closet. The kids were long gone. The band eyed her strangely as she mopped and
they packed up and packed out. The other two chaperones bagged up garbage. They
all knew something she didn’t. Like the answer to the riddle “When is a child a
feral cat?” and “When is a woman a cougar?” They sounded like trick questions,
but no. Do deer swim? Do wolves walk you home after a date? And apparently
musicians really
were
dogs.

Grant was off somewhere talking to the parents of the cat in
question and some big muckety mucks of his cats-versus-dogs society.

“I’m going to lock up!” Ivy called out.

“But our contract states—” the nerdy science teacher said.

Ivy stomped her rubber-booted foot and pointed to the door.
“Out!”

The PE teacher calmly said, “To get our deposit back we need
to—”

“You’ll get every penny of it.” She jingled her keys in a
threatening manner. Get out or be kicked out. That was her message.

They skulked away on the heels of the band. The mirror ball
spun on, casting a mini light show in the empty meeting hall. Her intense fury
melted away to a dull, throbbing anger now she was alone. Ivy hefted the
punchbowl to the bathroom and dumped the pink liquid down the sink drain. She
rinsed it and put the bowl back on the table before continuing where the other
chaperones left off. When the trash bag was full, she tied a knot in the top.

“Let me help you with that.” Grant rushed to her aid. He’d
lost his drenched suit and wore a pair of coveralls with the Mystic Resort and
Spa emblem embroidered over his heart.

“I got it,” she snapped.

Taking it anyhow, he plunked the refuse in a wheeled garbage
can. “You’re upset.”

Talk about an understatement.
“No shit.”

“We should talk.” He reached out to her, but Ivy recoiled
from his touch as if burnt.

Glaring at him, she said, “Double no shit.” He probably
meant something akin to double talk. She fully expected him to talk in circles,
politician style, saying nothing with a lot of words. Convince her she didn’t
see what she saw, that she didn’t know what she knew. And that was the rub. She
didn’t
know what she knew.

“I’m going home.”

“I’ll walk you,” he said, but it sounded more like a demand
than an offer.

“I mean home to Arizona!” She strode away. With no place to
live and no job to go back to, the statement was highly impractical. She’d
never felt settled or needed or accepted until arriving in Mystic Springs. Ivy
had also never felt so unsettled, as if she were being pulled in several
different directions. Her skin finally suited her, yet she didn’t recognize
herself. Part of that reality appealed to her. She’d found a fresh start in the
sleepy little town.

Grant caught up, wrapping his fingers around her wrist to
stop Ivy. “You can’t leave and you know it.”

Facing him, she said, “Am I your prisoner now?”

She showed no fear, because Ivy didn’t fear him one bit. On
the contrary. From the moment she’d met him, she’d eased into comfort with him.
For once in her life she was comfortable in her abilities and confident in her
choices. Ivy’s outsides finally matched her insides. Looking in the mirror each
day, she was still Ivy. But her beauty was way more than just skin deep.
Granted, her skin was clearer and full of color since arriving in town. Her
mane of tangled, unmanageable hair was now sleek and shiny. Ivy had no use for
her glasses any longer. Her hearing had improved. Everything in Mystic looked
vivid, tasted flavorful and sounded—loud.

“No. I’m your prisoner.” His fingers around her wrist
loosened to a relaxed hold not resembling bondage, but connection and
affection. “This entire town and everyone in it is your prisoner.”

Being their jailer struck her as a heavy burden.

She wrenched her hand free, breaking into a run. Not because
Grant frightened her. Well, no. He frightened her. His mere presence, his touch
and kisses scared Ivy. Not so much having them, but not having them. Losing
him. Mostly she feared his words. Whatever he had to say would drive a wedge
between them. If she could avoid his explanation for a little longer, her world
would continue to spin. Once uttered, his words would send her life spinning
out of control.

She bounded down the stairs to the darkness that met her at
the bottom. The bar and restaurant were closed. Ivy reached out her hands and
felt her way to her office. She didn’t hear him following her. Finding her
office, she switched on the small desk lamp. Her chest heaved. Her pulse
pounded.

“Ivy?”

