Monster Favors

DONNA

Islide my key into the lock and pull the latch.

I bought a car.

Told no one.

Feeling wicked!

A damn compulsion I'm glad I followed.

I love cabs, but with the prices going up everywhere, it was time for my financial side to step in.

It's not high-tech, and that's exactly what I wanted. Not a phone, alarm, or GPS tracker. And I tell you, there's nothing like a vintage car to feel free.

Investment-wise? Let's say I got it right. A white Chevy El Camino, or as I like to call it, an elegant cash cow on wheels.

As the door closes, I sit on my new throne as comfort boards up my back. The seat is firmer than soft, but it does the job.

And I breathe. It's like leaving everything behind, like letting go... Once more, I swell my lungs with old leather and gasoline. Love it!

With a foot on the clutch, I slot in the key and ignite this baby. It roars bestially, and I can't help howling at an absent moon. This is the kind of purchase I should have made years ago.

I rummage in my bag and pull out an old tape—one I nicked from my sister. There it was, sitting in a box in her cellar, the jacket too tempting to pass up. Three demon males and a snow elf, the audiobook titled 'A Monster Favors.'

I'm about to be crucified by my boss for being late, might as well enjoy my death march. "Monster Favors it is." Chuckling, I press the play button, rev the engine, and pull onto the road.

Of course, I'm at a traffic light, not a minute later.

'He traced his hands up her shivering thighs, running across skin as white as snow. She called for him, moaning his name, for she needed the heat of a demon. "Come inside me."'

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

I throw a glance at my bag.

'He pulled in and out, causing her moan to escape every time he pushed inside her...'

I focus my gaze on the red light. Breathing calmly...

Bzzt.

Trying to breathe calmly, at least!

Bzzt.

If it's Miss Kravenen... well, screw her.

Bzzt.

Ignore, Donna. Just enjoy the ride.

Bzzt.

'You like that, don't you, little elf?'

Bzzt.

Damn it. Can't I have one minute of peace in my shitty life!

I shove a hand into the bag while keeping a furious one on the steering wheel.

I answer, my glance over my phone too swift to pick up whoever the fuck it is.

"Hey, princess."

"Deon?"

'Oh... Oh... Oh!'

I scramble over the dashboard that's blacker than ink, switches blending in as I panic.

'You like my big fat cock? Then beg for it. Beg.'

Shit, massive fucking shit!

"Donna?" My name comes with a snigger, making my head bloat.

Finally, I press something, and the stereo spits out my tape. I clear my throat, wanting to die. "Yes, Deon?"

"I didn't know you liked that kind of kink." He sounds like he's tangled up in a gust of wind. I guess he must be in the air.

"What do you want?"

"A kiss."

I inhale deeply. And cheeks ballooning, blow out, "You probably have a chick in your contacts who will give you one. Call her."

"That's exactly what I did."

I shut my eyes, teeth wracking my lower lip. "So?"

There is a pressing sensation between my thighs, muscles working. It's just the audiobook...

"What's gonna be her answer?" The sound of his voice is like a shot to my heart. Maybe elsewhere—No. Don't even think about it!—making me wet.

I try disengaging my mind and flick the signal to get in the left lane.

My phone is triggering paranoia. I'm gonna get pulled over... Gotta wrap this conversation up. "You're trying too hard, Deon. I'm hanging up."

"Don't."

I try not to giggle, everything pulsing. This is stupid. "Put an end to your games. I'm not playing. By the way, how did you get my number?"

"Fayra."

My grip tightens on my steering wheel. It could be for this number.

If only...

I swing the car around a waste pile burning in the middle of the road. My eyes fix on it as I drive by. It is not that I am scared, but I press the safety lock, anyway. What's happening to this country? It wasn't as bad on Friday...

Focus on something else.

"Deon. You're a nice guy." Nice? He's the fruit of everything hot and burning! "But you won't go far with me."

"I'll go where you go."

I brake instantly, not because of what he said, but for what I see on the pavement. An elf is being flogged by five Monster National Guards, half-troll, half-something I'm not sure what. I'm cursing at this cluster of onlookers gathered around them, eating away half the road, snapping pictures and filming. Deep, growling, the wolf that dwells within wants to shift. Danger. And although I want to get out, show my fangs, and dispel whatever this is, I suppress this urge. The only thing I'll get in return is a beating, and I've had my share of bruises and broken bones.

