![Howling at the Moon [The Mystic Museum] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)](https://fs.ageofbook.com/514597/thumbs/152x264/howling-at-the-moon-the-mystic-museum-siren-publishing-menage-amour.jpg)
Chapter 1
“There it is,” Minerva said as the moonlight swirled around the woman whose demeanor suggested she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. The woman’s sad expression indicated that it was becoming too much for her to bear. Minerva waited until the woman entered the museum before she made her way inside. She searched the meandering throng of people for the one she was to assist tonight.
* * * *
Carolyn walked up the steps to the museum. People brushed by her. Some bumped her shoulder. She accepted their apologies with an unconcerned nod. Her steps were sluggish as she unconsciously put on foot in front of the other. She’d left her apartment to avoid being alone. She’d wanted to be anywhere except there. She’d walked without a destination, walking just to walk. Her mind still reeled after being dumped by yet another boyfriend. A month had passed, and Randy’s cruel words still rang in her head. “Loosen up, Carolyn. Christ, do you even like sex? Making love to you is frustrating. It’s emasculating. How can I feel like a man if I can’t make you feel like a woman?” He’d left her that night. He’d gathered his things and walked out of her life.
Randy wasn’t the first man that had called her frigid. She was afraid he wouldn’t be the last. She liked sex well enough. She was just shy and reserved. A man wouldn’t respect her if she acted on the primal urges she sometimes felt. She repressed those urges, they were dangerous. She controlled what she considered unnatural desires. A normal woman didn’t feel the hunger she experienced. It took all her control to keep it at bay, so she appeared cold and lifeless.
She was a nurse in the emergency room. She’d seen too much of what uncontrolled urges and emotions could do. Gunshot wounds, stab wounds, concussions from a bashed-in scull. Those happened in various ways, like baseball bats, and other blunt objects, or fistfights. And then there was always the push down the stairs. Uncontrolled urges caused trouble.
She pulled the imitation fur collar of her coat tighter around her throat. She raised her chin and tilted her neck so she could look at the sign above the door. Minerva’s Mystic Museum , it proclaimed. I’ve never noticed this was a museum. It’s as good a place as any. “I wonder if there is a Minerva,” she muttered as she stepped through the ornate double doors.
The room she entered was quite large, but the subtle lighting made it feel much smaller and intimate. Pictures hung on some of the walls. Beautiful murals were painted on others. Seating was provided here and there for the patron’s viewing ease. Tables and glass-encased counters created a maze inside the room. A musky yet relaxing aroma permeated the air, strong but not overpowering. Soft music and sometimes chimes filled the space with a comfortable, warm vibration.
Her body began to release tension she hadn’t known she held. She felt very tired. She sat on a bench in front of a mural. The weight of her troubles filled her heart. She removed her coat to make herself more comfortable.
She was alone in this world, with no family and no friends to speak of, no one that would really miss her. She had a few friends from work, more acquaintances than friends, people she rarely saw outside of that environment, no one who really cared about her, and no one she really cared about. That made her life lonely. Work had become all she had. She worked so many hours she was always exhausted. The ER life was taking its toll on her. She was ready for a change. She needed something a little less stressful. She was good at what she did. She’d acquired a lot of experience, but she’d had enough. In a moment of desperation she’d made a decision to change her life. She’d given her notice at work. So far they hadn’t responded to her request for transfer. She wasn’t worried. A nurse could find employment almost anywhere. If she had to leave New York she
“There it is,” Minerva said as the moonlight swirled around the woman whose demeanor suggested she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. The woman’s sad expression indicated that it was becoming too much for her to bear. Minerva waited until the woman entered the museum before she made her way inside. She searched the meandering throng of people for the one she was to assist tonight.
* * * *
Carolyn walked up the steps to the museum. People brushed by her. Some bumped her shoulder. She accepted their apologies with an unconcerned nod. Her steps were sluggish as she unconsciously put on foot in front of the other. She’d left her apartment to avoid being alone. She’d wanted to be anywhere except there. She’d walked without a destination, walking just to walk. Her mind still reeled after being dumped by yet another boyfriend. A month had passed, and Randy’s cruel words still rang in her head. “Loosen up, Carolyn. Christ, do you even like sex? Making love to you is frustrating. It’s emasculating. How can I feel like a man if I can’t make you feel like a woman?” He’d left her that night. He’d gathered his things and walked out of her life.
Randy wasn’t the first man that had called her frigid. She was afraid he wouldn’t be the last. She liked sex well enough. She was just shy and reserved. A man wouldn’t respect her if she acted on the primal urges she sometimes felt. She repressed those urges, they were dangerous. She controlled what she considered unnatural desires. A normal woman didn’t feel the hunger she experienced. It took all her control to keep it at bay, so she appeared cold and lifeless.
She was a nurse in the emergency room. She’d seen too much of what uncontrolled urges and emotions could do. Gunshot wounds, stab wounds, concussions from a bashed-in scull. Those happened in various ways, like baseball bats, and other blunt objects, or fistfights. And then there was always the push down the stairs. Uncontrolled urges caused trouble.
She pulled the imitation fur collar of her coat tighter around her throat. She raised her chin and tilted her neck so she could look at the sign above the door. Minerva’s Mystic Museum , it proclaimed. I’ve never noticed this was a museum. It’s as good a place as any. “I wonder if there is a Minerva,” she muttered as she stepped through the ornate double doors.
The room she entered was quite large, but the subtle lighting made it feel much smaller and intimate. Pictures hung on some of the walls. Beautiful murals were painted on others. Seating was provided here and there for the patron’s viewing ease. Tables and glass-encased counters created a maze inside the room. A musky yet relaxing aroma permeated the air, strong but not overpowering. Soft music and sometimes chimes filled the space with a comfortable, warm vibration.
Her body began to release tension she hadn’t known she held. She felt very tired. She sat on a bench in front of a mural. The weight of her troubles filled her heart. She removed her coat to make herself more comfortable.
She was alone in this world, with no family and no friends to speak of, no one that would really miss her. She had a few friends from work, more acquaintances than friends, people she rarely saw outside of that environment, no one who really cared about her, and no one she really cared about. That made her life lonely. Work had become all she had. She worked so many hours she was always exhausted. The ER life was taking its toll on her. She was ready for a change. She needed something a little less stressful. She was good at what she did. She’d acquired a lot of experience, but she’d had enough. In a moment of desperation she’d made a decision to change her life. She’d given her notice at work. So far they hadn’t responded to her request for transfer. She wasn’t worried. A nurse could find employment almost anywhere. If she had to leave New York she
Similar Books
