by Alana Hart
I watched his face without speaking for some time, mulling over his words, trying to tease meanings and implications out of them.
“And if I didn’t ‘abide by my word’?” I asked, rather petulantly rather than an actual challenge. He frowned, shoulders hunching a bit, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“We would-” he paused again, as if seeking the right phrasing, “-have to discuss it, as a pack, and decide how to proceed. If anyone actually took you seriously, though, it would probably not end pleasantly for you.” His tone was more apologetic than threatening.
“Yeah, ‘bout what I figured.” I sighed, pouting a little, and started to hang my own head, but remembered what that would put prominently in my gaze again and kept it steadfastly upright.
We were quiet again for several long moments, before I spoke back up. “What does it mean, that I’m “half wolf”, anyway? Am I likely to randomly turn into a dog at some point? Or,” I drew in a breath, cringing, as an awful thought occurred to me, “am I going to turn into some awful Hollywood-style half-beast werewolf thing?” My eyes were so wide with horror at that thought it almost hurt.
He chuckled softly, his arm twitching as if he had started to reach for me again and thought better of it. “No, nothing like that. What it means, is that unlike us, you can choose.”
“Choose? Choose what?” I asked, not wanting to make incorrect assumptions on what was probably a very important point to my health and safety right now.
“You can choose which world you want to live in.”
I arched a brow. “Well aren’t we in a melodramatic mood,” I muttered under my breath. I had assumed only Bryson would hear me, if even him. From the few soft chuckles I picked up on, most of those around us did, if not all of them. I blushed a bit.
“Sorry. It’s basically true, though. You can choose to live in the world you’ve always known, safe and plain and human. Or, you can choose to enter the world of shifters,” there was a little snag in his voice, as if he would have said something more but stopped himself just in time.
“So, basically… the same old life except with a bunch of nosy “family” that turn into wild animals at will?” Where is all this snark coming from?
He gave a proper laugh at that, his eyes crinkling at the edges. His face lit up with genuine good humor was a lovely sight, handsome as he was, even in the midst of all this insanity.
“Well, that’s one option, certainly, if that’s what you’d prefer. But most likely, if you wish, you can become one of us; you can choose the life of a wolf.”
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I started to squeak out a protest, or a question, or some combination of the two — I wasn’t even quite sure myself. Bryson spoke right over the aborted sound, however.
“Have you noticed any— well, any changes in yourself, since we started being around each other again?”
“You mean besides being driven into a paranoid insanity by people trying to ‘protect’ me without my knowledge or understanding, and springing bizarro shit on me in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere when any sane person would have run away long before?” My words were stringing together more or less at random, bits of thoughts rather than proper sentences, but I figured he would get the gist of it.
He laughed again, softly. “Yes, besides all that. I mean, I don’t remember you being quite so slap-happy before, for one thing.” He grimaced, rubbing his cheek, as if I had actually managed to inflict any damage. “Other things, too. You seem more confident, as well as more, or maybe stronger, emotions. And way, way less timid. The Adalyn I knew in highschool would never have even made it here,” he lifted a hand, motioning around us at the meadow, “let alone stayed long enough for me to explain any of this.”
I thought that over a moment, then slowly nodded. “Yeah, that’s all true I suppose. I’d probably opt for ‘stupid’ rather than ‘less timid’, though. I’ve even been surprised at my own reactions quite a few times lately, especially when- when I’m actually in front of you.” Belatedly, a waved a hand, trying to imply that the ‘you’ was plural, indicating the whole group, but I don’t think anyone was any more fooled by the ‘correction’ than I was.
He nodded in agreement. “Exactly. It’s from being near us. Like calls to like. Being around us intensifies the wolf qualities in your blood.”
“Okay, so. So if I just, what, hang out around you lot long enough I’ll - er - become… a wolf?” I was floundering for the words; it all sounded so utterly ridiculous even as I said it.
He shook his head slowly.
Of course not, that would be much too simple, huh?
“No, probably not.” I raised a brow at the ‘probably’, but he continued before I could ask. “You have to understand, this isn’t something that happens often. It’s not like we have scientific studies about how it works, just old tales and rumors. Some have said that just the act of deciding that’s what you want, truly want, is enough; most of us agree that’s probably just wishful thinking at best.”
I nodded, assuming he would continue.
“More likely, are the stories that say that you need to — how to say it? I guess, to take more of the wolf inside you, so that you are ‘more-than-half’ and tip the scales, as it were. There are reasonably credible stories of blood transfusions, over time, being enough to trigger the change.”
I pursed my lips. That didn’t sound so bad. Wait… am I seriously considering joining them? Becoming… a wolf?
Before I could find an answer for my own question, he continued again. “However, nearly every source agrees there is one way that is almost certain. To carry the child of a full wolf, the purer the bloodline the better; an alpha if possible, or at least a close relative to one.”
