by Meg Ripley
Aiza felt herself growing weaker, but she didn’t register any pain; didn’t register the implications of her slower reflexes. All she knew was the taste of blood on her snout and the need to defend her territory at all costs. She might have paid the ultimate price, but the darkness around her shifted again as a gray wolf sprung through the air.
The newcomer landed on the back of Butch’s neck, ripping him away from Aiza with a strong bite. The two wolves rolled across the ground, teeth flashing white, long legs flailing and tangling together. The newcomer found his feet first, and still unharmed, took advantage of Butch’s weakening legs, burying his snout in Butch’s throat and biting hard. The other wolf’s howl was cut off, turning into a thick gurgling sound as blood poured from his throat and his mouth. The newcomer held him in place until he stopped twitching and his body went limp.
With the threat removed, Aiza shifted back to herself. She was exhausted, yet her nerves were screaming, sending her entire body on edge. She felt like she could run for miles; she wanted to scream and needed to work the excess energy out of her system. She stood on shaking legs, blood streaking down her naked skin. The gray wolf shifted as well, giving Aiza a perfect view of his finely muscled, familiar form.
He turned to her, shoulders rolling back, long hair blowing in the wind. Aiza’s heart still raced, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He closed the length between them in two long strides, his strong fingers closing around her shoulders. His grip was tight enough to leave finger-shaped bruises as he lifted her feet off the ground, carrying her to the hood of her car.
Her legs wrapped around his hips automatically, pulling him against her welcoming body, and their mouths clashed. She tasted blood on his lips and tongue, and she knew he must have tasted the same coppery combination from her own mouth. His erection slid against her bare, soft thigh, and she felt the pulse of his heart pounding through his rigid flesh. He reached between them and guided his length to her opening.
He entered her in one long, hard stroke. They’d been silent except for their ragged breathing, but as soon as he filled her, they both cried out. She clenched around him, pulling him as close as possible, her head dropping back with pure relief. The entire car shook with the force of his thrusts, and her body absorbed the shock of his strength, sweat gathering on the back of her neck, rolling down her throat, smearing across his skin. A breeze picked up, rolling over her heated flesh, bringing her nipples into two tight peaks. His thumbs rolled over the nubs as he rocked into her, his mouth pulling into a smile as she moaned and bucked her hips.
Her fingernails raked over his shoulders and down his back as the flames of pleasure fanned through her. She gripped the back of his head and dragged his mouth back to hers, using the pressure of his lips to muffle her growing moans. His tongue moved against hers, and he snapped his hips in just the right tempo, pushing her closer and closer to the edge she was reaching for.
His mouth moved from her lips to the side of her neck, the tips of his sharp teeth playing over her slick skin; the pressure was enough to make her shudder. Once she started shaking, she couldn’t stop, her body quaking with the power of her release. That was the moment his teeth sank down, and though the pressure was hard enough to leave a bruise, she didn’t feel a second of pain; only pure sensation as the pleasure caught into an inferno, fueled by adrenaline from the fight and the endorphins always released when she shifted into a wild creature—a creature powerful enough to kill.
She howled as she soared over the edge, the sound carrying across the sleeping city.
“God, Dwight,” she clutched his hair and pulled his head back, “why can’t you ever be on time?”
“Get out of here before the cops come, Baby Doll.”
“You get out of here. I’ll talk to the cops,” Aiza said, voice full of righteous fury. “That guy attacked me.”
“No, Baby Doll, you’re not talking to anybody.” He released her and straightened. A moment later, he was moving to his motorcycle for his clothes. She shivered and looked around, but her clothes were not only out of reach, they’d been completely shredded by her sudden transformation.
“Bring me your jacket.”
Dwight complied, fishing out a cigarette before handing it over.
Her face twisted with disgust as he lit it and took a long drag. “It’s not your decision.”
“It’s my decision to keep my head attached to my shoulders,” Dwight countered. “Butch was a pretty high-ranking member of the Wolf Brotherhood.”
“All the more reason to talk to the cops,” Aiza argued, shrugging the heavy leather jacket on. She’d never admit it, but she loved the way Dwight’s jacket smelled—especially now that her senses were heightened by her lycanthropy. She could just imagine his smirk if he ever found out that piece of information.
“Either the cops give the Brotherhood a hard time and they retaliate by coming after you, or the cops tip off the Brotherhood that you’re looking to give them a hard time and they come after you. They know he was here tonight.”
Aiza’s eyes narrowed. “And you knew he’d be here, too.”
“Paul’s Tavern is part of the regular route.”
“Well it’s not Paul’s anymore—it’s my goddamned tavern. That’s it, first thing Monday morning, I’m changing the sign. After I buy a gun.”
Dwight eyed the dead wolf. “You don’t need a gun, Baby Doll.”
“You’re the one who killed him. You’re just trying to save your own neck. You don’t want the cops to tip off the Brotherhood to what really happened.”
“And what really happened, Aiza?” He took her by the shoulder, his eyes boring into hers. “Is it that I saved your life?”
