The Legend of the Werewolf

by Mandy Rosko

  She stretched under his fingers and he had to fight against the grin threatening to take him. "Felt hard," she muttered.

  They were on the porch of their shared cabin before she tapped his chin. "Uh, what about you? That doesn't hurt does it?"

  He felt along his jaw where she's punched him. It was tender and he'd probably have a bruise in the morning, but he didn't care. "I'll live." He opened the door for her, amused when she crossed her arms and stepped in like the princess everyone called her.

  "You'd better. Don't forget you need to get me out of a wedding. I won't take killer shadows as an excuse."

  EIGHT

  When Anne opened her eyes in what seemed like two minutes after closing them, it was morning. Well pastsed dawn, in fact. The clock blinked ten a.m. at her in obnoxious red square blocks.

  She groaned, threw her blanket off, stretched and thanked her lucky rabbit's foot that Mike was a gentleman who offered her the bed for the night. How she managed to sleep at all with the ceiling light bulb glaring down at her all night was a miracle only obtained because she'd gotten so little sleep the night before.

  Anne hopped out of bed and shut the light out, no longer needing it for safety now that the sun chased the shadows away.

  She lifted her arm and sniffed her frilly shirt. Ugh. Sleeping in her clothes wasn’t a good idea. Not like she had a choice, though, with how nuts things were last night. She’d have to find new clothes.

  She opened the bedroom door a crack but stopped when the hinges screamed.

  Her breath caught. She peered through the small opening at the couch but there was no movement from Mike.

  Jaw clenched, she eased the stubborn door open farther and stepped out, her bare feet avoiding all the old floorboards that would give her away and padded towards her shoes by the door.

  Brock raised his head from his place where he curled up for the night. Anne put a finger to her lips.

  She glimpsed Mike as she passed the small couch. The weak thing struggled under his weight as he snored soundly with his head on the arm. He must’ve been moving around in his sleep because his legs dangled over the other couch arm at the knees.

  One hand sat over his huge chest while the other lay on the floor, his body ready to join it should he move the wrong way.

  His hat, that he adored so much, lay peacefully on the floor next to him, in danger of being crushed should he fall over.

  When they returned to their cabin last night, Mike didn’t want to speak. She’d asked him if he was hurt, if he wanted to talk about what happened, but he didn’t give her solid answers.

  “Let’s just sleep. I’ll stay here,” he’d said as he fell back on the couch, covering his face with his hat to give him some darkness.

  She didn’t immediately move. She watched him, even when he started pretending to snore.

  Nearly getting killed must have been what caused him to turn into such a sour puss. Sure, that was it.

  “Goodnight,” Anne said before she took the bedroom for the night.

  Now his hat was on the floor and at death’s door. Must’ve fallen off sometime in the night.

  She swooped in to rescue it, lifted it from the floor, patted the dirt off it, and placed it on the coffee table for later.

  She didn’t step away from the couch. Now that she could, that all was quiet and no one, save for Brock, would be the wiser, she took her time to look at the man who was saving her from an unwanted marriage.

  Gods were beautiful, pure creatures and, while the first werewolf was no God, he was as good as one and just as pure in the eyes of her pack. And every pack in the world once they heard of him. He was a living legend sleeping on Gordon's rattiest couch.

  Tall body, strong hands and shoulders, square chin and jet black hair with the hardest eyes she'd ever seen resting beneath lids framed with soft black lashes. If Michael Carter was the first werewolf reincarnated then he certainly looked the part.

  From the corner of her eye she caught sight of Brock’s furry head, cocked to the side and staring at her as she stared at Mike.

  Feeling playful, Anne grinned at Brock before nodding towards Mike. "He's cute."

  Never a man of many words, Brock stuck his muzzle under his paw. Anne laughed softly. "Fine, maybe Westley or Chris will agree with me."

  Brock moved out of the way of the door, allowing her to pass before slipping out with her.

  She eyed him curiously as he trotted towards the bushes. Where are you going?

