Pucker Up Read online

  Pucker Up

  By R. A. Gates

  Copyright © R. A. Gates 2012

  Published by Ruthless Publishing

  This is a work of fiction and any

  resemblance to any persons living or

  dead is purely coincidental. All rights

  are reserved. No part of this book may

  be used or reproduced in any manner

  whatsoever without written permission

  from the author.

  This book is dedicated to my

  Mom.

  Thanks for always believing in

  me.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  “What are you doing out here?”

  Ivy asked her young friend sitting on the

  back steps of the boarding house. The

  wooden gate slammed shut behind her as

  she strolled through the back garden, her

  skateboard in hand.

  Danny didn't answer. His body

  shivered underneath his jacket, zipped

  all the way to his chin to keep out the

  April breeze. Being the youngest

  werewolf in Salmagundi, he recovered

  slowly after the regular transformations

  and the last full moon was only two days

  ago. She was thankful that the only

  monthly transformation she had to deal

  with was of the PMS variety.

  Black Converse crunched on the

  gravel path leading to the back patio.

  She slid her overflowing backpack off

  her shoulder and dropped it onto the

  patio steps, cracking one of the old

  planks. She stretched the kinks out of her

  back.

  Death by homework, she thought.

  Scooting Danny over, she sat

  next to him. The late afternoon sun hung

  over the mountains surrounding the

  Southeastern Alaska town, casting long

  shadows on the ground.

  The orphan boy's hands trembled

  as he petted Lieutenant Dan, the local

  three-legged stray cat. Danny brushed

  strands of blond hair out of his eyes and

  looked up at her. “I’m in big trouble,

  Ivy. He’s gonna kill me this time, for

  sure.”

  At first, she dismissed his

  dramatics

  as

  typical

  ten-year-old

  behavior, but then tears threatened to fall

  from his large, blue eyes and her heart

  dropped into her gut.

  “What happened?”

  “You know that antique rug in the

  parlor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well,

  Athena

  said

  Mr.

  McGregor sold it today, to some dealer

  in

  Washington

  he's

  visiting

  this

  weekend.” He stopped petting the cat

  and wiped his sweaty palms on his

  pants. “The thing is, about a month ago, I

  accidentally spilled grape juice on it and

  hid the stain under the chair so he

  wouldn’t see it.”

  He was right. Danny was going

  to die when his foster dad found out.

  She'd seen her penny-pinching landlord's

  temper flare, especially after a few

  drinks. And being a werewolf didn't

  soften his disposition, either.

  “Has he found it yet?”

  “I don’t think so, but he’s gonna

  see it when he moves the chair and then

  I’m a dead man.”

  “What did Athena say to do?”

  She assumed he told the boarding

  house's only other tenant about his

  problem, considering he worshipped the

  ground she walked on. What was so

  great about Athena anyway? She was

  merely a narcissistic bitch who used her

  big boobs and Hollywood smile to

  charm her way into, or out of, any

  situation.

  “She said, 'Sucks to be you' and

  left for her date.”

  Yep, that sounds about right.

  “Danny!” They both jumped

  when Mr. McGregor's voice boomed

  through the house and rattled the kitchen

  window above them.

  His whole body shook as he

  moaned into his hands. He had never

  gotten into any real trouble with Mr.

  McGregor because everything always

  seemed to be blamed on her. Even

  though she was fearful for Danny, a

  small part of her looked forward to

  seeing someone else get punished for a

  change.

  “Come on. He’ll just get madder

  if he has to come looking for you.” She

  nudged his elbow and stood. Pausing at

  the screen door, she waited for him to

  follow.

  He reluctantly dragged his shoes

  along the scuffed wooden floor of the

  old Victorian house towards the scene of

  the crime. On the way, he mumbled a

  little prayer to spare his life. Talk about

  overreacting. But when they entered the

  room, Mr. McGregor's cold, dark eyes

  narrowed into slits as they homed in on

  Danny.

  Or, maybe not.

  Every line etched in the older

  man’s face from decades of harsh

  transformations deepened under his

  scowl. His chest rose and fell with each

  controlled

  breath.

  “Do

  ye

  have

  something to tell, laddie?” His Scottish

  brogue was low and slurred, but the

  anger was loud and clear.

  Danny froze. His eyes grew wide

  and his face paled two shades. He

  looked like he was going to throw up.

