The Lunatic Cafe

17



It was more like six-thirty by the time I walked down the hallway to my apartment. I had half expected to see Richard sitting in the hall, but it was empty. The tightness in my stomach eased just a bit. A reprieve, even of a few minutes, was still a reprieve.



I had my keys in the door when the door behind me opened. I dropped the keys, leaving them dangling. My right hand went for the Browning. It was instinct, not something I thought about. My hand was on the butt, but I hadn't drawn it when Mrs. Pringle appeared in the door. I eased my hand away from the gun and smiled. I don't think she realized what I was doing because her smile never faltered.



She was tall and thin with age. Her white hair was wrapped in a bun at the nape of her neck. Mrs. Pringle never wore makeup and never apologized for being over sixty. She seemed to enjoy being old.



"Anita, you're running a little late tonight," she said. Custard, her Pomeranian, yapped in the background like a stuck record.



I frowned at her. Six-thirty was early for me to get home. Before I could say anything, Richard appeared behind her in the doorway. His hair fell around his face in a mass of rich brown waves. He was wearing one of my favorite sweaters. It was solid forest green and squishy soft to the touch. Custard was barking at him, inches away from his leg, as if working up courage for a quick nip.



"Custard, stop that," Mrs. Pringle said. She looked up at Richard. "I've never seen him behave like this around anyone. Anita can tell you that he likes almost everyone." She looked to me for support, embarrassed about her dog being rude to a guest.



I nodded. "You're right. I've never seen him act like this before." I was looking at Richard. His face was as closed and careful as I'd ever seen it.



"He acts like this around other dogs sometimes, tries to boss them," she said. "Do you have a dog, Mr. Zeeman? Maybe Custard smells him on you."



"No," Richard said, "I don't have a dog."



"I found your beau sitting in the hall with his sack of food. I thought he might like to wait inside. I'm sorry that Custard has made the visit so unpleasant."



"I always enjoy talking shop with another teacher," he said.



"So polite," she said. Her face had broken into a wonderful smile. She'd only met Richard once or twice in the hall, but she liked him. Even before she found out he was a teacher. Snap judgment.



Richard stepped around her into the hall. Custard followed him, yipping furiously. The dog looked like an overly ambitious dandelion. But it was a pissed dandelion. The dog bounced forward on tiny feet, giving a little hop with each bark.



"Custard, get back in here."



I held the door open for Richard. He had a white take-out sack and a coat in his arms. The dog gave a running bound, darting in to nip his ankle. Richard looked down at the dog. Custard stopped a nose away from his pants leg. He rolled eyes upward, a look in his doggy eyes that I'd never seen before. A considering look as if he wondered if Richard really would eat him.



Richard slipped through the door. Custard just stood there in the hallway, as subdued as I'd ever seen him. "Thanks for looking after Richard, Mrs. Pringle."



"My pleasure. He's a nice young man," she said. Her tone of voice said more than the words. "Nice young man" meant marry him. My stepmother, Judith, would agree with her. Except that Judith would have said it out loud, no hinting.



I smiled and closed the door. Custard started yapping at the door. I locked the door out of habit and turned to face the music.



Richard had draped his leather coat across the back of the couch. The take-out sack was sitting on the small kitchenette table. He lifted out cartons of food. I put my coat on the back of the couch by his and slipped off the high heels. I lost about two inches of height and felt much better.



"Nice jacket," he said. His voice was still neutral.



"Thanks." I had been going to take the jacket off, but he liked it, so I kept it on. Silly, but true. We were both being so careful. The tension in the room was choking.



I got plates out of the cabinet. I got a cold Coke from the fridge for me and poured a glass of water for Richard. He didn't like carbonated beverages. I'd taken to keeping a jug of cold water in the fridge just for him. My throat felt tight as I set the drinks on the table.



He set out silverware. We moved around my minuscule kitchen like dancers, knowing where each would be, never bumping unless it was on purpose. Tonight there was no touching. We left the lights off. The only light was from the living room, leaving the kitchen in semidarkness like a cave. It was almost as if neither one of us wanted to see clearly.



We sat down at last. We stared at each other over the food on the plates: mooshu pork for me, cashew chicken for Richard. The smell of hot Chinese food filled the apartment. Warm and comforting on most occasions. Tonight it nauseated me. A double order of crab ragoon sat on a plate between us. He had filled a saucer with sweet-and-sour sauce. It was the way we always ate Chinese, sharing a bowl of sauce.