"Don't look. Just keep driving."

"Are you following me!?" I ask, glaring up at the window. He can't be. I've got a new car no one knows about. Unless he's been stalking me from the moment I left my building!

"I said, 'I'll go where you go.'"

My throat clenches. It's a little nerve-wracking here. "You don't understand. You and me... There will be nothing between us."

"That's not what your lips told mine this morning."

Why did I kiss him? Why?

I want to hang up, yet I don't. I think I'm addicted to the grit gilding his vocal cords, and I'm pretty sure I need an intervention because it's not okay!

"Feel those hands?"

"What hands?"

"The ones running up your thighs. Feel every move etching toward your heat... pleasing you like no other."

Throat pounding, I yelp, "Heat?"'

"Your clit, scorched, liquid fire trickling in my clasp, awakening the demon in me..."

I'm going to stain my skirt. Fuck.

"Your moans, they free my own, trapped in your slick..."

This can't be happening. Control your wolf. Control it!

"The tug of war between your thighs no longer exists, and as I spread your soaking lips apart, drop on your bud a kiss I'm so desperate for."

I need water... Maybe something harder.

"Smoke in your eyes as I burn before you, my tongue swirls inside you, and I swallow. I'll intoxicate your mind and keep you craving for more. You'll never recover from me."

My jaw drops somewhere between my feet. And I brake hard not to bump into the green car in front of me.

"Deon. What the fuck is wrong with you!"

He chuckles. "You said there was nothing between us. I was simply filling the gap. Now there is... you're wet for me."

Find something to say. Anything!

"I just told Fayra you were moving in with us," I grate.

"See, you can't wait."

"More like force majeure, Hellboy." I angle the rearview mirror, trying to clean up my smudged eyeliner merged with sweat pearls. We're getting hotter. I mean, I'm getting hotter. Fuck, Donna! The weather is! With no wine in my hand, getting to the coffee dispenser is becoming urgent. "How did your blood tests go, by the way? Do you have their results yet, or too early?"

"No. It only took five little minutes for the results to show up."

Cut to the chase, girl. Ask your stupid question. I cock my head to the left, then to the right, stretching my neck for this mental sprint I'm about to take. Let's get started, then. "Fay told me you couldn't lie."

"Ah..." There's some rustling on his side of the line, maybe a scratch of hair or wings shuffling. For the first time ever, I've been able to shut him up, and my chest heaves so much it feels terrific.

"No, I can't. Do you want to tell Fay the truth about Vym? There's a good chance she'll ask why I moved in."

"No. She's sensitive," I say, and my mouth suddenly feels dry because I can't unsay it now. I'm straddling the line between confidante and bitch, and it's making my stomach cramp.

"So much faith in your friend."

What is he implying? I don't think Deon understands how much chaperoning is involved when it comes to Fay. "It's complicated."

"She's a fine gal. Should give her some credit."

"I give her credit," I say sharply. "Fayra's got a dependency thing going on. She needs others to be in the right. If something crumbles, she crumbles. You get it?"

"I figured that out a while ago."

"She's like a child you can't leave alone for long. It's a burden."

Sound falls to bits. I don't know what's worse, Deon's sterile sigh or the engine of my car seemingly unperturbed.

I close my eyes, my head shaking. "Shit."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that terrible metaphor."

"She's not a burden... It's not what I meant." I cringe as I roll out bitch move number two. "I said you were moving in because you had a leak at your place."

"My flat's been entirely refurbished..."

"If you want to stay consistent, maybe you want to create a leak," I warble, lines of my face constricting so much that if they could tear up, they would. It's official, I'm the queen bitch. I bite my lip and keep it between my teeth, waiting...

"I should," he says with a small voice.

And I'm not too proud to hear it. "I'll pay you back for the damage."

This silence...

Is he still on the line? "Deon? Are you there?"

"It's... a great idea!" he exalts. "I'll do it with joy."

I'm taking stock of the word 'joy,' as the Goldfae Sachs building enters my vision. "Why?"

