Tala Page 4
“Sorry,” he said, bending down to quickly kiss her again. “Wanted to get it before anyone else.” He sat down and patted the grass beside him.
Layla shook her head at the offered spot. “I don’t think that’s going to work,” she said, imagining ants crawling up and biting her butt.
Brett looked thoughtful for a moment, then brightened. “Okay, well…you have two choices, you can sit on my lap, or I can take off my shirt and you can sit on that.” He winked.
Damn and double damn, Layla thought. As much as she wanted to see if he had a hairy chest, she didn’t want to see it now, while she was in public and had witnesses to see her hurl herself at him. But she didn’t want to sit on his lap. Suppose he got aroused. Then she would be in a pickle—or on one, she thought wickedly.
He clamped the enormous turkey leg between his teeth and started to unbutton his shirt. Layla could see the smooth expanse of his muscled chest and swallowed, good lord Shawna was right. He was a Greek god. She closed her eyes and couldn’t stop the moan that came out of her mouth. Brett’s hands stilled and Layla knew he was watching her, but she looked away, embarrassed at being caught. She looked off to the side and saw that a group of teenage girls were taking an uncommon interest in Brett unbuttoning his shirt. She took a deep breath and hurriedly grabbed the turkey leg from his mouth before planting her ass firmly in his lap. His arms came around her and she felt the muscled smoothness of his arms as they locked around her. She refused to meet his eyes as she said, “Those girls were too young to watch you strip. It was kinda pervy.”
Brett chuckled before he kissed her on the neck. “Yeah, I wanted you to sit on my lap, too,” he whispered.
Layla smiled. She could feel every inch of him. Not in a perverse way, but in a way that made little sense. She heard his heart beating—not feel—hear. And she heard the whoosh of his blood pulsing through his veins, the slow in and out of his breathing, even the wind moving through his hair. It was as if he was in her very soul. She leaned back into him, her back against his chest, food forgotten. Her body relaxed as she felt herself melt against his body.
Brett held Layla to him. He could feel the softness of her skin and the intense heat radiating from her. When fledglings were first starting to transform, they heated up, he knew. As much as he wanted to keep her in this state, he knew he had to ask about Suzette. He was already getting too attached. Bringing her coffee earlier and now this date that was starting to feel far too real. He wanted to kiss her again. He’d already made that mistake tonight, but he didn’t care. He wanted to feel her lips against his and inhale the soft breath she made as his lips touched hers. He closed his eyes and willed his body to remain under control. It didn’t help that she was sitting in his lap and he could feel her well-toned ass against his groin, but somehow he managed to keep himself under control. He needed to stick to the plan; find Suzette and move on.
“Layla?” He kissed her neck.
“Hmm?” she whispered eyes closed as his breath breezed across her neck.
“Do you ever have dreams?” He felt her tense in his lap.
Layla opened her eyes, but didn’t move. Why was he asking her about dreams? The second person in two days was not a coincidence, it was weird. She cleared her throat. “What kind of dreams?”
Brett could hear the sudden hardness in her voice. He knew he should back off. Now was not the time to ask about Suzette. “I don’t know. I get these weird dreams sometimes. Freaks me the hell out, you know,” he paused and felt her start to relax again. “Can’t even tell sometimes if it’s real or just a dream.”
“Everyone has crazy dreams,” Layla whispered. She remembered her dreams. She had never remembered a single dream in such detail and now she was having the same one over and over again. Even when she was in the hospital after her mom was killed, her dreams were not this vivid. “Some dreams are just crazier than others.”
“I had a dream about you last night,” Brett said suddenly and Layla froze. She wondered if he’d had the same dream. Her brows furrowed. He couldn’t have had the same dream she did. That was impossible. She took a deep breath as she remembered what they were doing in her dreams. Her breathing became labored as her thoughts turned to sex. She moaned again, a low guttural sound that came from her core.
Brett stiffened at Layla’s moan. The woman was trying to kill him. He was going to die, literally before he left here if she continued. He closed his eyes and thought of the most mundane thing he could think of to get her out of his mind. Layla moaned again and a few heads turned their way. It was enough to calm him.
“Um, Layla?”
