Zack rocked her like a child, patted her back, shushed her and finally lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom. Distraught, worried he wanted sex, she smacked at his hands and pushed him away when he began to undress her.
"No. It's not like that,” he soothed. “Let me take care of you."
She took great sucking breaths between sobs as he carefully removed her clothes, then covered her with a quilt. He stepped away from the bedside. She rolled over, closed her eyes, and tried to get control of herself. No luck. The torrent of emotions held in for so long ran wild. She beat at her pillow. Why, why, why had her father done this? Had he no idea what would happen next?
Zack returned, lifted her up again, and took her into the bathroom. He assisted her into the claw foot bathtub filled with bubbles. With a large, soft sponge, he gently bathed her from head to toe. Then he scrubbed her back and rubbed her scalp until her breath slowed and her sobs died to occasional hiccups.
When she tried to speak—to ask questions, he would only say, “Shh. Relax. This is your night off. I'm in charge."
When she stood, he lifted her out of the tub, and toweled her off with a huge fluffy terry cloth robe she didn't recognize. Then he brushed her hair until her scalp tingled, and she felt a glow of warmth trickle down to her fingers and toes. At last, satisfied with his labors, he led her to the bed, plumped up the pillows, tucked her under the covers, and told her to stay there.
A short while later, he returned with a tray of food and two glasses of wine. She wondered where the meal came from, but the thought disappeared when he pulled up a chair next to the bed and began to feed her. Between sips and bites, she tried to speak. But he would only say, “Shh. You need to rest. Tomorrow, you'll have answers to most of your questions."
He turned down the lights. As she felt herself drifting off, he gave her aching forehead a feathery kiss, and breathed, “I love you. I have loved you since the first time Jessie showed me your picture. And now that I have the real you, here with me in Eden, I am even more in love with you. You are my soul mate. Please sleep on this request: Marry me. Be my mate for life."
Limp limbed and befuddled, she watched with heavy eyes as he opened her window, backed out of the room and left the door slightly ajar, leaving a sliver of light to comfort her. She sighed, rolled over, and fell deep into sleep.
A strange thumping sound woke her. She sat up in bed, heart racing—and stared into glowing eyes at the foot of the bed. She gasped, a scream caught in her throat.
She had to be dreaming. It looked as if the creature shimmered and coalesced into the form of a large silver wolf. The animal jumped down to the floor, walked over to the side of her bed and nuzzled her hand.
She recoiled. Then, thinking it was a dream, she reached out and touched a solid nose. She walked her fingers up his head and began to stroke his ears and neck with care. The wolf was real, as real as the dark metal chain collar he wore.
Wide awake, heart in her throat, Charlene dropped her hand, scooted back up the bed and took a deep shaky breath. “Where did you come from?"
The iridescent wolf gazed at her for what seemed like a very long time. He cocked his head to one side, then went to the door and nosed it open. He looked back at her, his eyes glowing.
Puzzled, she sat upright and clenched the sheet in her fists. “Am I supposed to follow you?"
He shook his head.
"Wait here?"
He nodded twice and trotted out the door.
Super intelligent wolves? Not possible. She had to be asleep. She pinched herself—hard. “Ouch!"
Just as she yelped, the wolf walked back into the room with one red rose in his mouth. He put his paws on the bed next to Charlene, and placed the flower on her lap.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. He stared up at her, his eyes shimmering from green to gold. If he was going to hurt her, he'd had ample opportunity. At last, she threw her fears aside and wrapped her arms around his neck. His fur was so soft, but beneath that velvet, she felt the iron of his collar and the vigor of his strong muscles. A familiar scent enveloped her—soap and a musky spice. The tingles of her skin told her this was no ordinary wolf and that he was without a doubt very male.
She lifted her head, put her nose to his, and gazed into now sea green eyes. “What—who are you?"
He shook his head, loped over to the open bedroom window, and bounded out.
Red rose clutched in her hand, she flopped back onto her pillow, and her mind raced until she was dizzy.