"I've got a new place to crash. But my stay might extend quite a bit."

The mate call is fucking up my nervous system. My fucking claws spring out uncontrollably and slice into my steering wheel's beautiful leather so much I really feel like banging my head against it. "I'm hanging up, entering an underground parking lot."

"You shouldn't be out. Streets are unsafe."

"Got to make that bread."

"Ever heard about work from home?"

"You don't have a boss name Kravenen, Deon."

"Traffic is going to make you miss curfew tonight. I'll come pick you up."

"No need. I am a full-grown wolf."

He croons a semi-growl, "Need," and hangs up.

When he realizes what mate he's found himself, I wonder if he'll still feel this need...

While figuring out how to tell him I'm no good for him, I squint at a bundle of police officers in front of the parking entrance. Faking indifference, I slow down and lower my window to press my badge against the magnetic terminal.

But of course, I'm miles away from it, my stupid ass stretching like an elastic strap.

An awkward row of chuckles flows out of me. Fucking gate.

I pull the latch to open the door and bring a leg out. I stifle a grunt when the door, no matter how slowly, closes back on my ankle. In light of my poor driving and five-foot distance from the controller machine, here I am, kicking my leg out and sticking an arm through the window, awkwardly not trying to defenestrate myself, though it very much looks like it. Thank goodness there's no queue behind me. The gate opens, and I huff as I gather all my limbs back in the car. My window is not even halfway up when something hits the side of it. My new taillight!

I pump the brakes and take a look in my side mirror. Great, a cop.

Flicking my watch, I can't avoid groaning. I'm running late. Nobody appears to understand the logistics required to enter GoldFae Sachs' building. Ten minutes to find a parking spot. Ten minutes to wait for the over-packed elevator; then again, waste thirty minutes of my life watching the doors open on every level except mine. Often stopping at every bloody floor until I reach the ninety-seventh one. A part of me wants to cry so badly right now.

The cop bangs his billy club on my window, so I crank it down. "Something wrong?"

"ID."

"I have a pass. Been working here every day for the past six years."

"Census," the lion-headed guy growls.

"Census?" At a parking gate?

"ID," he spits through jagged teeth.

My gaze sifts through his gear, uniform, weapons... Nothing alarming, if not for his grip closed over a strange gun-like object, a yellow snake emerging from behind his back. He's a chimera, the reptile that goes with him, swishing above his head. It is said that if you kill the snake, you kill the host. But if you miss, the host's got the right to kill.

That being thought, I dig through my bag, pull out my ID, and hand it over.

"Werewolf."

"Yes."

"Omega," he sneers.

Several words are held in my mouth while I slingshot one out carefully. "Yes."

"Fae genes I should know about?"

Fae genes? His right-hand catches my attention as he raises his odd-looking gun. Its white plastic case reminds me of a toy gun. "Excuse me?"

"Censing magic creatures. Fae genes?"

My head snaps backward. "No."

"Move. You're free to go."

I take a slow turn in the parking lot, eyes fixed on my rear mirror. Then, I wait, leaning near my open window, engine off.

As expected, the blue Honda behind me is stopped. The driver's arm extends from the window, an ID in hand.

One of my ears draws back, and I catch the cop saying, "Fae, type three. Hold your hand out, flat of the wrist up."

I keep my eyes on the mirror, watch the plastic gun as it is raised, and then my tongue clicks. I can't see much, the chimera's slithering, snaky back blocking the view. There's a hollow bang, followed by a gasp from the driver.

They're chipping magic people! My werewolf instincts kick in, fur grabbing at my skin. I groan as my styled bun gets ruined by the first thing to sprout from my shifting—wolf ears.

What's going on, I don't know.

What I do know is that I've taken enough sociology classes to understand that this is the start of something terrible—persecution.

I frown, my mind wandering to Fayra. Why do that to the faefolk?

As an old-timer, riding the elevator alone gives me a sense of virginity, made even weirder by the shifting digits on the floor indicator screen, which changes much faster than I can keep up. It had been a long time since I had this peculiar sense of unease. It's the kind that floats around, and even though soundless, it screams at you to run away from where you are headed.

'You have reached the ninety-seventh floor. Watch your step as you exit the lift.'