“Yes?” she breathed, eyes closed, squirming a little in his lap.
“People are watching you.”
Layla’s eyes popped open. “Oh shit.” She looked covertly around at the few heads turned her way and blushed, the red undertone of her skin matching the reds of her hair. “So embarrassed right now.” She looked straight ahead at the lake.
Brett’s arms tightened around her and he nuzzled her neck. “Hey, it’s cool, trust me, I was right there with you.” He gave her a smile and watched as she visibly relaxed. He kissed her cheek and she smiled in relief. “Hey, let’s get out of here.” He nudged her to get her moving, glad he’d been able to control himself and ignored the knowing glances from a few people as he and Layla walked through the crowd.
Layla laid her head on the leather headrest in the car. She was suddenly exhausted, having a full day of work, school and trying to ignore her attraction to Brett. It was more than an attraction; she felt an almost animalistic need to be with him. She turned towards him as he started the Camaro. “I had a dream about you too last night,” she said admitted sleepily.
Brett smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “You were a weird wolf-like thing and you were stalking me.” She smiled, before drifting off.
Brett stayed silent the entire ride home. He wanted to grill her about Suzette, but something kept him in check. Her face was relaxed in sleep, her long eyelashes fanning her face, her auburn hair sliding across her cheek. He wanted to kiss away the few wrinkles on her brow and bury his face in the crook of her neck. He sighed. He had a job to do and no matter how tempting she was, he needed to know whose side she was really on.
*
Martin stood outside Layla’s building. He knew she was getting close to the young man. He’d seen them leave earlier and had followed at a distance, certain they hadn’t been able to detect him. Even he was having a hard time sleeping. Layla’s dreams were becoming more powerful. He was able to detect them now. Normally, he could block the dreams of fledglings he’d interacted with, but Layla was different, he wasn’t able to block her. He was exposed to all of her dreams. All of it. And some parts of her dream were quite disturbing for a man who was old when she was a child. Definitely disturbing. The only way to give her some privacy in the dream world was to not sleep. But even that could only last for so long.
Martin watched as hours after the young man had dropped her back at her apartment, Layla awoke, and sleepily wandered to her car. Hopping into his truck, he followed at a safe distance, until she turned into a restaurant. He waited on the side of the road and watched as she ate; understanding the hunger pangs that marked the changing. Now well after midnight, he jerked awake as he sat inside his truck. He closed his eyes and pictured the images that flickered from her mind into his like images on a TV screen.
It was the same dream. He knew what that meant. She was getting ready to transform. It would happen in the next few days and he needed to be close when it did. Martin yawned, he also needed sleep. With Layla being so strong, he couldn’t shut her out and her dreams kept him from getting the rest he needed. Once she transformed he would no longer be allowed access to her dreams. He yawned again. He could hear the even breathing of Layla in sleep and his eyes grew heavy once again.
“Hello old man.”
The voice caused Martin to jump and instantly his hand w
hipped out his knife. He sniffed the air. It was the young man. He wasn’t close, so he knew what Martin was and he knew that Martin would be able to hear him.
“Stay away from her,” the young man warned. “I will not have her harmed by you beasts.”
Martin tensed. It was hard enough being a Were, but being insulted was an even harder pill to swallow. Martin wasn’t sure if he should answer back. Simply because he could hear the young man didn’t mean the young man would be able to hear him. One of the perks of being a Were was exceptional hearing and the young man wasn’t a Were as far as he could tell. Stealthily Martin crawled out of the truck. He kept his eyes relaxed, knowing that by doing so, his brain would pick up on any inconsistencies in his orbital path. He scanned the area as he moved into the shadows cast by the stairwell and the florescent bulbs on the perimeter of the building.
“Very good, old man.” The voice continued, but Martin realized it was stronger near the building. “You are very good. No doubt Suzette gets a lot of use out of you.”
Martin frowned. He knew about Suzette? And did he believe he and Suzette were counterparts? Martin remained quiet, allowing the young man to continue talking as he slowly tracked the source of the voice. It was on Layla’s floor. Martin shuddered to think that he’s allowed someone to get so close to Layla.
