Page 45 of Playing with Fire

“In the trunk.”

“Yippee. Let me out so I can get this over with.”

Calems laughed, freed me from the backseat, and wouldn’t stop chortling, especially when I wailed my dismay at the contents of his trunk. While I’d love to get my hands on the shotgun, he slapped my fingers and pointed at the five-pound bag of high-grade neutralizer.

If the CDC thought a single bag would be sufficient to deal with a quartet of gorgons who were smearing their mess all over the sidewalk with their bare hands, they were nuttier than I was for agreeing to handle the clean up.

To make matters worse, one of the gorgons was a male, which meant one thing: it was gorgon breeding season. The males didn’t come out of hiding unless they were looking for a human surrogate to help them reproduce with their females. For a single male to be out with three females meant trouble and a lot of it. The females would be looking for human women willing to engage in the strangest lesbian sex known to Earth. If everything went well, which it usually didn’t, the surrogate would then turn her attentions to the gorgon male and engage in the second strangest sex act involving humans.

After the surrogate mother was treated for petrification, the tiny fertilized gorgon eggs were retrieved so the gorgons could nest with them. Then the woman was paid a filthy amount of money for serving as a breeding vessel for the gorgons.

The male caught sight of me and looked me over head to toe. A lecherous smile crossed his lips. His snakes, while fewer in number, closely resembled real ones in size. I didn’t recognize the species, although I would have bet everything I owned they were venomous—more so than usual.

Yippee. I went from unlucky virgin unable to find a willing man to having too many, and my latest suitor could pump me so full of venom I wouldn’t know which end was up after a few minutes. “No, I will not service you or your ladies. If you’re looking for a surrogate, call the CDC.”

“No fun,” he hissed, flicking his forked tongue out at me. “You should. Pay well. Three mates, all mine. Good times. You have nice big hips, good breasts. Curves. You would help us produce beautiful whelps.”

I did the math: a mile long trail of nasty bile, a trio of females, an aroused male, and at least fifty human statues of pedestrians too stupid to get out of the way or really unlucky. The gorgons must have struck out at the bar, which probably meant everyone at the bar had gotten petrified and needed my help, too.

Oh boy.

“Hey, tiger. How many did you stone at the bar?”

He hissed at me again. “They weren’t interested. Good offer, yes? Be the mother of my children and I won’t petrify you.”

Yippee. The gorgon was really trying to coerce me into having sex with all three of his brides with him as the grand finale. A regular woman would’ve ended up petrified once, twice, or three times depending on the skills of the mating gorgons.

With three females all wanting a surrogate, I expected the ‘lucky’ woman would end up petrified at least three times.

“You should be interested. You look so sturdy.”

“Sturdy? Really? That’s your line? I look sturdy? Give me a break. How many did you petrify?”

“Only one or two. Come on. We’ll have fun, little lady.”

I sighed. “Sorry, not interested.”

For a drunk he moved really fast, and his spittle splashed onto my cheek. His rancid, alcohol-tainted breath washed over my face. He ditched his sunglasses and stared me in the eyes, and every last snake on his head rose up and hissed with him. A tingle spread through me.

Any other human would have begun petrifying, their muscles stiffening. A determined gorgon ready to breed would have approximately five minutes to get their business done before their victim was no longer able to serve as a surrogate without reversing the petrification first.

Hell no. Infuriated he had tried to petrify me so he could turn me into a play date for him and his brood, I kneed him in the groin and proceeded to feed him a knuckle sandwich. “Excuse me? Let’s try this again, pumpkin. I said no. Do you know what the word ‘no’ means? It means I’m not fucking interested, asshole! Don’t you know what the penalty is for deliberating attempting to petrify a civilian? Oh, wait. I’m not technically a civilian. I’m certified by the CDC, you scum sucker. If you thought petrifying a civilian could land you in trouble, wait until you see what happens when you assault a CDC rep.”

On his way down, the bastard’s snakes pierced their fangs through my shirt and jeans. That would hurt later. It’d hurt a lot. If I were really unlucky, I might even pass out on the sidewalk from the venom.

“I’ll kill you, little girl.”

Oh hell no. “Now you’re threatening to kill me?” If he wanted to start with that shit, I had a bag of neutralizer with his name on it. I ripped it open and dumped the entire thing on his head. “How about this? I don’t think so.”

The male gorgon shrieked and writhed on the ground at my feet. The neutralizer wouldn’t kill him—it wouldn’t even hurt him for long, much to my disappointment. He’d feel it in the morning, though, and that would have to do. “Listen up, dipshit. If you don’t want to spend your entire breeding season behind bars in solitary confinement, you’re going to haul your ass to that sidewalk, you’re going to tell your girlfriends to stop playing with their own puke, and you’re going to clean this mess up. No games, no more funny business, and if you even think about trying to breed with me, I’m going to start braiding your snakes together with tiny pink bows as a reminder you need to ask really nicely for a willing woman to help you out. Keyword: willing.”

He bit through my jeans and sank his fangs into my calf.

“You did not just bite me.”

Snake fangs really hurt, and the male decided to start gnawing on me. If he wanted a fight, I’d give him a fight. I grabbed a handful of his serpents, yanked his head up, and stepped on his face with my free foot. “Eat this, bitch!”

It took a werewolf and two cops, all dressed in hazmat suits, to pull me off the gorgon. In any other situation, a CDC representative yanking a burlap sack over a sentient’s head would have counted as excessive force. I snarled curses at the idiot male. “You tried to use me as breeding stock, you son of a bitch!”