  He shot her a look over his shoulder. She raised her hands and started moving toward Westley's cabin. "Never mind, stupid question."

  People were already up and about. None of the cars or trucks she saw the night before disappeared, though they had been relocated and parked neatly side by side instead of in a messy tangle.

  No one had left, it seems.

  Anne couldn't blame them for being curious and wanting to stay, even after the spectacle last night with the shadows. Still made things harder for her.

  She didn't want to be seen, didn't want to answer questions, or even let anyone know she was awake. She was sure the only reason no one started knocking at the crack of dawn had to do with Gordon.

  If anyone saw her up and about they’d probably run to her cabin like kids to a toy store to see if Mike was up. And he needed his rest.

  Slinking by a group of spread out, excited werewolves was difficult and involved a lot of ducking, weaving, back tracking, and slinking. The air was still, thank God. It would make it harder for anyone to sniff her out.

  When she made it to the larger, newer cabin where Westley stayed whenever he visited his father, she let herself in without knocking.

  The feint murmur of conversation told her that Chris was up and awake. The last thing she wanted was to overhear anything private.

  The last time that happened she had to run out of the house with a red face. "Westley? It's me."

  Their voices paused before Westley called back. “In here.”

  Westley's cabin was larger than the tiny one Gordon put her and Mike in, but not by much. She walked through the thin hallway and pastsed the small kitchen. It had more than one bedroom, and the kitchen and sitting room were separated by walls.

  She knocked before entering the flimsy excuse of a guest room. Mostly to give them an extra two seconds to get their clothes in case they were doing anything before she entered the cabin.

  Like the bedroom in her and Mike’s cabin, the queen bed took up half the space in the blue painted room leaving barely enough room for a nightstand and dresser. Extra bandage wraps, cotton swabs, peroxide and pain killers made a mess of what otherwise would have been a tidy space.

  Chris sat miserably under the covers of a soft flower quilt, arms crossed tightly against his chest. He didn’t look like a man who’d been getting any. He looked like a man who was being denied and Anne didn’t think it had to do with her interruption.

  With his blood-red hair, the piercings on his eyebrow, ears, and the dragon tattoo he sported under a borrowed T, he looked entirely out of place in a guestroom that a middle aged woman could’ve decorated.

  Westley had tried to redecorate, telling his father that being gay didn’t make him a woman. But Gordon didn’t trust his son to choose a spouse and he sure as Hell didn’t trust him with decorating. So the room stayed floral.

  Chris lay on a mountain of pillows piled against the mahogany headboard and glared at the opposite side of the bed where Westley sat with one foot tucked under his knee.

  Westley grinned at her entrance, moved over, and allowed her to sit.

  She couldn't look away from Chris’ miserable face. This wasn’t what she expected to walk in on. Normally they didn't fight in the few minutes they stole together.

  "You look healthy." Her eyes locked onto Chris’ bright cheeks and strong posture. "That was pretty brave what you did last night. Feeling better?"

  "Yes." "No." Westley and Chris answered at the same time. Chris glared harder and tri
ed to sit up.

  "I'm fine. I don't need you babying me."

  Westley jumped up and pushed him back down, throwing the quilt back over him before he could slide out from under it. "You almost had your wings ripped off. Just stay here."

  Anne's cheeks flushed at the pleading in Westley's voice. She had to fight the urge to get up and leave them alone. They rarely got any time together since Westley came out to his father and Gordon ordered him to get married to a woman.

  Chris used to be a welcome visitor in the pack. When Gordon found out that the dragon and his son were more than friends, Chris was booted out.

  They weren't even touching each other, their glare crackled in the air and Anne could still sense the raw, affectionate feelings pulsing between them. Something real that she only wished she could find.

  Which was why she was here.

  “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you guys.”

  They both looked at her. Anne rubbed her hands over her jeans. God, she needed to change into some fresh clothes.

  “What is it, princess?” Chris asked, though he didn’t use the title sarcastically.

