by Mandy Rosko
"You never asked these questions before."
"I never knew that the man in the story was you."
Bill nodded. "Fair enough." He scratched his silver head of hair, as though searching for a proper answer. For the first time, Anne was caught by the particular shade of silver his hair was.
Is that another thing Luna is responsible for? Giving her grandfather the same color hair as the moon?
"I believe the only way to explain this is that, even though she is a Goddess, she's not all-powerful."
"But she's a Goddess." Anne insisted, as if that alone held all the answers in the world.
"True, but she's still limited. Not the end all, be all of creation," Bill said. "Think about it, Annie. In all the stories, Luna can only visit her love on the full moon. That's a limit she had to live by. Luna can be a Goddess all she wants, but it didn't make her more powerful than a man who sold his soul to the devil to have her.”
His rough palm stroked her cheek, then touched her hair. “You remind me of her.”
She blinked. “I do?”
His lips twitched in a smile. “The shape of your nose. The color of your hair and eyes. I suppose it was why I found it so easy to take you in. Not just because I felt responsible for biting you, but, even though you were too young to be my daughter, I always thought that if she and I ever did have a child, she would look like you.”
Warmth spread through Anne’s chest, but cold dread soon replaced it. "What if the reason why Hadrian stopping standing over you wasn’t because Luna stopped coming?”
He didn’t look like he understood.
“What if Luna is dead?" She elaborated with a whisper.
"That," Bill said, eyes becoming hard, "is something I don't want to think about.”
THIRTEEN
Mike walked in a straight line towards Gordon's house. He made it twenty steps before he stopped to look back in the direction of the cabin he came from.
Brock didn’t follow him. The wolf sat on the porch, posture perfect and staring straight ahead.
Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was now essentially family, or the giant red wolf sensed Anne and Bill needed more protection at this time. Whatever it was, he didn’t move to stop Mike.
The answer hit him. Brock was letting him leave.
Mike kept his eyes on the giant red wolf. Could it be true?
As though sensing his dilemma, Brock nodded his fury head and settled himself to lay in the sun.
Stunned, Mike returned the gesture in thanks. Brock must’ve heard Bill's confession. He was allowing Mike the time he needed to get out.
All for the sake of the true first werewolf.
He resumed his pace at a quicker speed.
He hadn’t been brought into this pack by choice, didn’t know the majority of the people in it and didn’t like some of the one’s he did, but he had to keep them safe.
Even if it wasn’t his job, even if Bill hadn’t said what he’d said, Mike needed to go. He’d endangered these people for too long already.
He’d endangered Annie for too long.
Just thinking about what he’d seen in Bill’s head made him shudder.
The man had just let him in. There was no struggling to see or hear like with Annie or any other werewolf on the ranch. He just saw.
The younger version of Bill, or Edward, as he was really named, who looked so much like Mike, looked up as a pillar of white encased the woman before him.
She placed a small something in Edward’s hands. Mike recognized the moon stone. "From now on," she said, “I will not answer his calls, only yours."
"I have no Magic to call ye with."
"You need not have any." She touched the rock in his bigger hands. "Whenever the moon is full on earth, should you desire it, I will come."
She waited for his response, eyes bright and eager.
“I shall always want ye.”
Luna smiled and wiped her eyes. She lifted herself on her bare toes and their mouths met.
The silver white light pulled her upwards, yet their kiss continued as her feet lifted from the ground. Her arms remained around his neck and her lips connected to his until the force pulling them apart allowed it no longer.
She waved, tears in her eyes, and he did the same as she disappeared into the sky.
“Until the next moon,” he whispered, clutching the stone, the sun rising behind him.
He turned, ready to leave, but did not take two steps when Hadrian entered the clearing with several men-at-arms.
Edward froze as Lord Hadrian stared down his nose at him from his place on a magnificent horse. "Serf, if ye would kindly explain yerself," his men drew their weapons, "we will not have to resort to barbaric measures. What was your purpose here, alone, with my intended?"
Hadrian’s words became louder, his eyes blazed brighter with every word.
Edward looked him in the eyes, both fists clenched around the stone. "My lord, I have prepared myself for this inevitability and can say, with no fear in me, that as long as Luna is not present for you to set your anger upon, I do not care what ye do with me."
Hadrian’s face twisted in a sneer. "Indeed? I mean to make ye regret those words."
He snapped his fingers. Four men carrying a cage with a snarling black beast inside entered the clearing. It snapped at them through the irons and threw its body against the bars. No man flinched as they held the handles of the jostling prison.
