Regardless, Mila knew it was her fault. Maybe it was her nerves talking, but here she had a perfect guy in front of her. She’d somehow fucked it up. One second he’d been happy. The next, completely different.
Mila could worry about all that later, but first she had to clean up. She could go out there and make a beautiful speech to Maurice and somehow fix it all, but as long as she still had his jizz on her face, she’d look like a moron. Wait. Not jizz. Mayonnaise. That sounded better in her head.
Normally, Mila would grab a shower and get all nice and squeaky clean before departing and going out and about. If she didn’t have to worry about Maurice, she would’ve loved to get all spotless. Nevertheless, time was of the essence. Not only did she want to amend whatever had happened, but she also relied on him as a protector and she didn’t like the idea of having no clue what was happening.
She snatched the quickest way she could clean herself, paper towels, and wiped her face off, dabbing any extra moisture from the gel away. Feeling ridiculous and by this point wanting regular clothes, she pulled on a robe and went off to find the werewolf.
Her first obstacle arose when she stepped outside his door. Right or left? Guessing randomly after remembering there was no way she could possibly know, she headed left and went to the elevator. Everyone seemed to know Maurice and he was apparently the Baron, so if he’d left, someone would have seen it. Otherwise, he was still lurking in the building somewhere. She caught an elevator to the ground floor, luckily by herself. She kept her hands low to make sure that if there was a gust of wind, she would not be making every guy’s day.
She came to reception and was greeted by a judgemental female werewolf who appeared to immediately piece together what she’d been doing a while ago. Tall, gaunt, and eerie, she regarded Mila with casual disdain from her chair before turning back to her computer like she hadn’t seen her.
Mila waited for the receptionist to ask her how she could help, but no such thing happened. Mila scowled. “Ma’am.”
No response.
Mila raised her voice slightly. “Ma’am.” Even if they had not made direct eye contact on the way over, she had to have heard Mila’s bare feet slapping against the marble while she came over in the spacious room.
The werewolf turned a quarter inch. “I didn’t notice you. How may I help you?”
“Did you see Maurice come through here?” Mila thinly veiled her annoyance. What was this woman’s problem? She worked at the front desk. Wasn’t she supposed to be all friendly and welcoming? “I’m trying to find him.”
The receptionist scanned her sceptically and gave a tight-lipped smile. “Can’t say I remember.”
“Well, could you try harder?” Mila got along with greeters most every time because their job was to be pleasant and Mila always returned the favour. This was an exception that she was happy to make.
The woman didn’t get a chance to answer. Maybe she would’ve done a full 180 and cheerily replied. Maybe not. Mila never got to find out because she sensed someone uncomfortably close to her and turned to see none other than Shakkara, the succubus from earlier.
“Perhaps,” Shakkara breathed sensuously, “I might be of assistance.”
Mila remembered in the nick of time that the succubus wasn’t hitting on her. That was just how she talked. She couldn’t help it. Mila took a step away from her to regain her proper personal space. “Yeah?”
God dammit. Once again, Mila had to remind herself that she was a good-looking person and just because Shakkara belonged in the horny dreams of teenage boys, it wasn’t necessarily a competition between them. More important things were at hand, anyway.
Mila crossed and then uncrossed her arms. “You know where he is?”
Shakkara paused. “Come with me.”
The interesting thing about Shakkara was the dichotomy of her personality verses her appearance. Physically, she dripped sexuality and seduction. She wore a formfitting black dress then, but even if she’d been wearing a potato sack, she’d be jaw-dropping. In her mannerisms, she was completely different, even bordering on socially awkward. She strode off without making sure Mila was following in a you’re not worth my time to check way, which was something people might consider rude. To make it worse, her hips swayed with each step like she was starring in a high-end porno.
Mila faltered before following. She strongly considered flipping the receptionist off before thinking better of it and leaving in peace. “What was her problem?” she asked the succubus as they made their way towards the front door.
