Werewolves of Chicago: Xavier

by Faleena Hopkins

  “How about burgers?” I ask them all, turning the ignition with the decision already made. Emily looks over at me in surprise.

  “You don’t want to do that…” she politely says. But her children are going nuts.

  “BURGERS!!!”

  “Can I have a strawberry shake, Mommy?” Sofia asks, so hopeful it’s crazy.

  Emily starts to object again, but I throw up my hand for her to stop right there. “You can have any kind of shake you want, Sofia. My treat.”

  Enthusiasm rings out from the backseat and I keep my eyes on the road. I can feel the tension up front, but I don’t care. The woman needs a second job. I’m the reason for that. The least I can do is buy them some fucking burgers. Even if I have no experience with children.

  “You’re really good with them,” Emily tells me as they draw on their paper placemats.

  “The waitress brought the crayons. That wasn’t my idea.”

  Emily smiles and looks away from me. “I don’t mean that.”

  “They’re easy to make happy,” I shrug, not wanting to talk about it. I’m not great at compliments and the truth is, I’m on edge here. These kids are foreign objects in my world. Everything I’m doing is just to see them smile. That’s the map I’m using.

  “Wolfman, look! I drew you!” Michael holds up his placemat right in front of his face.

  Emily tells him, “It’s Xavier, honey. Don’t call him…oh God!” Her hand flies to her mouth and she looks over at my reaction.

  On that paper is a werewolf. A fucking werewolf with claws and poorly rendered jeans. There are shards of a shirt on the ground. At least I think that’s what those are. I’m hoping they’re not body parts. The werewolf is holding the hand of a brunette stick lady, who I’m guessing is Michael’s mother. Fuck me.

  The kicker is the werewolf is smiling. Yeah. A big grin is on the cartoon monster’s dripping fangs. DRIPPING. Holy Jesus.

  “You nailed it, kid,” I tell him. “Can I keep that?”

  “Let me sign it!” he says with complete seriousness like he’s Picasso. Scribbling out a very wobbly Michael Foster, he hands the paper placemat to me with pride. “Put it on your fridge.”

  “Will do.” I fold it up and glance around me to see if anyone saw this.

  Emily is the color of an overripe tomato. “I’m so sorry. It’s the beard.”

  “Totally. I get it,” I mutter.

  “BURGERS!” Sofia squeals as the waitress comes up with her hands full of baskets of food that smell fucking incredible. Only my appetite is failing me because what the fuck is up with these children? How do they know what I am?

  It’s the beard — yeah right.

  Emily

  I can’t believe how much my kids love this guy. Horror-drawing aside because Michael’s imagination has always been a little dark, they are laughing at almost everything he does. With her mouth stuffed with a burger, nothing on it but cheese and bun since she hates condiments of any kind, Sofia is grinning and asking him to do it again.

  Xavier snaps the violet crayon between his index and middle finger. It makes a great little noise and the kids think it’s the best thing ever. Especially after Michael tried to do it and couldn’t, even with both hands.

  “Again!” Michael demands with a huge smile. “This one!”

  Xavier chuckles and takes the burnt-sienna crayon from my son’s small fingers, his looking like a giant’s in comparison. “Crayon, hear me. You are no match for my strength!” He scowls at the thing and snaps it in half. The kids melt into infectious giggles.

  He glances to me, dark eyes glittering with amusement. Our gaze lingers and I look away first. The fries are extremely interesting all of a sudden. I have to admit I’ve got strange and scary ideas dancing through my head. Being here with him and the children feels so right. Like we could just stay like this. And be a family.

  But then he gets a text message.

  Pulling out his phone, Xavier’s smooth brow creases. He types, hits send, then slips his phone back in his pocket, lifting off the chair to do so. I don’t like the look on his face.

  “You have to go?”

  His frown deepens. “I’m needed.”

  He’s needed? What for? Work? I still don’t know what he does. He’s not the most open and inviting person when it comes to details about personal things regarding him.