“Grant.” How did he follow so quickly? So silently?

Boom! She found herself in his arms, stuck to his body like
flypaper. She didn’t care what he had to say. Once he said what he had to tell
her, everything would change. Her mouth melted into his. Her tongue mixed with
his. They fumbled and stumbled around the room until he fell back into her desk
chair. Ivy swept her files off the desk, clearing the surface, clearing her
anger, making room for passion.

“Take me.” She hopped on her desk, planting her feet on the
arms on either side of the chair he sat in. She didn’t even care she still wore
the rubber boots. He didn’t care either if the way he attacked her panties with
his mouth was any indication.

All his gentleness was gone as he moved between her legs
using his lips, nose and even his chin—his entire face made love to her pussy.
His rough approach turned out to be just what she needed and wanted. The
pleasure was a nice accessory to her anger, same as a fine wine might
complement dinner. Ivy reclined on the desk and let him work his magic. Her
panties were soaked from his wet kisses and her flowing juices. Placing his
palm over her mound, Grant rubbed and pressed. He reached for the pencil caddy
she’d knocked over while clearing the desk. His fingers wrapped around a pair
of scissors. She whimpered. He cut the flimsy fabric of her panties at each
hip. For some reason, she felt a zap of pleasure in her pussy with each snip.

“I’ll replace those,” he promised before returning his
interest to the slice of paradise between her legs.

“Don’t bother,” she said. It was so worth it.

Grant growled down low in his throat as he probed her with
his fingers, lips and tongue. His tongue flicked madly, slapping her clit,
stopping only to rub the nub with his fingers. The two middle fingers of his
other hand jack-hammered rapidly in and out of her passage, stroking her pussy
on the inside while he also stroked her pussy on the outside.

“You like this?” he asked between sucking and licking.

Ivy wondered if he ran the town with as much attention to
detail as he paid to her pussy.
Holy smokes
. “Yes,” she whispered.

He stopped his glorious assault between her legs. “What’s
that you said?”

“Yes,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

“Louder,” Grant demanded, putting the scissors back into the
caddy.

“Yes!” She laughed, enjoying his manhandling of her. But she
couldn’t take him too seriously, knowing him to be kind and even-tempered.
Polite when he needed to be. Not so much now, when she wanted to be fucked
hard. She wanted to be reminded tomorrow of their lovemaking in every sore
muscle.

Seemingly satisfied by the volume of her answer, if not the
seriousness, Grant resumed kissing her nether lips with fervor. His thumb slid
up and down along her clit.

“Come for me,” he demanded.

“Make me,” Ivy replied.

“I want to see you come.” His tongue slipped inside her
channel, replacing his fingers, and she nearly did as he commanded. His fingers
filled her again. “I want to taste you and smell you and feel you come.”

Her belly filled with warmth.
Not yet.
Ivy wanted to
stay like this forever, just the two of them locked in passion.

“That’s it,” he said, when her thighs began to tremble
around him.

Grant switched to licking again as the quaking grabbed hold
of Ivy from the waist down. A burst of pleasure pulsed through her body, followed
by a second and third pulsation. He pressed his thumb against her clit, firing
off another spasm and another as he pressed, held and released, almost like
he’d climbed inside her mind and knew what she needed. She gave him what he’d
asked for, to see, taste, smell and feel her satisfaction.

Once she was sated, Grant kissed her inner thigh. His warm
breath blew against her skin.

“I don’t have a condom,” he said. “I thought I was going
stag to the dance.”

So sweet,
she thought. Lifting only her head and arm,
she pointed to the rack of supplies along the wall. “There’s an entire case of
’em over there.” She’d been right about the condom machine in the bathroom.
Although she’d never seen one in such an upscale establishment before. And the
patrons went through them like nobody’s business.

“Mystic is for horn dogs”
should be the town
slogan,
Ivy thought.
Put that on a bumper sticker.

He tossed several rolls of toilet paper on the floor in his
frenzy to get to the case of condoms. When he found the box, Grant tore into
them, dropping several to the ground at his feet. She heard a zipper that went
on forever. She fought the impulse to demand he hurry up. He positioned himself
between her legs. Seconds later he groaned and she gasped when his entire
length thrust balls-deep into her pussy. She’d expected him to ease into her
gently, but this worked too. Worked damn well.