What happened? What and who was that beautiful creature? Where had he come from? Other than the mysterious pack of black dogs, when had she last seen a dog, much less a wolf, in Eden? Never. There were no dogs—or wolves—in Eden. Yet sometimes she heard something howling at the moon.
Where were all the dogs?
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Chapter Ten
Dead Letters
The next morning, still puzzling over the curious incident of the wolf in the night, Charlene shuffled out to the kitchen to make coffee and found a freshly brewed pot and a dozen apple cinnamon muffins, still warm from the oven. A note propped up against a mug said, “I have Joey and I'm driving the route. I'll take Joey to Rebekkah after school. You need to get some rest and do some reading. Love, Zack."
She smiled and placed the now limp red rose from the night before next to the note. “Maybe I will keep him."
She pulled out the kitchen chair to sit down and found a shoebox with her name on the lid. She opened it, and saw stacks of envelopes addressed to her Aunt Jessie, postmarked from Baltimore, Maryland. Her breath whooshed out.
Was she really ready for this?
She plopped into the chair and fanned the letters out with shaking hands. She began with the oldest one.
Dear Jessie—
I miss Eden so much. I can't tell you how lonely I've been. I've been trying to decide what to do about the baby. Here in Baltimore, there are options—but I can't bring myself to do any of them. Please don't tell Father I've decided to keep the baby, raise it myself. I found a job as a nurse's aide. I'll write when I can.
Love, Joanna
She thought of her mother—pregnant, young, alone, afraid to go home, terrified of her father. Charlene wondered what she would have done, had she been in her mother's shoes.
Dear Jessie—
I've met a nice man. His name is Fred Johnson. He wants to marry me, doesn't care that I'm pregnant.
Can you believe that? He's working on a doctorate in genetics. I think I will marry him. He is very kind. He would never hurt me or my baby.
Love, Joanna.
Tears blurred Charlene's vision. Her mother married Fred because he was kind. Not because she fell madly in love with him. But they loved each other. Didn't they?
Dear Jessie—
Fred and I were married in a courthouse in Baltimore. We have a nice little apartment near Hopkins and our neighbors are all students, too.
The baby is due any day now.
Love, Joanna
PS: I'm looking forward to your visit.
Jessie had gone to Baltimore?
Dear Jessie—
It was so good to see you. And so nice you arrived right after Joey was born. If you hadn't been here to help, I think I would have lost my mind! The doctors kept reassuring me that my “pregnancy related hair and skin condition” would go away after I delivered. If they only knew! Thank you for telling Fred that Joey's problems run in our family. He is convinced that he will find a cure for whatever it is. Isn't he a dear sweet man?
Love, Joanna
Charlene flipped through the years, and found the news of her birth.
Dear Jessie—
I wish you could be here to meet your niece.
She is PERFECT. Not a single thing wrong. I cannot bring myself to give her a J name as a first name. I know it's our family tradition, but thanks to Fred, she has a fresh start in life, untainted by Eden and our “condition.” I've decided to n
ame her Charlene Jessie Johnson.
Isn't that pretty? Here's a photo of your beautiful, perfect, perfect, perfect niece.
Love, Joanna
PS: I hope this pregnancy mask goes away soon. It reminds me too much of you-know-what.
Smiling, she pulled the snapshot out of the envelope. A perfect infant peered up at the camera from her mother's arms. Joanna had long, luxuriant shiny blonde hair and a symmetrical brown discoloration across her cheeks, the pregnancy mask. What did she mean by “you-know-what?"
The letters were filled with chitchat about daily life in Baltimore. The tone was always upbeat, and each missive extolled Charlene's brilliance and perfection. Why was her mother so hung up on her being “perfect, perfect, perfect?"
Dear Jessie—
I cannot thank you enough for the loan.