❖ ❖ ❖
I raised a brow slowly, as my mind tried to absorb this, to put it all into order. I felt like my mind was bruised and limping, barely able to function. Carry . . . child . . . alpha . . . Bryson is alpha . . . Wait— I spluttered and nearly choked as it finally processed, and it took an embarrassingly long time before I finally managed to form words.
“Are— are you really trying to— to say you want me— to have your— your puppies?!” I screeched. I quaked with fury and indignation, which were back with a vengeance.
The entire group in the meadow, as best as I could tell, began to laugh at my reaction. Bryson at least had the grace to blush, but it didn’t stop him from laughing as well. My mind circled back to the thought that this must have all been some cruel prank, the way high school guys will sometimes ask out girls then laugh at them to embarrass them when they say yes.
Except, I’d seen him transform into a wolf. Unless there was a very good, very well hidden special effects team on hand, that was no trick. I had felt the solid weight of the animal pressed against my side on the ground; I could still feel the faint tightness on my cheek where it had licked me and it had dried. This was only the merest flash of a thought, though, and did almost nothing to mitigate my rage.
Shaking with the force of my emotions, which had been ratcheted up too many times in the same night and now having reached a breaking point, I gave Bryson a final venomous glare, and turned, stomping back towards my car. Which, to be a fair, I told myself, I probably should have done a long time ago.
As I had supposed from their change in attitude, the group did not try to stop my passage this time. Some looked to Bryson questioningly, as if unsure if they should try, some merely watched me pass, others scooted out of my way. I didn’t really care, at this point, as long as they didn’t stop me.
Then again, I’d have probably just stepped on, hit, kicked or whatever else was necessary, anyone who had tried. I’d had more than enough. He’d given me his ‘answers’, such as they were. Granted, answers that rose as many new questions as they resolved, but at least I knew his reasoning now, however psychotic it was.
“Adalyn? Don’t leave?” Bryson called after me, trying to stifle his laughter. I sure didn’t find
this funny, not in the least. When I didn’t stop, I heard him start moving around behind me; I assumed he was following. “Wait, I’m sorry, it’s just— the way you said that… ‘puppies’…”
I lifted my hand so it would be visible over my shoulder, and flipped him off, not even slowing down.
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Before I made it all the way to my car, though, he’d caught up to me. I had to hand it to him, he was fast. He grabbed my arm, not painfully, but firm enough it would become painful if I tried to wrench away. He tugged, trying to get me to turn to face him. Grudgingly, with another little snarl, I did so. To my relief, apparently he was even faster than I thought; the initial fumbling sounds had, it seemed, been him putting his pants back on.
That was something, at least, I tried to reassure myself.
“Ada, please, seriously, don’t go. I’m sorry I laughed at you. Just the way you said that, I— well. It doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t have laughed.”
I just glared at him evenly, with every drop of resentful outrage I could manage.
“Please, stay? I know how overwhelming this must be, how completely bizarre. And I’m sure I probably could have handled it better, but—”
“No fucking shit, you think?!” I yelled, right in his face. He winced, flinching a bit.
“I’m still new at this, Adalyn, and this is not a normal situation. The only person in the pack who’d even met a half-blood before is my gram, and even then, they’d known what they were from childhood.” A little corner of my mind gave myself a pat on the back at the confirmation that I’d guessed right about the elderly lady’s connection.
I narrowed my eyes at him even more, but then sighed, my whole body slumping. Suddenly, I felt deflated, I just wanted it all to stop. I was confused, and exhausted, and hurt, and more than a little scared. “Look, Bryson, I just— I just want to go home, okay? I’m so tired, and there’s— just so much. I need some rest, and a chance to try and think this all through.”
He frowned, and seemed about to argue, but then nodded slowly, with a soft sigh of his own. “I guess I can get that. It’s a lot to take in, I can’t imagine what it must be like all at once.”
I snorted softly. “Yeah. It’s a lot.”
He lifted a hand, and though I flinched just slightly at the touch, he brushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped my braided bun, no doubt when I passed out. “Okay. Go home, rest, think. But will you come back tomorrow? Please?”
I tried not to look like he had just killed my favorite kitten. “Tomorrow? Why?”
“Tomorrow will be the full moon,” he started, and I gave a little sound halfway between a bitter laugh and a groan. He smiled just faintly in response. “No, we aren’t the Hollywood monsters, and no we don’t ‘have’ to change on the full moon. It is easier, though, and it’s also easier to hunt with the moon full. Through wolf’s eyes, the full moon may as well be full daylight.”
I sighed heavily, looking up into his face, trying to think, to weigh things in my mind. Despite everything, despite all the hurt, anger, confusion, surprise… there was a part of me that undeniably wanted to be near him. More than merely near him. His face was still the star of my best dreams. And here he was, all but begging me to come be near him, and to share this strange life of his.