“She’s the jealous type,” came the robotic response. “I believe she has feelings for Maurice that he does not share.”
Mila might as well have been listening to Siri. Shakkara’s voice didn’t go up and down. It didn’t speed up or slow any during her talking. It put Mila on edge but also relaxed her, knowing that despite all the physical advantages Shakkara had been given, she had jack squat for personality. Mila had asked her question half to piss off the receptionist. Shakkara had taken it a whole new level and spoke loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. They passed through the doors into the outside. “Where are we going?”
“To where he always goes.”
“Next week, on things to say that don’t help explain stuff. Sorry. You’re helping me. I shouldn’t be rude.”
Shakkara stopped cold in the dead center of the path without warning. Mila stopped just before she ran into her. Shakkara’s face went through a series of emotions before settling on amusement. “Ha. That’s funny.”
Mila snapped her mouth shut. Was this real? Was she honestly that ridiculously socially inept? Mila didn’t get the feeling that it was a bluff. Shakkara genuinely had no concept of interaction. Then again, why did she need it? With a body like hers, she’d make it in life just fine. She could be as engaging as a potato and be successful regardless.
Their journey continued out through the courtyard. The sun stayed high in the sky, burning down on them as a dry wind gusted through, making Mila more than a little concerned about the robe acting up. Security patrolled the complex. Mila had done nothing wrong yet still shied away from their gaze. Gravel crinkled loudly under their feet. It hadn’t gotten hot enough yet to burn Mila’s bare feet, but based on the way the sun already felt, she had a few minutes before life sucked.
They got close to where Mila and Maurice had first arrived, then took a sharp turn towards the woods and away from the complex. For about twenty feet, it wasn’t a problem. After they got close enough where the gravel ran out and it became nature, it became an issue. The thing about staying protected from killers was that you weren’t supposed to wander off casually into non-trafficked areas where nobody could see you. It was, in fact, the exact opposite.
“How much further?” Mila picked her way around a pinecone delicately. She glanced at the complex in the distance, which was roughly at the point where they might hear her screaming for help but wouldn’t be able to save her if anything went down.
“Just up ahead.”
“Yeah, but see, I think I shouldn’t go too far—”
“Be quiet.” Shakkara held up a finger to shush her.
“Don’t shush me!”
Shakkara, to be fair, didn’t shush her again. She went straight for phase two: grabbing her lips and pinching them together. Had Mila seen it coming, she would’ve been offended. As it was, she was so startled by it that she stood still. Shakkara remained oblivious and pointed. “He’s here.”
Mila swatted her hands off. It was a good thing Shakkara hadn’t started with that. The only reason she wasn’t face-down in the dirt with Mila standing over her was because she’d proved herself to be unaware of all social rules. Still, Mila gave her a condescending glare and looked where she was pointing.
There he was. He sat by a clear pool, eyes closed and sitting with his legs crossed. Towering trees loomed over him, sheltering him from the heat of the sun and creating a forty-foot cocoon of open space. His body glistened with sweat
. Overall, aside from the candles, it looked like what she’d walked in on in his apartment. Mila didn’t breathe a word, afraid to break the silence. Even the birds sensed the holy nature of the scene and refused to chirp.
Mila turned to ask Shakkara what was happening to find that she had vanished. A quick investigation showed her making her way back up towards the complex. Good. Mila paused. Or was that bad? She didn’t know. Nothing made sense anymore. She missed the old days, when things were understandable, and her biggest concern was if she should have chicken flavoured Ramen or beef flavoured Ramen. None of this business with werewolves and tattoos and kidnappings and all that.
Mila hid behind a bush and watched him. He didn’t seem to hear her, which was fine. She liked it that way. It allowed her some time to think of a way to break the silence and see if he was okay. This was her fault. Something about her tattoo comment had kick-started this into motion. Her hiding spot behind a thin bush growing on the edge of an overhang, maybe twenty feet from him, was perfect. All she had to do was stay still, and he’d not notice her.
