Мэри Дэвидсон - Canis Royal Bridefight

She could feel a tear trickling down her left cheek, but made no move to wipe it away. Sure, it was a rotten thing to do, but what was the alternative? She’d been shot almost a year ago, and still woke to pain every morning. They’d never let her back on the streets. She’d been busted to desk officer, which meant she was one of the few secretaries in the city licensed to carry a firearm. Worst of all, she’d lost her shield.

The desk job was mindless, torturous, but she refused to take a medical retirement. Then what would she do? Sit around and try not to think about how badly her knee hurt? Real fulfilling.

And also you’re so lone—

She shut that thought away, fast. That had nothing to do with anything.

There’s got to be something else. Heaven. Hell. Reincarnation. Something. This isn’t it, it can’t be all there is. I didn’t work so hard for so long to have this be the end of everything. There’s something else out there, I know it.

And if she was wrong, if there was nothing, she’d take that over an unfulfilling life of pain and ennui.

She unbuttoned her shirt, then grabbed the remote and flicked it on to the Sci-Fi channel. Ah, there was Kirk talking to a doomed red-shirted security guard. Hour three of the marathon. She wondered what people who weren’t suicidal were watching.

She took one of the Duragesic patches and stuck it to her chest, just above her bra. She did the same with the rest, then poured out the pills and looked at them. It was funny—they were so small, but they could stop her heart if she took enough of them. And she planned to swallow every one.

If you do this, it’s real. You’ll be brain dead, followed by body dead. You can’t take it back.

“God, I hope not,” she said aloud, and went to plug in the blender.

* * * * *

For the first time in forever, her knee didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt. She was floating— well, not really, she was still sitting on the couch but she was also floating…floating and watching McCoy chew Spock a new asshole…she spilled her drink oh no red stain on the carpet…oh well…Spock was logical…logical…logical to do this to end this…it was all right…anything was better and she couldn’t…she couldn’t…she couldn’t…she was alone and had nothing but the job…and now she didn’t have the job…so this was the only thing left to do…so she would do it and if it made her a coward okay…and if it made her a fool okay…as long as she wasn’t lonesome anymore…as long as it was all done over the end…finito…farewell…

Chapter 3

“Aw, son of a bitch!”

Lois wasn’t sure if she shouted it, or if it was just a thought. She could feel warm hands running over her limbs…

(checking for injury?)

…stroking her stomach, shoulders, even her breasts, and something warm and tickly on her lips, almost like a kiss, but of course that wasn’t—

She was afraid to open her eyes and look. But she was afraid to keep lying there, too.

She wasn’t dead. Ergo , she was alive. Ergo , she was in a hospital somewhere. Ergo, she’d have to go through Psych and treatment and then try again sometime when they weren’t watching her anymore. Dammit!

She opened her eyes. And instantly assumed the overdose had driven her insane.

She wasn’t in a hospital. She wasn’t even in her house. She was lying on the ground, in the middle of what looked like a desert—there was hard-packed sand everywhere, and one or two scrawny trees, and dunes in the distance. But it wasn’t hot—it felt like a perfectly pleasant seventy-five degrees or so. And the light tickling on her lips was actually a raspy tongue. A puma was standing over her, and the sky was lavender. She wasn’t sure which was more startling.

She blinked, then slowly rose to a sitting position. Yep, that was a purple sky, all right. She was in a desert that wasn’t hot, and the sky was the color of an iris petal. She had definitely gone crazy. And the puma was backing off but still watching her. Her cheek still throbbed from its rough tongue.

She stared at the big cat, which was staring right back. It was enormous—probably two hundred and fifty pounds at least. Its coat was the color of the desert sand and— weird!—its eyes were the color of the purple sky. Its paws were huge, easily as big across as her hand if she spread her fingers wide. It was sitting up very straight beside one of the stunted, twisted trees. Its tail—at least five feet long, and as thick around as her wrist—switched lazily back and forth. It seemed tame—it hadn’t killed her in her sleep, after all.

She thought about standing up, rejected the idea, then reconsidered. After all, why was she being careful? She’d tried to commit suicide and now she was worried about a predator? What in God’s name for?

She stood, slowly, never taking her eyes off the big cat. It was only when she was on her feet that she realized the last thing, the most shocking thing—her knee didn’t hurt. Not even a tiny bit.

She flexed. She crouched. She jogged in place. Nothing, not a twinge, not a whimper.

“It worked!” she cried, forgetting herself for a moment. “I’m dead and—and somewhere else.” Heaven? Hell? Some weird place in between? Who cared? She was out of pain for the first time in a long, long time. “I’m okay! I’m here and I’m okay!”

The puma was strolling toward her. She was so elated she forgot to be afraid. “I’m better now,” she told it. “Isn’t that great?”

“What was wrong with you?” the puma asked. Except it didn’t really speak—its jaws never moved. But she heard the question in her head.

After the purple sky and the painless limb, nothing was going to faze her. “Plenty of things,” she answered. “But I guess things are finally looking up.” She cleared her throat. The puma was standing no more than two feet away, looking up at her. “You’re—uh—not going to eat me, are you?”

“I was thinking about it.” Something was wrong with the cat’s coat. It was shedding—no, its skin was rippling—no, it was sick—no, it was shrinking—no, it was growing—no, it was a man, a darkly tanned man with shoulder length tawny blonde hair and purple eyes. A man standing where the puma had just been. He grinned at her. His teeth were incredibly white and looked sharp. “Yes, I was definitely giving it some thought.”

“Aaaaaaaaaa—”

“Are you all right?”

“—aaaaaaaaaaaggggggggg—” 
“My lady? What’s wrong?” 
“—gggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh—” 
“Um, well, I will just change back, then.” 
“—hhhhhhhhhhhhh—what? No, don’t do that. Just give me a minute.” Panting,

Lois sat down before she fell down. The puma man, who was splendidly nude, sat down cross-legged across from her. He was lightly tanned, with the sleek muscles she had noticed before. His stomach was a washboard, and his forehead was creased with concern.

“Perhaps you need a healer,” he suggested. 
“Perhaps I need the department shrink. Um—what are you?” 
“I am—a man, as you are a woman.” 
She snorted. The world—this strange new place—had stopped tilting, that was

something. For a black moment, she’d thought she was going to faint. And that would be just too damned embarrassing. “Sure. Just a run-of-the-mill fella. Who can turn back and forth into a puma—”

“What is a poo-muh?” 
“—and walks around naked and is magically delicious, besides.” 
“I know no magic.” 
“Never mind.” She was trying not to stare, but couldn’t help it. He was probably

the best looking guy she’d ever seen. He was big, but not bulky—his muscles had the lean definition of a swimmer’s. His hair was gorgeous, tumbling around his shoulders, thick and wavy. His eyes were enormous, the palest lavender framed with darker purple lashes. His pubic hair, thank God, wasn’t purple, but rather two shades darker than the hair on his head. His shoulders, legs, and arms were lightly furred, and his nails were longer than hers. Since she was a nail-biter, that wasn’t much of a trick.