The Best Medicine Ch. 03

Doreen stared down the barrel of the gun that was the bowling lane. She crouched, took a deep breath, then sprinted. When the young blond woman got ten feet from the line, she leaped forward, rolled, then planted her feet and launched herself ten feet in the air. She cleared Farmer's head and hurtled down towards the third row, kicking and punching all the way down. The different rows of pins all started swinging back, and things got chaotic. The svelte young woman was getting pummeled from both sides, but she was giving as good as she got.

"Son . . . of . . . a . . . bitch!" Doreen shouted, punching Jack in the kidney, then biting Ace's forearm. She was finally dropped like a rock, but not until she had knocked over five pins.

"Sweet!" Farmer said, pulling her young protege up and giving her a big hug. "Best bowl of the day."

"These people are completely insane," Vanesse muttered.

"Trina!" Doreen shouted proudly, "you have GOT to try this!"

"Do I look like I've lost complete control of my mental faculties?" the battle-dancer said.

"C'mon, your idea was great!" the blonde said.

"So, giving tips to the youngins?" Farmer asked. "I bet you could teach them all a thing or two."

Trina raised an eyebrow. "Is there anything you haven't already shown them?"

"Okay, are you two still talking about bowling, or am I missing something?" Vanesse asked. "Trina, you're still not a hundred percent. Don't let them bully you into something you can't handle."

Trina lowered her head and sighed. Now, if she backed down, it would look like she was hiding behind Vanesse's excuse. And she hated looking like a wuss. And the final straw was --

"Bok bok bwok!" Farmer said, standing on one leg, bending her arms at the elbows, and doing the chicken dance.

Thousand of years of social evolution, and that damn dance still worked. Trina growled and took her place at the starting line while the pins got into place. Every available Joker's Wild member instantly crowded into the room. Trina's martial skills were somewhat watercooler talk for the gang, and everyone wanted to see what she could pull off.

She was still sore, and she knew that she was not at the top of her game, but Trina closed her eyes and sought out the rhythm, something with explosive percussion. She got into a sprinter's crouch, raised her hips, and then waited for that perfect melody, a seamless blend of cadence and chaos. The notes fell into place inside her mind, and the overture began.

"Oh shit," someone muttered from the grouping of pins. It was Jack, and he more than the others just realized that the old saying "Be careful what you wish for" was suddenly quite applicable. Trina's eyes were not even open, but no one who watched her approach had any doubts that the battle-dancer knew exactly where they all were.

Trina opened her eyes just before the launch spot, and she could not help but grin. Insane or not, this was going to be fun. She vaulted well over Farmer's head, evading those long powerful arms and then planting one hand down on the head of the five-pin. She treated the five-pin like an axle where Trina herself was the wheel, pushing down while basically running in a circle, kicking everyone surrounding her in the face or the back of the head. She was able to knock down the two, three, four, six, eight, and nine pins in a matter of seconds, but Farmer, the five, the seven, and the eleven still stood.

The battle-dancer pushed up, launching herself two feet up above the hapless five-pin. She spun and mule-kicked the five in the back, sending him stumbling forward into Farmer while allowing Trina to dive towards the back row.

"Holy fuck!" Doreen shouted. "She's going for the seven-ten split!"

Sure enough, Trina landing astride the seven's shoulders, her crotch against his face. He did not have enough time to make an off-color comment before she flung her weight backwards and started to roll, sending herself and her captive tumbling into the ten.

"She got the split!" someone shouted as the last werehyena in the back row was bowled over by his compatriot and the elvish assailant.

Trina vaulted from her shoulders to her feet. She had been hoping for a little cheer or applause . . . something. Anything. But everyone was just staring. She followed their gaze to Farmer, who was still upright. Barely.

The five-pin had clipped the back of Farmer's leg, throwing the werehyena severely off balance. And while hyenas were strong, cunning, and fast, they were not exactly known for their agility. She was on the tips of her toes while trying to resist gravity's persistent tug.

Trina grinned. She walked past the wobbling pack leader and stood just out of arms reach.

"You . . . bitch!" Farmer said, on the verge of losing her balance completely.

The only response the battle-dancer gave was to slowly, gently blow the werehyena matriarch a kiss, then slowly walk away as Farmer started to laugh and finally lost her footing.