  Heart pounding with disappointment and the fear that we’re getting in the way, I offer, “Oh, well, we can take the rest to-go. That’s not a problem.” I expect him to turn that down, but I’m not so lucky.

  “Yeah, let’s do that.” His mind is miles away, until Sofia’s bottom lip starts quivering.

  “I don’t wanna leave the wolf man, mommy!” she says too loudly.

  “Oh honey. Don’t call him that. And Xavier has a life to get back to. He was just being nice—”

  He interrupts me by leaning over the table toward my daughter. “You know what, Sofia?” She shakes her head, lip stuck out. “I don’t wanna leave either. Can I visit you tomorrow?” Her eyes light up and her mouth opens wide like she just saw Santa Clause.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he tells her in a very serious voice. “That okay, Michael?”

  My son’s disappointment was more reserved than my daughter’s. Michael tends to hold his bad feelings in so as not to appear weak. He nods abruptly like he’s talking to a preacher. “Yes, sir.”

  Sir? I glance over to Xavier whose eyes flicker at the manner of address. By his face I have a feeling it’s the first time anyone ever called him that. “Good.” He gets up and goes to get take-out boxes for us. I watch him leave, forgetting I have two sponges in front of me. They’re staring at me, chomping on French fries.

  “You like him, Mommy?” Sofia asks me with innocent green eyes.

  “But what will Daddy say when he gets back from vacation?” Michael frowns.

  Oh shit. I really have to tell them the truth some time soon. Especially if…

  “He’s just a friend, Michael.”

  That’s all he can be. Xavier doesn’t seem like the type to…oh, but he is so good with them!

  Oh, Emily, you are getting in deep. Cut it out. If anything this guy can help you work out some sexual tension and start your motor running. But he cannot be more. He’s just taking pity on you. Don’t forget that.

  As he walks back, his eyes lock on me. We stare at each other until he arrives at the table and starts loading up what’s left of our meal. I’m concentrating on my chocolate shake like drinking it will make all the uncertainty in my life go away. Chocolate has that power sometimes.

  When he drops us off, Xavier tells me, “Be careful of Ford trucks.”

  I laugh and follow my kids to the safety of the sidewalk. He waves me back over. In a low volume so the children can’t hear him, he says, “I’ll come by tomorrow around ten. Like how I did that? I always get what I want, and I want you, Emily.” A sexy smirk pulls at his beard.

  Giddiness jumps into my chest like I’m a teenager. I try to stifle a grin and fail completely. “Ten.”

  “Ten. I won’t be late.”

  Nodding, I cross my arms and step back so he can pull away. “Thanks for…everything.”

  A frown appears on his face for some reason. He puts the car in gear and leaves. Was I too eager? Too grateful? Why did his expression darken so quickly?

  Xavier

  Thanks for everything?

  She has no idea. None. Fuck me.

  Bringing my fingers up to my nose, I fail to get a whiff of her. Had to wash my hands at the restaurant since we were with her kids. I hate soap for how effective it is. The guy who invented it was an asshole.

  I slam through our front door ready to fight. “What the fuck is up with this shit.”

  Standing in our loft is my pack and those fucking lemmings Jaron and Rafe. The women aren’t here. Good. Because I want to tear me some wolf flesh and I don’t need to feel bad about who’s watching.

  Cu
rragh turns to me. “Took you long enough.”

  “I was busy.”

  “Having a mushroom burger?”

  Ignoring him, I glare at the member’s of Howard’s childhood pack. “I couldn’t believe the text, but my eyes don’t lie. Here you are. Ready for a second round.”

  Jaron throws up his hands. “Wait! We just came to tell you guys.”

  Draik head is low, his shoulders bent. He’s just like me. Suspicious. Curragh’s tight. But Howard? He’s ready to shift any second. The guy has been ready to pounce ever since he met Alisa. All you need is a match and the pyre ignites in fangs and snarling.

  This is not lost on Jaron and Rafe. They’re holding their own, but behind their eyes is sheer terror. “It’s Lewis. He’s uh…”

  “Shooting at us from rooftops,” Draik grates. “We already covered that. Now why’d you want to wait until Xavier got here?”

