~~~
The days were getting colder and I dreaded the coming winter, especially in Maine. I hoped it would hold off long because I hated snow. I was a southern girl, used to heat and humidity and the occasional tornado.
Friday morning was blustery and I know I looked like an Eskimo when Isaac picked me up for school.
“Cold?” he said, making fun of me.
I pulled the faux fur hood away from my head and scooted over next to him. “I’m not going to make it through the winter,” I said.
He wasn’t even wearing a jacket; a long-sleeved, tight-fitting thermal black shirt was his idea of warm clothing. Not that I had any arguments; he looked awesome in black.
“It’s technically not even winter yet,” he laughed and then said with a grin, “But I’ll keep you warm.”
He did that already. The hot blush in my face was kind of standard around Isaac Mayfair.
“I had a dream about you last night,” he said.
“Oh?” I felt a nervous twinge in my gut. “What about?”
Isaac smiled over at me and shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he said, detecting the hesitation in my voice. “It wasn’t anything like that.”
We pulled away from my house. I hated how dreary everything was; only adding to the misery of the cold. The sky was gray, blanketed by thick depressing clouds with moving specks of black as crows flew over. The trees had already lost most of their leaves. Just looking at it all made me colder.
“Well, go ahead,” I urged him; “you got me all curious now.”
Isaac pressed the Power button on the radio and shut it off even though the volume was so low it was hardly a distraction.
After a long hesitation, he began. “You were sitting at the edge of a creek and had your shoes off and your feet in the water. You were singing and I was leaning against a tree, watching you.”
I snickered, interrupting him. “Proof there’s no truth to dreams,” I said. “My singing is awful!”
“Well, I didn’t say the singing was good,” he said, grinning.
My mouth fell open halfway with an unbelieving spat of air.
Isaac laughed and pulled me closer, resting his hand between my thighs.
“Anyway,” he went on; “you kept looking all around until finally you saw me. At least, I thought it was me you saw.”
“It wasn’t you?”
“No,” he said, “I got the feeling you were staring right through me instead. Then you stood up, slipped your shoes on and walked away.”
“That’s not what I would’ve done if that really happened,” I said.
No, I would’ve drawn it out like an overly dramatic run-toward-each other scene. There would have been butterflies and sparkling water. Slow-motion. My hair like a feather in the wind. Okay, so maybe it would’ve been cheesy, but it was better than walking away from him.
“That was it?” I said.
Isaac turned too early onto Litchfield rather than going on toward my school. I was too interested in Isaac’s dream to ask where we were going yet.
“No, I must’ve followed you to your house,” he went on. “You still knew someone was watching, but you were afraid of me. I think I was a ghost.”
My enthusiasm for his dream began to diminish. I wanted to comment about how I didn’t like where it was going, but I thought I had interrupted him enough already.
“You stood near a fireplace then,” he said, “gazing out a window with your arms crossed. I reached out to touch your face and...”
I waited, eagerly.
“...And what?”
I heard Isaac sigh.
“I woke up.”
I felt gipped. It was such a crappy ending. Then I realized most dreams have crappy endings.
“Well, at least I was in the dream,” I said, laying my head against his shoulder. “That’s a good sign.”
“Yes, that’s a good sign,” he said with less optimism than I thought he should have.
Raising my head to look at him, I saw the sadness disappear from his face. He had been hiding something.
The car drove far past everything I knew in Hallowell and then past things I had never seen before.
“Where are we going?”
Isaac slowly pushed on the brakes. His gaze was harsh as he stared out the windshield, one hand gripping the steering wheel.
“Isaac?”
He stopped the car completely, pulled forward on the road, and made a sharp U-turn.
“I think it’s best you get your Uncle to drive you to school tomorrow,” he said regretfully. “And next week.”
Anxiety built up inside me quickly, and at first, I took it all wrong. I was just glad I caught myself before accusing him of dumping me.
“Isaac, what’s wrong?” I practically turned around to face him enough my back was almost pressed into to the dashboard. “Did something happen?”
“Not yet,” he said finally making eye contact, “but it will.”
I had a feeling then what his strange attitude was all about. “A week before a full moon?” I said simply.
“Yes,” he answered. A sort of pain lay exposed in his face. “I hate not being in control, Adria.”
A truck sped by in the opposite direction and Isaac wasn’t exactly staying on his side of the road.
I tried not to pay attention to us narrowly avoiding a head-on collision.
“But you are in control,” I said. “You saved me from Sibyl that night in the barn. You knew what you were doing.”
Isaac sighed miserably. “Most of the time I know what I’m doing, but even just a second can be the worst second of my life.” He added, “And you see how clouded my mind gets; I could have driven to Portland if you had not said something.”
Hard lines appeared around Isaac’s eyes. He kept his attention on the road, but I began to worry about where his mind was. He seemed deep in thought, frustrated with himself. Both of his hands gripped the steering wheel so tight.
I covered his right hand with my left and said softly, “Isaac, pull over up there.”
