Gods and Mortals: Fourteen Free Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Novels Featuring Thor, Loki, Greek Gods, Native American Spirits, Vampires, Werewolves, & More (323 page)

“You like shoes but you don’t wear them much, do you?”

He answered with his typical passive shrug as he moved back to the sink.

The sizzle of the potatoes called my attention, and I got another pan out to start the bacon. He used the tools he’d brought up from the basement to try to fix the sink while I cooked. The sound of water running at full pressure heralded breakfast.

“Good to have a handyman,” I commented setting our plates on the table.

Clay cleaned up the tools and disappeared downstairs. I wondered if he would come back in his fur and eyed the plate I’d set on the table for him. We had eaten together before but always with him in his fur. Before I could stop it, an image of him trying to use a fork for the first time popped into my head. I quickly squashed the picture and sat down to wait for him in whatever form he chose. I would not underestimate him again. Nor would I thoughtlessly remark on his table manners no matter how poor they might be.

The soft tread on the stairs warned me that he remained a man. He sat across from me and dug in. He didn’t eat like Clay-the-dog or use his hands. Instead, he had perfectly normal table manners. Though his beard shredded it, he even used his paper napkin in an effort to keep himself neat.

“What are the chances of trimming that beard?”

He used his napkin while he finished chewing and then flashed me a full view of his teeth. His canines remained completely elongated as if he still wore his fur. I froze briefly with my fork suspended midair. Then I gave myself a mental shake. The view scared me, but I reminded myself of Sam’s words. I had nothing to fear.

“Do they stay like that all the time?”

He didn’t answer but continued to eat, slowly clearing his plate. I waited patiently, hoping he’d give me some type of response. This was the second occasion we’d spent time together without his fur since he arrived. I knew so little about him and wondered if this was a sign he was ready to start talking to me.

When he finished, he moved to the sink and ran the water. I wasn’t ready to give up. I followed him, leaned against the counter, and studied the little bit of his face I could see.

“Is this something you don’t want to talk about?”

He shrugged. Okay, not a closed topic...and apparently he wasn’t yet ready to speak.

“Is it something I need to guess or can you explain it to me?” I felt like I was playing twenty questions.

He turned to consider me for a moment then went back to washing his plate and fork. Taking the hint, I cleaned up my place while he moved to wipe the stove. I washed and dried my plate and tried to figure out what to ask next. Obviously only yes and no questions even though he hadn’t answered when I asked whether his teeth stayed like that all the time. Perhaps asking about them embarrassed him.

When he returned to the sink, I briefly thought of letting the subject drop, but then he dropped the washcloth into the sink and turned to me. He crossed his arms, leaned against the counter, and watched me. Not just looking at me, but studying me...all of me...as if he weighed a decision. I couldn’t help but return his stare.

We stood just a few inches apart. The close proximity brought the corded muscles under his snug t-shirt to my attention. I tried not to notice. He was downright drool worthy. I considered reaching out to touch him, just to see how he felt without fur. But his possible reaction stopped me. Would he take it as a sign of acceptance? Of interest? I’d meant what I’d said to Rachel. Clay didn’t act like other guys. I didn’t want to push my luck.

With a sigh, he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. His movement shot a wave of panic straight through me, and I froze. Had he caught me eyeing him? Did he think that meant I wanted him to try to kiss me? I didn’t know what to do.

His nostrils flared. He slowly shook his head and pulled back, and I knew he had smelled my fear. He didn’t completely move away, just distanced himself enough so that I could breathe and think and not freak out. I caught the glint of his eyes behind his long hair. Calm. Patient. So this wasn’t about a kiss. But then what was he trying to do?

“You’re trying to explain the teeth, right?” I sounded pathetic, like a child who needed reassurance. I tried not to fidget on top of that.

He gave me the reassurance I needed in one of his rare nods.

Okay. No kissing. Just him moving closer. He slept at the foot of my bed every night. That was pretty close—right on my feet—and no big deal. But he had fur on when he did that. Now he looked...

I eyed him again. My stomach did a funny flip. Maybe my fear wasn’t about his reaction, but mine. I was afraid I’d forget myself. I needed his control. I took a deep breath.

