Melissa And The Cowboy (Western Night Series 1) (59 page)

Having hit the cold stone of the cave with the side of her face, momentarily deprived of control over her body, Josie could only cringe in desperation as the horrifying sounds of more gunshots resonated throughout the place that was supposed to be the pair’s safe haven.

Damn my stupidity,
were all the rational thoughts she could conjure up, as a series of horrible slashing sounds replaced those of gunfire. Just barely and with the corner of one eye, Josie managed to catch a glimpse of an animalistic, but physically very human George, tearing through Mark’s exposed innards with a pair of sharp implements, his presumably empty firearm dropped onto the floor.

Her limbs shaking and body completely numb, Josie conjured all the strength she could in an attempt to get up, but all she could do was to get about an inch of distance between her face and the floor before painfully hitting it again. Still reeling from that blow to the head, her body flat out refused to move.

Then, part of the haze lifted, and with it came the ability to decipher some of the previously unintelligible words that the man who used to be her husband screamed as he kept ripping through her lover’s flesh.

“Stupid, filthy animal!” he exclaimed, right before digging into the downed shifter’s pectoral muscle with a small, silver knife. “Ain’t that tough now, are you, you mindless little crap-flinger, huh?” George yelled again, not stopping his onslaught for a single moment.

By this point, Josie’s vision had become clearer, and she could plainly see that the gunshot wounds were still readily apparent on Mark’s now butchered chest. For some reason he wasn’t recovering, instead merely lying there, helpless to stop himself from getting butchered. On the edge of despair, she clenched her hand into an impotent fist, while a streak of tears trickled down her contorted face.

“I’ve seen stupid, but you… you pathetic excuse for a biped, you take the cake!” George continued the verbal onslaught along with the physical. “What retarded excuse for a rational being lays low in an
illuminated
cave?” he asked rhetorically, driving both pieces of cutlery into the base of Mark’s neck, where he twisted them around painfully, causing the shape-shifter to hiss horribly.

Oh my God,
Josie thought, the implications of what her former husband said hitting her in full force.
If only I didn’t insist on the damned torches…
She felt both of her fists clench, this time packing quite a bit more power.
I should punch myself,
she thought, but now there was no time. George’s comment had shocked her mind and body back into a functional state, and she had to make use of it.

There was no need to try and do it quietly; George had been so occupied with what he was doing that she might as well have run a train through the cave. As fast as she was capable of, Josie leapt to her feet, taking a couple of quick strides toward the rifle that lay on the floor.

Now grasping the weapon like a club with both her hands, Josie gripped it so hard one of her nails bled. Swiftly and without a hint of a warning, she made use of that instrument of death in an unconventional but effective way – by slamming it into the right side of George’s head. With a grotesque sound of bone cracking, the man’s limp body immediately hit the cold stone floor.

Bleeding and drooling, the mutilated hunter still flailed his arms around, unaware that he was no longer carving Mark up. “You… you should have stuck to stealing picnic baskets,” George managed to mumble out one final sentence before his consciousness faded away into oblivion again.

Still gripping the makeshift club, arms shaking from desperate anger, Josie stared into her former husband’s ruined face. She wanted to let him go. She really, really didn’t want to take his life.
Unfortunately,
she realized as she kept looking at Mark, still bleeding from both sides of his head,
I simply don’t have that option anymore.

Teeth clenched, she lifted the rifle over her head, staring into the man she was about to murder.
I guess you were beyond help, George,
Josie concluded, moments before she drove the weapon down into the man’s head, producing a horrifying splat.

Not wanting to look at the mess she made, the woman immediately turned toward her lover. He was in bad shape, but to her relief still showed signs of breathing. Prior to the attack Josie interrupted, George had pulled the silver out of Mark’s body, so as to thrust them in deeper, and the wounds already seemed to have begun closing. Tears trickling down her cheek again, Josie wrapped her arms around her wild bear, embracing him lightly, so as not to cause any more damage.

“I am so, so sorry,” she whimpered.

Completely silent save for the wheezing sound he made with every breath, Mark merely lifted his own pair of bloodied arms before lowering them onto her body.