I've never gotten here so quickly—eight minutes, to be exact.

Doors split, and I come through.

And freeze.

Brief bio: I'm a trader.

I'm used to round o'clock shifts, replacing my keyboard at least three times a month, and having coffee running in my veins, not to mention insults and slurs being a part of my very existence.

But this scene is not one of a trading ring.

It's psycho-wardic.

Everyone is running, boxes in arms, papers flying, littering the place. And as I sweep my eyes over a desolation of crayon pots and whizzing laptops hurled against walls, I begin to think I'm not quite at the level I thought I was—seasoned.

Shit! I nearly made a nose nudge with the hideous, green-lined floor because of the stupid heel I tripped over. Why the fuck is a shoe, all by itself, going uncared for in a professional setting?

I duck. "Mother of hell, Gwen!" I shout in response to the paper knife my nemesis just threw at me, or rather, at the massive painting of Fidr that looms high on the wall, casting her deadly wings over the platform like she owns the place.

Well, she does...

"I wasn't aiming at you."

It's hard to be mad at Gwen. She made a proper bull's eye right between Fidr's two milky eyes.

"I think you just lost your job, Gwinnie, winning a one-way trip to the Gurnam Swamps. Have you fucking lost it!?" I bark, hesitating to put another foot forth in this crazy jungle.

"We all have! And who's going to arrest me? The military, who is busy shooting the kids in the streets? Pfft. Wake up."

Geez, the trading ring has never been so nasty.

"Do not let it tank!" I hear.

Taking a step backward, I flip my head from left to right, absorbing a rainbow of shouts. "It's crunching!"

"Listen to me, listen to me. If you don't buy, you will regret it. Stocks are crashing. Prices are the lowest in history. Now is the chance. Marta, don't hang up!"

Ted throws his phone at his computer, and the latter, eviscerated through and through, tingles in electricity. "Fucking metal commodity, the only shit no one wants to sell. It's stratospherically fucking everything up."

"What's up, Ted?" I say plastically. I mean, what else can I say?

"Champ, it's best to call security before things degenerate."

"Why don't you call them?" My grip and the coffee it's holding jitter in response to Ted's slithery approach, or maybe the way he curses while removing his tie.

"Call them?! I'm out of here, woman.!" And as he hurls it on the floor, black scales trucking over it, Ted hooks his naga eyes in me and sibilates, "I'm going home. Fuck this shit. You should all go home. Our world is fucked."

I stall.

He's right.

I lift my head to the far end and squint. What is that orange light?

My heart drops.

At the far end, the building opposite mine is burning like a giant match in full scorch. Worst part? Nobody seems to care.

I drag a foot forth, and I can't feel myself walking. Can't hear a sound, pick a thought to focus on as the flames bait me into an unwanted memory.

I fall back in time, my pack scattered in the burning woods of Wolfe Island. A bloody place to grow up when the island borders Orcana and Fearan Country.

All those orcling... Not one survived that night...

Heavy paws thrust the dry earth, the crackling of dead leaves, making me hate the fall for selling us short.

I run.

I run as fast as I can.

Something hits the back of my knee, and I tumble into a heap of moss and leaves.

A tree stops me from rolling farther, and close to snapping my spine, I curse.

I'm heaving myself up, blood trickling down my nose, and I whimper when my eyes lift to the sound of twigs breaking ever closer.

She's there, ebbing her shadows as she wears herself toward me, swirls of darkness cloaking her nakedness.

A wind I can't feel lifts her hair, measly scattered over her exposed skull—mana I have never seen before—a High Witch.

My hands never lift off the ground, for she kicks me in the ribs.

I don't have time to spit at her before a crooked bony finger hooks under my chin. And as my gaze forcefully meets hers, my ears gradually shut to my brother's command, "Donnie, Run!"

Wrinkles, far too deep for her to move, breathe, be alive, break as she grins.

I try taking off. Try to lift my heel. Push out a scream. Anything.

"What have we here..." She's in my head, breezing her spell, and I become paralyzed. "The Skin Tanner Pack, orc smugglers, traitors..."Black lips move over a row of stomped teeth—green, yellow, and brown—and the smell blowing out of them is just as foul. "Or is it... a mesmerizing, frightened, about-to-be-fucked-up little bitch?"

