Wilde Storm

  Wilde Storm

  S.E. Babin, writing as Bree Lawrence

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Dedication

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-One

  22. Two Weeks Later

  A Quick Thank You!

  To my Spam Folder: You’re pretty disturbing, but you inspire me. I don’t need a longer penis, but sometimes I dream of rich Nigerian princes. Thanks for that.

  1

  I smelled like patchouli, I was high as a kite, and if I didn’t get cake immediately, someone was going to die. Watson kept snorting like he was doing a line, but I couldn’t help but think he was laughing at me instead of with me.

  This was his fault.

  His brilliant idea to head to Woodstock.

  I was sheltered—wonderfully, wonderfully sheltered. My life was built around the worlds of Jane Austen and Bridget Jones, rom-coms, book clubs, and wonderful, wonderful unicorns.

  So what does he do? He takes me into a den of iniquity, and fifteen minutes later, I was high on secondhand smoke and dancing around to the music of The Who.

  I was having a glorious time and I didn’t want to leave, but in the back of my mind, a niggling thought kept occurring to me. I had to get home and get my ass to bed before my tiny little angry Japanese mother spotted me.

  She would revel in murdering Watson.

  My father, on the other hand, might find it a little more amusing, and so would Masters.

  “We need a plan,” I murmured to Watson as he held me in his arms, I think mostly to keep me upright and prevent me from throwing myself at all the handsome dirty hippies smiling appreciatively at me.

  If I never believed in the concept of free love, but suddenly time traveled to 1969, was I allowed to dabble without being considered a painted woman?

  His choked shout of laughter told me I hadn’t said that in my head.

  A wide goofy smile spilled over my face. “You smell good. Like…” I had to think about it for a minute to get it exactly right, “like dirt, cologne, and cookies.”

  He couldn’t keep his shit together. He’d laughed more in the last few hours than I’d ever seen him laugh before.

  “I like it when you laugh,” I said, trailing my fingers sloppily down the side of his face.

  Amusement lit the honey gold of his eyes into something resembling mead. And just like mead, I could get drunk on his gaze.

  “You, my dear, are a constant source of entertainment.” He spun me around and pulled me back against him.

  Watson wasn’t exactly dressed for Woodstock—more like church, if you were in the 1800’s. I, on the other hand, had dressed the part. I guessed. On one of my trips home, I’d rummaged through my mother’s closet and found some shirts she’d hidden in the secret compartment in the back. I towered over her now, so unless I wanted to look like I was in a flood, I had to skip wearing her pants. Watson had taken me in to a couple of the shops when we’d first arrived and I’d picked up a pair of high-waisted bellbottoms and a pair of completely ridiculous platform shoes. So now I was nose to nose with Watson’s six-foot-something height instead of having to tilt my head up to look at him. It was kind of nice.

  I had no idea where we were. Some kind of underground club, but thankfully no one had put on disco music yet. I abhorred all things disco. And roller skates—those sucked too.

  There was a jukebox on, spinning hit after hit. The marijuana smoke was so thick it had taken on a life of its own. It reminded me of one of those smoke machines people used at Halloween, but instead of harmless water vapor, this stuff was the real deal and I was high as a church deacon on Sunday.

  Watson had sneaked me out of the compound several days ago and we’d spent some time exploring life around Woodstock, New York. I’d been having the time of my life, wearing the clothes, speaking the funky language, and eating food that didn’t come slopping out of a can or box.

  This was the first time, however, Maryjane and I had a date.

  I swayed against Watson, blinking rapidly as I tried to keep his grinning face into focus. “You make me sound like a circus act,” I pouted.

  Watson pulled my hand over his heart. “My dear, nothing could be further from the truth. You are a vibrant star on a cloudy night. A red dress at a wedding. A Great White in a sea of Nurse Sharks. You are—”

  I snorted in amusement and patted his face. “I want cake.”

  Watson’s brow furrowed. “Not terribly sure where we can get cake at nine p.m. on a Saturday night.”

  “You’re a smart boy. You’ll figure it out.”

  He sighed and gathered me around the waist. “The lady wants cake, the lady shall have cake.”

  “I always knew I liked you.”

  “Mmm,” he said as he led me out the door, the greatest music in the last fifty years trailing behind me.

  I sat in a diner staring in carnal delight at a slice of cake as big as my face. If only there were Doritos on top of it. I fumbled for my fork and dug into it, watching the cake topple onto my plate. “Victory!” I whispered and roared like Godzilla when he’d finally made his first steps onto land.

  John slapped his hand over his mouth, snorts of amusement killing most of the proper act he was trying to convey. He stared at me with wide eyes and murmured to himself, “Your father is going to cut my bloody head off.”

  “As long as it’s not the fun head!” I quipped with a mouthful of cake.

  If I didn’t know better and if I hadn’t been full of ganja smoke, I would have sworn I saw a bit of color in Watson’s cheeks.

  “Finish your cake,” he said in a strangled tone. “I think our trip ends tonight.”

  “Party pooper,” I muttered and shoved another forkful in my mouth.

  “Right,” he said, although he didn’t appear to be concerned about my frank observations of his partying skills.

  Ten minutes later, I wiped my face across the sleeve of one of my mother’s flowery, polyester shirts and allowed Watson to lead me out of the restaurant. He pulled me into a corner close against his body. I snuggled against him. “If you want to make out, I’d rather not do it in an alley,” I said and snort-giggled.

  An aggrieved sigh racked his body. “Hold out your DAR,” he said in a clipped tone.

  I lifted my arm up and shoved the DAR in his face. He punched a few numbers into it, but held on to my arm. “Why are we
using this? I thought you were going to train me to travel without it.”

  He lifted those gorgeous honey eyes to mine. “No. Your father is supposed to train you. I am merely supposed to act as your guardian and trainer in the ways of physical warfare.”

  “Physical warfare,” I said, rolling the words around on my tongue. “You make that sound hot.”

  “Penelope,” he warned in a rough voice.

  “Yes, Watson?” I grinned at him and batted my lashes, although the blinking made it feel like my eyes were in molasses.

  He shook his head and tried not to smile. “Hold on to me,” he warned, and although I did grasp him tightly by the arm, he also entwined our fingers together with one hand. With the other, he punched in one final key and snagged me around the waist.

  Seconds later, I was dizzy, completely discombobulated, and still high as a kite. I was also lying in John Watson’s arms like a damsel in distress with no idea how I’d gotten there.

  “Holy shit, man.” Masters’ voice was low and deep in the quiet corridor.

  Watson’s sigh of aggravation was even more pronounced. “I know.”

  “How did this—?” Masters stopped and chuckled. “Never mind. It’s Penelope.”

  “Clear a path for me,” Watson urged. “Make sure her parents are nowhere around. I need to get her to her room.”

  I reached up and toyed with the hair curling down around Watson’s shoulders. He’d grown it some. “Pretty,” I cooed.

  Masters snorted with laughter. “Pretty,” he echoed, punching Watson on the arm.

  “Masters,” Watson hissed with annoyance.

  “Fine. Fine. I’m going to enjoy this tomorrow.”

  “Let me just get her to bed and you can razz me all you want.”

  The sound of Masters’ heavy footsteps began to fade as he walked ahead to scout. Watson walked swiftly behind him and my head lolled with each step. I let go of his hair and shut my eyes because it was making me dizzy.

  “Watson?” I asked, wincing when my voice echoed off the walls.

  “Shhh,” he whispered.

  “Mmm,” I said and continued. “Do you ever wish you had a girlfriend?”

  Masters’ low bark of laughter reached my ears.

  “You’re next, mister!” I stage-whispered.

  John pulled me closer and spoke low in my ear. “For Christ’s sake, Penelope, do try to keep your voice down. I’m trying not to get castrated tonight.”

  “That would be such a pity,” I said in all seriousness.

  Masters couldn’t keep it together. His guffaws echoed off the walls, which caused me to get the giggles. Even Watson’s chest rumbled with amusement.

  “Never again,” he muttered to himself, picking up the pace to my rooms. All went well until he came to a screeching halt. I felt the pace of his heart stutter and begin to beat frantically. He slowly put me down and placed his hand around my waist.

  “Try to act normal, my dear,” he said, low and urgent.

  I swayed against him and gave him a puppy dog smile. His eyes reached heavenward as he cursed under his breath.

  The sound of my mother’s voice sent icy cold waves of fear down my spine. “Why, pray tell, are you escorting my obviously inebriated daughter through the halls at an ungodly hour?”

  My mother’s view of ungodly and mine were vastly different, but one thing I knew was Watson was in a whole lot of trouble with my tiny mother.

  “Errrm,” he began eloquently.

  Masters’ voice came from behind us. How he’d gotten behind us, I had no idea.

  “Poker. It was poker, ma’am.” He stepped forward, an earnest expression appearing on his ordinary face.

  One of my mom’s dark eyebrows rose. “Poker?” she said, deadpan.

  He nodded vigorously. “She killed us, honestly, but had to quit after a few shots of vodka. It’s the work Mr. Holmes did to her, ma’am. Her metabolism hasn’t quite caught up. We were merely escorting her back to her rooms.”

  My mom, not one to let something go when she was suspicious, tapped her foot. “How much did she win?” she asked in a curious tone…if curious and deadly meant the same thing.

  Masters swallowed hard and gave Watson a frantic look.

  “Five-hundred,” Watson said quickly.

  My mother’s gaze narrowed. “Where is it?” she asked.

  “What?” Watson asked, appearing to be confused, but I knew him well enough to know he was stalling. He lifted a hand and scratched at his five o’clock shadow. My mother’s eyes watched that hand, but with the other, I felt something hard and folded being shoved into my pants pocket.

  “The winnings,” my mother said with barely veiled impatience.

  “Penelope,” Watson prodded.

  “Mmm?” I asked, not daring to open my mouth and speak in the presence of one Maggie Holmes.

  “The money,” he said in a patient tone.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, not terribly quick on the uptake. I pulled out the wad he’d stuffed into my pocket and waved it around for inspection.

  My mother’s lips twisted to the side, surprised I’d been able to produce the money, but still suspicious of Watson.

  A long and awkward silence rang out through the hallway, until Masters cleared his throat gently. “Ma’am?”

  She sighed in aggravation. “Masters, please accompany Watson to my daughter’s quarters and assure she is left there. Safely.” Her hard gaze met Watson’s perfectly blank face. “And alone.”

  “Of course,” Masters said, but no one moved until she moved past us and her soft footsteps turned the corner.

  “She is terrifying,” Masters said once he was sure she was out of earshot.

  “Imagine growing up with her,” I grumbled. I took one step toward my rooms and stumbled.

  Watson sighed and scooped me up in his arms again. “Masters, if you would accompany me to ensure Penelope’s virtue remains intact, I would appreciate it.”

  I sighed happily, grateful I didn’t have to walk.

  “Best. Night. Ever,” I said, and promptly passed out in his arms.

  Last night might have been the best ever, according to my high-as-a-kite mind, but this morning was an entirely different story. I was hungover in a weird sort of way, yet I couldn’t remember having too many alcoholic drinks. Although, the fact that I’d been in a room full of marijuana smoke could have skewed my perception of reality. I ran a hand over my face and shoved long strands of black hair back and out of my mouth. I needed water. Possibly a decontamination shower.

  Maybe a do-over of yesterday.

  While I couldn’t remember everything, flashes of some super cringe-worthy comments I’d made to Watson came floating back, but my embarrassment softened a little as I thought about his amusement. And the dancing.

  Even though I felt like hammered dog shit, I still sighed like a girl getting a wink from her first crush at the feel of his arms around my waist.

  He was a good dancer.

  Thoughts of my mother’s reaction washed over me and I felt ice cold at the thought that I’d have to face her today. I fumbled in my pocket and grinned as I remembered telling Watson I got to keep the money because I covered for him with my mom. He tried to argue, but I threatened to scream bloody murder and tell my mother every single sordid detail.

  I chuckled as I remembered the way his face turned white as he held up two hands in supplication.

  I pulled the wad up and stared at several crisp hundred dollar bills.

  Maybe I’d take pity on him and split the money.

  I shoved it back in my pocket and pulled the pillow over my head. I needed more sleep. Showers and food could wait.

  The smell of delicious bacon tickled my nose, but the smell of java was what woke me up. I cracked one eye open and saw Masters sitting in the chair opposite my bed, a small smile of amusement on his face. He was holding a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of breakfast.

  “For me?” I said, my voice muffled against my
pillow.

  “Only if you sit up,” he said.

  I groaned. “Don’t want to.”

  The sound of him sipping my coffee had me scrambling into a sitting position. I glared at him. “Fork it over, dude.”

  He winked and handed over the bounty. I took a sip and sighed in contentment.

  “After that, you should drink some water.”

  “Don’t tell me how to live my life,” I grumbled back.

  “Occasionally I think someone needs to,” he said, but with humor instead of judgment.

  “That was Watson’s fault.”

  He nodded once. “Not arguing with you there, but it wasn’t his fault your metabolism is all jacked up. You should see your father about that today.” His gaze held a little bit of annoyance, but also some sympathy for me.

  I’d been pretty good at avoiding my father over the last few weeks. I wasn’t mad at him…not exactly, but I was a little disappointed. I almost thought he should have let me die on that operating table.

  But he hadn’t. He’d done…something to me—something neither of us quite understood yet. So far, there hadn’t been a whole lot of changes, but I hadn’t felt like myself since it happened. My hair was growing at an alarming rate and now cascaded down my back and past my rear-end. I had to trim it every few days. My eyes had taken on a cat-like sheen. They were a brilliant, icy green, so crystalline they looked fake. If I went outside the compound, I had to wear dark brown contact lenses to change my eyes into a normal…human…color. Around here, it wasn’t so bad, but I did occasionally get a wide berth from newer students or those who’d decided they didn’t like me on principal.

  All in all, I was alive and probably still immortal. Those two things were the same at least. I noticed my sex drive was kicking back up again. When I’d been solely a victim of the immortality serum, I was a raging sea of hormones. Watson had promised me it would eventually even out, and it had, until Aaron almost killed me. Now, every day I felt a little bit out of sorts and I kept catching myself staring at Watson like he was a meaty steak swimming in a sea of Brussels sprouts.