by S Bolanos
“Then what’s this about?” I clutched the arms of the chair like it could somehow protect me from whatever was coming next. The fabric scraped against my fingers, which were turning raw with the pressure.
"Sara, you were here—not like that—but you were here." He gestured to my general human shape. "I know that you're a werewolf."
As my beloved friend would say, my cheese slid right off the cracker. All of the things I'd been too scared to think, rushed up to smack me in the face—hard.
Oh god, I think I'm going to faint.
I blinked and Michael was handing me a glass of water and urging me to sip slowly
"I wanted to talk to you about it last week. I was going to do it when we met for Thursday’s lunch." He resumed his seat. "You shouldn’t have had to go through your first change alone.”
"Change? Werewolf? Michael, you don't honestly believe any of that?" I asked, struggling to grab hold of something concrete.
"It’s not a question of belief."
"Why would you..."
He cut me off. "Because I'm one. I'm a werewolf, Sara."
My jaw dropped and I fought off another dizzy spell. No preamble, no cushion, just BAM.
"How…" I swallowed. “How did you know it was me? Assuming what you say is true." I needn’t have bothered with the addition; we’d passed the realm of believability a few roads back.
He tapped his nose. "Just because you weren't human, doesn't mean you didn't smell the same."
I shook my head trying to dispel the confusion taking up residence. "Michael, this is ridiculous. You can’t sit there and casually proclaim that you’re a werewolf. Oh, and by the way, so am I. How am I supposed to believe any of this?"
"It's not about believing. Like it or not, this is your new reality. You were bitten and assuming you survived, you were changing that first full moon. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you."
This is a real conversation. I’m sitting in Michael Howell’s living room talking about not just werewolves, but that he’s one too.
"Sorry, I don't mean to be dense. This is a little out there," I said, waving my hand.
He nodded his head.
“So, you're telling me that werewolves are real, and I'm one... And so are you.” I hesitated. “Did you bite me?"
"No! Stars, how could you think that?" He at least seemed genuinely affronted. “I've been trying to catch the were that attacked you."
"Oh."
"But I've been looking for you since the full moon," he added.
"Then it was you howling that night? What a load off." I looked up, a sigh of relief on my lips, but Michael's deadly serious expression made it catch. "That was you—wasn't it?"
"Sara, I’m sorry. It wasn't me. That's why I didn't find you that night. I figured you'd be safer if I went after him instead. I'm so sorry, I should have tried harder to tell you everything in the first place."
Black spots swam across my vision. The living room tilted sideways. I slumped in the chair and watched Michael float out of sight.
"Sara... Sara... Look at me..."
My eyelids fluttered erratically.
"Everything is okay. You're going to be fine. You're safe here. Sara, you’re safe."
Safe?
The word floated out of reach.
Safe.
"Are you alright?"
My gaze finally focused on Michael.
Safe.
As my senses returned, I managed a nod and let Michael help me sit up.
"Take some deep breaths and try to relax." He passed me my water, then sat beside me. "I shouldn't have sprung that on you like that. I was surprised that you’d already thought about it and I didn't think..."
I held up a shaky hand to cut off his string of apologies. Mercifully, he took the hint. “Can I…can I have a minute? Please,” I added when he remained rooted, a mix of doubt and concern playing on his face.
He stood slowly, hesitation written in every line of his body. “Sure. I’ll, uh…” He glanced around the living room in search of an occupation and clearly unwilling to leave the room.
“Just a minute,” I reiterated, suffusing the plea with all the assurance I could.
“Okay, yeah. I’ll fix a drink and step out back.”
“Thank you.” I sat as still as I had by the lake as I waited for him to pour a fresh glass.
The clear glass door slid open and he stepped into the crisp evening. It whisked along its track behind him. No sooner did it snick shut, than I was out of my seat and making a beeline out the front door. Too late, I realized my keys were sitting on the side table. I quickly veered away from the parked cars and sprinted for all I was worth down the sidewalk.
The winter air burned in my lungs and the sound of my ballet flats hitting pavement rang down the street. My breath echoed loud and ragged in my ears. Distantly, I made out a curse and the unmistakable sound of a door hitting a wall. Panic blurred my sight and I willed my legs to move faster.
Pain twisted up my knee and my next step faltered. My arm shot out to break my fall as I tried desperately to keep my footing. I hissed against the burn of my palm being scraped raw. A heat that defied the season spread across my body. I managed two more lurching steps, then crumpled to the ground.
“Sara!” Michael skidded to a stop beside me, his eyes wide with the same panic strangling me. He squatted down beside my shaking form and I flinched away. “Shit.” He reached for my arm and I yanked it away, nearly toppling over for my trouble. “Damn it, Sara, I won’t hurt you.”
“Go away. You’re delusional.” I lashed out with my injured hand and he caught my wrist. I struggled against the tight hold as he proceeded to crowd me.