I gag.

Nothing works right. The trees, the flames, veering, blurring in and out. Seconds go by before my vision comes together. And I growl when coolness ropes my legs. Skeletal hands have breached under the earth, holding my feet in place. I've never shifted. I'm too young. I can't.

Shift, already!

"What do you secretly want?"

My fourteen-year-old tongue feels forced—words my secret garden held until now, being snatched up by the hag.

"Feel free again. Find my mate, love in the furs without bombs hitting the grounds, without the people who matter most dying around me. I just want to live as my ancestors used to."

I cry instantly.

I drop to my knees.

Flinching.

My eyes are caught in the flames, shattering at tonight's plan gone catastrophically wrong.

"Burn the witches!" I catch from far away.

"One's on my kid." My uncle barks from a place I can't detect.

"Love in the furs it is." The witch cackles. My eyes narrow at a thread of green growing from the tip of her finger. I see it in slow motion and follow it while my head bends. Watch as this ray of light hits my chest, how I seem to levitate in the air, how the witch seems to be taking her time, her boot kicking the earth as she takes off on her broom.

I'm scooped in her arms, her cawing the last thing I remember. Little did I know that this thin thread of magic would ruin my sexual life...

"Donna! Oh, for a monster's life, Donna, will you come here?!"

Miss Kravenen's voice pulls me out of my bog. In a suppressed state of angst and rage, I blow and go to her office, slamming myself into this insane monster traffic.

"Leave the door open."

"Of course." I enter her office, enclosed by glass walls, and sit into one of what Fay calls roasting chairs. I bet my ten doffars these glass panels won't be standing at the end of the day.

"I hate to give you the satisfaction of asking how you are, Donna, so I won't."

"No issues, Miss Kravenen."

Behind her, the fire outside is growing strong, licking the tower with its giant tongues of flames. Nobody seems affected by it from the chit-chat I catch outside Kravenen's office. Some even discuss their weekend plans, others rejoicing from free-pension programs and protective wages during GoldFea Sachs's temporary closing.

My brows knit at the word 'closing.'

Six years. Six hectic years won't backpedal on me. I won't allow it.

Wealth. Ambition. Adrenaline. Three words that rule over who I am.

All of me.

I stare intently at my beloved boss, nails slicing into my palms as I wait to be enlightened. My brain's already chess-playing it, ruling out the possibilities of how that can even happen. Still, something tells me I might be losing when I glance at her attire. Kravenen's got her coat on, her little feathery throat molted from years of stress. Her beak-shaped mouth keeps clipping at the air as she types something on her laptop. I glaze over her desk and fall on a suitcase at the side of it. "Are you going on vacation? I didn't know you understood the meaning of that word."

"Ah. No. Not really."

My gaze flits to the left of her desk, where her printer is in full bloom, spitting a paper but not as fast as her snatch as she roughly pulls it out.

"Congratulations, Donna. You've been promoted." She slides her office key toward me and gets up. And as she does, Kravenen ruffles her brown feathery wings, making me cough, fluff entering my airways. She leans her nonexistent nose to me, two slits for nostrils willing to play the game, and plasters the freshly-inked paper against my chest.

It slips down my thigh and hovers to the floor, such as a paper plane. There is a reason for my lack of grip on it. Kravenen's been plastering folders like that for years. At one point, I let them drop. Because fuck her.

I watch this paper unfold on the carpet and read, 'The Promotion Agreement is entered into as of [...] for the position of Head Trader [...]'

"You're quitting!?" The bitch. She's abandoning ship, leaving me a house on fire!

"If quitting means loving life more than my job? Then yes. And if you're a wise girl, you would, too. But I doubt you will. We really got to laugh at this stupidity of ours. Ten years of equity curves and stop-losses that never really worked. For what? A burning castle empty of cash! Don't listen to internal comms. The bank is ruined."

She gets up, pulling her little purple suitcase as she walks past me and heads to the elevator without a wave.

As the elevator doors swallow her, the glass panels of her office shatter.

My nose wrinkles. Maybe it's time to start an underground gambling organization...