6/2/13

Queen of the Pack 1:2

Phillip grabbed the seatbelt and tried to slip out from under it. No good. Even with his skinny frame there just wasn’t enough room.
A feminine grunt, and the pitiful Ferrari carcass rocked, metal squealing like a stuck pig. Phillip’s fuzzy gaze shot to the top of the crumpled hood. Were those pale things hands? He squinted, but didn’t have time to wonder more because the hood gave up with a last dying scream and a lithe body squeezed into the cramped space beside him. At least he thought she had a lithe body.  Damn it, where were his glasses?
“Are you okay,” a throaty voice asked. “Do you hurt anywhere? Here, let me see your face, you’re bleeding.”
Her words seemed to pour into his ears like warm wine. He felt giddy all of a sudden, dizzy as a three-day drunk. Must have hit his head somehow despite the damn air bags.
He didn’t resist as she cupped his face in her hands. Warm, soft, gentle hands. She leaned forward, her features an unsatisfying blur.
“M-my glasses,” he stuttered. “I can’t see without my glasses.” And he really wanted to see what she looked like. She would have to have the face of an angel, he decided. An ethereal face to go with that goddess voice.
He felt rather than saw her looking around. Her hands still held his cheeks and when he turned his head to look for his glasses, too, his mouth brushed across her palm. Warm liquid wet his dry lips. He licked automatically. What the hell? He’d tasted his own blood before, and buddy, this wasn’t it. He couldn’t keep his tongue from slipping out for another taste.
Her hands jerked away. “Sorry, sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I cut my hand a little getting in here. I promise I don’t have a disease or anything, my blood’s perfectly safe. I can get a note from my doctor if you want.”
It took a second for her words to make sense. “No, that’s okay.  No harm done.” Phillip brought his hand up as if to wipe the blood away, the motion hiding the quick flick of his tongue as he licked his lips clean instead. She’d think him crazy, but damn, she tasted good. A sudden shiver went through him. The next full moon was a week away. While he didn’t change, his wolf had a tendency to rouse enough to make its cravings known. Why was he suddenly craving the taste of her blood? What was wrong with him?
“Um, sorry, but I don’t see your glasses and we don’t have time to look for them. We need to get you out of here.”
More shouts, and the car shook again. A darker shadow appeared at the now open windshield. “Lady, if you’re coming out, you’d better hurry. The fire’s spreading.” A male voice urged.
“I need a knife, something to cut the seatbelt.”
He could hear the fire now. The rising crackle made him anxious.
“Could you hurry it up,” he told her. “I’m not in the mood for bar-b-que tonight.”
She laughed. “Neither am I. I was planning on sea food myself.”
It wasn’t the fact that she’d laughed at his poor excuse for a joke, but the sound of her laugh itself that surprised him. He felt liked he’d been punched and forgot all about taking shallow breaths. Damn busted ribs.
Smoke started filling the cramped space. Sirens wailed in the distance.
As soon as the seatbelt fell away Phillip waved the woman ahead of him. “I’m okay, I’ll be right behind you.” I hope, he added to himself. Between his bad vision and painful ribs, the climb out wasn’t going to be fun.

No comments: