Releasing a slow exhale, he thought up a plan. All he needed to do was prove he got laid and then they’d leave his balls alone. Maybe, after a few weeks, they’d forget their grudge and he could resume making sweet love to his beautiful stuffed, velvety concubines.
In the meantime, all he had to do was the impossible.
Find a girl desperate and pathetic enough to have sex with him.
Great, he thought. This should be easy.
At least he knew where to start. Tomorrow night he’d cruise the bars on the shitty end of town.
There was bound to be a fat or old chick who’d sleep with him. For the love of his cushions, he had to try.
* * *
Today is the shittiest day of my life.
Ralphie heaved a sigh while he continued to feel sorry for himself.
Other than waking with the nagging fear that tomorrow he was going to have his manhood forcibly ripped from his body, the day didn’t start out too badly.
That was, until he’d spent the morning dodging the neighbor kid’s projectile loogies on the way to the bus stop. The little brat had made him late, and he’d missed the bus to work and had to walk the three miles on two human feet.
He hated being a human. He hated the coarse, unruly black scalp hair that never seemed to be tamed, even with the best bargain-brand hair gels. He hated his wiry frame and big clumsy feet, but most of all, he hated the many acne scars that made his face look the remnants of a war zone. Nobody could see his scars underneath his wolf fur, but Alpha strictly enforced the rules—no shifting outside the wolf den. Since his entire pack lived near Ralphie’s mom’s house, he knew if he shifted to his wolf form, he risked the chance of getting caught. Too bad, because he could have made the trip to work in less than half the time on four legs. But what would the pack do to him if they caught him shifting? He shuddered at the thought.
After all, the pack had already decided they’d rather see him emotionally and physically scarred for life than take the chance of losing a few pillows.
Ralphie returned to his task of stacking boxes in the stockroom. By day’s end, he would have the biggest fortress of shoe boxes ever built, complete with a master bedroom and a den. And nobody was allowed inside. Not even Buster, no matter how much he begged.
“Hey, Ralphie.”
Ralphie looked through the window of his box fortress when he recognized Raven’s cool, serpentine voice. She sipped on an iced mocha latte while leaning on a perfectly even stack of discounted imitation snake skin boots.
Ralphie swore under his breath. One wrong move and his fake snake window-sill would be toast.
“Hey,” he answered flatly.
He really wasn’t in the mood to be harassed by the head of the women’s shoe department, AKA, Queen Bitch. Even though she was the hottest chick he’d ever worked with, especially when she wore tight leather pants that framed her perfectly round and cushiony ass, he was definitely not interested in making small talk with Raven. She was as heartless as she was hot. Besides, he wasn’t into the wanna-be-vamp pale-faced goth look. She tried way too hard to look like an immortal—always wearing leather and huge old people sunglasses, refusing to walk outside without SPF 100 sunblock and a hooded, baby seal coat.
“Need any help?” Raven still hadn’t taken the hint that he wanted to be alone. She was actually eyeing his edifice with mock interest.
“Nope,” he answered tersely.
“Word around the store is that you’re getting snipped.”
Ralphie’s gaze shot to her cold, pointed stare. Damn Buster. He made a mental note to piss in Buster’s juice box when he wasn’t looking.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whimpered.
“How about we go someplace quiet after work?” she rasped while running one long, pale finger across the edge of the window-sill. “I can take your mind off your troubles.”
“Nah,” he shrugged. “I got to go to a bar and troll for sluts.”
She quirked a brow while playfully biting on her bottom lip. “Mind if I tag along?”
For some strange reason, all the hairs on Ralphie’s neck stood on end, and his animal instincts told him to beware. But not many hot chicks, actually no hot chicks, had ever asked to hang out with him at bars before. Having her around might actually make him look more desirable and help him get lucky with a real girl.
“Sure, I guess you can come,” he answered.
“Great.” She flashed a dazzling, pearly white smile. “I know this really cool bar called Immortals. Have you heard of it?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “I’m sticking to The Pit. Too many vamps go to Immortals.”
“You don’t like vamps?” she asked in a petulant voice.
