FEVERCHAIN 3

Lesbian werewolves, et cetera. FEVERCHAIN is a contemporary horror-romance serial set in the fictional Pinetown, New Jersey.

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Emily S Hurricane gives her wonderful narration yet again. Prepare yourself accordingly… 🔥

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That evening I walk Smokey in our sparse neighborhood. He’s pissing on the neighbor’s bushes when he lowers his leg and bolts to me, body tense, nose pointing at the woods across the street.

“Shit,” I whisper. Wind whistles. Leaves crunch. Louder.

Smokey loses it. Starts barking, swinging his head as he hollers, eyes flashing light from the streetlamp. It’s past five, nearly dark. I start towards my house, slowly.

Smokey wrenches away from me, jaws snapping, circling and wrapping me up in his leash. “Smokey, stop it!” I fumble with his tether, my feet stumbling over each other.

I glance at the woods, breathing hard. Smokey whines into a howl. My neighbor down the street turns his light on. He better come out if I start screaming. He better have a rifle.

“GO AWAY!” I shout at the pines, straightening to my full 5’2 height. If I run, it’ll trigger predator mode. If coyotes are like bears. I try to untangle myself, but the leash is caught under Smokey’s legs.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. The footsteps sound intentional. From something sentient.

Smokey’s ears pin back, his tail tucks. Out of the forest, a figure emerges, lopes into the sidewalk, and waves.

“Hi.”

It’s Gwen in a dark hoodie and jean jacket, carrying a handful of twigs. This does nothing to slow my heartbeat.

“Oh my god,” I squeak. “I thought you were a coyote!”

Smokey snarls at Gwen as if she’s the devil. He’s not aggressive at all, I swear he hardly rips into his stuffed toys… “I’m so sorry, he’s—he’s usually not like this.” Not with strangers, other dogs, anything.

Gwen takes a couple steps towards us, and Smokey yowls in distress. I bend to untangle the leash from his legs while he whines. Once freed, he drags me away. “Oh my god!”

Gwen halts in the street and raises her hands. “Guess he doesn’t like me.”

“Seriously, I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” Smokey rises on his hind legs and twists, nearly ripping my arm off. “Jesus!” I wipe the hair from my face. “Um, anyway, how are you?”

“Fine—are you okay?”

Smokey forces me forward. “Yeah! All good.”

“I was just gathering some sticks when I saw you—I have a little fire going.” Gwen points her thumb over her shoulder. “If you want to drop him off and join.”

It’s too much; I’m not processing. ‘Little fire going?’ Where? What are we talking about, arson?

“Do you smoke weed?” she asks.

Nope. Makes me anxious and gives me auditory hallucinations. “Um, once in a blue moon.” Smokey whines like wheels on a train track, pulling me home. “I’ll-I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” She smiles. Holy shit. Holy shit. I’m gonna throw up. I do an awkward stagger-sprint home, Smokey pulling me like it’s the fucking Iditarod. When we get inside and I let him off his leash, I see mom and Clyde are making out with Criminal Minds in the background. Bile rises in my throat, I swallow hard. Grab a glass of water, chug, slosh some in my mouth. I follow Smokey to my room and find him curled under the bed, glaring at me with judgmental eyes. “You ok? You rabid?” I present him with my water cup. He doesn’t recoil, just winks one eye at me. “You ok now? Jesus.” I grab my beanie off the floor, check myself in the mirror, put on chapstick and keep it in my cardigan pouch. Sniff my armpits—not bad. On the way out, I steal Clyde’s coat because I know he has hand heaters in his pockets.

“Bun,” my mom croaks, hair disheveled against the television’s glow. “Where are you going?”

I huff. “A fire.” I don’t know.

“Where? With who? We haven’t even ordered dinner yet.”

“None of your business.”

“Wade?”

“Sure.” I shut the door, lock it. Run back to Gwen under a pink, darkening sky. I’m relieved she’s still there, one hand in her nylon pocket.

As I approach, she radiates warmth. “How’s your dog?”

“Under my bed, sleeping.” I try to slow my breathing, but it’s impossible. “He’ll be fine. Where are we doing this?”

“Just down this trail.” She turns. Such round, perky asscheeks. “It’s a little overgrown.”

I follow, try to act normal, relax, hesitating only when we step off the manicured grass and under the trees. Gwen clicks on a flashlight.

“Have you heard about the coyotes?” I ask.

“What about them?”

“A professor from UPenn is here, saying our coyotes are aggressive. He came into the diner today.” I squeeze my hand heaters. I’m talking too fast. “There was an attack at the petting zoo a couple of weeks ago in broad daylight. People had to shoot at them to get them to leave. They got Ms. Pileggi’s dog too.”