                                                                                    ***

A full five months have passed since that fateful day when Josie decided to leave her husband, and not a night went by without her waking up from a bad dream at least once. Luckily, a fully recovered Mark was always there to make the anxiety go away. He claimed that the dreams would eventually go away. Josie herself had her doubts about that, but she believed him anyway.
That’s what love is after all
, she thinks,
believing in each other completely and utterly.

The two of them have completely adapted to living off the fruits of the forests of Minnesota; both moving and unmoving.
Life is good,
Josie often found herself think, without having to force it like she did most of the time she was with George.
But the rough, wild sex is even better.
She smiled, content, as she had been every day she spent with Mark.

Speaking of sex, the two of them recently had to slow things down a little bit, mostly due to Josie’s slowly expanding belly and the discomfort it provided during physical intimacy.

“We’re having cubs!” Mark would roar every day, approaching every little survival task with renewed zest and vigor. He had told her that he wanted children for a long time, but couldn’t find himself a woman who was emotionally strong enough deal with all of this.

I love it when he uses that rough, silver tongue of his,
Josie thought, her expression decorated with a radiant smile.

Turning around slowly, she took her time in observing the forest around their most recent shelter. Lush, fragrant and green, it seemed as if it came straight out of a fairy tale. Why anyone would
not
want to live there with
such
a man was completely beyond her.

Their loss,
she heard herself conclude silently, all while fondling her developing belly.

All things considered, she looked forward to her new life here. It was incredible how little she missed all the expensive commodities and trinkets of the modern world.

We become used to something to the point that its absence becomes unbearable,
she found herself muse,
when in fact, what we really need is something else entirely.

Indeed,
Josie thought, still enamored by the beauty of their forest,
such is the folly of civilization.

It is much better here.

THE END

BONUS BOOK 3

Just Menaged To Forgive

BBW PARANORMAL ROMANCE

By: Jodie Springer

Just Menaged To Forgive

This is amazing.

The thought echoed throughout the woman’s head as if she never had fast food before. Incidentally, she’s been having it several times a day, every day, for the past decade. It never got old.

How can something this tasty not be good for you?
The woman thought as she took another bite of her cheeseburger, the sixth one in a row she’s had within the last half an hour.

Worth every penny,
she concluded as the creamy filling melted, spreading within her oral cavity, a
s well as every additional pound.
Playfully, she caressed the bulk of her belly, now even more swollen due to the sizeable meal she’s had.

Pamela, old girl, you seem to have attained a new record,
the woman mused, unable to see the palms of her hands as they’ve grasped the majority of her bulk. To most of the world, her size was something to be ashamed of.

For Pamela Greene, Professor of World Literature, it was a point of pride. Few were the women with the courage not to conform to the rigid standards of beauty imposed by modern society, and fewer still were those who chose to toss them out of the window and embrace their exact opposite.

And what kind of a life would the other option be?
Pamela asked herself as she finished her burger, swallowing what was left of it with absolute pleasure.
Dieting, exercising, having to plan your whole day out around some rigid program that “guaranteed” success? Not for me, thank you.

Pleased with herself, the professor cleaned her face with a soft paper wipe before tossing it onto the table. Absent-mindedly, she turned her head left and right, more out of habit than any actual need to see what was where. She was at the university, in her office, doing what she did every day after class was over. There was not a detail in the room that she did not know in and out.

Now back in reality and down from the seventh heaven that fast food always sent her to, Pamela immediately found herself faced with the not so radiant side of her decisions: loneliness. Aside from the occasional flings she had a good while ago, the professor was single.

They just can’t handle this much of a woman,
she kept telling herself, but the facts spoke more than her rationale ever could. Outside of the pleasures of food and reading, life was getting kind of dull.

Yeah, like becoming a slave to some pre-created system will make everything more exciting.
Displeased by her current train of thought, the professor slowly rose from her seat, grabbing the improvised table cloth with both of her hands. Carefully, she lifted everything from her work desk, carrying it to the oversized waste basket in the corner and unloading it in.

What I need now is a confortable, stress-free drive home,
the woman concluded, grabbing her coat with one hand while unlocking the door with the other. Hurriedly, she passed through and locked it, eager to get the whole University in her rearview mirror.