“It’s okay then. Go ahead, explain. I’ll behave,” I promised quietly. I saw his mustache twitch with a quick smile. The canines explained some of the facial hair, but the full-bearded, crazy-man look seemed overkill.

After a slight hesitation, he leaned forward again while keeping his hands loose at his sides. I pushed back the fear and held still. He didn’t stop his slow approach until his whiskers tickled the side of my neck and collarbone. There he paused and inhaled deeply.

As soon as he inhaled, I knew what he was doing, and although I didn’t move, fear blossomed. Heart pounding, eyes wide, I waited for him to finish scenting me as a werewolf would a potential Mate, not a distant inhale, but an up-close sample of my scent, infinitely more potent. His warm exhale sent goose bumps skittering over my arms. I braced myself, anticipating some type of slip in his highly-praised control. He leisurely inhaled once more then lifted his head, exhaling as he went.

With his face only inches from mine, he opened his mouth to display his teeth again. The canines had grown even more pronounced, the surrounding gums swollen from their thickness.

I didn’t know what to say. He had canines when in his human form because of me.

“So, when you’re around me, they’re worse? I guess that means they’re like that all the time.”

He shrugged and casually took a step back. I was unsure what the shrug meant.

We both heard a car pull into the driveway, and I knew questioning him further would have to wait. I remembered the new clothes still on the bathroom floor and moved away from him.

“I gotta move your clothes. I’ll be right back.”

When I returned, Rachel was kneeling, petting Clay-the-dog. She asked me why we had a man’s clothes on the kitchen chair. Clay impassively met my gaze. Darn him. Why hadn’t he just stayed Clay-the-man?

“Clay stopped by and fixed the sink. He figured he would leave a change of clothes because of last night,” I lied. Thankfully, Rachel focused on the fixed plumbing rather than the fact I had a man leaving clothes behind at our house.

“The sink’s working? And for free?”

I shrugged, feeling very Clayish, and grabbed the clothes. As I walked from the room to put them away, she continued to talk to Clay using her normal nonsense babble. He was such a good boy and so handsome. Did I treat him well while she was gone? Did he want a treat? I sniggered, put the clothes away, then sat on the couch and left Clay to his torture.

Done with her affectionate praise, she released him. He trotted from the kitchen and sat on the floor near me. She went to her room to change, leaving her door open so she could talk.

“I just heard the weather report, and we’re going to get a cold snap this week. Frost. With past roommates, we always tried to make it to November first before turning on the heat.”

“That’s fine by me,” I answered.

"Even though the landlord replaced the windows, air still somehow gets in. They’re better than they were and seemed to help the AC run less. But if Clay knows anything about weatherproofing, maybe that’ll help us save even more on the heating bill.”

I looked at Clay. “Know how to weatherproof a house?” I whispered.

“What?” Rachel asked from her room.

“Nothing, just talking to Clay.”

T
he rest
of the weekend passed like the one before, with studying and turning pages for Clay-the-dog. Although I still wanted to know about his pronounced teeth in man-form, I couldn’t come up with any reason to ask him to shift again. When I tried asking him about his teeth while he wore his fur, he just walked away from me. I couldn’t tell if he did that because he was moody or just bored with my conversation.

Monday night, I got home and Clay stood in the kitchen cooking dinner for two. I had to suppress the happy-dance I wanted to do and, instead, nonchalantly walked by him. A note on the table from Rachel explained she had gone out with Peter and would be back late. The note stressed alone.

Since Clay’s last appearance, I’d thought of several questions to ask him—starting with his teeth—and hoped he wouldn’t get annoyed and go fur on me again. I decided to ease him into my agenda.

“Wow, I didn’t know you cooked. It smells great.” I set my messenger bag on a chair and hovered behind him, watching him work.

He pulled baked potatoes from the oven. To the side, two plates waited with steaming chicken breasts. Seeing dinner almost ready, I grabbed flatware for us and sat down.

“So, other than cooking, how did you keep yourself busy today?”