They lowered the iron cage to the ground and jumped away as the animal threw its body against the bars again, nearly tipping the crate. It rattled as though it would come apart but the trap held firm.
Foam spewed from its jaws and its hair stood on end as it howled at its captors.
Edward stepped back. A wolf. A mad one from the look of the creature.
Two men latched their hands onto him like shackles whilst another attempted to take the stone. Edward struggled and was punched in the gut for his trouble.
He doubled over, losing his hold over the stone as he coughed and wheezed for air.
He struggled and kicked as the men pulled him towards the animal, but his strength was no match for theirs. They forced him to his knees, inches from the mouth of the beast within who shoved his foaming muzzle through the bars, attempting to reach him.
Edward tensed, stock still lest he move too close and the beast bite him.
Hadrian's lips turned up as one of his men handed him the stone. He examined it critically before tucking it out of Edward's sight. "Luna intends to answer only your call? Then I intend to have you thirst for her blood every full moon."
A dark light erupted from Hadrian's hands, enveloping Edward and the wolf. The cage door was opened and he screamed as he and the mad creature were pulled together, becoming one.
The vision didn’t end there. Days, weeks, months’ worth of events played in Mike’s head on fast-forward, everything so clear.
Edward became Hadrian’s prisoner and plaything. Always in chains. Forced to watch Hadrian eat well while he remained shackled to a wall, starving.
Soldiers took their turns beating him for pleasure. Laughing maniacally at his inability to defend himself and pissing on him when he couldn’t summon the strength to get back to his feet.
Mike needed no further proof to see that Bill told the truth. But the images went on and on.
Edward awoke in chains one morning, in pain from the transformation of crazed wolf to man, and only able to look at Hadrian’s leather clad feet.
Hadrian stared that long nose of his down at his prisoner, the stone in his hand, emitting no glow at all. “Luna is dead.”
Edward’s eyes widened, his broken mouth opened as he lifted his head. “Ye lie.”
Hadrian sneered. “I told ye that ye would thirst for her blood. Now she is to belong to no one.”
Edward did not move. Then, he blinked rapidly and put his face into the filthy stone floor of his prison. He fisted his grimy hands into his hair as he wept.
Hadrian spat and turned his back to leave.
As the door to be opened, Edward roared, his fingers becoming claws as he snapped his chains and lunged for Hadrian’s throat.
The first time he’d ever managed some control over his curse.
So that was why Hadrian feared the werewolves he created. Had one of his men not stepped in the way of the attack, allowing himself to be ripped apart instead of his lord, Hadrian would be dead.
Other soldiers came to pry the half-wolf from their comrade. Though they brought the enraged beast under control, they had been bitten and scratched in the process.
The spreading of the curse.
He watched Edward alone with himself after being beaten and degraded by the guards; eyes closed, concentrating. Perfect serenity on his bruised and swollen face. Searching for control until finally he gained it. He transformed. But not only that, he transported himself …
Zeke hailed him from another cabin across the ranch.
The call pulled from the images still in his brain.
He didn’t just get the story; he got the movie of the first werewolf. It would stay with him for the rest of his life.
Zeke ran to catch up with him, along with a few other people Mike recognized from his wedding, Westley being one of them. He kept his eyes straight ahead, not acknowledging them even when they walked with him.
"There something we can help you with?" Zeke asked, curiosity in his voice.
Likely wondering why he wasn’t with his new wife.
"Nope." Mike kept walking. He jogged up the porch steps with the air of a man frequently invited over. He heard the murmurs behind him as most of the men stopped before stepping a single toe on Gordon's stairs.
Westley followed. Zeke climbed half the stairs before he lost his nerve and stood frozen.
Westley grabbed Mike by the arm and gripped tight enough to halt him.
"Is Anne okay?"
Mike clenched his jaw, reached around with his other hand, and forcefully removed Westley's hand. Only then did he inhale and inspect the red mark left on his skin from the wolf’s firm grip.
He looked at Westley, who had the decency to look abashed. "Sorry. Keep forgetting you're normal."
"Right."
"Seriously, though, she alright? Why are you out here? Shouldn't you be—?”
"Enjoying my honeymoon?"
Westley's face colored. "I was going to say 'with her'? Shouldn't you be discussing your marriage with her?"
Westley kept his voice low so the other wolves wouldn’t hear.
Mike kept his voice equally low, then started walking again to keep the people behind them from getting suspicious. "When did she tell you?"
"I was already in on it. Though, the idea was that she become engaged to you, not outright marry you."
“Things don’t usually work out the way we plan,” Mike stated, and it was true. His plans had been to visit and confront his family, not get sidetracked by a pack of wolves, then fall—
He was so not going to finish that thought.