Except. . .
Finally I sighed once again, and rubbed a hand over my face. “I’ll think about it, okay? I’m not ready to say yes or no right now. I’m too tired, too overwhelmed.”
He nodded slowly. “I guess you not refusing outright is about the best I can ask for at the moment. I really am sorry this has all hurt you, Ada.” Before I could even realize what he was doing, he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on my forehead, using the same forward motion to unlatch my door and pull it open for me. Odd as it may sound, that tacit permission to go softened my heart more than the kiss did.
I looked up to him with a soft smile, though it trembled a bit between my exhaustion and nerves. I nodded once, before sliding into the driver’s seat of my Prius. Once I got settled, he closed the door for me as well, and stepped back, lifting a hand in farewell.
I watched him for only a moment before starting up my car, and maneuvering my way around to leave the way I’d come.
Chapter Eight
I spent most of the long drive home in a sort of numb, mental silence. I barely even noticed what was playing on the radio, and I’m probably very lucky that I didn’t happen on any traffic to speak of.
When I got inside, I just sort of dropped things at random on a path from the door towards my bed; keys, purse, hairpins, shirt, pants, all simply dropped on the carpet one by one. I changed into the soft boxers and tank still draped on my bed from that morning, and crawled between the covers, shivering softly even though it wasn’t cold.
Did that all really just happen? It seemed impossible, totally preposterous. I knew, though, that was just my brain trying to dismiss it so as to avoid actually accepting and processing it.
It had definitely happened. Even though it felt like some sort of fever dream, I knew it was real. I could still smell Bryson’s scent — and the wolf’s — on my skin; I could still feel the faint tightness of the skin where the wolf had licked my face. I scrunched my eyes tightly shut and tried to force myself to sleep, because of course that always works so well.
I thought about Bryson. This was the same young man who had hurt me so badly, who had left me broken in his wake. On one level, I could at least intellectually understand his reasoning for what he’d done now, even though I still didn’t agree with it. How could you just leave behind someone you cared about, even loved? He had abandoned me, without so much as a word, and left me unable to trust anyone else. Particularly after my father having done the same to my mother and me all those years before — which, it seemed, was all actually interconnected. This world of wolves really did seem to be at the heart of all the pain in my life.
Or, could you also see it as my lack of being fully a part of that world was the source of the pain?
That was a rather startling thought, and I took the time to consider it carefully. Was the issue not that my father was a wolf, but rather that he refused to be a part of the society that went along with it? Was it not that Bryson was a wolf that was the problem, but that he had thought I was not?
I wasn’t sure I was convinced of that, but it was at least an interesting perspective to consider.
Not to mention that if I was being honest with myself — and really, what was the point of this if I wasn’t going to be honest with even myself? — I still had a thing for Bryson, to say the least. I didn’t quite trust him again, not yet, but I wanted to trust him again, which was a place I never would have believed I could have been if you’d told me two weeks prior. With all that had happened to me, trust had never been my strong suit.
Trust or no, I also had to admit part of me still wanted him; and even, heaven help me, loved him. I knew in my heart of hearts, that if it weren’t for all this werewolf nonsense, I would almost certainly take him back.
But… werewolves? Well, wolf shape-shifters, he’d said. Certainly they didn’t seem to bear much resemblance to the mythology or movies. Did that make it any better though, really? I did have to admit, there was something very tempting, alluring even, about the idea. Aside from all the pain I had been caused by this heretofore unknown conflict in my life, it really didn’t seem all that bad.
Might it be worth it, to be with Bryson again? There was a warm little knot deep in my stomach as I considered that possibility.
But then another, much less pleasant thought occurred to me, and it felt rather like a bucket of ice water down my back. He had mentioned ‘carrying the child of an alpha’ and that I had a right to ‘join the pack’; but, had he ever actually said anything about us being together again? Was I just letting wild hopes and fantasies guide my thoughts? Was he intentionally leading me to such thoughts without any basis in reality?
❖ ❖ ❖
&
nbsp; When I woke the next morning, I blinked blearily; something seemed off, and I couldn’t figure out what it was at first. Finally it dawned on me that it was the angle of the light coming in my window. I groaned and rolled over to look at my clock. It was nearly noon! I never slept past 8, even on the weekends; waking up for classes at 6:30 was too ingrained.
I sat up, intending to spring out of bed, then moaned and lay right back down, pressing on the sides of my head with the heels of my palms. I had an awful headache, as if I had spent the prior night drinking myself into a stupor.
No, not drinking myself into a stupor. Just thinking myself into a stupor. I rolled my eyes at my own mental sarcasm. I lay there for a few minutes, working up the willpower to fight past the headache enough to get up and go take something for it.