“Geez. Poor Peanut.” Gwen glances at me. “Aren’t coyotes afraid of people?”

“Supposed to be. That’s why they’re studying it, ‘cause it’s weird.”

“Huh. I’m outside all the time hiking, and I haven’t seen any.”

“They probably want our pets more than us. It’s not like they’ve attacked people.”

“Enough of them can take down a buck, though. If they work together.”

I survey the woods. “Teamwork. Yay…”

Gwen laughs. Wish I could record it. “Nothing will happen to you.” She pats my back. “Promise.”

I hold her gaze to show I’m not a little bitch.

Campfire smoke wafts in the breeze, it can’t be far. Does she know I live here? Is that why she set a fire so close by? I’m into it. Too into it.

There’s a low pile of embers surrounded by rocks, with a blanket and backpack beside it.

Gwen clicks off her flashlight and turns on a lamp attached to her pack before tending the fire, snapping twigs.

I shift my weight, unsure about how I should sit. The blanket is pretty small. “Do you… come here often?” I internally cringe at the line’s delivery.

“To this spot exactly? No, first time. But I’ve gone into the pines pretty much every day since I got back.” She blows on the baby flames. “I was in the Northwest before this. Oregon. It was so vast. So much bigger than everything here.” She smiles at me. She smiles a lot—it’s nice. “Have you been out there?”

“No.” The fire shoots sparks above Gwen. “Seems pretty, though.”

“It is, it really is.” She leans back, resting on the heels of her hands. “I’ll go back one day. Wish I could now.” She runs a hand over her hair, pulling at the roots so hard her eyelids lift. “My family—they won’t let me. Not until my health improves. They mean well, but can be so stifling.” She speaks the last word through her teeth. Her intensity surprises me, but her vulnerability is encouraging.

“I get that.”

“Like, I moved across the country for a reason.” Gwen sighs. “Sorry. Oversharing.”

She rubs the spot beside her, and even in the shadows, I can’t believe how beautiful her face is, jaw, nose, temple. Licks of dark gold hair and lashes. Lightheaded, I join her, strangling my hand heaters.

“Are you cold?”

“Not anymore.” I sound possessed.

“Good.” Gwen rummages in her backpack. “I have some weed.”

“Think it’ll make me anxious?”

She pauses her search to look at me. “Do you think it will?”

I close my eyes and nod.

“Alright.” She refocuses on her backpack. Pulls out a bag of jumbo marshmallows. “What about these bad boys?”

“I think I can handle two of those.”

We roast them, inching closer. Gwen’s the set-her-marshmallow-on-fire type, and I’m spinning mine like a rotisserie chicken. When she tries to take hers from the skewer its charred skin rips off all at once, leaving behind a white blob. “Every time.” She flicks the skin into the fire and sticks the mallow into her mouth. “I never learn.” Watching her suck the melted sweetness from her fingers simmers my insides. It’s obscene. But I’m here. And she wants me to see it. Eventually, she cleans her hands with a baby wipe and hands me one. So prepared.

“I’m kinda embarrassed,” she says, brows broody.

“W-why?” I mumble between chews.

“I should’ve—I should’ve just given you my number myself. I was going to. I was heading to Panco’s Diner but Wade beat me to it.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. Even under my layers, I feel its warmth. “I want you to know, that was my intention. I’m not trying to cover my ass. He pissed me off when he did that.”

“Oh, no, it’s not a big deal…”

She lowers her hand to talk with it. “It was my idea to reach out to you. I wanted to talk to you. You always seemed cool, and I knew you were still around.”

“Oh.” My face burns. My throat closes up.

Gwen leans away to place another log in the flames. Say something say something say something, my heart pounds into my ears.

“You’re so hot.”

Not that. Fucking idiot.

Gwen jolts, eyes glittering. She fills the space between us. “Yeah?” Her breath stings of mint. Damn, she thought this might happen.

I nod, mouth ajar.

“Bianca,” her arms envelop me; I gasp, “I had a big crush on you.”

My butthole clenches. I stop breathing. Can’t.

She leans to kiss my neck, lips soft, tongue scalding. “Did you know that?” Her voice prickles my skin: “It started when I saw you at the pool with my brother.”

“Oh, god…” My entire being shivers. She’s trying to kill me.

“Oh, yes. Leopard print bikini.” Her hands cradle my head and back. She plants her lips behind my ear, breathes into my hair. I go limp.

“Mmmm,” Gwen hums, inhales deeper. “What is that?”

“Hm?”

“Your hair, smells so good.” She kisses it, again and again.

“Just shampoo,” I gulp. Thank god I showered right after work.