“They’re my mortal enemies, Raven.”
“Oh.” Her jaw dropped and her eyes bugged, as she made a big show of demonstrating her surprise. “I didn’t know that.”
He nodded while fashioning a pretend rocking chair for himself out of overstocked flip-flops. “That and they’re the bloodsucking spawns of Satan.”
“Whatever,” she hissed, before snapping the paper coffee cup in her crushing grip.
Iced mocha latte splattered everywhere, including all over his brown corduroy dress jacket.
“Damn,” he cried. “This is my only good jacket.”
“I’m sorry. Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” She ducked behind the window and stepped around the fortress before slipping inside the narrow doorway. “Let me clean that.” She held out her hand.
“No.” He shrieked back, acting as if one touch from her cold, pale fingers would scald his skin. “I’ll take it to the dry cleaners on my lunch break. I wanted to wear this tonight.”
“Okay.” She stepped back out of his fortress and walked toward the exit, the sway of her hips more exaggerated than ever as she called over her shoulder. “I’ll meet you at The Pit around eight?”
“Fine.”
He blew out a pent-up and shaky breath after she’d closed the door behind her. He had no idea why he was acting so skittish around Raven. Sure, she was evil. She’d proven that on plenty of different occasions. Like the time she fed silica gel to an infant when his mom was trying on shoes. Or the many other times she’d tried to bite off his fingers when he’d forgotten to stack the shoe boxes in order from smallest size to largest.
But, damn, she looked good in leather. Ralphie surmised the only way Raven could look any hotter was if she’d changed her pants to crushed velvet, like the kind of fabric used on really classy and fluffy pillow cushions.
Ralphie licked his lips and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He had a good feeling Raven would help him get laid tonight.
* * *
Ralphie hated going to the dry cleaners. He hated the rancid smell of freshly pressed polyester. He hated the stupid little needles they stuck inside his garments. They were always pricking his fingers when he tried to take his clothes off the hangers.
But most of all, Ralphie hated the zombies that worked at the dry cleaners.
He walked up to the drooling, glossy-eyed clerk and set his jacket on the counter. The waist high barrier was the only thing separating Ralphie from this pallor-skinned, decomposing giant, but he wasn’t afraid. Zombies were slow and stupid and no match for his superior animalistic speed.
“Can you have this cleaned by five?” he asked.
“Brains,” the clerk answered.
“No, not brains,” Ralphie groaned while simultaneously scratching an itch on the back of his neck. “It’s a jacket with a coffee stain.”
He itched harder and hoped he wasn’t getting another case of the fleas. But with the way his luck was running lately, he wouldn’t doubt he’d picked up some parasites. Ralphie only prayed he hadn’t infected his lady pillow friend, too. Crotch fleas were a bitch to get rid of.
“Brains.” The clerk stretched out both hands and made a feeble lunge for Ralphie.
Ralphie backed up a few steps while
the clerk continuously rammed the counter separating them.
“Look,” he growled, “do you want my dry cleaning or not?”
“Dry cleaning.” The clerk dropped his hands and scooped the jacket off the counter.
“That’s more like it,” Ralphie huffed. “I’ll be by after work to pick it up.”
“Brains.”
“Whatever.” Ralphie rolled his eyes as he headed for the door. He turned back to see the clerk still staring at him with a glazed-over expression. “And try not to touch it too much. I’m wearing that jacket tonight, and I’ll have a hard enough time getting laid without the smell of rotting flesh all over my clothes.”
* * *
Ralphie had sat at his bar stool for over an hour waiting for Raven to show up. Witches, fairies and French maids squealed past him, completely oblivious to his presence. He thought that maybe it was because he’d refused to wear a costume, but deep down inside he knew that wasn’t the reason the girls ignored him.
They’d ignored him because he was a mutt. With the exception of zombies, werewolves were at the bottom of the immortal totem pole. Most mortal girls didn’t want to take the chance they’d get Parvo, or worse, strapped down with a litter of bastard were-babies.
Ralphie sighed into his empty beer mug. The one thing that could make him feel even more inferior would be to have Dr. Baker rip out his manhood.
