Category: Fiction

Hubris

AmyLeave a comment

He swiped his tongue across his lips. Gathering every tiny morsel that lingered there. Every droplet. Relishing the sweetness. Sticky and exquisite.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and studied the scarlet smear left behind. How he loved the colour. Its deep intensity. The rich redness. He licked at the stain on his skin and breathed out a satisfied sigh.

Another victim was placed before him.

This one was paler than the last. But still beautiful.

His jaws opened wide, and he sunk his teeth in.

Warmth exploded in his mouth, and he smiled as a trickle of thick liquid dribbled down his chin and splashed onto the ground. A vibrant ruby dot on the grey concrete.

How long had he been living for this? This ecstasy. Had it been ten years? Twelve?

No, more.

Fifteen, at least. Yet the rush never left him. The euphoria of the conquest.

He reflected on his first time.

He had done it for her. He would have done anything for her. Anything she asked. He thought he loved her. That he needed nothing else. Until he committed to his first bite. Until he tasted that first triumph.

On that day he was changed forever.

And now he was the master. The king.

He closed his eyes, gloating at his power, and sunk his fingers into the ragged hole left by his teeth, desperate to feel the viscid of what lay inside—scoop it out and lick his fingers clean.

A gasp filled the auditorium.

His eyes snapped open, and he looked around at the sea of stunned faces.

What had he done?

As he stared at his hand, buried in the pastry with thick red goo oozing between his knuckles, the PA system crackled to life.

“Ladies and gentlemen. We have a shock disqualification. Under the rules of the international pie eating association, competitors must only touch the pie with their mouths. Which means, after a nine-year run, we have a new world champion.”

The press jumped to their feet and a mass of flashlights exploded.

Billy blinked, trying to clear the black spots from in front of his eyes. He turned towards his competitor—his fingers still buried in the crust and cherry filling.

The other man’s jaw was hanging—his own hands behind his back and food smeared across his face. “Dude,” was all the man could say.

Heat rushed Billy’s cheeks as he pulled his hand from the crumbling pie.

He had lost.

Six pies in and he forgot where he was, he forgot what he was doing, he let his mind wander and his concentration slip, and he lost.

He thought he was unbeatable. But he lost.

In one swift movement, he flipped the table over.

Jeers filled the room as empty pie tins tumbled and crashed to the floor—crumbs and jam splashing into the laps of the judges in the front row.

Billy stood, his chest rising and falling with deep, panicked breaths as the audience looked at him with wide, judgemental eyes.

He was no longer world champion.

He was no longer the master.

He was no longer king.

He had lost – and now he was nothing.

Again.

© Amy Hutton 2021

False Alarm

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The alarm sounded – an urgent, metallic voice crying “emergency” between shrieking beeps.

Lauren’s heart raced as she saved her work, slipped a folded piece of paper into her pocket, grabbed her security pass and phone, and rushed to the exit.

“These damn alarms,” her co-worker said, as they hustled down the fire stairs with the rest of level three. “Probably just some idiot burning their toast.”

“One day it might be real,” Lauren said as they burst into the sunshine.

“Everyone by the fence,” the fire warden bellowed. “You know the drill.”

Lauren shuffled away from the grumbling crowd and towards a large gumtree at the edge of the mustering area.

When she heard the siren approaching, she bit her lip.

***

She’d been reading a book in the park when he’d dropped onto the grass beside her.

She’d looked at him, trying not to gape. He was handsome – the kind of handsome you see in the movies – and tall, she could tell by the way his legs stretched so far beyond hers.

“You work in the Hutchings building, right?” he’d said. “I’ve seen you in the muster area when we’ve responded to the alarm.”

“You’re a firefighter?”

He’d waved his hands down his uniform. “It’s the outfit that gives it away, isn’t it?”

She’d cringed.

“Just teasing.” He’d elbowed her gently. “I’m Billy – and I know this sounds creepy but – I’ve always noticed you – under the tree, away from the crowd.”

“That would be me. Lauren. Our alarm goes off a lot.”

“At least you know it works.”

“I guess.”

He’d closed his eyes and tilted his face towards the sun.

She’d taken the opportunity to allow her gaze to drift over his profile, admiring his long black lashes and full mouth.

“Lauren,” he’d said, suddenly opening his eyes and turning towards her.

She’d quickly looked away – heat flooding her cheeks.

“Would it be okay if I – um – got your number? I’d like to ask you out. For a coffee. If you’re interested?”

She’d blinked. Hell-yeah, she was interested. “Sure,” she’d said, and hoped he hadn’t noticed the awkward squeak in her voice.

“Great.” He’d handed her his phone. “Pop your number in and I’ll text you.”

As she was putting her name in his contacts, a voice from across the road called, “Billy. We’re up.”

He’d leapt to his feet and flashed her a dazzling smile. “Gotta go,” he’d said, shoving his phone in his pocket. Then he’d dashed across the road and onto the fire truck, turning and waving as he disappeared inside.

That’s when her heart sank. She’d made a horrible mistake.

***

Lauren took a deep breath as Billy and his team exited the building and spoke to the fire warden.

“Another false alarm everyone,” the man said to a resounding groan.