“Do you believe me now?” He held up the captive appendage between us. To my horror, where there had once been nails, claws sprouted from my warped fingers. I opened my mouth to scream and he clamped a hand over it. “You have to calm down or you’re going to force a change. Now, I want you to take a deep breath and calm down. I’m going to carry you back to the house.”
Tears pooled as I stared back at him.
He let out a sigh and his face softened. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you. Please, let me help.” The quiet plea struck a chord and I nodded, setting loose tears to streak down my cheeks. “If I remove my hand, are you going to yell?” I shook my head, but he waited a moment before letting go.
“Why can’t I walk?” I asked through the surprising rawness in my throat.
He glanced down at my legs twisted beneath me. “You should be able to, but if you try to run again, I can guarantee you won’t get far.”
I swallowed down a wave of anxiety and let him help me up. My legs ached and I seemed to have lost a shoe at some point. We gathered it as he led me back to the house with a firm hand on the small of my back. With each step, embarrassment took the place of my earlier panic until I was seated back on the couch in a mortified puddle.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” His compassion only humbled me further. A few minutes passed in silence.
"What time is it?" I finally asked.
"Um... it's about seven-thirty."
“You still good for that dinner?" He gave me a look. "I'll take that as a yes. Would you pass me my cell please? It’s in the side pocket of my purse."
He snagged the bag and produced the requested item.
"Thanks. Oh, good grief," I said as the notifications listed in rapid succession. After my ill-conceived flight, this was the last thing I needed.
"What?"
"Nothing. Charline."
He smiled broadly. Charline was explanation enough. There were also two more voicemails undoubtedly from my parents, but he definitely didn’t need to know about those.
"What did she say?" he asked.
"She sent me a text basically saying that she saw me with you this afternoon. No doubt that will fuel her idea that we’re together," I bemoaned.
"What's wrong
with that?"
I rolled my eyes. "Because, nothing is going on. I mean aside from the whole," I gestured back toward the door.
He mumbled something as he got up.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing. So how do you want your steak? On the fly?" His eyes sparkled and all of the pieces clicked together.
"Oh my God!" My face ignited in an altogether different kind of heat than the one that had dominated me outside while Michael’s deep laugh rumbled only a few feet away. "You! You knew, and you let me do all of that anyway!"
"I didn't see any harm in letting you relax a little." He pulled out the same pan as before and it was official—I’d never been more mortified in my entire life. Michael continued to cook dinner, completely oblivious while I relocated to sit at the peninsula.
He set the plates on the bar and joined me in the adjoining stool. Thankfully, the steak was whole. I wasn’t sure how much mortification I could take in one evening. We didn’t say anything and quite frankly I wasn’t sure if I was even capable of speech. Instead, I focused on the meal he’d prepared. The steak was even better now that I wasn’t starving and the vegetables were a great compliment, though my embarrassment lent a certain tinge of awkwardness.
“Come on, Sara, you must be near to bursting with questions. You're a were now, there's no shyness in it."
I glowered at my empty plate.
"Ask away," he insisted as he gathered our dishes and ushered me back to the couch.
I took a deep breath and snagged a question out of the whirling millions. "Were you bitten too?"
He sat there a moment as if shocked by the question. Finally, he said, "Um, no. I was definitely born this way."
I glared at him, suspicious of the hesitation.
"Seriously, my first change happened with puberty and I was prepared for it, or as prepared as you can be." He leaned back and crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his knee. He made it all sound so perfectly natural, but none of what I’d experienced had felt natural in the least.
My mouth opened and closed soundlessly as I tried to wrap my head around it all. "So, you mean to tell me... I mean, so is your whole family...?" The question hung unfinished.
Michael glanced down at the fresh glass of whiskey in his hand and didn’t answer for a second. He took a small sip and a deep breath before looking back at me.
"What?” I asked, warmth creeping across my cheeks. “Is that a rude question or something?”
"No. I told you—anything you want to know. Yes, most were communities consist of other werewolves. There are a few exceptions, but it’s really no different from any other large family. Well, except for the part about changing into wolves every now and again," he finished with a playful grin.
"Does it hurt you too? You know, when you change?"
"Yes. I wish I could tell you it gets better, but that would be a lie.”
My face fell.
“You do get used to it. Find ways to help the change instead of fight against it. But nothing stops it from feeling like every bone is being broken and reset. And before you ask, I don't have to change every full moon, but it’s pretty hard not to.” He took another sip while I took a second to process.
"Why? Will I only change during the full moon?" I added hopefully, despite what had happened not an hour before.
His smile turned sad. "No, Sara. Technically weres—including you—can change whenever they want. It's hard not to change during the moon, because we have such a strong connection, though the full moon is generally the only one strong enough to force a change. There are a few exceptions, but I don’t think those are really relevant for you right now.”
I was tempted to ask what these “exceptions” were, but he was still talking.
“Think of it like the pull of the tide. If you stay out of the light, you have a better chance of staving it off, but it takes serious will power if you're already outside. Not to mention if you’re not outside, you’ll instinctively seek it out—thus, the willpower," he clarified.