  Anne wet her lips. “I’m sorry … if I haven’t been thinking more of the two of you lately.”

  They both looked at each other.

  “I mean, whenever we’d all sneak out and try to think of ways to cancel the marriage, usually we only talked about how to get me out of it. Not what the two of you would do.”

  Westley smiled, the act lifting the crescent moon on his cheek. He reached his arm out and pulled her close. Anne settled against him like she would a brother. How could Gordon ever think they should be married?

  “You shouldn’t worry about things like that,” he whispered, rubbing her arm.

  “I just never thought of it before. I wasn’t trying to be selfish or anything.” Fuck, her throat was closing up.

  “You weren’t being selfish,” Chris said flatly, leaving no room for argument.

  Happiness swelled inside her. Between that painful revelation with Mike and now, she’d worried herself sick the two men in this room were secretly angry with her. That they weren’t was a Godsend.

  It was so important for them to call this marriage off. Not just for herself and the future she would lose if Gordon got his way, but because she couldn't stand to see her best friend separated from the person he chose as his mate.

  She loved her pack master. Knew he had only the best of intentions, but he was being a dick.

  Anne glanced over Westley’s shoulder to Chris. "He does look okay, Westley."

  "There, see? She agrees with me."

  "She won't throw you out of here if you're caught walking around," Westley hissed. He stared frost at the dragon and all talk of apologies were forgotten.

  Anne twisted her head at the both of them. "Wait, what? You wouldn't throw him out."

  Westley's face dropped at her half accusation. "Of course not, don't be stupid. My dad."

  "Gordon said Chris could stay."

  Chris reached over and yanked a book from the nightstand. He flipped through it impatiently. Anne got the feeling it was more to keep his fingers busy so he wouldn't get up and try to strangle Westley. "The things you do for that man," he muttered.

  Westley clenched his jaw. "That man is my father."

  "Who will disown you if you don't get married," Chris snapped back.

  Anne leaned back on her hands. "Not that watching you two fight isn't entertaining enough, but we already talked about this so you might as well give it up. As long as everyone thinks Mike is the first, we got what we wanted. He'll demand that Gordon call off the wedding."

  "Then he'll engage Westley to someone else," Chris muttered, slapping the book down on his quilt. It bounced and hit Anne in the arm. She grinned and picked up her copy of Romeo and Juliet.

  "I thought I lost this."

  Chris and Westley shot their glares at her.

  She cleared her throat and tucked the tiny hardcover under her arm for later. "Uh, never mind. So why do you think Gordon will kick him out?"

  Westley sat back on the bed between her and Chris and leaned back on his hands like she had done with a heavy sigh. "He's been coming in here all night. The incident with the shadows set him off. He's looking for an excuse to send Chris out of here."

  Anne could hardly believe it. “Even though he said Chris could stay?”

  Westley nodded.

  Chris growled, green eyes flashing to red. "The man yells as though I weren't in a sick bed. I'm acting at this point, though. A whole night of bed rest did me pretty good but he doesn't know that. The second he deems me healthy, I'm to leave. I'm not going anywhere, though."

  Westley shook his head at Chris before he looked at Anne. "Doesn’t matter. Chris and I have been talking … and we’ve … never mind. Do you really believe that this man is the first?"

  Anne’s chest ached with the implications of what Westley didn’t say. They’d been talking? The way Westley said it made it sound as though they were talking about breaking up.

  She cleared her throat and shrugged, focusing on Westley’s question. "I guess so." She wouldn’t tell them about Mike’s visions just yet.

  "No, really. Do you believe he is the first werewolf? Not because of what we're doing but because you believe it."

  Anne didn't have to think about it anymore. Between what happened last night and her thoughts concerning him this morning, in her gut she felt certain. "I believe it."

  Her stomach dropped with the confession, pain burned an acid hole in her chest.

  She knew why. She was attracted to him.