She swallowed hard, waiting until she caught Billy’s eye. When he finally looked her direction, she gestured him over.

He seemed to hesitate before walking towards her.

“I gave you my old number,” she blurted as soon as he was in ear reach.

He threw his head back with a laugh. “Phew. That’s a relief. I thought you gave me the brush off.”

“No. God no. I changed numbers and I keep forgetting.”

He smiled. “Well then, I better get your new one.”

She took a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to him.

***

Lauren dropped into her chair – a wide grin plastered across her face.

It hadn’t taken much to set off the alarm. She’d just popped some bread into the toaster, shifted the machine a little to the left, put it on high, and walked away.

She chuckled to herself, as she logged back into her computer.

When her phone dinged, her heart leapt.

She opened the message and saw a tiny firefighter emoji.

Then a second message popped up.

“P.S. Next time you don’t need to burn your toast – just call me 😉”

© Amy Hutton 2021

Shifting

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It always took time for David to get used to being in a house. After weeks of sleeping outdoors, curled under a tree, or dug into a den, the softness of a bed was strange and uncomfortable. The sound of traffic was deafening and the street lights unbearably bright. But the warmth of the body nestled beside him certainly made the experience more palatable.

He knew he shouldn’t be there, naked and pressed up against Jaida. It was stupid. It was beyond stupid. It was colossally stupid.

He shifted on his pillow and recklessly rubbed his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deep into his senses. He could pick out her shampoo, her perfume, her soap. There was a hint of the bar’s aroma from earlier that evening, a little trace of oregano from the pizza she had eaten, and his own musk. The one that set him apart. The one his pack followed.

“It’ll just be for the night,” he thought. Then he’d leave. Just one night.

***

From the moment she’d caught his eye across the room, he’d been fascinated. Something about Jaida captivated him in a way no human woman ever had. He was instantly drawn to her. He had to speak to her. Touch her. Breathe her in.

When she went to the restroom, he had followed her. Not thinking what that would look like. He wasn’t up on dating etiquette.

He’d terrified her as it turned out. At six-foot-four, he towered over her petite frame. He’d apologised. Excused himself. But when he spied her still watching him from her seat at the bar, he made his move. If he’d been in his other form, he would have pounced.

***

He froze, holding his body rigid as Jaida shifted beside him. She stretched out her toes from under the sheets, making tiny mewing noises as she shuffled closer. Her leg wrapping over his. Her hand on his belly. Her soft cheek resting on his shoulder as she drifted back to sleep.

***

He should have left the moment she told him what she did. He should have got up and walked away. She was an animal behaviourist, who had just moved to the tiny Oregon town to study a new grey wolf pack that had been seen in the area.

His pack.

He was their alpha.

When the moon was waning, he became a man.

But the moon would be full again in a week. Then he would change.

He shook his head and whispered. “Dumb, dumb, dumb.”

It was the kiss that had caused this monumental blunder. The one in the alley beside the bar. With her legs wrapped around his waist and her tongue in his mouth. That sealed his fate. Until then, it had just been a drink and some flirting. After that, it was so much more.

He had pushed her up against the wall and growled in her ear. A real growl. The one he would use in his other form. He’d felt her quiver below him at the sound, and he knew in that moment he was toast. He wanted her. He needed her. Fuck the consequences.

“Just two nights,” he thought. Then he’d leave. Two nights. Three tops.

***

The dawn light peaked under the curtains. He hadn’t slept. He usually didn’t sleep at night. That was when he hunted.

Jaida shifted, her hand drifting down his torso, skimming the bones of his hips.

He puffed out an embarrassingly shaky breath.

“Morning,” she said.

He turned towards her and without speaking, pressed his lips to hers.

He had a week. He could stay a week. Then, he’d leave.

©Amy Hutton 2021

Perspective

AmyLeave a comment

My hair was dripping. Droplets trickled off my fringe into my eyes. My sweater hung sodden and heavy on my shoulders. My jeans swished, and my socks squelched.

I trudged miserably along the country road, swearing at myself for not bringing a raincoat, or a brolly, or a damn plastic bag. Anything to fend off this downpour.

I saw him in the distance, sitting on a fence under a tree, a dog by his feet.

“Nice day for it,” he said, as I drew closer.

“For what?” I thought. “Drowning?” But I laughed politely and said, “If you’re a duck.”

A smile spread across his face. “Not even ducks would go out in this shit.” He pushed a sopping curl from his eyes and peered up at the heavy sky. “It’s a little better under here, if you want to wait it out with us?” He dipped his head towards the yellow lab leaning against his leg, looking wretched.

I nodded and watched as he shuffled out of the tree’s protection and patted the wooden railing beside him.

“Now you’re in the rain,” I said, as I clambered onto the fence.

“I don’t mind. Besides, my mum would kill me if I made you sit out in this deluge, while I was getting somewhat less wet.”

“Well, thank you. This storm came out of nowhere, huh?” I felt like an idiot. Who goes for a walk, in weather like this? I tucked a bedraggled strand of hair behind my ear and gazed up at the branches offering me their meagre protection. “Apples,” I said, spying the red fruit for the first time.