I promise we will pay it all off. The school is so good for Joey. He's happy there and now we can give Charlene the opportunities and attention she needs, too. She's so smart. She loves her science classes. I think she's going to be a scientist like her father.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Love, Joanna
Now she knew where the money came for Joey's school. That horrid Mrs. Morton was right. It was expensive, more than her parents could afford on two incomes. Money was tight, but they made sure she had ballet lessons, summer camp and never had to work while she was in college. The year she entered her doctoral program and moved out of the house, the letters began to take a darker turn.
Dear Jessie—
I miss my darling Charlene. As long as she lived here, I could focus on her, on her perfection. When it was that time of the month, I took the injections to control my urges, to protect her from the knowledge of what her mother really was. But now the moon calls to me, and I want to run, run, run. It is getting harder to resist. Poor Fred tries to understand, but how can he? Do you think you could come visit?
I miss you, and some nights, I confess, I miss the family and Eden, too. Sometimes I think I made a mistake by running away. But then I remember my perfect daughter.
Love, Joanna
So Joanna had misgivings about Eden, after all. But why keep warning Charlene away from the town, when she herself was homesick and lonely?
Dear Jessie—
Joey's urges have become difficult to control. He's gotten so big, so strong, so aggressive, the sedatives don't hold him now. Fred was able to bring some experimental genetic treatments home from the lab. But Joey doesn't have Gorlin-Chaudry-Moss Syndrome. The charade has worked for over twenty years, but how long will I be able to keep the truth away from Fred? What do the other mothers do with the boys Oblis sired? How do they control them when the moon is full? Call me. Please. I am desperate. I fear Joey will hurt someone.
Love, Joanna.
Charlene had to re-read the letter three times.
"Joey doesn't have Gorlin-Chaudry-Moss Syndrome?” She blinked once, twice. No, there it was in her mother's own writing. “Oblis.” “The other mothers.” “When the moon is full.” The words ricocheted around in her head, and she thought of the night of the accident, the boys’ distress and Joey's snapping teeth.
She set the letters down and wandered back to the parlor. The photos of Joanna, Jessie, Jethro, and Rebekkah stared back at her—their gazes now heavy with meaning. She looked at each of them, and tried to piece the story together.
Joanna was raped by a predator—Oblis—who carried a mutant gene of some sort. Jethro killed Oblis—but terrified his daughter so much she ran away. Jessie kept in regular touch with Joanna—and colluded with her to fool poor Fred into thinking the family carried Gorlin-Chaudry-Moss Syndrome. But it wasn't Joanna's genes that caused Joey's condition. The mutant gene Oblis carried caused Joey's problems. Joanna's final letter to Jessie, was angry, desperate.
Dear Jessie—
Fred has gone and done something foolish.
His boss called to tell me that his NIH funding is being pulled because he has gone off the deep end. Fred has been harassing psychiatrists to give him their patient records for cases of people who think they're werewolves.
I can't believe he's doing this, risking his funding and our lives. Why couldn't he have just stayed with genetic diseases? I can't do anything about Joey or me, but I'll be damned if I'll let him ruin Charlene's life. I have to stop him.
Love, Joanna
Fred's love for Joanna and obsession with finding a cure for Joey led him to the last place Joanna wanted him to look. When Hoffman called Joanna, she became terrified all would be exposed and her “perfect” daughter's life would be ruined. Charlene picked up Joanna's photo as a pretty woman in the bloom of her youth.
Her mother a werewolf? She scoffed out loud. Not possible. Look at her. She'd been beautiful. Perfect. She closed her eyes, thought back to happy times in high school—and flashed back to her mother and father fighting.
It had been in the middle of the night and she'd gotten up to go to the bathroom.
Her mother's voice sounded uncharacteristically whiny. “I really neeeed that medicine, Fred."
"The moon won't be full for another week."
"Noooo. I neeeed it now.” Her mother was crying. “Please, please, please."
"You're becoming addicted, Joanna. If I give it to you now, you'll never be off the damn drug."
"You bastard!” The distinct sound of a hand slapping a cheek had rung out in the house. A gasp. “Fred. I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."
A door had slammed.
