Charlaine Harris: Many Bloody Returns

She blushed deeply and stepped back, trying not to smile. One hip outthrust, she pointed at him.

“You are bad.”

“Only in good ways. Seriously, I dare you.”

Donika’s breath came in shallow sips as she regarded him, lips pressed together, corners of her mouth upturned. The mischief in his eyes seemed to have gotten inside of her somehow. Her skin tingled all over. Nodding her head, she crossed her arms.

“You first.”

Without hesitation, he stripped off his T-shirt and dropped it at the edge of the path. He arched an eyebrow and looked at her expectantly.

A rush went through her, a kind of freedom she’d never felt before. It was as though she had just woken from some strange slumber. She grabbed the bottom hem of her tank top and slid it up over her head, then unhooked her bra and let it drop to the ground. The night breeze brushed warmly against her, but she shivered.

Josh stared at her, all the mischief and archness gone from his face, replaced by sheer wonderment. He’d never seen her breasts before—Donika didn’t know if he’d ever seen this much of any girl.

She didn’t wait for him to make the next move. Their gazes locked as she kicked her sandals off and then moved her hand down, unbuttoning her cutoffs. She slid them and her panties down together and stepped out of them, tossing them on top of her tank.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

The breeze picked up, rustling leaves. Somewhere close by, the owls cried again. For once, the sound did not seem sad. Josh stepped toward her and she knew how badly he wanted to touch her. She could already imagine his hands on her, the way she had so many times at home in her bed.

She shook her head, smiling, and stepped backward. “Uh-uh. Not so fast, mister. We’re going to run, remember. And you’re not quite ready.”

For a moment he only stared at her, his mouth hanging open. Donika laughed at how silly he looked, but thrilled to know that she’d beguiled him so completely.

Staggering around, hopping on one foot, Josh pulled off one sneaker and then the other. He shucked his jeans and then paused for a second before slipping off his underwear.

Donika trembled at the sight of him. She’d seen an older boy from the neighborhood skinny-dipping in Bowditch Pond one time, but this was something else entirely.

“Oh,” she said.

Josh walked toward her. Donika backed up and then turned, giggling, and began to run as swiftly as she dared, watching the roots and rocks and fallen branches in her path. Josh pursued her, laughing even as he called for her to wait for him. As she ran, the thrill of it all rushed through her—her nakedness, his nakedness and nearness, and the forest around them. In her whole life, she had never felt as wonderful as she did there in the woods, running wild, full of passion and laughter.

The heat rose from deep inside her, desire unlike anything she’d ever known. Flushed with abandon, she slowed her pace, and let Josh catch up. He nearly crashed into her and they slid together on the path. His lips were on hers and their tongues met. His hands were rough and caressing in equal turns, touching her everywhere, and she let him.

A small part of her—the part that remained her mother’s daughter—knew that she would not let him make love to her. But, oh, how she wanted to. Anything else he wished would be his, only not that.

In the branches above them, the owls sighed.

Tangled in her sheets, drifting in that limbo between sleep and wakefulness, Donika knew morning had come. She loved how long the summer days lasted; she just wished they didn’t start so damned early. Dimly aware of the bedroom around her, she squeezed her eyes tightly closed and admonished herself for not having drawn the shades the night before. She rolled over to face the other direction, twisting the sheets even more. For a moment she remembered her walk in the woods with Josh the night before and the way his hands had felt on her. A contented moan escaped her lips as she slipped back into blissful oblivion.

Drifting.

Somewhere, lost in sleep, she sensed a presence enter the room and began to stir. Then someone started to sing, loudly and horribly, and Donika sat up in bed, drawing a sharp breath, eyes wide.

Her mother sang “Happy Birthday” in a silly, overly dramatic fashion, gesturing with her hands as though onstage. She wore an enormous grin and Donika couldn’t help laughing. Her mother always seemed so grim, and seeing her like this gave the girl such pleasure.

When the song finished, Qendressa bowed deeply. Donika applauded, shaking her head. During her childhood, it had not been quite so uncommon for her mother to clown around for Donika’s amusement. They’d shared so many wonderful times together. Now that she was older and their desires and morals clashed so often, it had become hard for Donika to remember those times.

Not this morning, however. This morning, all the laughter came back to her. Her mother would be off to work in moments, decked out in her usual sensible skirt and blouse and dark shoes, and her hair was tied back severely, but for a few minutes, it felt like Donika was a little girl again.

“Thank you, thank you,” Qendressa said, her accent almost unnoticeable as she mimicked performers she had seen on television. “And for my next trick, I leave work early to come home and make all your favorites.”

She ticked the parts of the birthday meal off on her fingers. “Tavë kosi, Tirana furghes with peppers, and kadaif for dessert. With candles and more bad singing.”

Donika’s stomach rumbled just thinking about dinner. The main course was baked lamb and yogurt, which she’d always loved. But the dessert—she could practically taste the walnuts and cinnamon of the kadaif now.

“Can we have dinner for breakfast instead?” she asked, stretching, extricating herself from her sheets.

Her mother shook a finger at her. “The birthday girl gets what she wants, but not until tonight. Breakfast, you make your own. Toast, I bet. You going out today?”

“Maybe to the mall if Gina can borrow her mom’s car.”

“All right. Back by three o’clock, please. We’ll cook together?”

Donika smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

That was the truth, too. There were times her mother drove her crazy with all her Old World stodginess, but on her birthday and on holidays, she loved nothing better than to spend hours in the kitchen, cooking with her mom. She could practically smell all the wonderful aromas that would fill the house later.

“What about the girls? You talk to them?” Qendressa asked.

“Tomorrow night. They’re going to come by to celebrate. We can just have pizza, though.”

“Pizza, again?” her mother said. “You going to turn into pizza.”

Donika didn’t argue. She wasn’t about to confess that she and Josh had never gotten around to having pizza last night. Maybe that was the reason she felt so hungry this morning. Her belly growled and she felt a gnawing there, as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks instead of half a day.

“We love pizza,” she said, shrugging.

“I promised birthday cake tomorrow night, too. And if you are lucky, maybe some good singing.”

“Chocolate cake?” Donika asked, propping herself up on one arm, head still muzzy with sleep.

“Of course,” her mother replied, as though any other kind would be unthinkable.

“Excellent!”

A flutter of wings came from the open window and a scratching upon the screen. Mother and daughter turned together to see a dark-eyed owl perched on the ledge outside the window, imperious and wise. Brown and white feathers cloaked the owl and it tucked its wings behind it.

“What the…? That’s freaky,” Donika said, sitting up in bed. “I hear them in the woods all the time, but I’ve never seen one during the day. Do you think it’s sick or some—”