That was when the crowd roared, and Trina was slapped heartily on the back. She winced, realizing just how many times she had been clawed, punched, and kicked during her athletic endeavor.

"Owh," she muttered as she sat down next to Vanesse, who gave her a hug far stronger that Trina would have liked at the moment. "Owh again."

"How bad is it? I told you you shouldn't --"

"Don't . . . start with 'I told you so.' It's unbecoming a Princess."

"Since when? I tell you that all the time."

Trina sighed. She just could not explain schoolyard psychology to someone who was used to having private tutors.

"Okay," Farmer said, beaming with something resembling pride, "for being the first bowler to ever get a strike in hyena bowling, you get to double up your prize."

Trina scrunched her eyebrows. "Prize? Besides the satisfaction of knocking you on your ass, what prize is there?"

"You get to pick your fuck-buddy. Normally you get one for a day, but you can either have two for a day or one for two days."

The battle-dancer looked stunned. Probably because she was. "A what?"

"Fuck . . . buddy," Farmer said slowly, getting a bit of a kick out of this little surprise. "You know, someone to --"

"Yeah, I know what one is. I don't want one," Trina said, her skin feeling a little flushed.

'Yeah you do,' Farmer thought, fighting the urge to steal a glance at Vanesse. 'You just won't ask her.' "C'mon, are you telling me that there's no one . . . Jack, put your hand down," she growled.

Jack was standing in the middle of the pins, his arm outstretched. "I respectfully refuse to comply." He grinned at Trina, who just rolled her eyes back at him. When Ace raised his hand, Jack tried to bat it down. Quickly, arms went flying up into the air, Jack tried to slap away the competition, then a scrum broke out. Werehyenas were jumping up and down on each other, biting and clawing and punching with complete disregard for their own well-beings.

"See what you did?" Farmer asked.

"Me? This is because you people are all nuts," the battle-dancer replied.

"Well, yes, but you still started this."

"Trina, would it really hurt?" Vanesse asked. "I mean, I know why I didn't have sex all those years, but it's been just as long for you --"

'Please, stop talking,' Trina thought. Having her best friend point out that she was in a bit of a dry spell, however true it might be, was more than just a little embarrassing.

"-- as it has been for me. And you said that you used to have a lot of sex. I'm sure --"

'And now I'm a recovering slut that hasn't been able to get any.'

Vanesse blundered on. "-- that any one of the werehyenas would be more than happy to --"

"Okay, okay! Jack!" Trina said finally.

The scrum behind Farmer stopped in an instant. There was a lot of mumbling and groaning, and then one arm erupted from the pile before a muffled "Woo hoo!" was heard.

"Vanesse, a word in private?"

The Princess swallowed a breath, then followed her friend into the next room. Then the room after that, then down the hall --

"Where are we going?"

"Far enough that they can't hear us." Trina stopped, grabbed Vanesse by her sweatshirt, and lifted the girl off the ground. "What are you doing to me?!" she hissed at her understandably nervous friend. "Good grief, you don't tell them stuff like that. Now how am I supposed to get out of this?"

"Why would you want to? Jack is a very attractive man, and he's obviously infatuated with you."

"He is, but . . . but he's not. And that's beside the point. This is a completely inappropriate time for me to be thinking about that sort of thing."

"Why? You're encouraging me to do it, but you won't?"

"You need it to realize your power. I don't. My needs can wait --"

"But they don't need to! What, are you just going to deny your own urges forever so that you can stand guard over me?" Vanesse suddenly blushed and looked toward the ground. "I was . . . uhm, going to follow your advice about trying new things. Tonight. Are you just going to stand there and watch?"

It was a thought that made Trina shiver just a bit, though not for the reason Vanesse might think if she noticed. It was a thought of those soft curves and generous lips in the throes of passion . . . Trina shuddered again. "You know I'll give you your privacy," she said firmly. "It is my duty --"

"Screw your 'duty.' You're not just my guard, but you're my friend, and I won't be able to enjoy any of this if I know it's keeping you from being happy."

"I am happy," Trina almost whimpered.

Vanesse raised an eyebrow. "Right. Okay, you've forced my hand. I don't have sex again until you do."

"Princess, you can't --"

"Oh yes I can. And stop calling me 'Princess.' YOU call me Vanesse. You're my friend, and I'm yours. It stinks that I have to keep reminding you of that."