  Swallowing hard, he raised his chin to

  look Mr. McGregor in the eye and said,

  “Ivy did it.”

  That little shit! She opened her

  mouth to set the record straight, but by

  the way his legs shook in his jeans, she

  couldn’t do it.

  Throwing a glare at the little liar,

  she faced Mr. McGregor. “Yeah, I

  ruined the rug, sir. I was running late for

  work, so I covered it up thinking I’d

  clean it later. I must’ve forgotten about

  it. Sorry.” She stood there, completely

  still, trying not to set off his hair trigger

  temper bubbling under the surface. Even

  breathing too loud seemed risky as she

  waited for him to speak.

  Mr. McGregor regarded them

  both for a few moments, one bushy

/>   eyebrow raised, before uttering a word.

  “Danny, go to yer room, and shut the

  door behind ye.”

  Danny glanced at her, uncertainty

  in his eyes.

  Oh sure, now you worry about

  me. Where was the concern when you

  threw me under the bus? She nodded

  her head, keeping her thoughts to herself.

  He stepped away, watching her until he

  disappeared around the corner.

  Mr. McGregor loomed before

  her, like a bull before a matador, staring

  her down. His scotch-soaked breath

  hung in the air between them like a toxic

  cloud. She had to close her mouth to

  keep from gagging.

  “Ye did this?”

  Her eyes followed his meaty

  finger pointing to a large purple spot on

  the very beautiful but very ruined

  Oriental rug. She expected to see a spot

  about the size of a dinner plate, at the

  most. But no, Danny must have spilled

  the entire bottle of juice to get a stain so

  large. It was at least two feet across.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He stood there, staring. The vein

  at his temple throbbed close to the point

  of bursting and his worn face was so

  red, he looked like he'd have a heart

  attack right in front of her.

  She’d met younger, stronger

  werewolves in the past, but there was a

  feral glint in his eyes that twisted her

  stomach. Her fingers twitched, eager to

  grab the silver stake she would normally

  keep on her belt. Too bad it remained

  hidden in her backpack on the porch.

  Silver wasn’t allowed in the boarding

  house.

  “Are ye trying to make me look

  the fool? Do ye think I don't know the

  boy did this?” Foam gathered at the

  corner of his mouth as the tone of his

  voice took on a dangerous growl.

  Her body tensed as adrenaline

  sped to every muscle, preparing to put

  her childhood years of combat training

  to use. Or at least she hoped. It had been

  over a year since her last fight and she

  was rusty.

  His nostrils flared with each

  restrained breath as he waited for her

  reply. Should she stick to the lie or fess

  up? Deciding that a noncommittal,

  middle ground was her best bet, she

  shrugged.

  Suddenly, air heaved from her

  lungs as her body was slammed

  backwards into wall. Being drunk hadn’t

  slowed him down at all. A dense fog

  invaded her brain, shutting down any

  coherent thought. When the fuzz cleared

  a moment later, she became aware of his

  forearm crushing against her windpipe

  and her right wrist was pinned above her

  head. Fear flared up inside her when

  repeated attempts to draw more than a

  trickle of air proved impossible.

  Don’t panic, don’t submit .

  That’s what he wanted. Gathering

  courage, she pushed down the hysteria

  that sloshed at her calves like a rising

  tide, threatening to swallow her whole.

  She defiantly maintained eye contact

  with the crazed man, daring to call his

  bluff.

  “Ye think that ‘cause yer a witch,

  ye can disrespect me?” He leaned

  forward, pressing into her throat even

  more. “I will not be lied to in my own

  home.”

  An excruciating minute passed

  before she succumbed to the panic she

  bravely fought off. Frantic fingers

  clawed at his face. Too bad she had

  already gnawed all her nails down to

  stubs. Changing tactics, she pushed the

  heel of her free hand at his chin,

  stretching his neck. Her hand slipped

  when he wretched his head sideways

  and the side of her wrist scraped across

  his teeth, nicking the skin. How much

  longer could she hold out?

  She punched and kicked at any

  and every part of him. Then, a warm

  buzz, like a hive of angry bees, swelled

  inside her. Her magic ached to explode

  and end her torment. Gathering the will

  to ignore her choking, she placed her

  palms on his chest and released all the

  pent up magic in one blow. Power jolted

  from her hands like shock paddles and

  slammed into the angry Scot, sending

  him and anything not bolted down flying

  across the room. He hit the wall with a

  loud crack and slumped to the floor.