He glanced over at me. I let the softness of my voice show in my face. He needed to understand that I was not afraid of him. At least…he needed to believe that I wasn’t. The truth was that I couldn’t be more afraid. I knew it was reckless of me to put so much faith in him when he didn’t have much in himself. I knew that he could very possibly kill me, but I wanted to believe in my heart that somehow he could overcome this. And I never wanted him to feel ashamed that I was afraid, or fragile.
Reluctantly, Isaac pulled off the road into a makeshift parking lot.
I reached over, turned the car off and pulled the keys from the ignition.
“What was the real reason you told me about the dream?” I said.
His cheeks blew up with air and he let it all out at once. “You don’t miss anything, do you?”
I smiled, leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek; his skin was so warm and soft against my lips. “It was kind of obvious,” I said. “Now tell me.”
Isaac’s long face turned into a smirk suddenly. “You’re real demanding for, what, one hundred twenty pounds of human girl?”
My mouth fell open. I would’ve put my hands on my hips, but it was awkward to do sitting down. I settled for crossing my arms. “One-twenty?”
Of course, I loved every minute of this.
“Am I wrong?”
“No, but most guys don’t go around guessing a girl’s weight. It’s dangerous; don’t you know?”
“Well, I’m not most guys.”
“How’d I know you were going to say that?” I laughed. “Oh well; I guess a werewolf doesn’t have anything to be afraid of anyway, let alone someone like me.”
The playful tone faded from his face. “That’s not true, Adria.”
The wind began to pick up; a gust hit the side of the car and shook it just a little. Fallen leaves scattered all around us.
“What are you afraid of then?”
Isaac j
ust sat there, staring intensely out ahead. His hands gripping the steering wheel as if he were still driving. His posture was rigid, his gaze, unbreakable. “I’m afraid of losing control. I fear emotion,” he said. “Most of all, I fear you.”
My heart wrenched a tiny bit in my chest. It’s a funny thing how one’s heart can react to words and emotions as though it has a mind of its own.
Still facing forward, Isaac went on:
“Do you remember when Cara brought up my last girlfriend?”
That detail wasn’t something a girl forgets easily, but I pretended to have to think about it for a moment. “Oh, yeah,” I said. “I remember.”
Finally, Isaac rested his back into the seat, letting his fingers fall from the steering wheel and then he turned to me.
“She was just a girlfriend,” he said. “I don’t mean to put her down and I’m not telling you these things because you’re here and she’s not; she was a decent girl, but I didn’t love her.”
That should’ve made me feel better. It probably should’ve even made me gloat a little inside, but it didn’t. The pain in his face was devastating and I just wanted to make it go away.
I listened.
He took a mild breath. “She was human too,” he said. “And she was terrified of me.”
“Really?” I said, more decided now about keeping my own fears secret. “How did she know what you were?”
“Her mother was Turned by an Unknown,” he paused. “None of that’s important. What’s important is that you know I hurt her. I hurt her really bad.”
My palms began to sweat, or maybe the moisture had been there all along and only now did I realize it. A million different kinds of ‘hurt’ went through my mind, including the worst kind of all: death.
The wind blew against the car again, with more force this time. I could feel a cool draft of air coming in from somewhere near me, nipping at the back of my neck.
“Adria,” he said, detecting the edge in my posture. “You have to know everything about me.”
Now I wondered how could I make him believe I didn’t fear him, especially now that I looked every bit of afraid? I could sense his despair, his regret, the hatred he felt for the part of him that could not be tamed. Sometimes the look of fear and anguish are not so different.
“I know you didn’t mean to,” I said.
Once I said it, Isaac’s posture hardened.
He went back to the subject of the dream quickly.
“Dreams are just subconscious metaphors,” Isaac began, “They’re Life’s way of warning us of future events, explaining the past and deciphering the present.”
“You think your dream was warning you?”
He nodded slowly.
“Wait a second,” I said, “but you said you were a ghost in that dream.” I couldn’t believe I was even entertaining Isaac’s dream theory—I refused to accept him being dead. That part had to be the metaphor....
“Yes,” he said, “and I think it represents my need to protect you without being in your life.”
All of my organs stopped working in that moment. So, maybe this was about him breaking up with me, after all.
Like his death, I refused to accept that, too.
“Look at me, Adria.”
I couldn’t. I didn’t want him to see me cry and I was going to if this was heading in the direction I feared the most.
“But in one way like my father,” he went on, “I’ll ignore that need and I’ll ignore the warning. As much as I know I’m a danger to you, I’m also selfish. My heart will go against everything my mind tells me.” He sighed and said almost in a whisper, “And later on, I’ll regret it....”
I started to cry anyway.
Wiping away the tears, I turned to him. The topic of his last girlfriend, I wasn’t going to let him avoid. I needed to know the truth. “How did you hurt her?”
Isaac looked down toward his lap. It felt like a long time before he answered.
“I gave her what she wanted,” he said. “I Turned her.”