He jumped down from the fence, his feet landing in a puddle and spraying mud up his jeans. He grinned. Wide and toothy and dazzling. “Whoops.”

Leaping into the air, he snatched an apple from a branch. The bough flicked back and sprayed us with more water.

We both screamed. Then laughed.

“Sorry about that. Like we needed to be more wet.” He rubbed the red fruit on his soaked t-shirt and handed it to me with a bow of his head. “For you, Milady.”

He blessed me with another stunning smile as I took the apple, then pushed himself back up onto the fence.

“My mum planted this tree,” he said. “This is where she met my dad. On this very spot. On a day like today. Apples were his favourite. He died a couple of years ago.” He gazed at the dog by his feet, reached his hand down and scratched the pup’s ears. “She died yesterday. My mum.”

I drew in a sharp breath. “Oh gosh. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “Thanks. You’re the first person I’ve said that to. “She died. My mum died. It sounds so weird.”

We sat wordlessly for a time, as the patter of raindrops on the leaves above us filled the silence. Two strangers side by side but a million miles apart.

On another day, we might have exchanged names. We might have gone for a coffee. We might have become friends, or maybe something more.

But he was at the beginning of a storm that raged beyond the one churning in the skies above us. A torrential, lashing, sunless storm.

He breathed out a weighty sigh and dropped onto the road. “Anyway, I guess I should go, I’ve got a bit to organise. Thanks for sitting with me. Enjoy the apple and your soggy stroll.”

I watched as he jogged away with his dog by his side.

I looked up at the gloomy clouds that hung dark and pendulous above me, closed my eyes and let the rain pour down over my face. Then I wandered back towards the village, no longer bothered about being soaked. If getting rained on was the worst thing that happened to me today, I was lucky.

©Amy Hutton 2021

The Birthday Surprise – A Holly and Callum Short.

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“What’s that smell?” Holly took in a lung full of the stench wafting through the darkened room and coughed. “It stinks worse than you after Mexican food.”

“Funny,” Callum said. He breathed in the fetid air. “Sulphur. Which means it’s a demon. Unless it’s eggs. Or egg farts. Or an egg farting demon. Maybe that’s its evil power. Egg farts.”

She laughed and whacked him on the arm. “Idiot. Let’s get this done and go home.”

“Whatever you say, birthday girl.”

***

Callum sat on the sofa. Bare chested. His t-shirt was in his hand, bunched-up and pressed against his leg. His jeans were torn where he’d slid along a gravel driveway, and an angry wound oozed through the hole in the denim.

Holly knelt on the floor in front of him. “Take your pants off too,” she said.

He pushed himself up, dropped his jeans and stepped out of them. “If you wanted me naked, Holly, you just needed to say the word. Anyway, shouldn’t you be the one in your birthday suit?”

Holly ignored him. Or at least tried to. It wasn’t easy with Callum standing right in front of her, his tight, black boxer briefs practically at eye level.

“I don’t think it needs stitching,” she said, distracting herself by prodding at his leg.

“Ow. Careful.”

“Stop being a baby.”

“Hey. I didn’t ask to get tossed out the door by a goddamn demon.”

“Then you should’ve moved faster.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

He laughed and bent forward, cupping her chin in his hand as he crushed his lips to hers.

She shimmied up his lean body and pressed into the warmth of his bare chest, her mouth still glued to his. When he gently pulled away, she almost squeaked in disappointment.

“I got you messy,” he said, his voice little more than a growl.

“You sure did,” Holly said, her heart racing. Then she followed his gaze to her shirt. “Oh. The blood.”

 “Well, hopefully both. But how about I look after my leg and you go clean up. I gotta surprise for you.”

***

Holly scooped her wet hair into a messy bun and opened Callum’s dresser. She slipped on a pair of his boxer briefs, teamed with the crystal earrings he gave her for Christmas, and nothing else. He wanted birthday suit, he was getting birthday suit.

***

“Don’t come in the kitchen,” he called as she walked down the hall.

She perched on a dining chair, sucking in everything that might roll.

He hobbled into the room, wearing a thick bandage around his knee and a World’s Sexiest Cook apron around his waist, his eyes down as he concentrated on carrying a birthday cake ablaze with candles.

“Happy birthday to…” he looked up and froze. A crooked grin spread across his face. “Are those the earrings I gave you?”

Holly burst out laughing. “That’s what you’re noticing?”

“Also,” He placed the cake on the table and turned around. “Great minds.”

Holly’s gaze locked on a firm, naked ass. “Is this my surprise?”

“Technically it was the cake, but…”

“Very nice butt.”

“Do you wanna piece?”

“Of the cake, or you?”

“I’m voting me.” He grabbed the waistband of her boxers and guided her into his arms. “This puts a whole new take on getting into my pants.”

She reached around him and undid his apron ties. It fluttered to the floor. “I’m going to blow…”

Callum’s eyebrows shot up.

“…those candles out,” she said, turning and puffing out the flames.

He threw his head back and laughed, then gazed down at her, his green eyes sparkling. “I love you, Holly Daniels, you know that?”

She smiled, stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. She did know that.

©Amy Hutton 2021