Still laying across her desk, Ivy hooked her legs over his
broad shoulders. He planted his palms firmly on the desk on either side of her
head, bending and spreading her.

His tongue dipped into her mouth, lapping and licking at her
mouth, nipping and nibbling at her lips. His cock plunged into her channel over
and over again. Her scent on his lips, now on her lips, intoxicated her beyond
her wildest imagination, rekindling the fire in her belly. He buried his face
against her neck, breathing heavily onto her skin between moans and groans.

Ivy fingered his hair. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” he choked out.

Ivy clutched his face in her hands to force his compliance.
She needed to be connected to Grant on a deeper level. To see his affection for
her reflected in his eyes. What she saw instead were not his eyes. The color
wasn’t human, but familiar. The look was…wild, untamed. She gasped. “Grant.”

He shook off her hold and moaned, his teeth skimming her
shoulder roughly. He growled her name over and over again between gritted
teeth. Despite her fear, or perhaps because of it, she came again seconds
before him.

Who held whom prisoner? Grant had ruined her for all other
men. And she wasn’t even sure if he was entirely a man.

* * * * *

Grant and Ivy crossed the dimly lit grounds together hand in
hand. She still wore those silly boots and he adored her for it. His jacket
hung draped over her shoulders. They hadn’t talked much outside of awkward
pleasantries like, “Can you please hand me what’s left of my decimated
panties?” and “Mind helping me pick up all these condoms?”

“Here we are,” he said when they reached her cottage.

She shivered, including chattering teeth. The spring night
was well above chilly. He had to wonder if she wasn’t suffering from shock.
They’d had an unusual evening, to say the least.

“Can I come in?” he asked. “I’d like to take a look at that
scratch.” Something he should have done earlier instead of banging her
senseless in her office. He feared he had broken her skin with his teeth while
they made love too. All in all, a strange and reckless evening he did not
regret.

“I need some time…space…some answers,” she mumbled.

Grant nodded.

They both looked up the road to where a small pickup truck
was barreling toward them. Grant instinctively grabbed her arm, pulling Ivy
close to him, putting his body between her and the vehicle. The truck screeched
to a stop.
What now?
A large man in a ski mask hopped from the back, a
burlap bag in his hands. Chaos would surely ensue, Grant thought, his blood
pumping hard and fast. The driver, his face in the shadows, barked orders at
the man in the mask. The voice sounded familiar, but due to the ski mask was
too muffled to identify, despite Grant’s keen hearing. He smelled bear in this
fiasco.

Shoving Ivy toward the cottage, Grant said, “Get in the
house. Lock the door.”

She clutched his arm. “No.”

The engine of the truck revved. The man in the mask ran
toward them and swung at Grant, who dodged his sluggish punch. Ivy screamed.
Grant went on the offense, striking their attacker with his right, followed
closely by his left.

The adrenaline and anger caused his skin to heat. Not only
did he have to fight the attacker, Grant had to fight to remain in human form.
Shifting to a wolf would set the predator in him loose. But he couldn’t spare
the precious few seconds—seconds that could cost him everything that mattered
to him.

Growling, his attacker plainly fought the same battle
against shifting. More blows were thrown. Grant managed to dodge most of the
jabs, but his opponent wasn’t so lucky. The man stumbled back, nearly toppling
over when Grant’s fist landed a powerful blow to the bear shifter’s jaw. When
the masked attacker dashed for the truck, Grant pursued.

From the shadows, Jack Crump emerged, his trusty baseball
bat in hand. Grant froze, remembering his last tangle with Jack. Jack twirled
the bat like a baton before swinging the bat, shattering one headlight of the
truck. Without words, he pointed with the bat for them to leave. The driver
struggled to find reverse, grinding his gears. Jack swung at the other
headlight, sending shards of glass and plastic in all directions. Their
assailant jumped in the back of the truck and the driver sped off in reverse.
What little light the truck had left faded into the dark.