I started to speak, until I realized I wasn’t sure what to say. Being a werewolf myself was something I never thought about much. Truthfully, I avoided those thoughts as much as possible. The things I had seen, the terrifying transformations, the pain; everything about it made me want to run the other way. Everything but Isaac.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
What more can you say to something like that? I wanted to; I felt like I should, but anything I could think of sounded stupid.
“She was relentless,” Isaac continued, “threatened to have her mother do it if I didn’t. My family did not trust, nor like her; warned me she was unstable.”
“Why didn’t you just let her mother do it?” I said, “If you didn’t want to be the one.”
“Because her mother was a rogue werewolf,” he said. “We, my brothers and I, were hunting her mother. There was no hope for her.”
“Well then you saved her,” I said with confidence. “Don’t you see? If you hadn’t, she’d be dead no matter what.”
“She did die,” Isaac said, draining that confidence right out of me. “I killed her, Adria. I could’ve refused to Turn her, let someone else do it and my conscience would be clear, but I didn’t.”
“The transformation killed her?”
“Yes,” he admitted, “and I knew the possibility existed that it would, but I did it anyway.”
“Isaac,” I said with intent and calm, “I know you hate what you did, but you’re not a murderer. And I know this probably won’t make you feel any better, but I just want you to know...,” Our eyes locked; I could’ve stared forever into his eyes. “...I would never ask you to do that for me. I don’t need to be what you are to be with you. All I care about is that we’re together.”
I meant every word. Isaac Mayfair was my world now. Asking for anything else would be asking too much. The thought of being a werewolf was frightening, yes, but the process killing me was much worse. Only death could take me away from him and I wasn’t about to invite it early.
His lips were soft and tasted like fading mint. Every time he kissed me, it felt like an assurance that my life was complete, even a little magical.
He pulled away slightly; I could still feel his cool breath upon my lips. “It does make me feel better,” he said.
We sat quietly for a moment.
“I was wondering,” I said, finally breaking the silence, “why is it only girls that can die during the transformation? Kind of sexist, I think.”
Isaac chuckled and fell back into the seat again. “Honestly,” he began, still sort of laughing, “No one knows how or why it turned out that way. Just like how some human diseases affect different sexes and races more than another, I guess.”
“Well, it makes girls look weak.”
He held up his index finger. “Not true,” he said. “Girls that do survive the transformation are usually stronger than men. Zia can take down Damien and Dwarf easily.”
“Wow, really?” I pictured Zia taking her brothers on at the same time, and winning. It was a comical mental image, which I’d mess with Damien about later.
“I guess Zia can beat you then too, huh?”
“In her dreams,” he said with a big grin. “She’s too new.”
He added then, “I should get you to school.”
The abrupt change of subject caught me off guard. If all this talk was Isaac’s attempt to cover up his mention of someone else taking me to school, it wasn’t going to work with me.
“Not unless you promise to take me the rest of the week,” I said.
“I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Adria—”
“No, you take me to school, or I stay home.”
He looked uncomfortable, and although I got the sense I was slowly winning this game, I knew he didn’t like it. It wasn’t a joke to him like it was to me.
“I know you can control it,” I said putting the joke aside. “Maybe y
ou should learn to trust yourself more.”
“Maybe you should learn,” Isaac said, “to trust me less.”
Okay, then the game was back on.
I smiled wickedly, thrust open the car door and ran out into the cold. “No promise, no deal!” I said as I ran away from the car, climbing over a small stone wall and down a path.
Finally, I dashed straight into the woods, looking back only once to see how far behind he was. Who was I kidding? Isaac was a werewolf and could catch up to me easily. But he was playing fair, still barely past the trees and obviously running like any human would. I ran hard, trees and bushes whipped by. I jumped across a small flowing stream and then over a fallen tree, surprised I could leap that far. I could hear Isaac behind me, the sound of leaves crunching and sticks snapping underneath his fast and heavy feet.
It was so cold. I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees since he picked me up. The only thing that kept blood flowing through me was how hard I ran. It pumped fast and intensely through my veins. I was beyond the point of being out of breath.
“Is it a promise?” I kept running.
“No!” he shouted.
When I thought the woods would never end, finally I made it to the outskirts and ran out into an endless field.
I stopped, trying to catch my breath and admire the sight before me at the same time. Isaac stood behind me then, not the slightest bit winded.
“It’s beautiful,” I said with unsteady words.
It was just a field. I had seen hundreds of them in my life. Somehow, even those underneath a bright blue sky and blanketed by springtime flowers were nothing compared to this one. It appeared endless, stretched across the horizon by a blanket of frost-covered, dead grass. The sky suspended over it with thick, draping gray clouds that hung so low they seemed to touch the grass in the far distance. The air smelled so clean, as if never touched by human pollution. Only the swish of windblown trees and the low whicker of grazing horses could be heard. There were three out ahead, standing closely together, completely oblivious to the cruel world around them.
“Must be someone’s farm,” said Isaac.
“Let’s get closer,” I urged, taking him by the hand and pulling him along.
The Mayfair Moon Page 20
