Better Off Dead : A Lucy Hart, Deathdealer Novel (Book One)

  ~*~

  “I’m not eating that.” Lucy felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it. And to her horror, it had smelled and looked really good. But she had asked what it was, which usually didn’t matter. Gabriel wasn’t one for eating gross food. There was always some kind of meat in what he ordered for their office dinners, and usually the savory sauces and the sources of the food spanned a multitude of cultures.

  But when Gabriel had said “Lamb Curry,” Lucy had envisioned Mary’s Little Lamb, and then the adorable lamb that she had held during a Christmas pageant when she was nine years old. She’d wanted her father to buy it for her, the fleece was so soft, and it had licked sugar cubes out of her hand.

  But Adam Hart would not abide a farm animal in his house or on his property. Pets of any kind had been one of the few things he had denied Lucy and her brother.

  And that’s all she could think about as Gabriel set out two high-end disposable plates on the coffee table he had brought in when it turned out they spent most of their dinner meetings lounging on the big black leather couch. She’d felt pretty good that he’d added furniture to his office just for her. But she would not be touching the baby lamb he was now spooning out over the white rice that formed a base on the bottom of each plate.

  It really did smell good, and she’d skipped lunch, opting to spend her break having her nails done at a local, though excellent, nail salon. They now gleamed with an incredible crimson orange, and shimmered with tiny gold hearts. She’d missed getting manicures, and that sense of whimsy she’d had about her nails. But right at that moment, Lucy was missing lunch most of all. Maybe she should just call out for a pizza, maybe some of that divine manicotti they’d devoured the night before?

  But then Gabriel pulled out from the take out bag something wrapped up in aluminum foil, and as he unwrapped it, steam rose into the air and the rich scent of garlic bread engulfed her senses.

  “This is called naan bread,” Gabriel said as he pulled a piece of the delicious smelling flat bread from the pack. Holding it in his hand he ladled the lamb/rice mixture onto the bread in big spoonfuls, wrapped it up fajita style then brought it up to his lips and took a huge bite.

  The look of utter bliss that took over Gabriel’s face would usually have creeped Lucy out. But she was starving. It didn’t help either, the look on his face as he chewed up his lamb/rice fajita and swallowed—sighing rapturously before shooting Lucy with a maniacal smile then taking another big bite.

  Lucy’s stomach actually growled.

  “Come on Lucy… you’re hungry, or at least your stomach’s hungry—and I know you really want to.” Gabriel was practically laughing as he spoke, his deep brown eyes electrified with mischievous taunting.

  Lucy groaned in defeat as she sat down on the couch and grabbed herself a piece of naan bread, then shoveled as much of Mary’s Little Lamb onto it as she could, rolled it up and took a big old honking bite.

  It was good. No, it was incredible. Spicy and rich, the meat had this juicy, tender quality, the sauce was to die for, and the rice and flat bread added a wonderful texture to the whole thing. She took another bite before she’d even swallowed her first.

  “See?” Gabriel said with a smug expression on his handsome face.

  “I hate you,” Lucy mumbled through a mouthful of absolute bliss.

  After wolfing down every last bit of the lamb curry, they settled back into the couch and put their feet up on the new—doubtlessly expensive—coffee table. Lucy spotted the little red step stool sitting under the last photo she’d been examining whilst waiting for Gabriel.

  Strangely enough, the length of time she spent waiting for Gabriel each day had drastically started to dwindle. Today she’d only been perched barefoot on the stool for a few moments, the total wait time since she’d set foot in the office was just under five minutes now. A far cry from the first week’s usual half hour.

  “So,” Lucy said, lazily raising her arm up to point at the photo in question. “What is that?”

  Gabriel looked to where she was pointing, got an unreadable look on his face for a moment, smiling guiltily. He even started to blush.

  “That’s… well, you see…” Gabriel squirmed in his seat then turned his entire body around so he could face Lucy completely. “My brother and I have this… tradition.”

  Lucy couldn’t help it, she was smiling. She could tell this was going to be one hell of a good story. All the stories that involved Gabriel’s brother, Micah, were hysterical.

  “We bet on things.”

  Silence.

  “Like?” Lucy prompted him.

  “Well… sometimes it’s just sporting events: horse racing, college football games, that Ultimate Cage Fighter show.”