  Two sets of eyes dart to me.

  They wanted me here? Why?

  Curragh guesses at the reason.

  “Because you knew he was one of the targets. And you’ve come to take him down.” Snarling, he takes a menacing step forward.

  “What?!!!! No!” To Jaron, Rafe says, “This looks bad. We should have told them right away.”

  “But he’s the sane one!” Jaron whispers, jabbing a finger my way. They’re acting like we can’t hear them. Or they’re just too fucking freaked to care because decisions have to be made or they’ll be whining with their tails between their legs on their bloody way out.

  Although this he’s the sane one remark has my attention. Howard and I exchange a glance and he shrugs, telling me with a look that he’d accidentally spread that rumor himself, before he officially joined us. It makes sense. We made him wait a couple years before we let him in. He was probably talking about us with his childhood pack on a visit to his loony she-bitch of a mother.

  Curragh commands them, “He’s here, so out with it!” His glowing green eyes and hunched stance tell them there is no alternative.

  “Okay!” Jaron mutters, throwing out his hands. His eyes are glowing now, too. Defensive, his wolf is ready to defend itself. This signal sets us all on edge and now every werewolf present is more than halfway to shifting. “We want to join you! That’s all! We want to be a part of your pack.”

  Silence.

  Then a cracking neck as Howard gathers himself, the first to bounce back from the shock. “You guys can’t be serious.”

  “We’re totally serious,” Rafe says, under his breath, looking around at the four poised to attack. “We’re not with Lewis. But we thought if we were going to ask to join you, all of you needed to be here, especially since he’s the voice of reason.” Rafe jabs a finger in my direction.

  Curragh cocks an eyebrow at me. I smirk. “He said it so it must be true.”

  “Right,” he mutters, half-amused. “This ain’t happening guys. Ya better go now.”

  Rafe starts for the door, wanting to protect his skin. He has to pass me to do it, and he throws me a look that screams he wishes this went another way. But these two go where the wind blows and we don’t play that way.

  Jaron’s walking sideways, too. Neither of them wants to turn their backs on us. He tries one last time. “Look. You guys are strong. I don’t mean just powerful, I mean as a team. We need that. Our alphas left a long time ago. We’ve got no one to lead us. We want to join you. We mean well.”

  “You mean well?” Draik repeats, astounded. “You MEAN WELL?”

  War’s lips are tight.

  Curragh’s eyes, now normal green, lock on me. I nod and address our guests. “There are no alphas here. We do just fine without them because we have a code. It’s loyal and unspoken. It’s built on integrity. Of which you two have none. Go back to your pack.”

  Rafe calls out in a childish way, “You let Howard join! He wasn’t loyal to us.”

  My head cocks as I turn and face the fucking bastard with an expression that tells him how much of an idiot I think he really is. “Because you weren’t loyal to him. We were. And his name is War now. A name and right to be here that took him two years to earn. You turncoats didn’t know better than to follow an evil prick like Tahl. This? It will never happen. We can’t trust your judgment. Go.”

  “We didn’t know—” Rafe starts to argue, but Jaron grabs his arm.

  “Come on. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  They grudgingly leave. As the heavy industrial door shuts downstairs, War is at the window making sure. He mutters, “They’re going. But they’re not happy about it. And I don’t blame them.”

  Draik balks, “You think we should have heard them out?!”

  “Hell no,” he mumbles, staring out at his past. “I just know why they want out of there.”

  Enough said. We all know he’s right. But it doesn’t change the fact that those two wolves are where they belong. “Do you believe they don’t know where Lewis is? I’m assuming you questioned them.”

  “They think he might have joined the Russians,” Curragh grumbles, collapsing onto a chair and spreading his legs wide.

  War’s eyes darken at a memory. “When the Russian approached Tahl, he was told to bring a gift. Maybe that’s why he shot at you. One of you, or both, was the gift.”

  “Well, that’s fucking great.” I grab a bottle of Bookers and four glasses, my fingers stuck in them and hooking them together. Maybe soap is good. I don’t need these animals knowing how good Emily’s pussy smells.