What is wrong with you, girl?
Pamela asked herself, completely baffled by the sudden change in her attitude. Sure, life might have been boring, but it was a
good
kind of boring. There was not a thing she had to do that she didn’t enjoy. Who else could claim that their existence was so deprived of anything unpleasant?

Yet despite this fact,
the professor pondered as she paced through the corridors of the University’s higher segments,
there appears to be something missing.
With a single extended finger, she summoned the elevator from whatever it currently was, all while semi-nervously tapping her right foot on the floor. It was hot; unlike the offices, the hallways were not as well air-conditioned.

Within a minute, Pamela was down on ground floor, and with that comforting fact came another, far less pleasant one: she had to walk all the way to the parking lot.
Oh well,
the woman repeated what she silently said to herself every day,
at least you’ll burn out some of the energy you’ve just put into yourself.

As if the weight of the world itself rested upon her shoulders, Pamela Greene set herself toward the University’s main hallway, completely focused on getting to her car. So all-consuming was her intent that she almost didn’t notice the distinct, feminine figure that leaned against the wall to her right, seemingly waiting for someone.

The students get older every year,
the professor thought as she made her way toward the exit, passing by the stranger while paying her as little heed as possible. In a mere five minutes she will be in her car. By that point, all the unpleasantness that she had to endure within the last five minutes will be far behind her.

“This isn’t like you, Pam,” the person spoke, her voice silky and mirthful despite the somewhat mocking tone, “Ignoring an old friend like that.”

Instantly recognizing the sound of the other woman’s voice, Pamela turned away as fast as her sizeable body allowed, her foggy disposition transformed into an irate one.
Marie Jackson, you slimy little serpent, I’ve never expected to see you again.

For well over half a minute the professor stared into her former friend, incapable of forming any sort of coherent response. The silence lasted for so long that finally, Marie chose to be the one to break it.

“Glad to see me. I know you are, love. I’ve missed you too, I really did.” the intruder spoke slowly, as if every word was a probing tool, while her body took on a different posture, standing straight with both arms extended toward he silent, full woman. “Now don’t be coy, Pam, it’s been far too long for things like that. Come over here and give me a
big
hug.”

She even dares to mock me,
the literature professor articulated the words for herself despite her own mental processes rejecting anything of the sort. Teeth clenched, Pamela took a closer look at her former friend, curious in a way, of what the years have done to her.

By every relevant variable, time seemed to have been kind. Marie had managed to maintain a tight figure, thin in most spots while still possessing some bulk in others. Her hair was now cut short and straightened out, a sharp departure from the flowing black locks she used to wear in high school, and with it came a whole new image, one reminiscent of a biker or punk girl: almost anything on her person was made of leather.

“Can’t get enough of the view, can you?” the short-haired woman spoke, drawing her arms back toward her body and into the pockets within her pants. “I don’t blame you,” she continued, apparently unfazed by Pamela’s decision to deny her the physical contact she requested. “There are few who can.”

“Ever the smartass, I see,” the professor finally managed to reply, her anger having impaired her ability to speak in a non-hostile manner. The moniker she used, however, was right on target. Cutting remarks aside, Marie used to be the smartest person in their class. How and if she managed to make something of her intelligence, Pamela did not know.

“I wonder if you’ll still be as cheeky after I’ve called security on you,” the larger woman continued, not allowing herself to blink while meeting the other one’s gaze.

“Call security on me?” The intruding woman’s black-colored lips now formed an amused chuckle. “And why exactly would you do that? Am I attacking you in some way? Threatening?”

“How about stealing? You’ve always had a knack for it. There’s a reason they say that old habits die hard.”

Now allowing her smile to show a bit of teeth, Marie took a couple of steps away from the wall as she continued “They can frisk me all they want, but I’d much rather that you do it. Regardless,” she purred as she spoke, her face now barely a foot away from that of Pamela, “they won’t find a thing.”

The professor felt the rage bubble from within, years of hatred she had for this individual now amplified by her obviously instigating attitude. Painfully, it boiled until it reached a point where it felt as if she was going to burst. Then, all of a sudden, it froze. Pamela’s distaste for Marie was still significant, but she was in control again.
I refuse to give her the satisfaction of toying with my emotions. Not now, nor ever again.