“Hey.”
He looked up, momentarily stunned to see Raven smiling at him. Strange, but his keen animal senses hadn’t noticed her enter the club. Yet, here she was, dazzling him with a tight black velvet witch costume that accentuated her large breasts and curvaceous hips.
“Wow! You look…amazing.”
He angled his head as his gaze roamed her backside, or more importantly, her perfect ass. It looked so pillowy soft and tempting. Ralphie shook his head, trying to clear his mind of lustful thoughts .
Besides, Raven wasn’t here to screw him. He’d thought a lot about it on the way over here and it was all starting to make perfect sense. Buster had paid her to distract him from girls more on his level so he wouldn’t get laid.
He wished it wasn’t so, but girls like Raven didn’t fuck dogs. They were more interested in chasing after pasty-faced vamp cock. Too bad, because all he wanted to do was get behind her and pound the heck out of that soft velvet.
“Thanks.” She batted her thick black lashes while playfully chewing on her lower lip. “Sorry I’m late.”
“That’s okay.” He patted the vacant stool beside him. “Wanna drink?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“You don’t drink?”
One black brow arched. “Not alcohol.”
“Okay.” He shrugged. “Wanna dance?”
“I’d rather fuck.”
Ralphie nearly choked on his own spit. He scratched the back of his head while eyeing her warily. “Well, there’s plenty of guys here I’m sure would be happy to…”
He gasped as Raven yanked him off the stool. In the next instant, she pressed her lips against his while rubbing her generous bosom against his chest.
Ralphie’s erection sprang to life, and he moaned as she thrust her tongue inside his mouth, the coppery scent of her saliva blending with his leftover beer residue in an erotic dance of pleasure. When she reached a slender hand down to stroke his bulge, he thought he’d died and gone to doggie heaven.
She pulled back and eyed him with a feral hunger.
“Wanna go to my den?” he rasped.
She tilted her head, as her blood-red lips broke into a sly smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”
* * *
Ralphie was so horny, he couldn’t get Raven home fast enough. Unfortunately, the transit bus was especially slow, and it took over an hour for them to be dropped off, and they still had to walk five blocks to Alpha’s parents’ house.
“Sorry I can’t afford a car,” he’d said to Raven for at least the tenth time over the past hour.
“That’s okay.” She squeezed his hand and smiled.
He briefly wondered what had happened to the evil demonic bitch he used to work with, but then he shrugged it off. All that mattered was that he was going to get laid by a girl, not a pillow.
He frowned while thinking of his special wench, and he hoped she wouldn’t be too distraught when she saw him with a new mate.
Ralphie increased his strides while pulling on Raven’s rock solid, yet petite hand. He shivered as the numbing cold radiating off her skin permeated his flesh and chilled him to the bone. He wondered why she was so cold on this unusually balmy night, but he knew exactly how to warm her up once they got to the den.
“Hey Ralphie, going trick or treating?”
Ralphie jerked his head at the familiar nasally taunt of the grade-school mortal. He stopped and turned to see fat little Loogie Boy dressed as a pirate and sporting a heavy sack of candy. He knew it was well past the youth’s bed-time, and he silently prayed some bloodsucking demon would find Loogie Boy before he made it home.
“No,” Ralphie sneered. “Trick or treating is for little bratty mortals.”
“What’s the matter?” the kid laughed. “They don’t give out sofa cushions?”
A low growl broke from Ralphie’s throat. Damn Buster is telling everyone.
Raven tugged his hand. “Forget about him, Ralphie.”
Just as Ralphie was about to turn his back, the brat bent over and picked up a stick.
He swung his arm and tossed the stick across the street. “Hey, Ralphie. Fetch the stick, boy.”
Ralphie’s focus was suddenly drawn to the projectile that was flying through the air. It was long and pointy and it was getting away!
He salivated. Must! Get! Stick!
Using his superior animal speed, he ran after the stick and caught it mid-air with his teeth. He happily trotted back across the street, but the kid who’d thrown the stick had vanished.
Damn.