“Dwight—”
“There is a world of hurt waiting for you once they know about Butch. I’d just as soon avoid that, but hey,” he raised his hands and smiled a smile that wasn’t very warm, “it’s up to you.”
The thought of covering up a man’s death—even if she didn’t regret the death itself—made her sick to her stomach. She hadn’t done anything but defend herself, but that defense was weakened considerably by an obstruction of justice charge. She’d lose everything if she went to jail. Her bar, her house, everything.
But none of that would count for much if she was dead.
“I’ll go home.”
“And you won’t mention this to anyone.”
Aiza shook her head, the sick feeling in her stomach growing worse by the second. “I won’t mention this to anyone.”
“Good girl.” He hunted around the parking lot and found her purse. She accepted it with numb fingers and a nod of thanks.
“I’ll be by later for my coat. Don’t let anyone else in the house.”
At that moment, she had no intention of letting him into her house. All she could think about was a stiff drink and a hot shower, but ultimately, neither quieted her nerves nor calmed her upset stomach.
Aiza’s home was her sanctuary. The one place the rest of the world couldn’t touch her and wasn’t welcome. She rarely invited friends, or boyfriends, to her home; her need for privacy was too great. Most of the time, her friends or boyfriends respected her boundaries and didn’t press for more, but Dwight was neither a friend nor a boyfriend, and he had no reason to respect her boundaries.
She met Dwight at the bar while she was still waitressing. He was a regular and he tipped well, and though he wasn’t her type at all, she still found herself responding to his flirtations and smiles. She never intended to sleep with him, and after she slept with him the first time, she didn’t mean to sleep with him a second time—or a third time. It was a mistake. That’s what she told him each time, and yet it appeared he was her favorite mistake to make because, like a moth to a flame, she just couldn’t keep away from him.
Even after he turned her into a werewolf.
Especially after he turned her into a werewolf.
She inspected her home with the same care she used at the bar, checking the locks o
n her doors and windows and arming her security system. The security system was still new; she had it installed after her turning. Dwight had warned her that the Brotherhood forbade anyone in the pack from making new wolves, and though she didn’t quite understand why that was her problem, she still took as many safety precautions as she could.
As soon as she secured the place, she stripped Dwight’s jacket from her shoulders and climbed into a hot shower. The water turned pink as it ran down the curves of her body and pooled at her feet, but most of the blood had dried and needed to be scraped off with her loofah. Her injuries were minor and already beginning to heal, but they still stung under the hot water. Her eyes burned and tingled, but she blinked back the tears; there was no reason to cry. She was fine. She would continue to be fine.
Everything would be fine.
No matter how many times she repeated that to herself, she couldn’t quite believe it.
Once she was out of the shower, she wrapped herself in her fluffy fleece robe and put the kettle on to boil water for tea. Her stomach growled with the same ferocity as a wolf and the accompanying pain drove her to the fridge. She was always horny and hungry after she shifted into her lupine form. Now that Dwight had satisfied one craving, she was left to prepare her own dinner. All she wanted was meat—lean, red, raw meat. She scanned the fridge and zeroed in on a pound of ground beef, deciding that a burger made very rare would fit the bill.
While her tea steeped and the burger cooked, she downed a double shot of good ol’ Kentucky bourbon. It burned all the way down, but in a good way that left her skin flushed and tingling. Another double, and she started to feel somewhat normal. She fished her phone out of her purse to see if Dwight had called; he hadn’t, but her sister, Sera, had.
She felt a familiar pang when she saw her sister’s name. It had been years since they last spoke—not because Aiza didn’t miss her or love her, but somehow, the longer she went without speaking to her family, the harder it was to call them.
So many things had changed, in both good and bad ways. What would she say? I’m doing really well now. I have a house, a bar, and oh yeah, by the way, I’m a werewolf, and I just killed a man.
“Tomorrow,” she promised herself. “I’ll give her a call tomorrow.”
****
Most nights, Aiza dreamed about the day she died.
She didn’t remember being dead. She didn’t remember the crash itself. Later, she was told they skidded to avoid an oncoming car, a drunk driver in the wrong lane. The blow she took to the head would have killed her instantly, if it wasn’t for her helmet. It was still a big enough hit to knock her unconscious for three days and wipe several days from her memory.
For a full month, she had no ability to make new memories. She had to be reminded of her own name, her own life, every day. Even now, she had no recollection of those thirty days. She couldn’t recall how frustrating and frightening it must have been. Aiza tried to imagine the woman who had lived through that waking nightmare; tried to imagine what it must have felt like to be in a state of perpetual confusion.
She tried to imagine the woman who heard Dwight’s offer and had no choice but to accept it.
She did remember the bite.
In the video Aiza made of herself, she explained that the bite would be serious enough to scar. He’d chosen the inside of her left thigh, and Aiza had spent a long time contemplating the placement of that bite. She hardly thought it would have been her first choice, so the placement must have been Dwight’s decision.
She went on to explain that she would feel a strong connection to Dwight from then on, no matter what happened, no matter how much distance she tried to put between them.
