Dogs and Goddesses Read online

  But a last moment of honesty stopped her, and she put her hands on his narrow hips, running her fingers across the silken skin. “I’ve never done this before,” she managed to say.

  She wasn’t sure what she expected. Sweetness. Tenderness. “Everyone gives in to irrational lust at least once in their life,” he said. And he pushed inside her with a muffled groan of pleasure.

  She was expecting pain, blood, but there was nothing but a sharp twinge. She couldn’t keep back the small cry of pain as he pushed deep inside her, but then it was suddenly wonderful, and for the first time in her life she felt complete.

  He was frozen, not moving, and she couldn’t see his expression in the shadows. She didn’t need to. He was looking down at her, but she kept her eyes closed, and he must have guessed what she’d tried to tell him.

  It didn’t matter. He’d eaten the cookies and he’d come to her. Whether he knew it or not, they belonged together, and this would only make it clearer to him. But she needed more, not this sudden, almost unearthly stillness.

  “No.” The protest was low in his throat, and she felt him start to pull away from her.

  “Yes,” she said, her fingers digging in, pulling him back, desperate not to lose him. They weren’t finished; he wasn’t finished.

  And then his last reserve vanished, and he reached down, pulling her legs around him, so that he was deeper still, and he closed his eyes, the thick slide of his cock inside her sending sparks through her body, and she realized she wasn’t finished, either.

  She was covered with sweat and so was he, their bodies slapping against each other, and each deep thrust shook her, shook the bed, shook her soul. He put his hand between their bodies to touch her, hard, and she looked into his eyes for a frozen moment, into eyes dark with passion and pain and need, and she wanted to tell him something, anything to drive the pain away, but it was too late; he touched her and she splintered, her body dissolving, and she heard his muffled groan as he went rigid in her arms.

  She expected him to collapse against her, to draw her into his arms. She wanted to hold him until the tremors passed, but instead he pulled away, rolling off her, beside her, and she heard him trying to catch his breath as the last stray shudders danced through her body.

  “This is wrong,” he said in a flat voice. “This is all wrong.”

  She said nothing, unmoving.

  “We need to talk,” he said. She waited for him to touch her, to hold her, but a moment later he was out of the bed, leaving her alone there as he vanished into the shadows. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

  She curled up for a long moment, wrapping the discarded sheet around her, hugging herself. It was hardly hearts and flowers. Irrational lust, he’d said, misunderstanding her tentative confession. She’d been an idiot, and he’d treated her like one. And the best thing she could do was slink away and try to forget it ever happened. She wasn’t going to wait for him; she wasn’t going to talk to him. She was going to run like hell.

  Goddamned cookies. Goddamned Mesopotamia and demi-goddesses. She should never have come here in the first place—someone could have sold the coffeehouse for her. Her mother had connections all over the world, but no, she had to drive to southern goddamned Ohio and fall in love with a goddamned math professor and make a fool of herself.

  She scrambled out of the bed, looking for her scattered clothes, pulling them on as quickly as she could. There was a bloodstain on the sheet, and she was half-tempted to drag it off the bed so he wouldn’t notice, but she couldn’t afford to take the time. She could only find one sandal, and she heard him coming back, through the dark, musty hallways, and she ran.

  Bowser was already on his feet, waiting for her, and he looked concerned. “Abby okay?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Let’s go home.” She took off at something close to a sprint, her one sandal tucked beneath her arm. She thought she heard the front door open behind her, but she was far enough away that he couldn’t come after her, couldn’t call her. Not that he would.

  Goddamn it. She brushed the tears from her face, determined that no one see them.

  “Are you sad?” Bowser said.

  “I’m a freaking idiot,” she said, moving back across the green. Bun and Gen were just packing up, a new layer of toasted skin covering their ripe bodies.

  “Hey, Abs!” Gen called out to her, but Abby ducked her head down. She couldn’t let them see her crying. She couldn’t let anyone see her crying.

  “See you tonight!” she called back briskly, determined not to slow down.

  The moment they were out of sight, she sped up, Bowser keeping pace with her as she turned onto Temple Street. The coffeehouse lay ahead, and there was just a small ounce of comfort to fight the chill that had taken over her body. Daisy would be there. Shar would be there. She wasn’t alone.

  And she broke into a run.

  TWELVE

  At five-thirty Shar stopped painting, turned the lights off in the front of the coffeehouse, and went into the kitchen to wash her hands. Abby had come back earlier, silent and subdued, and even Daisy’s general joy in the world seemed tempered by something, probably that Kammani was holding court in half an hour with Noah by her side.

  “We can’t go,” Shar said. “Kammani—”

  “I think you’re overreacting,” Daisy said. “Hell, so far the worst she’s done is make Abby call her Goddess—”

  “Hey, it was a moment of weakness,” Abby said.

  “—but I don’t see her doing any serious damage. Noah wouldn’t work for her if she was dangerous.”

  Bad assumption, Shar thought.

  “And if she tries anything, we have powers, too, now. We’ll just kick her ass.”

  “Powers we don’t know anything about.” Shar leaned against the sink, drying her hands on one of Abby’s towels. “I’ve been thinking about this since Sam left this afternoon. I ask him about her, about what she wants, and he says he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know what the tonic does, he doesn’t know what she’s doing here. I think—”

  A movement in the doorway caught her eye, and she saw a man in a ski mask, a gun in his hand.

  “Oh, shit,” he said.

  “What the hell?” Abby said, and he pointed the gun at her.

  “Everybody does what I say, nobody gets hurt,” the guy said, sounding tough. “I know you’re here alone, so—”

  “Not alone,” Bowser growled, standing up.

  “Not alone,” Wolfie growled, moving closer.

  “Not alone,” Bailey growled, moving in, too, and putting his head low.

  “Son of a bitch must pay,” Milton yipped, and Shar grabbed him before he could launch himself at the gunman.

  The guy pointed his gun at Milton, and Bowser barked, “No!” and the guy swung the gun at Bowser, and Abby stepped forward, intent and angry, and while Shar watched, the gun began to stretch toward Abby, as if she were gathering it to her, as if it wanted to go to her, and as it began to melt from the effort, the guy yelled and flung it from him.

  Then Daisy caught it somehow, steadied it in space, and it began to revolve, spinning, faster and faster until it had flattened out like a Frisbee, and then Daisy flung it toward Shar, and Shar knew it was her turn and smashed it, the pieces of it spinning into the guy’s forehead as he screamed and fell backward, going down like a sack of potatoes.

  Bowser lumbered over and sat on the guy’s chest, and Wolfie grabbed one sleeve and Bailey got the other and dragged his arms out flat on the floor. Milton chewed on his shoe. Wolfie dropped his arm long enough to growl, “The mask, Milton!” and Milton scampered over the man’s body to grab the top of the ski mask in his needle-sharp teeth and tug until the mask came off and he toppled back with it in his mouth.

  “Hello, Doug,” Shar said.

  Doug was in no position to argue, but he did anyway.

  “Get these dogs off me!” he yelled. “This is assault!”

  “You come in here with a gun and you’re screaming