  “What’s that in your pocket?” Draik asks me as I return to our usual meeting place — the couch, chairs and coffee table. Who needs more furniture than this? Not us.

  “What are you talking about?” I mumble, opening the new cap and pouring.

  Coming to sit on the beaten-up leather couch, he grabs it to see for himself. The second he does this, I remember. Throwing the bottle to Curragh I try to grab the placemat back.

  “Give that to me.”

  Draik jumps out of reach and walks backward, unfolding it. “No!”

  “Draik, give me the fucking paper!”

  He laughs and ducks as I try to tackle him. And fail. My nerves made me clumsy. I really don’t want him seeing that drawing.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  Too late.

  Xavier

  Draik holds up Michael’s extremely incriminating work of art for War and Curragh to inspect. “Someone has something he wants to tell us.”

  There I am, a bloody-fanged werewolf holding a cartoon version of Emily Foster’s hand.

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  Scratching my beard and not meeting their eyes, I mutter, “It’s nothing. I found it.”

  At first Draik was amused. Playing. But now he’s growing more and more pissed by the second. “Seriously. What the fuck.” He holds it out for me, as if that’s going to make me tell him anything.

  I snatch it back, fold it then shove it in my back pocket where it belongs. War’s frowning at me like he wants to help. But he can’t. I got myself into this mess. I have to get myself out.

  “It’s a kid’s drawing. I found it.”

  Do they believe me? Hell no. And I’m trying to decide if I care or not. I have plans to see that family again in the morning, and I will be there. At some point tomorrow I am going to claim Emily and remove that frown she wears too often. If these guys get in my way…I won’t let them.

  So I take a seat and stare ahead. The loft is huge but feels really small to me right about now. I want to escape. This is the part of being a pack that’s a pain in my ass. The accountability to something greater than just your wants and desires. It’s the price you have to pay for friendship.

  Draik looms over me as if that’s going to do him any good. I love the guy but if he keeps getting in my face, I will fight him.

  “Sit down,” I mutter.

  “I don’t feel like fucking sitting down, X. I don’t feel like sitting down at all.”

  The drawing in my back pocket is burnin
g a hole in my skin. Grabbing the bottle, I pour for just me. They can fend for themselves. I need this more than they do.

  “Is it from Mrs. Foster’s kids?” War asks in a low voice. I shoot him a look. “What? We have to know. That’s our secret on that paper!”

  “I know it is.” The world isn’t ready for werewolves. We have to hide who we are. Humans hate things that are different. It challenges them in ways they’re not comfortable. And the first way they deal with it is killing. It’s been like that all the way back to Jesus. Not that we’re the messiah or anything but he got killed for being different. For thinking things that challenged the status quo. And he was just trying to help, just like we are.

  Human beings would hunt us down if they knew we are real.

  I inhale and glance around to my packmates. “He doesn’t know. The kid calls me Wolfman because of my beard.”

  “The fuck he does!” Draik grinds out. “He sees you. The real you.”

  Curragh hasn’t said a word, but now he leans forward so that I’m forced to look at him. “You said you were going to stay away from her.” He grabs the bottle as I reach for it. “Fucking share.”

  I lean back on the couch and spread my legs wide, kicking one boot on the table. “Least I could do was buy them a meal.”

  War stretches his arm out. “Let me see that drawing.”

  “No.” I shoot him a look, daring him to try and take it from me. “It’s just a kid. They—”

  “—see things adults can’t,” War finishes.

  “I wasn’t going to say that. Draik, sit your ass down. You’re bothering me.”

  He doesn’t move. “That kid knows.” I just stare at him. “You can’t see them again.”

  “You think someone’s going to believe a kid? Kids have imaginary friends! Nobody believes them when they talk about monsters. Michael probably still believes in Santa!” I reach for the bottle, but Curragh hands it to War, with a glass. I glare at him.

  He cocks an eyebrow, takes a swig, then says, “Michael…and what’s the girl’s name?”

  “Sofia. You know that. Kara told us when she investigated into their Social Services records.”