Aiza had been perplexed by that statement—what kind of connection? Would she suddenly find herself in love with the man? Would she be enthralled by him?
The connection wasn’t anything so awful or so simple.
“So, why am I doing this? Because it looks like it’s my only chance. My only choice. The transformation from human to werewolf might repair the damage done to my brain. Dwight brought in a specialist who explained that werewolves have the ability to heal faster, and that ability is currently being studied all over the world. Doctors can’t explain why, but there have been studies that demonstrate that humans who are infected with lycanthropy will show the alleviation and sometimes reversal of all kinds of things—including brain damage.”
In fact, Dwight had been injured in the accident, too, but he had completely recovered in less than a week. He’d told her that he was walking again the day before she woke up.
The video also included footage of her discussion with the specialist, warning there were risks associated with the transformation, too. Aiza had studied the video countless times, watching the play of her face as the doctor explained the entire process, gave her the warnings, and told her how her life might change.
Dwight told her she’d watched the video every day for two weeks, and each day of those two weeks, she shook her head. Then, on the fifteenth day, she’d signed the paperwork to give Dwight legal permission to turn her into a werewolf. What had changed on that day? Aiza would never know. She’d also never truly know for sure that she had changed her mind. There was no independent verification of the moment she said yes—just Dwight’s word.
But she didn’t care too much, either. It had been the right thing to do, and her ability to make memories returned one week after the bite. Within a month of that, she was able to return to work at her newly-purchased bar. Fortunately, Paul had stayed on to run the place while she was recovering, and it was in perfect working order when she was ready to take the reins.
Unfortunately, stepping back into her life wasn’t that easy, though. There were plenty of websites and even support groups to help her transition into her new life as a wolf, but many of the people in the support groups were literally victims, brutally attacked and changed against their will. She didn’t feel comfortable revealing her own story and listening to everybody recounting how wolves ruined their lives frightened her. Would she always be able to control herself? Would she harm—even kill—someone someday?
Ultimately, Dwight was the only one she could speak to about her fears. A part of her almost expected him to shrug it off, but that was when she learned the meaning of the word connection.
Dwight had taken her concerns and fears seriously. He promised to teach how to change at will, how to control herself as a wolf, and how to handle her heightened senses. She didn’t find herself falling in love with him, but she did enjoy the time she spent with him, even when they weren’t having sex—and they had a lot of sex in between their lessons on meditation, concentration, and control.
Most mornings, when she woke up, the scar on her thigh throbbed and her head pulsed with the memory of that moment, when teeth sank into flesh and her blood mingled with his saliva, carrying the virus through her system.
Other than that, Aiza had reached the point where she rarely thought about being a werewolf. Her life was full, busy and healthy.
But now a threat hung over her life, and when she woke from the dream with a breathless gasp at half past three, she knew she wouldn’t be getting back to sleep that night. Something had woken her. She strained her ears to listen for approaching footsteps.
“Dwight?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Is that you?”
“It’s me, Baby Doll.”
Light flooded the room and Aiza gasped as she saw that Dwight wasn’t alone. The man pointing a gun at Dwight offered Aiza a cruel smile, “Hi, Baby Doll. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Who…?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the gun. “What’s happening?”
“This is Franklin,” Dwight said, his voice surprisingly even. “He’s on the Brotherhood’s counsel.”
“What do you want?” Now that she was over her initial shock, anger flooded her system. Why couldn’t these assholes leave her alone? She’d never done anything to them. Dwight had ment
ioned before that the Brotherhood strictly forbade creating new werewolves. She understood it was against their rules or whatever, but she was under no obligation to live under their rules.
“I just wanna chat. I have a few questions, that’s all. And since Dwight refused to answer, I thought I’d get the news from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Aiza said as dismissively as she could.
“I thought you might say that. But I’ve had my eye on you for a while, Aiza Simpson, and I know something you don’t know.”
“Oh, really? What’s that?”
“I know where your sister lives.”
“So what?” Aiza asked, trying to keep her voice even, though he must have sensed the sudden increase in her heart rate.
“So maybe I’ll make myself a mate like Dwight here did.”
Aiza’s mind flashed to the support group survivors, the ones who’d been held down and turned against their wills; the ones who were forced to feel an emotional and physical connection to the wolves who ruined their lives. She could not fathom Sera becoming one of them, and somehow, Franklin knew that Dwight had turned her, too, which meant that he was going to be in for a world of hurt once the rest of the Brotherhood found out.
“What do you want to know?”
“Where’s Butch?”
“I don’t know,” Aiza answered. “I don’t even know who Butch is.”
“Don’t lie to me, Aiza. It doesn’t become you. Now I’m trying to have a decent conversation with you, but if you’re not capable of that, I can find other ways to get the information I need.”
“Why do you think I know anything about this Butch guy?”
“Because he had a meeting with you today,” Franklin said.
“Oh, I see. You sent him to shake me down and when he didn’t return, you assumed that I had something to do with that. Get out of my house, or I’m going to call the police.”