  He was kind enough to help her avoid a marriage. He looked at her like she was more than just someone else’s potential wife, like she was worthy of pursuing. He had also treated everyone involved with his kidnapping with respect. Not a lot of respect, but it was better than nothing.

  But, if his visions meant he was the first werewolf, reincarnated or not, then that meant somewhere he had a goddess waiting for him. Waiting to bestow her love on him for a thousand lost years.

  Even if he did almost kiss her in his bedroom, why would anyone ever choose to give up a goddess for little, insignificant Anne?

  Westley stuck his hand in front of her eyes and snapped his fingers. "You okay?"

  She had to shake herself. "Hmm? Right, yeah. I'm fine. What were we talking about?"

  They gave her an odd look so similar to each other that she knew they were made for each other. It depressed her further that they had to talk about separating.

  Maybe they meant it only as a temporary thing. God she hoped so.

  "The first werewolf."

  She tried to laugh but it stuck in her throat like putty. "Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess the idea that we have the first of us on this ranch right now ..."

  Westley nodded. "When this gets out, if he doesn't get killed, this pack will be subjected to so much jealousy. I wouldn't be surprised if we get werewolves fighting each other just to join us."

  "So you believe it?" She didn't know why she was shocked. She wanted other people to believe that she hadn't endangered the entire pack for a fairy tale. Not even Bill, who taught her this stuff since he turned her, would believe her.

  God, what a mess. She didn’t want Mike to be the first werewolf. She just wanted people to believe that he was.

  She needed a shrink.

  "After last night ..." Westley trailed off and shook his head. "There's definitely something going on with him."

  Anne looked to Chris for extra support. His eyes were green again and seemed far away. "My father once told me that only the most powerful magic could create shadows. You have to kill people to do it. I always thought it was a story. Now, I see that it isn't."

  "So you believe, too?"

  He nodded.

  That shouldn’t depress her as much as it did.

  Westley jumped up from the bed, knocking her to the floor.

  "What are you
—?"

  She didn't get to finish. Westley dragged her up by the back of her shirt and shoved thick bottles in her hands. She fumbled with the jars until her fingers firmly wrapped around them. Chris jumped fully under his covers until the beige quilt sat under his chin and Westley sloshed a wet cloth over his forehead.

  What the Hell? "What's going—?"

  The door slammed open. Gordon stood in the doorway and glared inside the room. His eyes scanned the scene before studying Chris's suddenly slack body in bed.

  Anne could hardly comprehend seeing an older version of Westley sneering down at Chris like that.

  Too weird.

  "Is he alright?" The question sounded forced to Anne's ears.

  It bubbled with loathing rather than concern, and Anne knew why Westley shoved the bottles in her hands, suddenly aware of the scene they made.

  Chris, laying hurt in his sick bed with both her and Westley standing above him, medication in their ready hands made the perfect ruse.

  Anne couldn't speak. She hadn't heard Gordon stomping through Westley's cabin. That shouldn't have happened. More and more she was losing her focus. She needed to stop thinking about Mike so much.

  "His fever broke." Westley's normally soft voice was as cold as a rock in winter.

  His indifference brightened Gordon's dark mood. He nodded. "Keep me updated on his condition." His eyes landed on Anne and he raised a brow as though seeing her for the first time in the insanely small room. "Shouldn't you be with our guest?"

  She nearly choked and had to fight for her words. She hated lying to her pack master. Untrue words spoken to him scratched her throat like sandpaper.

  Westley could only do it so skillfully because the man was his father.

  "I wanted to thank Chris for helping us last night. I didn't think he'd be like this when I got here and I lost track of time. Brock's with him, though." That part was at least true, and it eased her guilty heart just enough for her to sound sincere.

  Gordon nodded again. He turned his back and exited the room without looking back at any of them.

  Chris deemed it safe enough to open his eyes when the door clicked shut, but no one moved or spoke. They listened patiently for the sound of the outside door opening and closing before they could speak without fear of being overheard.