Damn.



His chocolate brown eyes stared at me. I was the one who looked away first. I didn't want to do this. "So, do all dogs react like that to you?"



"No, just the dominant ones."



I looked up at that. "Custard is dominant to you?"



"He thinks so."



"Unhealthy," I said.



He smiled. "I don't eat dogs."



"I didn't mean... oh, shit." If we were going to do this, might as well do it right. "Why didn't you tell me about Marcus?"



"I didn't want to involve you."



"Why not?"



"Jean-Claude involved you with Nikolaos. You told me how much you hated that. Resented it. If I brought you in to help me with Marcus, what would be the difference?"



"It's not the same," I said.



"How? I won't use you like Jean-Claude did. I won't do it."



"If I volunteer, you're not using me."



"What are you going to do? Kill him?" There was a bitterness in his voice, anger.



"What's that supposed to mean?"



"You might as well take your jacket off. I saw the gun."



I opened my mouth to protest and closed it. Explaining in the middle of a fight that I wanted to look good for him sounded silly. I stood up and took the jacket off. I draped it carefully over the back of the chair, taking a lot of time with it. "There. Happy?"



"Is that gun your answer to everything?"



"Why do you suddenly have a problem with me carrying a gun?"



"Alfred was my friend."



That stopped me. It hadn't even occurred to me that Richard might like Alfred. "I didn't know he was your friend."



"Would it have made a difference?"



I thought about that. "Maybe."



"You didn't have to kill him."



"I had this conversation with Marcus last night. They left me no choice, Richard. I warned him, more than once."



"I heard all about it. The pack's buzzing with it. How you wouldn't back down. You rejected Marcus's protection. You shot another one of us." He shook his head. "Oh, everyone's real impressed."



"I didn't do it to impress them."



He took a deep breath. "I know, that's what scares me."



"You're scared of me?"



"For you," he said. The anger was seeping out of his eyes, what was replacing it was fear.



"I can handle myself, Richard."



"You don't understand what you did last night."



"I am sorry if Alfred was your friend. Frankly, he didn't strike me as someone you'd hang out with."



"I know he was a bully, and Marcus's dog to call, but he was mine to protect."



"Marcus wasn't doing a lot of protecting last night, Richard. He was more interested in his little power struggle than in keeping Alfred safe."



"I stopped by Irving's place this morning." He let the statement hang there in the air between us.



It was my turn to get angry. "Did you hurt him?"



"If I did, it was my right as beta male."



I stood up, hands pressed on the tabletop. "If you hurt him, we are going to have more than just words."



"Are you going to shoot me, too?"



I looked at him, with his wonderful hair, looking scrumptious in his sweater, and nodded. "If I had to."



"You could kill me, just like that."



"No, not kill, but wound, yeah."



"To keep Irving safe, you'd pull a gun on me." He was leaning back in the chair, arms crossed on his chest. His expression was amazed and angry.



"Irving asked for my protection. I gave it."



"So he told me this morning."



"Did you hurt him?"



He stared at me for a long time, then finally said, "No, I didn't hurt him."



I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding and eased back into my chair.



"You'd really pit yourself against me to protect him. You really would."



"Don't sound so amazed. Irving was caught in the middle of the two of you. Marcus would have hurt him if he didn't contact me, and you said you'd hurt him if he did. Didn't seem very fair."



"A lot of things in the pack aren't fair, Anita."



"So is life, Richard. What of it?"



"When Irving told me that he was under your protection, I didn't hurt him, but I didn't really believe you'd hurt me."



"I've known Irving a lot longer than I've known you."



He leaned forward, hands on the tabletop. "But he's not dating you."



I shrugged. I didn't know what else to say. Nothing seemed like a safe bet.



"Am I still your sweetie or did your baptism by fire last night make you not want to date me anymore?"



"You're in a life-or-death struggle and you didn't tell me. If you hide things like that from me, how can we have a relationship?"



"Marcus won't kill me," he said.



I just stared at him. He seemed sincere. Shit. "You really believe that, don't you?"



"Yes."



I wanted to call him a fool, but I closed my mouth and tried to think of something else to say. Nothing came to mind. "I've met Marcus. I've met Raina." I shook my head. "If you really believe that Marcus doesn't want you dead, you're wrong."