He set a plate in front of me and sat down. He pointed to the last batch of books I’d brought home that he had piled neatly on the table between us.

“You read them all already?”

He nodded.

“That’s a lot to read in just five days. Are you skipping chapters?” I teased.

He glanced up at me then back down at his food. Maybe I needed to work on my teasing. I supposed smiling would have helped.

“So, about the beard...are your teeth ready to play nice?” That got an actual laugh from him. A short one, but still very nice.

“Does that mean we can trim your beard?” I asked, excited by the prospect. The scissors would also make a beeline for his hair. How could I read his face when he kept it so hidden? Since he didn’t actually speak, it hindered our communication even further.

He shook his head, and my face fell. I looked back down at my plate, feeling silly for the stab of disappointment because I wouldn’t get to see more of his face tonight. Lost in my own thoughts, it took me a second to realize he’d stopped eating. He’d leaned back in his chair and studied me.

Pretending not to notice, I gave him a slight smile and, for a change, I kept my thoughts to myself.

“This tastes great. Thank you for cooking. Do you have a favorite food? I can put it on the next shopping list.”

He watched me for another minute as I ate. I tucked away my disappointment and annoyance, and tried not to let my face show anything I felt. I knew neither emotion did me any good, and both made it hard to enjoy the food. I pushed a few bites around on my plate before he finally uncrossed his arms and picked his fork back up to start eating again.

“Actually, let’s keep a shopping list on my dresser. When you think of something, you can add to it so I know what to get without guessing.” Maybe writing fell into the talking category, and I’d be out of luck there, too.

I ate the majority of the food on my plate then brought it to the sink. Not wanting to risk him going back to his fur just yet, I grabbed my messenger bag and sat at the table to work on homework while he finished his meal. I usually did homework the same day and left the bigger projects and in-depth studying for the weekend, if needed.

“If you want, when you’re done, we can watch a movie,” I said.

He shrugged and moved to clean up his plate. I hopped up to help, but he motioned me back to the table, pointing to the open book. I sat and read while listening to him move about the kitchen.

As soon as he washed the stove, I packed up my homework for the night. He wiped down the table, and I hovered with my bag over my shoulder. I did not want to put it away and give him the opportunity to change again. When he had everything clean and the dishrag rinsed, he walked into the living room. I followed him and sat on the couch.

He bent to the cabinet below the TV and picked the movie for the night. A suspense.

“If I scream again when Rachel comes home, no laughing,” I said as I curled on the couch and waited for him to start the movie.

A strong wind blew outside, and the curtains moved slightly. Considering where I lived, it seemed pointless to dread the cold, but I did. Soon I would probably start to consider wearing snow pants just to walk to the car. I gave the fluttering curtain one last glare and turned my attention to the movie as Clay settled next to me.

This time, I didn’t feel so nervous and actually concentrated on the movie. Clay never twitched, but I jumped twice within the first ten minutes.

The temperature in the room dropped to the point that I ran to get a hoodie during a suspenseful scene. Thankfully, Clay didn’t pause the movie for me.

By the time the movie ended, the wind really howled outside. I sat on my fingers in an effort to warm them and knew it would be a long wait until the first of November.

“Hey, Clay. Do you like cookies?” I sprang from the couch and moved toward the kitchen. I could bake cookies to heat the house, and Rachel couldn’t scold me for turning on the heat.

I rummaged through the cupboard, and I saw we didn’t have any of the main ingredients. No sugar of any kind or flour.

“Shoot,” I grumbled.

I had splurged and bought Clay clothes, something I considered a necessity. Along with many of the other unplanned expenses, it set me behind in my budget. Keeping the heat off longer would help make some of it up. But that meant no frivolous spending, not even for ingredients to bake cookies to warm the house.

I closed the doors and turned to tell Clay the disappointing news. Instead of staying in the living room as I thought, he stood right behind me. All that came out was a strangled “gah.” He flashed a smile so wide that I saw teeth and couldn’t help but smile back.

“Har-har. I told you no suspense movies. Life is scary enough without them. Oh, and false alarm on the cookies. We’re missing some main ingredients.”