"You never have to remind me," Trina corrected her. "But we are not normal friends, which I should not have to keep reminding YOU about."

Vanesse folded her arms across her ample chest. "Don't care. If you're not doing it, then I'm not doing it."

"This has got to be one of the dumbest conversations I've ever had," the battle-dancer muttered. "Are you really going to . . . of course you are," she added, finishing her own question. One look at Vanesse's face and posture made it clear that the young Princess was dead serious about her threat. "Fine."

From down the hall, another distinct "Woo hoo!" was heard.

"Eavesdropping is a horrible habit," Trina growled. Part of her mind was still trying to figure out a way out of the whole thing, while another threatened to revolt. It was not as if her needs had abated in the last fifteen years, only her ability to do anything about them. Now she had an attractive, athletic, and highly energetic lycanthrope on the verge of begging her for sex, and she was seriously thinking of saying no? Just because part of her felt somewhat guilty about cheating on someone that she could never be with anyway and did not even know that Trina felt the way that she did?

--------- ----------------

In Denver, CO

--------- ----------------

Abraham Holmes and Christopher Knight stood in the shadows of the casting room. In the center of the room, a beautiful, dark-haired woman sat, draped in a silk robe that barely covered the lushness of her body. It was a body that had been built for sin, and sin was what it had done. Those seemingly delicate hands had done horrible things, and had been dipped in blood for centuries.

"Snow," the woman whispered, her voice deep and rich and full of promises that should probably never be kept. "A blanket of cold, pulled tightly around them." She stared down at the bones she used for her diving, eating the secrets they offered like she had once devoured the flesh that adorned them. Young flesh, young bones . . . more accurate castings.

Christopher wanted to point out that "snow" was something he could have guessed on his own, but it was unwise to interrupt Natasha while she was casting. Or talking. Or . . . well, at all.

"Still in the land of maple leaves and stags. They travel the coward's road, not at the bottom, but at the top. Cannot see the coachmen, for their magic is strong. Primal magic . . . old magic. Amongst the wild animals is a flower. She is blooming . . . growing thorns of her own. But for now, she is surrounded by the brambles, and you will not be able to approach her without being stung. The animals can be fought, but the brambles must be burned." With that, Natasha stopped.

"Is that all?" Abraham asked. None of what she had just said made any sense to him, but it never did at first. He and some of his people would analyze it in the morning, and usually they could figure something out based on the context.

"For now," the beautiful woman whispered. "I'm thirsty now. You've emptied my mind. Now you have to fill my heart."

'What heart?' Christopher thought, then shrugged and turned around when he got the nod from his boss. He opened the door, went through, then quickly reappeared with a young man in tow. The kid was only eighteen or nineteen years old at best, and he was dressed in what were obviously party clothes. He reeked of beer and sweat, and his eyes were glazed a little bit.

"Young," Natasha hissed, not even noticing the two werewolves vanishing through the door to her chamber. "Sweet. Are you sweet?" she asked, rising slowly to her feet.

"God, you are HOT!" the boy said, stumbling a bit. "They told me . . . but man! They said that there was this hot, rich chick that dug younger guys and I thought they were full of shit, but it wasn't like I was doing --" he stopped rambling when Natasha put her finger on his lips.

"It is not your conversation I desire," she whispered huskily, then let her flimsy robe slip off her shoulders. She saw her toy's eyes dilate when they fell on the curve of her full breasts, and he licked his lips as if they were already tasting her nipples. His gaze rolled down from the top of her hourglass shape to the bottom, where those eyes tried to penetrate her in ways he hoped the rest of him soon would.

But finally, she heard the quickening of his breath and the pounding of his part. It was no longer her exquisitely sinful body that had his attention, but rather her mouth. Her naturally red lips . . . her shining white teeth . . . her long, dangerous teeth.

"What the --" he whispered, a rabbit finally aware of the predator closing in.

Natasha leapt forward and smashed the young man against the wall. She heard some bones snap, and she heard him scream. She was shorter than him and was actually likely outweighed by 30 pounds at least, but she held his tortured body against the wall with ease. Her fangs plunged into his neck. He was as sweet as she had hoped, and his screams were like candy.

For the boy, his adolescent dreams about vampire vixens had turned into a nightmare. Natasha could have drunk just enough to survive. She could have coaxed him willingly to be her meal. Eagerly even. She could have made it hurt less. But where would the fun in that have been?