"One night and you're an expert," he said.



"Yeah, on this I am."



"That's why I didn't tell you. You'd kill him, wouldn't you? You'd just kill him."



"If he was trying to kill me, yeah."



"I have to handle this myself, Anita."



"Then handle it, Richard. Kill his ass."



"Or you'll do it for me."



I sat back in my chair. "Shit, Richard, what do you want from me?"



"I want to know if you think I'm a monster."



The conversation was moving too fast for me. "You're accusing me of being a murderer. Shouldn't that be my question?"



"I knew what you were when we first met. You thought I was human. Do you still think I'm human?"



I stared at him. He looked so uncertain. In my head I knew he wasn't human. But I'd still never seen him do any of the otherworldly stuff. Looking at him here in my kitchen, brown eyes brimming with sincerity, he just didn't seem very dangerous. He believed that Marcus wouldn't kill him. It was too naive for words. I wanted to protect him. To keep him safe somehow.



"You're not a monster, Richard."



"Then why haven't you touched me tonight, not even a hello kiss."



"I thought we were mad at each other," I said. "I don't kiss people that I'm mad at."



"Are we mad at each other?" His voice was soft, hesitant.



"I don't know. Promise me something."



"What?"



"No more hiding. No more lying, not even by omission. You tell me the truth, and I'll tell you the truth."



"Agreed, if you promise not to kill Marcus."



I stared across at him. How could anybody be a master werewolf and be so goody-two-shoes? It was both charming and liable to get him killed. "I can't promise that."



"Anita..."



I held up a hand. "I can promise not to kill him unless he attacks me, or you, or a civilian."



It was Richard's turn to stare at me. "You could kill him, just like that?"



"Just like that."



He shook his head. "I don't understand that."



"How can you be a lycanthrope and never have killed anybody?"



"I'm careful."



"And I'm not?"



"You're almost casual about it. You killed Alfred last night, and you don't seem sorry."



"Should I be?"



"I would be."



I shrugged. Truth was, it did bother me a little. There might have been a way out without Alfred ending up in a body bag. Or in the stomachs of his friends. But I'd killed him. There it was. No going back. No changing it. No apologizing.



"It's the way I am, Richard. Live with it or get out. I'm not going to change."



"One of the reasons I wanted to date you to begin with was I thought you could take care of yourself. You've seen them now. I think I can get out of it alive, but a regular person--an ordinary human being--what chance would they have?"



I just looked at him. I flashed on him with his throat torn out. Dead. But he hadn't been dead. He'd healed. He'd lived. There'd been another man. Another human being that hadn't healed. I never wanted to love anyone and lose them like that. Ever.



"So you got what was advertised. What's the problem?"



"I still want you. I still want to hold you. Touch you. Can you stand to touch me after what you saw last night?" He wouldn't meet my eyes. His hair fell forward, hiding his face.



I stood up and took the step that left me looking down at him. He raised his face to me, his eyes glittered with unshed tears. The fear in his face was raw. I had thought that what I saw last night would make a difference between us. I flashed on Jason's unnatural strength, the sweat on Marcus's face, Gabriel with his blood-coated mouth. But staring into Richard's face, with him close enough to touch, none of that was real. I trusted Richard. Besides, I was armed.



I leaned over him, bending down to kiss his lips. The first kiss was gentle, chaste. He made no move to touch me, hands in his lap. I kissed his forehead, hands combing through his long hair, so I could feel the warmth of him against my fingers. I kissed his eyebrows, the tip of his nose, each cheek, finally his lips again. He sighed, the breath pouring into my mouth, and I pressed my lips against his like I'd eat him from the mouth down.



His arms wrapped around my back, hands hesitating at my waist, fingers slightly lower. His hands jumped to my thighs, skipping all those questionable areas. I put one leg on either side of his knees, and found the short skirt did have its uses. I straddled his lap, didn't have to raise the skirt an inch. Richard made a small sound of surprise. He stared at me, and his eyes were drowning deep.



I raised his sweater off his stomach, running hands against his bare flesh. "Off," I said.



He raised the sweater over his head in one movement, dropping it to the floor. I sat in his lap, staring at his bare chest. I should have stopped right there, but I didn't want to.



