1 Worst Date Ever

By the time Bethany knew something was wrong, she was shaking in fear. They had a dark and dangerous stalker. Something with sharp teeth and claws. Heart skipping, Bethany refused to succumb to the feeling of dread that ate at her stomach, causing bile to burn up her throat. She had an overblown imagination and a deep-rooted fear of intimacy. That's all this was.

She would not sabotage her fifth date with Nick Rawlings.

Nick held her suddenly sweaty hand as they walked the few blocks back to her apartment in East Austin, Texas. The nubs of his two partially amputated fingers pushed into her palm. Tonight was the night Nick would go from potential to actual boyfriend. She shivered even though the summer evening was hot.

"You liked the movie?" he asked, oblivious to the danger she sensed.

"Yeah, it was funny." She squeezed his hand to reassure him while forcing herself not to look over her shoulder.

Even though the movie was dumb, she knew he had chosen the campy film with her in mind. Guess he thought all girls preferred romantic comedies to science fiction, fantasy, or horror.

All he had to do was ask, she thought, but then felt bad for snarky thought. Nick was a good guy. Really. Her friends at Tom Foolery, the bar and grill she waitressed at, all said she'd lucked out with him, and she agreed…when she remembered to.

Bethany needed to remember to like him because ever since her grandmother, her last living relative, died last year, the one thing Bethany wanted above all else was a family. If she played her cards right, Nick could give her that.

He belonged to a large Catholic family. Had eleven brothers and sisters, and dozens of nieces and nephews. In fact, Bethany had met Nick through his sisters, Rachel, Rebecca, and Mary who attended the Green & Growing Gardeners Group that she went to once a month.

He wrapped an arm around her softly-rounded waist and pulled her against his slim runners' body, making her self-conscious about her less than athletic form. Smells of spicy meat and corn from the Santa Rita Shack wafted on the slight breeze.

Her stomach growled.

At his recommendation, she'd ordered a small spinach salad for dinner and hadn't touched his popcorn or candy at the movie. Instead, she sipped on a diet soda, hungry and bored out of her mind.

No, Nick hadn't said anything straight out about her size sixteen figure. In fact, she'd caught him more than once staring at her big breasts and booty, but from experience with other guys, she knew that it was only a matter of time before he began dropping hints that she could stand to lose a few pounds. Bethany had never dated a man who appreciated her plus-size curves.

A shadow shifted in her peripheral vision. Gasping, she jumped and jerked around. Large yellow eyes flashed at her from an alley across the street—inhuman but with human intelligence. In the next moment, the eyes disappeared. She shivered and pressed closer to Nick.

"What's wrong with you?" He sounded annoyed.

"No-nothing. Just thought I saw…"

He peered around her, looking up and down the street. "Probably a druggie or some wine-o." He snorted. "You need to move out of the God damned ghetto. Come on. We're almost to your building."

When they made it to her one-bedroom apartment, she fumbled for her Ouija board keychain, her hands still damp and shaky. The hall light nearest her door had burned out months ago. With a huff, Nick snatched her keys out of her hand. He unlocked and jerked open the dented front door.

She rushed inside and engaged the antique deadbolt and rusty door chain. with a sigh of relief and flipped on the overhead lights. Safe.

Nick turned off the lights again. "The dark's more romantic. Don't you think?"

She shivered as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. His tongue slid past her lips and probed her mouth. He tasted like candied popcorn.

She let him run the show, not even trying to take the initiative. Their last date, on Friday, had ended in disaster when, after eating her out, he'd asked her to go down on him. She'd struggled from beginning to end. It wasn't his length or width that had made the task difficult. He wasn't that long or thick, but he'd grabbed the back of her head while he thrust into her mouth, rough and fast with no consideration for her need to breathe. After he'd come on her face and hair, he'd patted her sticky cheek and said, "Don't worry, Babe. We'll work on your technique."

Pulling her back to the present, Nick cupped her breasts and turned her around to face the long, narrow hallway table. Even in the semi-dark, she noticed that her drooping peace lily, sitting in the middle of the dumpster-saved table, looked anything but peaceful. She needed to make room between all her other green babies near the balcony window so the lily would receive more sunlight.