--------- ---------------------------

A cold night in Canada . . .

--------- ---------------------------

Trina poked her head around the corner and stared down the hallway. Nothing. She glanced behind her. For the time being, it seemed that she had escaped her pursuer. She slipped into the darkness and slid down the corridor to the safety of --

"What the --" she started to say as a door opened and she was pulled inside a small room where blankets had been laid out and an electric lantern gave off a dim yellow glow. Standing between Trina and the newly closed door was Jack.

He had his shirt off, exposing his chest, rippling with muscles and covered with colorful, ornate tattoos. For a moment, Trina could not take her eyes off of either that chest or its decorations.

"You," Jack said with a grin, "are a hard woman to track down. Guess I owe the Princess fifty bucks."

"Huh?"

"She told me you'd probably bolt after dinner. Figured you'd head this way."

"That traitorous --" Trina grumbled, then found herself stepping back as Jack stepped forward. "Listen, we don't have to do this."

"But I WANT to do this." He cocked his head. "You really aren't attracted to me at all, are you?"

"It's not that," she said, maybe a little too quickly. 'It's not that at all,' she thought, staring at the dragon tattoo that crossed his chest, its tail hanging down over that glorious six-pack of abs. "I'm just . . . it's . . . well --"

"I never thought I'd see you speechless," Jack said, stepping forward again. When Trina put her hands on his chest to keep him away, he grabbed them and held them in place. "Okay, so if you ARE attracted to me, then what's the big deal? Let's get biz-zay!"

Trina rolled her eyes, then realized that her hands were still on Jack's chest. And she felt a charge that was more than sexual. "Okay, what is with the muscles and the . . . energy?"

"Oh, our tattoos are actually protection wards," Jack said. The longer you're around, the more of them you get."

"Wait, these are skin wards?" Trina asked, suddenly excited. She peered closely at his skin, and was finally able to see the slight indentations caused by the warding process, incorporated perfectly into the design. She traced the dragon's tail down over Jack's abs. "What does this one do?"

"Go a little lower, and you'll find out."

Trina looked lower, then blushed just a little. Jack's own "dragon" was straining against his pants. And apparently, it was a pretty big dragon.

"Wanna seem him breathe fire?" Jack asked.

"If that spits fire, then you need to check your diet," Trina replied, standing up and trying to back away. Well, her mind was trying to back away. Her body was failing to cooperate.

"I hear that the taste of fresh elf helps cure all ills," he replied.

"Too bad you're on a diet."

He scrunched his eyes. " Okay, I don't get it. You dig me. More than you'll admit, anyway. You're trying to convince Vanesse to have fun, but you don't want to have any yourself. What, think that she can't love you if you fuck someone else? Isn't that what --"

"Who said that I loved her?" Trina said, stepping back with more ease now. Now, she was mad. "If it was Farmer --"

"Calm down. Farmer didn't say a thing. Crap, I think the only one who hasn't figured it out is Vanesse."

Trina leaned against the wall. "I guess I'm not as controlled as I thought," she whispered. "I can't afford to lose that."

"Au contraire," Jack interjected. "You need to lose it. For a sexy, smart bitch, you're wound tighter than a goblin's rectum."

"What an interesting . . . and vile . . . mental image."

"I do my best. Now sit."

"Huh?"

"I said sit." Jack pushed Trina so that she plopped her butt down on a set of blankets, and was happy to note that she did not object when he knelt down and starting taking off her shoes. She glared at him, but it was a friendly glare.

"Presumptuous much?"

"Do you ever stop bitching?"

"I don't . . . oh," Trina murmured, her voice sliding dangerously towards aroused when Jack put his thumbs on the bottom on her left food and started to massage the muscles with his strong and precise hands.

"That good?"

"Mmh," Trina moaned. She felt Jack put one foot on his chest, then he started working on the other one. "Useful skill."

"Picked it up on the bodybuilding circuit back in the day. Athletic women, even the smartest ones, sometimes forget to take care of the simple things."

"It helped you get laid, didn't it?"

Jack grinned. "Let's just say that it didn't exactly hurt my chances."

Trina relaxed against the warm blankets and just let Jack's hands work their magic. "It still doesn't." She did not even need to look at Jack to know that he was probably smirking. He was going to get what he wanted and, when Trina allowed a moment to be honest with herself, she was going to get what she wanted too.