  She collapsed, trembling and

  sucking air into her burning lungs. Books

  and loose papers coated the floor and

  the easy chair hiding the stain lay

  toppled on its side. Broken glass from

  fallen picture frames littered the edges

  of the room. A groan from across the

  parlor quickened her pulse.

  That’s my cue to leave . She

  scrambled to the open doorway as best

  she could. Using so much magic drained

  most of her energy but she willed her

  rubber legs to move. Werewolves were

  a sturdy bunch and it was going to take a

  lot more than crashing against a wall to

  keep him down.

  Heavy footsteps shook the floor

  as they grew closer. She pulled herself

  to her feet using the door frame and

  staggered into the hall. But before she

  was clear of the room, a strong hand

  clamped down on the back of her neck

  and pulled her backwards. She bit back

  a scream while attempting to tear off the

  fleshy hook.

  His nails dug into her skin as he

  forced her body down, bending her at the

  waist in front of him.

  She whimpered.

  He held her there for at least a

  hundred ticks of the grandfather clock as

  she stared at the dried mud splattered

  across the toes of his boots.

  “Ye owe me five thousand

  dollars,” he said in a raspy voice, his

  grip tightening. “One month ye have, or

  both you and the boy are out on the

  street.”

  “You can't do that,” she croaked.

  “No one else will take in a young

  werewolf.” Images of Danny huddled in

  a cardboard box in an alley flashed

  before her eyes.

  “Try me.” He released her with a

  final shove to the floor and walked away

  without another word.

  She waited face down on the

  dirty hardwood floor until she heard a

  door slam upstairs. She propped herself

  up on her elbows and sighed. Great.

  Now I owe Mr. McGregor money I

  don't have. Even if she worked extra

  shifts at the diner, and kissed major butt

  for tips, she still couldn't make enough in

  time.

  “Are you all right?” Danny

  cowered in the doorway watching her

  struggle to her feet.

  “Well, I'm alive.” She rubbed the

  back of her neck as she hobbled past


  him. Brushing the dust off her jeans, she

  lumbered outside to retrieve her book

  bag and skateboard when the phone rang.

  The odds that it was for her were slim,

  so she trod upstairs to drink a healing

  potion for her throat and get started on

  the hours of homework waiting for her.

  Just as she opened her bedroom

  door, Danny yelled out. “Ivy, it's for

  you.”

  “Take a message.” It was Friday.

  She was tired and felt like a wrung-out

  rag. The last thing she wanted to do was

  be guilted into working a late night shift

  at the diner tonight, even though she

  could really use the money. She trudged

  to the bathroom down the hall and then

  chugged down the last bottle of healing

  potion. The bitter taste lingered on her

  tongue as the liquid soothed her throat.

  The strengthening potion smelled like

  feet, but she swallowed that down, too,

  instantly perking up. Medicine, magical

  or not, always tasted awful.

  Closing the cabinet, she caught

  her reflection in the mirror. Underneath

  her dark curls, the red marks on the sides

  of her neck from Mr. McGregor's fingers

  glared at her. He’d surprised her with

  his speed as much as she surprised

  herself with her sluggishness. She

  forsaw grueling hours of training to get

  back in shape in her future.

  Unshed tears prickled her eyes

  as she stared at the little marks,

  reminders of how she let her fear take

  over. She was reckless, careless to let

  the situation get so out of control. A year

  ago she would’ve had him on the floor,

  begging for mercy. Of course, a year ago

  her entire life was different: her mother

  was still alive and she wasn’t cursed

  with magic powers. Now she was

  hunted outside Salmagundi’s borders.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing

  back the tears that begged for release.

  Maybe all that’s happened was

  some sort of cosmic punishment for what

  she used to be, used to do. All of her

  past prejudices and bad choices haunted

  her now. She couldn’t keep living with

  these ghosts constantly eating at her soul

  and robbing her of any happiness. If only

  there was a way to make up for her past.

  After a few calming breaths, she

  forced her emotions back down where

  they belonged. She grabbed a wad of

  toilet paper and blew her nose. From

  this

  moment

  forward,

  she

  was

  determined to redeem herself, somehow.

  As she washed her hands, a

  small cut on her wrist stung under the

  cold water. His teeth were sharp for not

  even being a full moon. She froze.