“Why are you here, Marie?,” The leather-clad woman was just about to say something else when Pamela interrupted her, the color of her voice now denoting just how much she was fed up with the current situation. “Are you bored of mocking up everyone else’s lives you’ve decided to go full circle and return to where it all began?”

“You wound me yet again,” the intruder’s expression now seemed almost sincere. “I have come to see you, Marie. Can’t a girl check on her first and best friend?”

“Of course she can,” the professor rebutted, getting even closer to the other woman. There was now less than two inches of space between their noses. “But you are no longer a friend of mine, Marie. You know why.” Visibly disappointed by Pamela’s choice of words, the short-haired woman retreated several inches. “Now be a dear and go disappear for another decade, please.”

Slowly, Marie took a small step backward, followed by a series of increasingly faster and longer ones. “You know what, Pam? I believe you,” she formed the words while her expression changed from that of disapproval into something that defied interpretation. “We aren’t friends anymore. We haven’t been for a good while now. However,” the woman spoke louder now, in a clear attempt to overpower the noise of the automatic door that opened to let her through, “that doesn’t mean that we can’t be
something else
.”

And with that sentence she was gone, the shutting of the door removing her from Pamela’s sight. By the time the professor managed to get close enough for the passage to open, the short-haired woman was long gone.

                                                                                    ***

Good for nothing, white trash, cheap, scrawny little hussy,
Pamela grumbled to herself while taking her automobile out of the parking lot. The resulting drive home was far less fulfilling than she expected, and nowhere near as soothing. By the time the woman stood in front of her porch, she was aching for another snack, and that was always a bad sign so soon after her most recent meal.

My nerves are acting up,
the sizeable woman concluded as she reached into her purse to get the key. Having felt the metal ring around her finger, she pulled it out while stepping onto the mat.
And now for some- what the...?
Carefully, the professor stepped back, away from her door, her gaze firmly fixed down on the area her right foot had touched less than a second ago.

There was no mistake. Someone had moved it.
Thieves?
Pamela stepped forward again, checking the integrity of the lock. There was no sign of a break-in or that it was picked.
Kids playing?
Highly unlikely, the professor concluded, remembering how rarely her neighbors’ children entered her yard.
Then who…
Her thin eyebrows managed to furrow as she thought of the obvious suspect.
Marie!?

It all made sense. As a kid, Pamela used to hide her keys underneath the mat, and no one knew about it other than her parents and the two of them. The large woman had of course allowed that habit to die since then, but if anyone would look for a key down there, it would be Marie.

So she tried waiting for me at home first,
Pam reasoned while slowly unlocking her front door.
And when that didn’t go exactly the way the little weasel wanted, she settled for the University.

Pleased that at least one of her new habits was actually beneficial, the professor entered her house, tightly locking the entrance behind her.
I need a hot shower,
she concluded, slowly peeling the layers of clothing off her flowing body as she made her way toward the bathroom.
No, actually, make that a bubble bath.

Some twenty minutes later, Pamela’s sizeable frame lay engulfed within the foamy water that filled her bathtub.
What little space I left for the water, that is,
she thought, chuckling as her immense bosom floated on the surface, disappearing and reappearing within the fragrant liquid with every move she made.

For a while she amused herself like that, producing splash after splash and causing the waves and clouds to form all kinds of different shapes and reactions.
Like I could have this much fun if I was scrawny like Marie.
Almost immediately, the fun disappeared, shattering into a million tiny pieces.

Expectedly,
the professor thought, extending her arms to the edges of her bathtub,
I ruin my amusement right when it’s about to get good.
Ponderously, she rose to her feet, foam still covering most of her body, but even in that state, the clouded mirror on the opposing wall could not help but display the outline her generous curves.

God damn it,
Pamela cursed silently as she stepped outside of the now-shrinking pool of water.
There are some days when you just can’t seem to catch a break from yourself.
Having turned around, the woman felt for the plug for a brief moment, before pulling it out and allowing the water to flow out of the tub. That part of the business done, she grabbed a rather large white towel, ready to bring this part of the day to its end.