A Novel Idea

The basic idea was a short about a blind date between two supernaturals. Some obvious questions go unanswered do to the word limit. But you love me anyway. (And maybe it actually will be, eventually, reworked to be the first chapter of a novel. You know you just can't get enough of that "paranormal romance" sub-genre.)



Rachel
My brothers were being hunted and I was going on a blind date.

The whole situation was ridiculous. It was nuts that I had been sucked into a world were people were hunted down, crazy that I had stayed in town instead of running for my life, and far beyond insane that I had allowed an old friend to talk me into getting dressed up to meet some guy on Valentine’s Day.

I’d kept telling myself how stupid it all was the entire time that I got ready, and during the drive, and then, finally sitting alone at a table, waiting. It was a good thing I looked good—dark hair tumbling over my shoulders in soft curls, contrasting the sky blue sweater on one side, and compliment chocolate brown skin on the other where the sweater hung fashionably off the shoulder—because I felt pathetic.

This, I’d decided, was entirely Jason’s fault. He’d convinced me not to run. He was the one who talked me into going out tonight. For what? So I could sit among tables of love birds trying hard not to drain the blood from the poor fool that got stuck with me?

I was just about to leave when I saw the hostess point me out to a tall, handsome young man. My hormones kept me rooted in place as he made his way over with carelessly seductive grace. It wasn’t until he stopped behind his chair and smiled that I realized that I knew him. Those green eyes and dimples belonged to someone that I had fallen in love with long before I was old enough to understand what that meant.

* * *

Patrick
Damn, she’s hot!

I’d been uneasy all day—sort of feeling like someone was walking on my grave. There had been times when I’d swear someone was watching me, only to turn and see no one there. The crowds I searched contained random, anonymous people. No particular scent had crossed my nose twice.

Still, I felt hunted, and I didn’t like that one bit. I was the hunter. And I didn’t need to be fixed up on a date. But all that flew out of my head when I saw her. I didn’t care that she was black or that, if she went to this kind of restaurant all the time, she was too high maintenance for me—or at least for my bank account.

I just wanted her.

“Rachel, right?” I was never too good at pick up lines. If I wasn’t careful, I stuttered, which would have been far lamer than my greeting. That didn’t seem to be a problem, though. That gorgeous face was all bright, welcoming smiles.

“Patrick?” There was surprise in that one word. I almost thought I heard recognition as well, but if I had ever met this woman, I’d have remembered.

“Guilty as charged,” I said, taking my seat. “Nice to meet you.”

I was pretty sure that if I didn’t start coming up with better lines, the light in her eyes would dim and she’d grow bored with me. She didn’t, though. I didn’t get any smoother, but she never seemed to lose interest. And she talked; she didn’t just try to get information out of me and pretend to care. She ate like a person, not like some chicks do, faking that they’re full after two bites of a salad.

By the time we started debating on whether either of us had enough room left for desert, I joked with myself that if she liked hockey, I was going to ask her to marry me on the spot.

A little voice in the back of my head told me she was too good to be true. Since that voice couldn’t give me anything more concrete than that, I told it to shut the hell up.

* * *


Rachel
When I was twelve years old, I was too tall, and too chubby, and too…me. Kids around me were splitting off into groups, finding out where they belonged. I was stubbornly an outsider, unwilling to change to fit into any click, not quite geeky enough to even be a nerd. But I’d talk to anyone who talked to me.

And I fell completely in love with Patrick Joseph Reilly. He was almost an outsider himself, so shy that people thought he was stuck up. Boys were jealous because the girls watched him with dreamy eyes. Girls got pissy because he wouldn’t talk to them. I think he only talked to me because it was the only way to get me to shut up in study hall. I found that behind his adorable face was a sweet boy with a difficult stutter that made him prefer to keep quiet.

He was a smart boy, too. Sooner or later, he caught on to my devotion and convinced me to do his Latin homework. If I had mistaken that for friendship back then, it might have hurt that he didn’t recognize me now. But I had always known the he was using me, and I used it to keep him talking to me.

Eighteen years later, I was no longer too chubby and he seemed to enjoy my company as much as I enjoyed his. It sucked that it was all going to have to end again.

As we stepped out into the cold February night, the wind cleared away all the smells of food, perfume, and cologne that had hidden his scent from me inside. Somehow, the sweet boy I had known had grown into a predator. Being prey was high on my list of things to avoid.

“Right about now,” he said, “is when I’m supposed to tell you that I had a really good time and ask for your phone number. Then we’re supposed to go our separate ways. I’m supposed to hold on to your number for a few days so you don’t think I’m too eager. Then, you have to decide if you enjoyed yourself enough to see me again, or if I’m too much of a jerk for taking so long to call. Can we skip that?”

I laughed, taken off guard. “What should we do instead?”

“You should let me buy you coffee. Or if you don’t like coffee, we should take a long walk in the cold until you want coffee. We should do anything but business as usual.”

Common sense told me to leave. The look in his eyes kept me there, and maybe, too, the echo of the girl I had been. I’d have to put an end to this eventually, but tonight…

“Tonight, we can do whatever you want.”

He waggled his brows suggestively, making me laugh, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I liked the feel of him against me as he guided me down the street. I didn’t want to think of what would happen after he found out what I was, so I pretended that there was nothing but that moment.

Pretty stupid.

I saw the figure push off the wall a few buildings away and slowed down, giving up the fantasy. “Wolf or coyote?”

“What?”

“You need to run. You need to break right or left, because the way behind us will be barred. But before you go, I want to know what you are.”

He stopped moving, and glanced ahead, then looked me in the eye. “Wolf. And you’re...not. I should have known when I couldn’t quite scent you, but…”

“If you were coyote, they probably would have hurt you. Being wolf means won’t stop at that. Run!”

“And what are they going to do to you when they realize you tipped me off?”

The look in my eyes was answer enough. “Left,” he said, and pulled me that way. I didn’t have to look to know that the others were giving chase. If we survived the night, it would be the beginning of a dangerous relationship.