Naturally, she failed.
Staying still wasn’t the concern. The problem that arose was that something poked her thigh while she was crouching. She discovered the culprit—a thorn from a nearby rose bush. She tried to pull away. The rose bush said no and held on for all its plant might, bringing in more thorns to snag her. Unbeknownst to Mila, while she battled with her foe, the spot of land she was hiding on decided it couldn’t hold her, and it promptly gave.
Anyone watching from the other side would have viewed a tranquil scene, with no sounds but the slow gurgling of the stream in front of the kneeling man with his head bowed. A fawn and its mother curiously watched the stranger, slowly trusting him more and drinking from the clear water. The trees waved gently, filtering through golden light rays into the meadow.
And then a half-elf got spat out of thin air.
Mila’s descent was not graceful. When the ground gave out from under her, she made a desperate grab for anything to hold her and caught nothing other than the rose bush. She dropped half a foot, smashed into the earth, and came to a tumbling stop a few seconds later. The deer retreated, and the moment was shattered.
Maurice opened one eye and recognized her. He closed it again. “Mila.”
Mila wasn’t hurt physically, but her ego had taken the blast of a shotgun. Why? Why would that have to happen to her? She tucked her arm behind her back to hide all the scratches from the rose bush and stood, brushing herself off. “Oh, um, Maurice. Hey.”
Maurice didn’t respond.
Mila made her way down closer to him, but not too close. No doubt about it—he was sweating heavily, and it looked like he’d just gotten an intense workout. The only reason she could see it so clearly was because of his robe, or lack thereof. It hung in tatters around his body, shredded like he’d gone through a blender. Mila didn’t get too close. He was a good lovemaker and seemed like a good person. That’s where her knowledge of him went cold, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was witnessing something inherently unholy.
“You okay?” she asked, which felt about as stupid as asking someone with a broken leg if they were ready to go for a jog. Obviously he wasn’t okay.
He took several deep breaths. She sensed in him another presence, something…dark. Something vicious. It faded slowly. “I will be.”
Mila took another step towards him. “What happened to your clothes?”
His jaw clenched. He was fighting something. “You shouldn’t be this far away from the complex. It’s dangerous.”
The way he said it, it almost sounded like he considered himself to be a threat. Mila studied him carefully. The Maurice she knew was under there and making a return. The mysterious other presence dissipated as he concentrated. “I apologize,” he managed. “For the way I am acting.”
Mila wanted to slap his handsome face. An apology? Now? She hadn’t come all the way down here, hadn’t made herself look like a fool, hadn’t gotten herself covered in dirt right after she showered for an apology. “You can talk to me,” she told him and took a seat next to him. “I want to help you.”
He said nothing. The silence continued for so long Mila was beginning to give up hope. He finally exhaled and kept his eyes on the water. “I suppose you should know.”
Mila translated it as, you’re about to learn something really bad. She didn’t know why, but she put her hand on his reassuringly. It felt…right. The physical affirmation seemed to prompt him to keep talking. “I can’t transform.”
Mila often joked in bad places. If she got uncomfortable, her defence mechanism was to talk and joke around. She caught herself before she said, Hey, lots of guys your age have that problem. Maurice didn’t want humour. He wanted her to listen, so that’s what she did.
A vein in his throat throbbed. “A long time ago, I worked under Fang. One night, he sent me to…” He clenched his jaw and looked down.
Mila stroked his hand, startled how much it was affecting him. This was something she wasn’t going to want to hear. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
He wiped some sweat off his face. “I did things I’m not proud of. I killed…so many people.” Every word was a battle for him to say. “In my werewolf form. Fang tricked me. He…” A drop of sweat, or perhaps a tear, rolled down his cheek. “My brother. I didn’t know it was him. Fang messed with my mind. I didn’t…” The tear came to his jaw and dripped onto his thigh. “I can’t. I can’t go back. That part of me is gone.”
