Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
JAKE
The sun had been up for many hours when Jake finally arose the next day. For the first time in a long time, sleeping in didn’t feel like lethargy, or a desperate escape from the idea of life. Instead, he was simply exhausted from ocean sex with his tentacle lover.
Doren had worn him out, and he deserved the extra minutes of rest.
He floated, drifting in and out of a shallow sleep as the bright morning sun kept him from losing himself completely in slumber. He only came to when a horrific, inhuman yowl reached his ears. Any peace he had achieved shattered into a million pieces.
It was Miranda Priestly, that much was clear, but beyond that he was very confused.
Slapping the bed next to him, Jake found only empty sheets. Doren was gone. They’d probably gotten up early to start the coffee and breakfast as they often did.
“Begone, you foul thing, or I’ll put arsenic in your tuna!”
Well, that was definitely a man’s voice, rough and elderly, which meant there were people in the house that he didn’t know. He would have to save Doren and MP from whatever geriatric intrusion was happening on the first floor.
When he arrived at the top of the stairs, however, the tableau greeting him was a lot more serious than he’d expected. A wrinkled, silver-haired man in a deerstalker, pipe in his mouth as though he were doing Sherlock Holmes cosplay, was backed into a corner of the living room. In his hand was—
Shit, he was pointing a fucking gun at Miranda Priestly! Ornate and antique-looking, it may not have been used in half a century, but it was definitely a gun.
The cat, for her sake, appeared undaunted by the weapon, hissing and screaming at the old man. She arched her back as she eyed him, her claws digging into the hardwood floor.
But what worried Jake more than 100-year-old Sherlock was Doren.
They were plastered against the kitchen counter, their hands gripping it so hard their knuckles had turned white.
Dispersed throughout the rest of the first floor, staring intently at the old man and the cat, were three more elderly people, all women, one of whom was Dorothea.
Who was laughing.
Before Jake could demand explanations, Pipe Guy called out across the house to Doren in the kitchen.
“Call off your fiend, sea monster! We won’t allow you to sully the waters of Linwood Falls any longer!”
Jake reeled at the words. What the hell?! How had they found out what Doren was? They’d been careful. Well, mostly. Regardless, Doren had done nothing to warrant this.
He needed to intervene before it became more of an incident than it already was. Jake headed down the stairs, but before he could speak, Dorothea was chiding Sherlock.
“Be quiet, you old coot!” Her bent, arthritic finger pointed at the elderly man with the pipe. “Doren is a lovely person. We’re not here to attack anybody.”
For a second, the righteous indignation flickered away on the old man’s face, but as Miranda Priestly batted at him with her clawed paw, it came flaring back.
“The thing’s an abomination! We have to—”
“We’re not doing anything about anything. You will not say a word unless you want me to cut off your pie supply.” The other two elderly women glanced at each other, worry on their faces, as if Dorothea had suggested a devastating punishment.
“But Dot—”
“No!” Dorothea stalked over to him, her steps strong and even for someone in her golden years, and grabbed the gun out of Sherlock’s hand without a hint of fear in her eyes.
“I mean it, Horace,” she continued. “If you say anything else, I’ll never make you another pie. You can kiss your strawberry rhubarb addiction goodbye.”
The old man’s—Horace’s?—shoulders slumped as she reiterated her threat.
“Okay,” he mumbled. Dorothea reached down and scooped up Miranda Priestly, holding the cat up under her chin and speaking in a low, soothing tone.
“You did such a good job keeping your parents safe, didn’t you, sweetie?”
Although some of the anxiety dissipated in Jake, one look at Doren told him that his alien lover was freaking out. They eyed the door as if at any moment they might jump into the ocean, spending the next century in the depths where no one could reach them.
Jake scrambled down the steps, running to his lover’s side and embracing them, whispering in their ear. “I’m here, baby. None of these people can do anything to us.”
“That isn’t true.” Doren’s voice shook as they rebutted Jake’s calming words. “They can prevent me from ever coming back here.”
“We will do no such thing,” Dorothea said, causing Jake to turn his head and glare at her. She might have been a sweet old lady who brought him pie, but she was fucking with his love. His bondmate.
“Then why are you here threatening Doren with a gun? That’s not the sort of thing a harmless society of hobbyists does.” Jake swiveled his body so that Doren was behind him, protected by his mass. Four old townies wouldn’t take his love from him. Not a chance.
“That’s just old Horace,” Dorothea said, lowering Miranda Priestly to the floor. The cat sauntered by Horace, eyes locked on the old man.
“He hasn’t been himself for a few years now,” Dorothea continued, frowning. “Although I didn’t know he’d gotten his hands on a gun. Not that it looks like it’s been fired since the First World War.”
“Why should we trust you?” Jake asked. Doren’s arms tightened around his waist, and pride surged inside him.
For once, he was the one taking care of the problem.
Despite the dire state of affairs, Jake was excited to think that maybe they were an equal partnership, rather than the broken one and the fixer.
“Sweetheart, have I ever lied to you? Or failed to bring you the pie you needed? No. The society has good relationships with several cryptids. There’s a bigfoot family fifty miles west of here in the Maine woods we’ve been chatting with for almost thirty years now.”
“What?! Bigfoot?!”
Dorothea smiled, a fond look in her eyes. “Absolutely lovely people. Can’t get enough of pecan pie. It’s a bit sweet for me, but they love it.”
Doren slipped out from behind Jake, taking his hand and squeezing it as if they were trying to soak up some of their mate’s courage.
“So why have you come then?” they asked, looking from person to person with a challenge in their eyes.
Dorothea smiled and stepped toward Doren, grabbing their free hand. “We make it our policy to always have a chat whenever we’ve gotten true confirmation of a monster’s existence. So after last night…”
Jake made uneasy eye contact with Doren, whose face was a frozen mask.
“Um, what happened last night?” Jake asked with forced nonchalance.
One of the other old ladies, this one wearing a floppy straw hat and beige culottes, stepped forward and shrugged.
“I own a house a few doors down from here. I rent it out during the summer. We have a security camera pointing toward the water, and it just covers the area in front of your beach house. The two of you put on quite a show. So many tentacles.”
Doren turned a deep, intense red color, and from the warmth radiating from his face, Jake assumed he was doing the same.
“So you were…why did you…how can you film private property?” Jake had trouble catching his breath. The idea of an entire contingent of elderly voyeurs was a horrific thought.
“Well, darling, the sand right in front of the house might be your land, but down by the water it’s all public beach. I don’t have a moral issue with keeping watch on that.”
Doren’s whole body went rigid, and they squeezed Jake’s hand so hard he worried they’d break a bone. “Do you have the video in your possession?”
“Of course not. Unless I pull it out, it gets recorded over the next day. By midnight tonight, all traces of it will be gone. Promise.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed at her words. “Why are you being so accommodating?”
“Because, sweetheart,” the floppy-hat woman said, “you two are adorable. And we’re all big fans of love.”
In unison, the three elderly ladies added, “Except for Horace.”
Jake looked from person to person. Except for Horace, who glared at the two of them, kindness glowed from all their eyes. Jake had to trust that these weren’t evil people. Dorothea wouldn’t introduce them to someone who might be dangerous, would she?
“So,” Jake ventured, “what do we do now?”
Dorothea sauntered over to the kitchen island, reached into a large brown paper bag and brought out the most glorious-looking pastry creation Jake had ever seen.
“Now, we eat pie.”