"Well, that's just great," I huffed. "Then how do I control it?"
"That part's a bit tricky. As far as I know, you should have changed back that first morning."
“What do you mean ‘as far as you know’?”
He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and barely met my gaze. “Honestly, all of the weres I know were born that way. It’s possible the reason you didn’t change back once the moon passed is because you were bitten, but that’s speculation on my part.”
“How am I supposed to live if I have no control?”
"Don't worry, Sara, we'll figure it out. You're not alone." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer in a half hug.
I sighed heavily into his shirt and took a deep breath. His musky scent flooded my senses and I became hyper aware of him slowly rubbing my arm. It held the same level of comfort it had when he rubbed my back the other night—when I was a wolf.
My head flew up, narrowly missing his chin. I quickly asked the first question that came to mind in an attempt to evade the awkwardness. "What do I smell like?" Heat bloomed across my face as he burst into laughter.
When he was finally able to catch his breath, he looked at me warmly. "Sara, you smell wonderful."
I didn't know whether to continue to be embarrassed or flattered.
It must have shown because he smiled and added, "You smell like a field of wildflowers in spring."
"Oh," I said, playing with the hem of my blouse.
"Don't be frightened of your new senses, get used to them,” he encouraged. “Tomorrow at work, don't be so focused on appearing normal. Trust me, no one can tell what you are." I nodded absently. I hadn’t even thought that far. "I mean it, Sara, when we go to lunch, I want you to tell me what at least three people smell like."
I opened my mouth to protest, but never got a syllable out.
He glanced out the back door at the darkening night beyond and gave a low whistle. "Wow, it’s gotten late. It would probably be safer if you stayed here. You can have my room. I'm sure I have something that can be adjusted for you.” He gave me an appraising once over and promptly stood.
“Excuse me?” I scrambled to my feet, but that too went unremarked. "Michael."
"What?" He turned back from the hall.
"I’m not staying the night.”
“Of course you are,” he said and continued toward the bedroom.
“Wait a minute,” I stubbornly held out. “You can’t boss me around like this. I’m a grown woman and perfectly capable of taking myself home.” My scowl did nothing to deter him.
He gave me a stern look that sent tingles down my spine. "Sara, I'm not going to let you drive all the way back to your house this late at night. That maniac is out there and I won’t put you in danger. I insist you stay here."
“No,” I tried again. His face darkened at my blunt refusal to comply. “You say you didn’t bite me, but how do I know this isn’t some sort of elaborate set up?” I asked, waving my arms to encompass most of the living room.
“What? That has to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Why would I—” The words clipped off. His eyes flared while his shoulders squared as if preparing to do battle.
My hackles rose in response.
“If I’d wanted to do something to you, there are easier ways to go about it.” He wasn’t wrong. “As if I would bite you,” he mumbled under his breath, not quite low enough not to be heard. He took what appeared to be a deep breath and seemed to regather himself, then asked, “What do your instincts tell you?”
He had me there. I’d already followed him home, eaten dinner with him, and was entertaining the fairytale he’d spun. None of that changed the fact that if it’d been anyone else—if I hadn’t literally been a wolf in his living room yesterday—then I would’ve already dialed 911 or at the very least tried to sneak out the back…again.
"What about work tomorrow? And besides, I can't take your bed."
“But there’s a guest room,” I said to no one in particular.
I seriously contemplated making another break for it, but found myself still standing there when he returned. He wore his pants from the other night and was holding a t-shirt, but not wearing one himself. I was so determined not to stare at his broad, sculpted chest with its layer of fine hair, I basically did it anyway.
Damn it.
“I found this for you, but I couldn't seem to find mine,” he stated with a curious look. I busied myself putting my cell away, thankful he hadn’t noticed my blatant gawping. “And I couldn't find my sweats that looked like they’d fit you,” he added, sounding more than a little perplexed.
“Oh! I brought back the pants I borrowed to get home.”
“You did change here. I wondered about that,” he mused aloud, rubbing the pronounced shadow on his square jaw.
“Where else would I have changed?”
His brow furrowed and I held up my hands and wiggled my thumbs for emphasis. As the implication sank in, his eyes widened with understanding, then rolled at the obviousness of it.
“I confess,” he said, glancing at the coffee table, “I was really worried when I came back during lunch and you were gone. I smelled blood and thought something might have happened.”
I vaguely recalled knocking the table.
“So, where are they?” Michael asked, bringing me out of the memory.
“Where are what?”
“The sweats,” he prompted.
“Right. They're in the car. I'll go...” I managed all of two steps towards the door before Michael beat me to it. I was taken aback both by his proximity and his determination.
He held out his hand. “I'll get them.”
“Don't you think this is a bit ridiculous? Honestly, it’s bad enough that you're basically holding me hostage and now you won’t even allow me to walk the thirty feet to my own car?” He raised an eyebrow and I bit down on my tongue.