"Bend over and spread your legs." He didn't wait for her to comply, knocking her legs open with his patent leather loafers and pushing her down over the table with his three-fingered hand on the middle of her back as if he were a cop instead of a mechanical engineer.

Trying her best to get in the mood, Bethany closed her eyes and pictured him standing behind her, his pants tented, intentionally drawing out the tension to make her hot. Too bad she was more lukewarm than hot. She wanted to be going up in flames, but…oh, hell, something was definitely wrong with her. She liked this sexual position, liked that he couldn't wait to get to the bedroom to jump her bones. And Nick was good-looking in a nerdy, professional sort of way, nice, if oblivious, financially stable and friendly, without a violent bone in his body. So why did she feel like she was with her gynecologist instead of her boyfriend?

The smell of latex. Then, Nick flipped up her brown tie-dye bohemian skirt, pulled her panties to the side, and thrust into her. She clutched at the edge of the table, groaning at the bite of pleasure with the lick of pain his quick plunge produced. She wished he'd done a little more foreplay, made her wet first, but she enjoyed hard and fast, too. She just needed to stop overthinking it and get into the moment. She wanted this. Wanted him. Or at least she wanted to want him.

She groaned again, thankful that he'd at least had the foresight to use a lubricated condom. He clutched her hips and pumped into her. Four, five times. He tensed behind her as he filled the condom but left her empty, wanting. He wouldn't leave her hanging, though. No way. As soon as he recovered, he'd take care of her. She knew from their last date that his tongue, at least, could work magic.

A crash of breaking glass sounded from her bedroom. Then silence. Still bent over the table, she felt trapped. Her heart pulsed in her ears. Nick pulled away, giving her room to stand. The buzz of him zipping his pants sounded overly loud in the sudden silence.

"Lights," Bethany whispered, adjusting her panties and jerking down her skirt. "Hit the lights."

Nick stood motionless. She tried to reach around him to flip the light switch, but he shoved her. Hard.

She slammed against the wall, knocking down a picture of a field of poppies. The glass picture frame hit the floor and shattered. Something huge and furry tackled Nick, slamming him to the ground. Unable to breathe, let alone scream for help, Bethany hit the lights, grabbed her purse and dumped the contents on the hall table. At least her hands still worked.

Phone. Phone. Where's my phone?

Found. She unlocked her phone and dialed nine-one-one. A low rumble shook her body. She slowly turned as if in a waking nightmare. No. Bethany shook her head in denial. The lion—no way, there couldn't be a lion in her apartment—twisted like a contortionist and raised his big, triangular head to growl at her. His long canines dripped blood.

Bethany's hand seized. She dropped her phone and ran. She made it to her bedroom. Slammed the door. Caught the lock. Stepping away from the door, she scanned the room. Shattered glass littered the row of orchid and jade plants beneath her broken window. She winced at the damage done to her green babies. A shadow fell over her plants as another lion filled the windowsill. Unblinking, she stared. Light filtered through his shaggy mane, giving his monstrous head a halo effect. She backed up against the door, reached behind her to grasp the knob, unlocked and twisted it open while her breaths came in frantic pants.

God, please, let this be a nightmare. A psychotic break. Schizophrenia. Something. Anything except reality.

The lion pressed his gigantic paws on the windowsill. Inch by inch, Bethany scooted to the side of the door, tugging at it. Inside her head, she was shrieking like a banshee, but no sound escaped her numb lips.

The door slammed open, jerking the knob out of her hand, knocking her forward and spilling her to the glass-littered floor. Glass cut into her hands, arms, and legs. Slick with blood, she trembled on her hands and knees as the first lion circled around to her back and stood over her. His hot blood-scented breath burned through her long hair to scorch the back of her neck and stab terror down her spine.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shrank beneath him, stilling like a mouse cornered by a cat. Her muscles bunched, her breath came in wheezing little pants. The lion snuffled her hair aside and wrapped her neck with his sharp canines. His teeth sank in and punctured her skin, spilling even more of her blood on the already crimson-stained floor. She shuddered, crying out. A deep, bruising pain strangled her until black spots ballooned before her eyes.