Charlene had crept back to bed, pulled the quilt over her head, and cried herself to sleep.
She opened her eyes as the realization overwhelmed her. The signs had all been there, but she'd never had the family history to put them into context. Not until now.
She stared at the perfect picture of her mother. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Not.
"What happened, Mom? Where were you going that night?"
The police placed the accident on I-83, heading south, at about midnight. Why were they out at that hour? Were they heading to the genetics lab two exits away? Had her mother convinced her father to destroy his werewolf research? Who was she hiding it from? Why bother? Hoffman knew and was planning to fire her father soon.
"You wanted to protect me. You confronted Fred at a full moon."
Her mother must have been furious. Did she forget to take her medications—or did she skip them on purpose? Without medications, when the full moon of March came to collect her due, did Joanna change like Joey and the boys on the bus? Knowing how frightened she'd been, Charlene could only imagine Fred's reaction. In her rage, had her mother attacked her mate, clawing and biting him? Maybe the car had gone out of control. Or maybe Dad had felt he had no choice but to drive straight into a concrete buttress. Each, in their own way, fought to protect the next generation—her—from knowing the family secrets. And in the end, they both lost. Because, as Jethro said over and over, “Blood will tell."
An unbidden thought bubbled up in her mind. What had her mother looked like in her werewolf form? She sat down hard in an armchair, her mother's photo clutched in her hand. The fact that she found herself accepting the possibility of such a creature, and that she even wondered what her mother looked like when she changed overwhelmed her.
She took deep cleansing breaths and tried to think of rational explanations for all the strange experiences she'd had before coming to Eden. Her mother's monthly “migraines,” her brother's fixation with the moon, her own urges to go on long distance runs on nights when the moon was full. And, now, here in Eden, all the other weird events, even the visitation by the strange silver wolf. She stood up and walked back to the bedroom.
Next to the bed on the floor, she found a few strands of silver-white hair. The same color as Zack's. The animal's eyes had been the same as his, too. She whispered to herself, “I'm either going crazy—or I'm in love with a werewolf."
How could she leave Eden now? She found her family, her home—and a
man who made her feel complete. Her soul mate. There must be another solution. Her mother and father had chosen a path that led to death. What should she do? Her mother struggled for decades to protect her perfect daughter—and died to keep the secret. Now that she knew, Charlene had to choose. But what should she do? Be disloyal to her mother and all the sacrifices she made for her? Or accept her hidden birthright and destroy the last vestiges of her mother's perfect human child? Was it all or nothing? Or was there a way to have a “mixed marriage,” like her parents, and live in both worlds?
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eleven
Secrets Within Secrets Within Secrets
Zack pulled the bus, now empty of all riders except Joey, into Charlene's driveway. His beloved stood on the porch in a cobalt blue dress that accentuated her smoky blue eyes. Her berry red lips looked as if they were waiting for his kiss. His heart sped up, and his pants tightened at the thought of rubbing his hands across her breasts and hardened nipples. Later, he would make love to her and lick her all over.
Not making eye contact, Charlene looked distracted and played with her bracelet. She approached the bus after it stopped, and climbed aboard.
"Hi there, Joey!” She signed and spoke at the same time. “Did you have good day?"
"Moon, moon, moon,” he signed. “Big moon."
Strands of hair fell into her eyes when she nodded, and she brushed them away. “Yes, there is a full moon tonight, but you'll be in bed before it rises.” She lowered the lift. “Now, let's get you an early dinner, so Zack and I can have a private conversation."
Joey's evening rituals took on a soothing quality for Zack, even as questions bubbled up in his mind. Charlene spoke very little to Zack directly, instead keeping her focus on Joey for the next hour. When she met his gaze, her eyes slid away from his, as if she was afraid of what she might see. He wondered if he repelled her now that he had revealed his true identity to her. Had it been too soon? Part of him wanted to drag the truth out of her, but his other, fearful self was relieved at her silence. Too soon dinner was over, Joey bathed and in bed, and she led him by the hand out onto the porch.
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