He assessed the situation. The young man had threatened him if he touched Layla, so Martin assumed the young man wanted Layla unharmed, for the moment. He had also called Martin a ‘beast’, so that meant he was probably human, sort of. He sniffed the air again. He couldn’t get a bead on the young man. It was as if his scent was everywhere. He had marked the entire area and it was hard to pinpoint his location with the scent confusion. Martin paused before trusting his gut and moving back to his truck. Without a backwards glance, he hopped in and drove away.
Brett watched the old man drive off in the truck and breathed a sigh of relief. He had gotten careless and had almost been caught. If the old man had gotten any closer, he wouldn’t have had to smell anymore, he could’ve heard Brett’s heartbeat. Shit. He needed to be careful.
*
Layla hopped out of bed, her alarm blaring. She was late. Again. She threw her toothbrush in her purse, tossed a capful of mouthwash into her mouth, redid her ponytail and was out the door in the same dress she woke up in. She snuck in the office door, praying that Cantrell was not in yet and smiled at Shawna’s curious look. She grabbed a cup of the horrible brew provided to them before she trudged her way through work.
She forced her way through all 200 calls of “Hi, my name is Layla Donovan and I am calling from Gulfport College in response to your query.” She avoided Mrs. Cantrell like the plague and begged Shawna for additional cups of coffee. She knew it was a matter of time before she crashed and she couldn’t afford to do it at work. All the while her thoughts kept returning to Brett, his sexy as hell lips and even sexier body and the things she wanted to do with both.
Layla grabbed her purse at 5, was in the lobby at 5:01 and in her apartment by 5:10. By 5:15 she was asleep. She had the dreams again. She was being followed by something that looked like Brett but was not Brett and the woman and old guy were back.
“You were all we wanted,” the woman kept repeating, her face elongated and almost hidden in shadows. “You, Layla.” She pointed with one long finger, claw covered in blood. “You.” She howled as she licked the blood clean. “She died because of you.”
Layla woke covered in sweat, her breathing heavy. She looked at the display on her phone, remembering that the clock would be off. 10 pm. She was hungry. Again. She felt her stomach growl as she hopped out of bed and moved toward her small kitchen. She opened the fridge and groaned in frustration. She had milk, cheese and a few wrinkled cherry tomatoes. Nothing that would assuage her hunger. She needed to buy groceries. Somehow, she made it to her car, an older model Tiberon and dressed in the shorts and T-shirt she’d slept in, raced to the grocery store.
Layla wheeled the shopping cart down the meat aisle. The smells emanating from the rows of meat, some cooked and some not, caused her stomach to growl. A woman next to her looked at her stomach and gave a small smile. Layla ignored her and kept moving as her cart started to fill up. She added a leg of lamb to the other two already in the cart and shrugged. You couldn’t have too many legs of lamb. She finally spied what she was looking for at the far end of the aisle, there was a fresh slab of pork ribs. The last slab. Layla wheeled her cart towards the slab. Too late she realized another patron had the same idea and she jumped when her shopping cart slammed into the other woman’s.
“I am so sorry,” Layla apologized to the woman, smiling wanly.
The woman shrugged and wheeled her shopping cart around Layla to reach for the slab of ribs.
Layla tried to snatch it from her grasp. “Sorry, that was mine.”
The woman refused to loosen her grip and although she was slight, she had a considerable hold on the package of meat. “No, I got it first.”
Layla looked at the woman pleadingly. “No, this was mine. I was already here.”
The woman rolled her eyes dramatically as she tried to wrestle the ribs away from Layla. “Give it to me!” she grunted. “I got it before you did!”
“No, you didn’t! I was here first!” Layla jerked the meat out of the woman’s hand and held it high above her head triumphantly.
“Problem ladies?” A store manager cleared his throat.
Layla looked around in embarrassment as she realized she had just made a scene in the grocery store. Countless faces were staring at her and laughing. Someone was even recording the ordeal on a cell phone.
She placed the ribs in the cart and shook her head. “No, no problem.” She wheeled the cart and walked away, listening to the other woman complain about how Layla had stolen the last rack of ribs from her. The manager offered the woman a coupon. Layla’s stomach growled again and she hurriedly headed to the cash register to pay for her purchases. She snagged a package of hotdogs on the way, tearing it open and eating the cold links one by one. As she waited in line, an older man stared at her, before his wife noticed her.