  “Okay,”

  “That’s usually just a money bet. But sometimes we actually bet on who can…” He stopped and stared at Lucy, and she could see in his eyes that he was editing what he was about to tell her. He did that a lot, especially when they’d discussed his family, but never when they’d talked about the photos and his friends, or his brother. But he was doing it right now.

  “You know, who can run faster—sometimes we spar, like fighting.”

  Lucy looked back over her shoulder at the photo of the two of them on the boat. “You fight your brother, the giant?” She chuckled. “I’m sure that goes well.”

  Gabriel let his head loll back on the couch, and Lucy found herself looking very slowly down the length of him. He always took his jacket off when they ate, and his silk dress shirt that night was ivory. As he leaned back it melded to his body most enticingly.

  “I win… sometimes. But on that occasion,”—he nodded his head toward the photo in question—“I lost big time.”

  “So the picture is because… you lost the bet,” Lucy said. “And I imagine its placement in your office is significant?”

  “Very.” Gabriel rolled off the couch and over to the photo, plucking it from the wall and returning to the couch, plopping down on it in a very non-Gabriel way. His every move was usually so careful and graceful. “There’s a third part to the bet, though.”

  “Mmmm…” Lucy was getting excited, looking at the strange piece of art being displayed in the photo. This story was shaping up nicely.

  The artful design was actually kind of funny looking. It seemed like a coat of arms. Except… well, besides the crossed swords and the detailed outline of the shield itself, what was displayed in the center of the design made Lucy giggle for a good thirty seconds before she got a hold of herself.

  “Is that—are they…doing what I think they’re doing?”

  “Yes,” Gabriel said, turning his head away as he scratched the back of his ear. “That’s two… wolves…”

  “Screwing,” Lucy shrieked with laughter.

  “I was going to say mating.”

  “And I was going to say two werewolves screwing doggy style!” She fell over on her side on the couch, melting into peals of laughter and holding the framed photo to her chest and tried to catch her breath.

  “They’re wolves,” Gabriel said, looking like a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  Lucy practically barked out a snide laugh at Gabriel’s protest. “I’ve seen wolves,” she said, holding her stomach as she raised the photo up to her face to get a better look. “Wolves don’t have human torsos, especially muscular He-Man chests. And look!” She pointed at the photo. Gabriel tried to grab it from her, but she scooted away as she fingered the point of interest on the picture.

  “This right here. The… wolf on top has definite clawed hands! He’s got one… well, wrapped around the other wolf’s… torso, and the other is holding on to his shoulder… for, um… leverage?”

  Gabriel sighed unhappily. “Well, I was drunk when I—” and then he just stopped, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms over his chest.

  Lucy gave him a curious glance, and then she held
the photograph out away from her, taking the entire image in from a distance, then bringing it back trombone-style and noticed something interesting about the texture of the “canvas” the werewolf mating coat of arms was stenciled on.

  “Is that a freckle?”

  Gabriel groaned and threw his brawny arm up over his face. “I said I was drunk, for the bet and the… the—”

  “Tattoo!” Lucy howled joyously. “This is a tattoo, isn’t it? That’s the third part of the bet.” Lucy reached over and pulled Gabriel’s arm from obscuring his face. He looked to her pleadingly.

  “A framed photograph, prominently displayed in your office, of a lewd tattoo on your—” She stopped and turned to shoot Gabriel with a wrinkle of her eyebrows. “Gabriel… where exactly on you is this tattoo?” She shook the photograph in her hand for emphasis.

  “You don’t want to know.” He looked into her eyes and she felt a little shudder, like how she felt when she fantasized about stealing Brad Pitt form Angelina.

  She shook that feeling out of her mind. It was preposterous. She hated this guy…well, she didn’t exactly hate him, not anymore, but he was still a condescending pain in her ass.

  “Yeah, I do want to know.”

  He smiled ruefully to himself, and as he shook his head he leaned away from Lucy and pointed down behind him to the back of his slacks. It took a second, but then Lucy realized he was pointing to his butt, and she suddenly realized with a squeak, and then more riotous laughter, that she was holding a photograph of a tattoo on Gabriel’s ass.

  “It’s not funny.” His face was sobering up as he leaned his head back. “And leave it to Micah to get me into the tattoo parlor and snap a picture of it while I was still… inebriated.”

  “You must’ve been wasted,” Lucy said, handing the picture back to him, using her thumb and forefinger like it was something yucky. “But I’ve got to give you credit for actually sticking to the terms of that drunken bet.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I just can’t wait to meet your brother!”