Gwen groans, laying me flat on the blanket. She shifts on top of me, looking dazed. Confused?

“Touchme,” I affirm. Gwen’s hands splay over my breasts and smush. She exhales audibly, dips to kiss me. My eyes roll back as her chest and hips press against mine, my body rippling water. I rake my fingers through her feathery hair, pushing her tongue deeper into my mouth. Gwen rumbles, tracing her heated fingers down the side of my face—water pools in my eyes. Her grip on my thigh ascends.

A thumb presses between my legs, licks, my hips chase it. Her fingers tease me until I gush. When it flows through my fleece pants, she beams. My gaze finds the sliver of moon over the branches and it almost wakes me from this dream, reminding me we are in the woods, that she hardly knows me and I am in this body. Gwen sticks two fingers in her mouth, her breath rough, lashes fluttering. Good god. Her hand digs into my pants, she slips inside, her arm and fingers eagerly pushing me to intuition. A ragged moan escapes my lips and her warm torso returns to me, breasts over breasts. Her tongue follows along my throat. I’m anything but cold, arching into her until bleary bliss.

“Gwen,” I choke out.

She glides from me to sit upright.

I squeeze her arm. So toned, wow.

In the fading firelight she cleans her hand with her mouth, watching me watch her. She lies beside me, pupils wide. My musk on her lips. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

I almost die.

Will it be worth my mom asking two-thousand and one questions in the morning and Clyde making a weird comment? “Yes. My mom and her boyfriend are probably sleeping on the couch with the TV on. I’ll go in before you and put Smokey in their room.”

“I’ll be quiet.” Her stomach growls.

I laugh. “There should be leftovers in the fridge.” I can’t wait to share my bed with her—just the idea of it, god. I’m grinning like a weirdo, so hard my cheeks hurt. My room’s a mess, covered in dog hair, but fuck it. I can distract her from that.

Gwen packs up and stamps out the fire while I shake out the blanket. We giggle through the forest arm and arm, I feel like I’m floating, actually believe it and we almost fall down the slope to the street, but Gwen freezes midway.

Ahead I see a silver sedan running, lights making the exhaust glow red.

“No,” she whispers.

“Who is that?” The car looks vaguely familiar. There’s a red Matador sticker by the fuel tank port.

The window rolls down. “Gwen! Honey! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Gwen stiffens and stares, jaw set. I slide my arm out from hers.

Mrs. Dyer exits the car, keys jangling in her hand as she jogs to us wearing leggings, suede boots, and a puffer jacket, her face glossy, thin brows stitched in concern. “Bianca. I’m so sorry, I’ve been worried about Gwen all night. She hasn’t responded to my texts or calls.”

“My phone died,” Gwen gruffs. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s the middle of winter. You can’t be outside so late in your condition.” She touches her daughter’s forehead. “You’re feverish.”

“I’m fine.” Gwen flinches away. “We were just going inside.” She looks at me, eyes pleading for something. My heart is ramming against my ribcage, and Mrs. Dyer’s mascaraed eyes look huge and demonic. How long had she been there? Had she seen us? Heard us? How did she know where we were?

Mrs. Dyer backs up a step. “Okay honey. Want me to give you a ride home?”

“No.” Gwen turns sharply, taking me with her. “Goodnight.”

“Okay. Goodnight, girls,” Mrs. Dyer says, forcing brightness into her tone. “Remember to charge your phone, Gwen. Text me if you’re feeling unwell.”

Gwen doesn’t respond, face scarlet. I don’t know what to say. Without her pressed against my side, it’s cold.

I glance back at Mrs. Dyer’s car. Behind the wheel she isn’t watching us, phone lighting up her face—expressionless from here.

When we finally get inside, Gwen starts to apologize over television screams. Before I can react, there’s scrabbling on the tile, a gray-black blur. Gwen gasps—staggers outside—I slam the door. Smokey jumps on my back and howls. Ow! His nails. I push him from me and he growls at the door, fangs menacing. Like he wants to hurt her. Fuck, maybe he does. If she hadn’t gone back outside, if I hadn’t slammed the door…

Clyde rises sleepily from the couch.

“Grab him!” I plead.

Mom hollers something unintelligible from her bedroom.

“What the hell?” Clyde grabs Smokey and flips him to hold like a baby. He squirms, whines, kicks his paws. “What’s his problem?” Clyde scowls at me like it’s my fault.

“I don’t know! I’ll take—I’ll take him to the vet. Just wait a sec.” But when I open the door, no one is there. All I see is Mrs. Dyer’s car down the road with its turn signal on, rolling left and disappearing. Wind cuts across the lawn and chills my bones. “Gwen?” I notice her backpack—a black lump in the street.