Natalie Damschroder - Heavy Metal

The Society website had a history section—that’s how she knew the little she did. They claimed that the goddesses of ancient times were real, and their abilities—diluted by breeding and resource depletion—had been passed down through maternal lines. There were apparently a few hundred worldwide, about a hundred here in the United States.

So, if she were a goddess, what exactly did that mean?

She pulled herself out of bed. That was as good a place to start as any.

…

Sam cursed when his phone went off a little before eight. He refrained from throwing the thing across the room but stuffed it under the pillow he buried his face in. It stopped vibrating in his hand, and he drifted off, body and brain relaxing for only a moment before it went off again.

“Dammit!” He rolled over and glared at the screen. Nick. Of course. Sam had ignored his calls yesterday, so he was punishing him by waking him up too early today. The guy’s tenacity was more ferocious than a pit bull’s and would only get more aggravating.

He flipped open the phone and put it to his ear. “Yeah, Nick.”

“Hey, Sammy.”

He hated that name, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Quinn’s finishing up some work in Boston. She said you’re nearby, and we thought we’d drop by before we head back to Ohio.”

Sam shoved his free hand into his hair and stared at the ceiling. “Not a good idea, man.”

“Come on, dude, it’s been three years.”

That wasn’t the point. Two years ago, Sam would have said no because he didn’t want to see them together, the woman he’d loved and the man she’d chosen instead of Sam. A year ago, he’d have said no because he was still trying to find a new place after walking away from everything that was important to him. Now, he didn’t want them to see how much of a struggle that had become. Back in Ohio, he’d managed a thriving bar and one of the most powerful goddesses of her generation. He couldn’t stand to bring Quinn or Nick to the shithole of a bar he tended now, or have them, each in their own way, try to fix whatever was wrong with him.

“I talk to her all the time,” he said.

“It’s not enough,” Nick argued. “She misses you. If you won’t come at least for a visit, let us—”

“I’ve got something going here.” He ripped the sheets off him and rolled out of bed. “It would be a waste of time for you guys.” The tiles on the bathroom floor were freezing on his bare feet. “Just let me know when you’re back east again and maybe we can go for dinner or something.”

He barely listened to Nick trying to change his mind while he brushed his teeth, and then padded into the kitchen to start the excellent coffee he’d promised Riley. “Look, man, I’ve got to go. Busy day. Tell Quinn I said hey.”

And with that stupid, not-fooling-anyone signoff, he hung up.

Damn the man for dredging all that up now. Sam leaned against the counter and watched the coffee maker hiss and burble, the first few drops hitting the bottom of the glass carafe. He’d actually been optimistic when he’d left Quinn. He’d worked for her for six years, managing her bar, Under the Moon, as well as the work she did as a goddess. It had fulfilled his early purpose, the one driven by his mother’s death while he was in college. She’d been a goddess, too, pushing to help people beyond her own limits, and he’d always believed that was why she got sick and couldn’t recover. He’d managed Quinn’s limits for her, so she could help people without harming herself. She’d never promised him anything, but their relationship had been more than boss/employee. Unfortunately, not enough so. She’d been in love with Nick even longer than she’d been with Sam, and when the time came that she and Nick could be together, Sam had been the odd man out.

He’d worked for the Society until a year and a half ago, helping Quinn’s sister Marley start up a new educational program after a leech had preyed on their community, stealing the abilities of several goddesses before they’d stopped him. Marley’s job had been her punishment for her role in creating the leech by giving her boyfriend Anson the ability to take power in the first place.

After that, Sam had trained as a protector. The Protectorate was an autonomous organization as old as the Society, its purpose essentially to be bodyguards for vulnerable goddesses who were away from their power sources. The days of witch burnings and the like were long gone, but people still targeted goddesses for reasons both mundane and magical.

But Nick was the most respected and well known of the protectors, and Sam had felt like an interloper. Plus, it wasn’t in his nature to stand around and wait for a threat. He wanted to use his mind as well as his body. The fact that he was doing neither at the moment didn’t sit well with him, and he didn’t care to expose his aimlessness to his old friends.

The coffee maker sighed that it was finished. Sam poured a cup and carried it out onto the tiny back deck overlooking enough of a slope to expose him to the morning sun. It cast a pink-gold glow with just a hint of warmth, and he focused on the birds chirping at each other in his neighbor’s trees.

“ Mrrow ?” A dusty white cat glided up onto the deck beside him and rubbed against his ankles.

“Hey, there. Haven’t seen you in a few days.” He stroked her and scratched under the chin she tilted up for him. It was the stray he’d compared Riley to last night. It had taken months for her to come this close, but now she let him give her all the affection he wanted.

And all the food. She trotted to the Cool Whip container he used to feed her and looked up with another inquiring meow. He poured some kibble out of a box he kept in a storage bin and petted her a few more times while she ate.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he looked up to find Riley standing on the landing outside the garage apartment, watching him. Her hair was in a damp twist over her shoulder, and she wore the same clothes as last night. Funny how he hadn’t noticed the way the worn jeans hugged her hips and the plaid shirt nipped her waist. His hands would span that waist. And her breasts were the perfect…

What the hell? Maybe it was the angle that made everything look so good. Or the daylight. Things always looked different in daylight.

He stood and cleared his throat, uncomfortable at these thoughts so close to his memories of Quinn. “Morning,” he called.

“Hi. I didn’t think you’d be up yet. I came out to see how chilly it was.”

He rubbed a hand over his bare chest, noticing the cool air for the first time. He’d forgotten he hadn’t put on a shirt. “Coffee’s ready, if you want some.”

“Sure, I’ll be right down.” She disappeared inside.

Sam blew out a breath and pushed the sliding door to the kitchen open. He’d make pancakes and get Riley to open up about her problems, and then he’d send her to the Society—where she should have gone in the first place. And then maybe he’d figure out what the hell he was supposed to do with himself.

But first he’d put on a damned shirt.

…

Riley took a deep breath and let it out slowly. And then she did it again. She’d stepped outside after her shower thinking to check the temperature to determine how cold she’d be with her shirt still damp at the seams after washing it in the sink last night. She hadn’t expected to see Sam standing out there, half naked, fairly magnificent, and petting a damned cat with more gentleness than those big hands should have been capable of. Now she was all flustered and flushed. And maybe some more F words.

So inappropriate.

She hurried to brush her teeth with her finger and some toothpaste she’d found in a drawer and ran her hands through her hair once more before checking that she’d left the room neat—bed made, towel hung, the T-shirt he’d loaned her folded on the bed. She hefted the metal pipe she’d carried from the bar, relishing the reassuring weight and what the cool smoothness represented. But Sam knew what she could do with it, and it seemed rude to bring an obvious weapon into the kitchen of a Good Samaritan. She’d take it with her, but leave it outside.