“Oh honey,” she whispered. “Pregnant women get the craziest cravings.”
Layla stuffed the last hotdog into her mouth, then met the old man’s eyes and puffed out her tummy creating a small bulge that she rubbed. She ignored the look the cashier gave her as she made her purchases; a slab of ribs, three legs of lamb, a ham, a chicken and an empty packet of beef hotdogs, 10 count.
*
Layla stared with disgust at the remains of her meal. Bones littered the round dining room table in her kitchen; the only remnants of the chicken she’d bought last night. She was still hungry. It made no sense. She was cold all the time, she was hungry all the time, and she’d almost had sex with Brett at the Festival. What was going on? She entertained the idea of a werewolf for a few seconds then shook her head as she sat on the couch. Perhaps she was simply stressed out. She had midterm exams in a few weeks and she’d been studying so hard, she’d cracked. That made a lot more sense than a damn werewolf. Her cell phone rang and hoping it was Brett she looked at the display. Shawna.
“Hey girl,” Layla answered.
“Wow, don’t sound so disappointed,” Shawna laughed. “What are you up to?”
“Eating,” Layla looked over at the food still on the table.
“Feel like going out tonight?”
Layla felt like doing anything but sitting in her apartment. She felt almost bulimic; binge eating and then feeling regret and disgust. Brett hadn’t called her and she didn’t want to call him, not after the way she had almost raped him in public. “Sure,” she answered, and winced at hearing Shawna’s squeal.
“Alright girl, we meet at nine so bring your dancing shoes and your energy drink because it is Latin night at Hyde Park Cantina and we are dancing non-stop! You can bring your Greek god, if you want,” Shawna added slyly, hanging up before Layla could say anything.
Layla scrolled through her contacts, highlighting Brett’s name. Before she could change her mind, she pressed send and listened to the classic rock song, ‘Running with the Devil’ that he had as his ringback tone. Somehow it fit. Classic rock. She listened to the chorus before the song suddenly stopped and she heard Brett’s voice telling her to leave a message.
“Um, hey, it’s Layla. Some friends and I are going to the Hyde Park Cantina tonight if you want to come with. Call me back and let me know.” She hung up, her stomach in nervous knots. She cleared the table, throwing away the bits and pieces, too much for her poor garbage disposal to handle. She raced downstairs, tossed it into the trash compactor before heading to her bed to take a nap.
*
Layla walked into the club the beat of the music invading her limbs. She scratched at her wrist where the security had placed the wristband slightly too tight. Her heels clicked along the stone floor as she walked over to the seating area. She quickly spotted Shawna, one of the few African Americans in the club on Latin night. Shawna sported a red dress so fierce and short that Layla’s mouth hung open for a second. She waved as Shawna ran over to her, enveloping her in an embrace.
“Hey girl!”
Layla hugged her back and looked at Shawna’s outfit again. “Wow, that dress is hot!” She complimented.
Shawna twirled around. “Thank you,” she said, before she leaned over and whispered. “My dress is only loud, your outfit is banging.”
Layla had chosen to wear a short, green wrap dress she knew highlighted her eyes and accentuated her legs. She thanked her friend before moving over to the lounge area where the drinks were already waiting. She recognized a few people from work and smiled and nodded as Shawna made the introductions. She looked around for the familiar dark hair and olive skin, but being in a Hispanic club on Latin night made that task a chore, although she knew in her gut that he was not there.
“So she turns around and there is Cantrell!” The group howled with laughter as Shawna told her story. Layla laughed along with them, seeing the humor in retrospect. She sipped her drink, enjoying the looseness in her limbs as the alcohol started to take effect. The music pounded in her head and she closed her eyes, feeling the beat of the drums reverberating throughout her body. She tapped her foot along, allowing her senses to take in the atmosphere and willed her mind not to think. She watched as couple after couple headed to the dance floor, returned for a drink and headed back. She declined the countless offers for a dance, using her drink as an excuse and ignored the disappointed looks.