with a ruined carpet. Yes, Iona Whittaker could be cruel. People were.
Businesslike, she stacked emergency medical supplies on a tray. Splint, bandages, tape, medicine, syringe, needle, medication, prescription pad.
Downstairs, she injected Herman with a mild sedative, asked Tammy questions about school to divert the girl’s worries. Very gently, she bound the rabbit’s broken leg. Maggie settled Herman back into his cage. She inhaled the scent of fresh cedar shavings and gave the bunny a reassuring pat.
“Such a pretty chocolate color,” Maggie murmured.
Tammy brightened. “Herman’s like an Easter bunny.”
Easter bunny. Delicious, biting into a chocolate bunny.
Rabbit. Fresh. Tasty. Raw, bloodied meat. Dinner. Energy.
Shocked, she analyzed her thoughts. Where did that come from? One minute, daydreaming about a sugar rush, the next, salivating over meat.
“I’ll give you some pills.” She scribbled instructions on the pad. Herman. Injured rabbit. Sweet little rabbit.
Prey. Thrill of the kill, snapping bones, sinking fangs into fresh, delicious meat …
Maggie shoved aside the hungry thoughts. Giving Tammy instructions on how to administer the medication, she smiled.
“Herman has been well cared for. He has good muscle tone,” she noted, trying not to think of meat. Good meat, not tough, just right. Laced with tasty fat …
Maggie hastily stood, grabbed the cage. Sweat beaded on her brow. I’m going insane. First feeling images and pain, then hearing voices, and now, thinking of pet rabbits as dinner?
At the door, Maggie gently pushed aside
Tammy’s offering of crumbled dollar bills. “Instead of paying me, I need a favor. Herman looks a little cramped in his cage. I bet he’d love a nice, big yard. Why don’t you give him to Sally? You can visit him, and it will make your mother happy.” And keep that bitch from hurting him again.
Tammy’s lips curled up, then she glanced down at Herman. “All right, Dr. Sinclair. I guess it’s only fair to share him.”
“Yes, it is.”
Placing the cage on her little red wagon, Tammy turned. Her brow wrinkled. “Are you okay, Dr. Sinclair? You look funny.”
I bet. “I’m fine. Go home, call Sally.”
Maggie waved, closed the door then fled upstairs to grab sleep before she imagined anything else.
She fell asleep upstairs on her king-sized bed, dreaming of warm breath against the nape of her neck, hard muscles holding her fast.
White teeth erotically scraping her flesh, followed by a long, slow lick. Wetness pooled between her legs. She stirred. Maggie moaned as two large hands, dark hair dusting the backs, slid over her trembling thighs. Sliding them open. Dark eyes staring at wet female flesh.
You want my tongue. There.
Her vagina clenched, aching. Empty. Needing. Hot. Please.
What do you want?
You. Inside me. Please. Fill me. Forever.
I’ll give you everything you want. And more. My Maggie.
She jerked awake with a start, clutching the sheet. Sweat dampened her lace panties, the ribbed lilac sleep shirt. He had been inside her, again. Her dream lover.
His presence lingered, like the slow stroke of a man’s hand upon a woman’s naked skin. Tender as a lover’s caress, edged with desire. Demanding. Hot. Broad shoulders, hard muscles, crisp stubble abrading the soft skin of her throat as he kissed his way down her body.
Maggie stood on wobbly legs. She ran a hand through her curls. Two hours’ sleep gave no rest. She’d been tormented with edgy, erotic dreams, leaving her restless and yearning.
Late afternoon sun streamed through the sliding glass windows as she went downstairs. Maggie headed for the adjoining kitchen. Misha lay on the cool tile. With a false smile and a cheeriness she did not feel, she stooped down to pet her dog.
“Hey there, Misha, babe. Feel like eating a little dinner?”
A brown tail thumped madly against the floor. Hope rose, fed by desperation. From the fridge, Maggie fished out chicken livers. She cooked them over the electric range, chattering the whole time, filling empty space with words the dog did not understand, but were soothing.
Maggie set the dish on the floor. Misha sniffed, licked a piece. Hope rose. It sank as Misha walked away.
No appetite. Maggie, acquainted with the dying process, could not deny what her heart, and her mind, knew. Misha looked at her with mournful brown eyes as if to apologize. Maggie shoved the liver into the fridge.
She patted her friend’s head. “It’s okay, baby, I never did like liver, either. Yuck.”
The long brown tail thumped weakly against the tile. Misha reached up, licked her face.
Fighting tears, Maggie washed the few dishes in the sink. Routine dulled the raw pain in her chest, allowed her to pretend everything was normal.
The sun began setting, turning the brilliant blue sky to flame-red and orange. Maggie pulled open the large glass slider. Warm currents of air drifted inside, scented with brine. She stared at the expanse of white sugary sand stretching before her, the blue gulf beyond.
Laughter rippled from the Tiki Bar down the beach. Tourists and natives gathered there for traditional sunset drinks, and to watch the spectacular vista of sunset sinking into the water. Maggie disliked crowds and socializing, preferring to remain alone. Besides, she couldn’t afford to waste Misha’s remaining time.
Being alone didn’t bother her these past weeks. She needed privacy. Yet lately, when the night stole over the sky, and the moon rose high, she itched. To run wild and free.
She stared out onto the sugar sands in utter desolation. A raging restlessness seized her. This time of night seemed hers, the darkness falling, the wind blowing.
Palm tree fronds rustled in secret communication with each other. Raucous laughter from the Tiki Bar drifted over the sands. It sounded like fun. I’m so damn alone.
You are not alone.
Maggie whipped her head around. Wind tossed her hair as she searched into the gathering twilight. Nothing but wind and distant laughter. But someone was here.
“Get a grip, Mags,” she whispered. Too much time alone, then the erotic dream, stirred her imagination.
But she could smell him? Pine, earth, a woodsy pleasing scent tugged her in a nostalgic way.
I’m here, the same, deep voice assured in her mind. Quiet, nonthreatening. Maggie wrapped her arms about herself. Maybe I’m insane.
Only those of us craving