I pressed my face in the bend of his neck, breathing in the smell of his skin, his hair covering my face like a veil. I ran just the tip of my tongue in a thin line of wetness down his neck, across his collarbone.



His hands kneaded the small of my back, sliding downward. His fingers danced over my buttocks, then up to my back. Point for him. He hadn't groped me.



"The gun, can you take it off?" He asked with his face buried in my hair.



I nodded, slipping out of the shoulder straps. I couldn't get the rest off without removing the skirt's belt. My hands didn't seem to want to work.



Richard took my hands and placed them gently to either side. He undid the buckle and began to slide the belt out a loop at a time. Each pull made me move just a little. I held the holstered gun while he drew the belt free. He let the belt drop to the floor. I folded the shoulder holster carefully and laid it on the table behind us.



I turned back to him. His face was startlingly close. His lips were soft, full. I licked the edges of his mouth. The kiss was quick and messy. I wanted to run my mouth over other things. Down his chest. We'd never let it go this far. Not even close.



He pulled my blouse out of the skirt, running hands over my bare back. The feel of his naked skin on places he'd never touched before made me shudder.



"We have to stop now." I whispered it into his neck, so it wasn't completely convincing.



"What?"



"Stop." I pushed a little back from him, enough to see his face. Enough to breathe just a little. My hands were still playing with his hair, touching his shoulders. I dropped my hands. Made myself stop. He was so warm. I raised my hands to my face, and could smell him on my skin. I did not want to stop. From the look on his face, the feel of his body, neither did he. "We should stop now."



"Why?" His voice was almost a whisper.



"Because if we don't stop now, we might not stop at all."



"Would that be such a bad thing?"



Staring into his lovely eyes from inches away, I almost said, no. "Maybe, yes."



"Why?"



"Because one night is never enough. You either have a regular diet of it or you go cold turkey."



"You can have this every night," he said.



"Is that a proposal?" I asked.



He blinked at me, trying to draw himself back up. To think. I watched the effort and struggled with it myself. It was hard to think sitting in his lap. I stood up. His hands were still under my shirt, on my bare back.



"Anita, what's wrong?"



I stood looking down at him, hands on his shoulders for balance, still too close for clear thinking. I backed away, and he let me go. I leaned my hands against the kitchen counter, trying to think enough to make sense.



I tried to think how to say a couple of years' worth of pain in one mouthful. "I was always a good girl. I didn't sleep around. In college I met someone, we got engaged, we set a date, we made love. He dumped me."



"He'd done all that just to get you in bed?"



I shook my head and turned to look at him. He was still sitting there with his shirt off, looking scrumptious. "His family disapproved of me."



"Why?"



"His mother didn't like my mother being Mexican." I leaned my back against the cabinets, arms crossed, hugging myself. "He didn't love me enough to go against his family. I missed him in a lot of ways, but my body missed him, too. I promised myself I'd never let that happen again."



"So you're waiting for marriage," he said.



I nodded. "I want you, Richard, badly, but I can't. I promised I'd never let myself get hurt like that again."



He stood up and came to stand in front of me. He stood close but didn't try to touch me. "Then marry me."



I looked up at him. "Yeah, right."



"No, I mean it." He put his hands on my shoulders, gently. "I've thought about asking before, but I was afraid. You hadn't seen what a lycanthrope could do, what we could be. I knew you needed to see that before I could ask, but I was afraid for you to see it."



"I still haven't seen you change," I said.



"Do you need to?"



"Standing here like this, I say no, but realistically, if we're serious, probably."



"Now?"



I stared up at him in the near dark and hugged him. I folded against him and shook my head, cheek sliding along his naked chest. "No, not now."



He kissed the top of my head. "Is that a yes?"



I raised my head to look at him. "I should say no."



"Why?"



"Because life is too complicated for this."



"Life is always complicated, Anita. Say yes."



"Yes." The minute I said it, I wanted it back. I lusted after him a lot. I even loved him maybe more than a little. Did I suspect him of eating Little Red Riding Hood? Hell, he couldn't even bring himself to kill the Big Bad Wolf. Of the two of us, I was the more likely to slaughter people.



He kissed me, his hands pressing against my back. I drew back enough to breathe, and said, "No sex tonight. The rule still stands."



He lowered his mouth and spoke with our lips almost touching. "I know."