His chest deflated when he realized Loogie Boy had tricked him. His face flushed as he looked over at Raven. At the heavy and horrified frown that marred her brow.
He whimpered while removing the stick from his mouth and slipping it inside his pocket.
Finally, she straightened her features while heaving a sigh. “Mortals are so annoying.”
He cocked his head. “But you’re a mortal.”
“Oh, yeah,” she shrugged. “Right.”
* * *
Raven walked a slow circle around the den while Ralphie scrolled through Alpha’s parents’ CD collection. After he’d found the CD he’d been looking for, he slipped Rush’s Hemisphere’s into the disk player. Even though he usually preferred Heavy Metal, he wanted something more soothing to set the mood. The Trees was his favorite classic rock song ever. Though he didn’t understand the cryptic message within the lyrics, he really liked the banging of the drums and the singer’s high-pitched tenor.
The song went perfectly with a big fat doobie, but Ralphie hadn’t contributed to the pot fund in over two weeks. He knew Alpha would find out if he ripped some weed from the stash. Thankfully, the pack was probably still trick-or-treating. He hoped he could at least make it to second base with Raven without them watching and salivating all over the carpet.
Grinning, he looked over at Raven. She was sitting on the sofa with her hands over her ears.
His chest deflated. “Don’t you like the music?”
Her features contorted into one massive scowl, making her look like she’d just eaten a lemon or maybe gone down on another girl who needed a good douching.
“Not really,” she griped. “Don’t you have any Donna Summer?”
“Disco?” he gasped. “Hell no, that’s vamp music.”
“Oh, yeah.” She pulled her hands from her ears and slowly straightened her face. “I forgot.”
He sat down beside her, and deciding he didn’t want to waste any more time he reached over and squeezed one soft velvety thigh. She scowled, then grabbed the black so
fa cushion and clutched it to her chest.
“Where’s the rest of your pack?” she hissed.
“Trick-or-treating, I guess,” he responded breathlessly, unable to pull his gaze from the defenseless cushion caught in Raven’s grasp. Images of a threesome swirled in his brain and he began salivating.
Both black brows dipped beneath her bangs, and the maniacal heat that darkened her eyes only heightened the starkness of her porcelain skin. “So we’re alone?”
“Yeah, baby,” he growled while leaning toward her.
She smiled while eyeing his throat. “Take off your jacket, so I can get better access to your neck.”
“You like kink, baby?” he teased while pulling one arm free from the jacket. “Ouch!” he yelped. “Damn zombies!” he groaned, as a small needle prick in his thumb began to bleed.
Her eyes bulged. “Here, let me.” She shoved his thumb into her mouth with one fluid thrust.
Ralphie thought he’d crème his thrift store jeans at the erotic ministrations of her tongue swirling and darting across his sore thumb. He threw his head back and moaned.
In the next instant, she pushed him to the floor.
He landed with a thud, moaning at the pain in his side. “Go easy, Raven,” he griped. “We’ve got all night.”
“You mean I’ve got all night. Your night is about to end, dog breath.” She straddled him as her lips curled back in a snarl.
That’s when Ralphie noticed the two long and very pointy fangs that extended nearly to her chin.
“Holy shit! You’re a vampire!”
She laughed. “And they say werewolves are stupid.”
Panic gripped his chest. “So does this mean we’re not having sex?”
She grabbed the collar of his shirt and tore it off. “Roll over, dog, while I rip out your throat.”
He bucked under her unusually heavy weight as she exposed his chest, and he worried that she’d laugh at the glaringly lack of hair surrounding his dark nipples.
“What did I ever do to you?” he asked as he struggled to conceal himself with his corduroy jacket.
“We’re mortal enemies, remember?” she sneered while baring her fangs. “And when I’m finished with you, I’m going to feast on the rest of your mutt friends.”
He swallowed hard. Getting his nut sack chopped off seemed like a much better option. Besides, Raven was looking a lot less sexy by the minute, and he didn’t know if he’d have the desire to fuck a demonic spawn of Satan, who also wanted to suck the life-blood out of his body.