Bearly Hanging On (The Jamesburg Shifters #6)(7)
As her teeth, coated in antiseptic, anesthetic saliva sank into Gertrude's neck, the cow's mewling turned into something approaching a carnal moan.
It was really hard not to laugh, but hungrily sucking the blood out of a groaning cow, and trying to drink as much of it as possible without wasting any made it a little easier. But, when Gertrude rolled her eyes back in her head and arched her back?
Jamie gave the term "spit-take" a whole new meaning.
-3-
"Just when I think I'm out, they pull me—actually you know what? I'm just gonna not do that."
-Ryan Drake
The sticky, sweet smell of Douglas fir sap was so thick on Ryan's skin that even after scrubbing himself pink in a scalding hot tub, he still felt like the inside of a syrup bottle. A real one, not the kind in the shape of a woman with giant hips that you squeezed to get the weird, high fructose pancake topping product out the top of her bonnet-covered head.
The sap dueled with the heavy, violently relaxing scent of the lavender and patchouli bubble bath into which Ryan had sunk almost an hour before. He slid down under the water and then came up, shaking his head, flinging water all over the bathroom that was tiled almost exactly like a YMCA built in 1972, and grabbed the almost-empty bottle off the floor.
Squeezing the final contents into his tub, he stuck his foot out of the water, and turned the knob with his hairy-knuckled toes. As another pillow of bubbles rose around him, the big bear heaved a sigh of relief, and smiled, drawing a lung full of tantalizing fragrance.
He curled his toes, and then flexed them outward, mirroring the gesture with his hands. A shrug of his massive shoulders followed, and seconds later, he slid back down under the water, enveloped in his bath.
"Oh my God," came a voice from the hallway. It was an old, crotchety, rickety voice with a whole lot of years behind it, and a whole lot of stories to go along with those years. "He's back in that damn tub again. What is this, the eighth time today? Moo-maw, get in here, come look at this idjit in the tub."
"Leave the boy be, Franklin," Ryan's Aunt Maude crowed. He'd never figured out why his uncle called her Moo-maw, but then again, he had no idea why she called him Franklin, since his name was actually Boston.
Yep. Boston the bear.
Every day - every single one of them - Ryan was glad he'd been born to the normal side of the Drake clan. Then again, he was also glad he'd been able to convince his ancient uncle and his almost-as-ancient aunt to move in with him when their house in the Jamesburg hills burned about six years ago. A whole community had grown up around him, or them, mostly made up of his aunt and uncle's friends.
The midnight frost on the window he'd installed so he could look outside while he was in the tub reminded him that there wasn't a whole lot of time left. With a grunt, and a glorious popping of knees, he pushed himself to his feet. The cast iron tub he'd had to work very hard to get into place after the delivery drivers refused to take the thousand pound, sixty-seven inch monstrosity any further than the curb right outside the truck, creaked just a little as he stepped out.
He took one last, deep breath, held in the scent of lavender, patchouli and whatever that strange not-quite-chamomile smell was that all bubble baths seem to have.
It might be midnight, but if the old codgers that he'd somehow surrounded himself with were going to make it through the winter without losing a few toes, or going hungry, there was work that needed doing - and not the regular chopping wood sort of work.
He opened the window, letting the frigid mountain air brace his skin. His naked flesh tingled and prickled to life all over. And then he closed his eyes, wishing there was something else he could do besides what had to be done.
Who was she? And why did she keep looking at me like that?
Only a couple of days had passed since his grand entry to the Jamesburg Courthouse, followed by the vague threat he made against the town alpha, although was it really a threat? All he'd done was tell him about the problem. "And then I growled at him to fix it, I guess."
He shook his head and laughed softly at himself. But that woman. Who was she? I've never seen anyone like that in my entire life. I can't think about this right now. Not until...
"I hate this show!" his aunt shouted, as the theme music for Sanford and Son started blaring through the speakers on the enormous television that Ryan bought, and then basically never used again after his aunt and uncle had moved in.
"Yeah, well, I spent all day yesterday watching those damn Sandra Bullock cute movies," his uncle groaned. Ryan imagined him dramatically raising one of his arms in the air, and then resting it on top of his head like he was so exhausted he couldn't hold it aloft. Cute movies, by which he meant romantic comedies, were Uncle Boston's kryptonite.
After a moment of silence, the television started to blare the Dragnet theme, followed by Jack Webb's gravelly monologue. "This is the city. Los Angeles, California." Ryan recited the opening along with Detective Friday. He'd memorized most of those wonderful moral lectures that Friday gave to the criminals, too. A lot can be absorbed through the walls of a house, especially when one's uncle is mostly deaf, and one's aunt doesn't want to listen to him complain about not hearing the television.
With a softly grunted laugh, Ryan reckoned it was nearly a miracle that the speakers hadn't blown yet. "I carry a badge," he recited in unison with the show, and pulled a tight-fitting, knit black shirt over his torso. Through the fabric, the lines of his muscles, and the tips of his cold-stiffened nipples were visible.