In high school, Mila had a friend whose mother was given months to live. Everyone always tried to talk the friend into running track, but the mother didn’t want her to, so people gave up. Mila didn’t know this, so she’d asked the friend one time if she would run track. The girl had told her, “my mom doesn’t want me to, but she’ll be out of the way soon,” in what Mila hoped was a joke. Mila thought it could not get any more awkward than that.
Mila was wrong.
She didn’t know what to say. It’s okay you killed your brother? No, that wasn’t right. He’d want you to forgive yourself? She didn’t know their relationship! While she was stumbling for a response, he let it out.
“It’s a demon,” he whispered. “It haunts me.”
Mila had heard of that every now and then. Werewolves, most of the time, stayed the same person no matter if they were human or wolf. There were others that changed personality. They got angrier. More primal. More beast than man. She guessed Maurice fell into that camp. It didn’t help her then, no more than knowing the definition of leukaemia would ever help her comfort someone who’d been diagnosed.
She fumbled with the words. She needed to say something. Even saying something bad was better than nothing. “Is that why you’re so sweaty? You’re fighting the transformation?”
He nodded. The darkness was almost gone, and Maurice was emerging again. His breath regained a normal tempo, and he stopped clenching his muscles. “I’m keeping it from ever happening again.”
“How…” Question! She needed a question! Talking was working. “How long has it been since you were a wolf?”
“Fourteen years.”
Mila inhaled sharply. Fourteen years? That was plenty of time to develop a phobia, even if he could control himself before. Of course, she had no idea how old he really was, so fourteen years could be nothing to him. “I’m so sorry,” she managed pathetically.
“I almost lost it today,” he said. The fear in his eyes took her breath away. “I felt it coming.”
“Did I set it off?” That was nothing short of terrifying. If he had so little control.
“My tattoo.” He looked at his shoulder. “It’s a quote he used to say. I got it to remember him.”
Mila decided she’d never ask about a tattoo meaning again. “What does it say?”
“Que sera, sera. In its essence.”
Mila nodded. In conversation, there was often a rule: if someone said something person
al, you got to say something similarly personal to equal it all out. It was sorta chivalrous. With this, Mila came up blank. She could recount all her failures, all her mistakes, in vivid detail for two hours and get nowhere near the sort of bombshell Maurice had dropped.
She eventually gave up trying to make it better. Instead, she leaned against his shoulder. Maurice stiffened. Mila realized that he’d been expecting her to leave. In truth, the idea of what he’d told her was terrifying to her. If he did lose it, she couldn’t protect herself. All she could do was run. But it seemed like the more he feared it, the more control it had over him. She didn’t want to contribute. She leaned her head on him, hoping he would return the embrace and not push her away. That wasn’t the sort of burden anyone could bear alone.
Maurice relaxed after she didn’t leave like many surely had. He lifted a big arm around her and stroked her shoulder.
Neither spoke. Nothing needed to be said. Instead, the two stared at the gurgling stream in silence.
And in a way, it said more than words could ever convey.
Chapter 14
They stayed there for an eternity.
Mila kept leaning on him, thinking. In some ways, it made him more relatable. It made him more like everyone else, not some demigod like everyone seemed to think. She would’ve preferred to have him be lactose intolerant or something instead, but still.
Time loosened him up, both physically and emotionally. He picked up conversation again. “It’s happening more often,” he declared randomly.
Mila didn’t know a lot about werewolves. They were a secretive bunch and tended to keep to themselves, but one thing she did know was that what Maurice had just stated made her more than a little concerned. Fourteen years was incredible. For a while, she’d looked into werewolves just because she’d been curious. There wasn’t a lot on their culture, but scientifically speaking, there were a number of studies. One that she remembered was that man and wolf were the same. Even in rare cases where the wolf had a different personality than the man, eventually one would win out. The man would become vicious and primal or the wolf would lose and become civilized. A few studies talked about some that tried to just not transform like Maurice.
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