Westley nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. “That’s true.” There was a pause. “What are you doing here?"
Mike stopped in front of the door, stared down at the brass handle, then at Westley. "I'm going to admit to you that I haven't really thought this out; whether or not I should just sneak in and take them or knock on the door and lie through my teeth."
"Take…what? What's wrong? What do you need to take?"
"The keys to your father's truck."
"What?"
"Look, I'm done dancing around this. I'm not the first werewolf and I think you believe me when I say that."
"I have been pretty skeptical," Westley admitted.
And with good reason. "The point is that there's no way I can prove that to the people here. As long as they keep me here, you're all in danger. Werewolves or not, you’re still civilians."
Westley stared hard into Mike's eyes, as though searching for his sincerity. The link gave Mike a brief glimpse into Westley's mind and he caught a vision of Fanny, mother werewolves who had their toddlers playing at their feet, and then their husbands.
Abruptly, he was pushed out of Westley’s head.
"Agreed," Westley said, shoving him out of the way and letting himself in. "So, you're leaving."
He held the door open for him, but it took Mike a second to realize that he was being given a silent invitation to enter. Being invited in by the prince of the pack probably looked better than just letting himself in, legend or not.
Finally, he snapped his head out of the mud and took two steps indoors so Westley could close the door, shutting the onlookers out. "Right. Figured if I get a head start back to Griffon City then I should make it there before he can catch up to me."
Westley walked casually through the house as though he weren't planning on stealing from his father. He stopped at the far wall at the end of the hall where a giant wooden key with hooks holding other keys hung. "What's your plan then?"
"I'm calling for backup the second I get the chance. Then, I'm going to meet up with that medieval freak with about a hundred cops behind me and we'll see who's got more firepower," Mike growled, his fists clenching.
Westley faced him, the key's he'd picked dangling between his fingers. "Will you kill him?"
The question brought him back to earth. "I'd rather see him in jail. I just want him to know what it's like being hunted."
Westley grinned and jingled the keys. "I'd like to see that. These are to my truck. It's in the garage."
Walking casually through Gordon's home uninvited put Mike on edge. "Where’s your father?" He asked, body tense should the man choose to spring from a dark corner.
"Still sulking. He went for a run after the wedding ended. If you thought I'd break into his house when he's in it, you're out of your mind."
Mike smiled. He knew which way to go to get to the garage since it took up one whole side of the house. "Speaking of him, what are you going to do about him? About the whole forced marriage, I mean," he asked, cutting across the living room and trying not admire the leather furnishings arranged in front of a flat screen TV.
Westley heaved a sigh. "Chris keeps telling me I need to grow a pair and put my foot down. He's right. If Anne's brave enough to suggest a fake bonding to you to get out of marrying me, then I should be able to tell him that I've made up my mind and nothing he'll say is going to change that."
Mike grinned. "You know when I first found out about you and the dragon, I thought it was going to be uncomfortable the next time I saw you. You're actually easy to get along with."
"Thanks, I guess." Westley opened the door to the garage and flicked the light, illuminating what was otherwise a pitch black cave to reveal a spacious dream.
Clean grey cement lined the floors and walls, creating what would have been a dull atmosphere had it not been for the colorful beauties in the center.
"Whoa."
Westley grinned. "Gets me every time too."
Almost as if placed there to have pictures taken for a magazine, sat three luxury vehicles, and one chopper, reflecting light from the bright bulbs above them.
Little voices inside Mike’s head called to him, beckoning him to approach, admire, and play. Abruptly, he knew it was the cars. If they were women, real women, they’d be the kind that sang to you, emptied your wallet, and then took you for the wildest ride of your life.
Like a man drawn to the singing of a nymph, he was powerless against the spell. He approached the Ferrari 450 first, his mouth watering as he touched the sleek yellow hood that glistened like a diamond under the bright lights above. The tinted windows contrasted in a pleasing manner against the bright color, but it also prevented him from seeing the interior that was no doubt custom.
He could picture dark leather and a bitchin’ stereo on his own.
Westley clapped him on the back, pulling him from his admiration. "Forget it. I don't even get to drive that one."
Mike whimpered as he was pulled from his fantasy of driving a car he could never in his lifetime afford. He fought to keep from staring at the hot-rod red Porsche with an interior that he could see. The beige leather seats and polished wheels made Mike think bitterly of his own miserable vehicle which still sat in the parking lot of the bar in Sunset Valley.
That is, if it hadn’t been towed by now.
Westley finally put him out of his misery and stopped him. Mike's mouth gaped. Next to a blue flaming bike that the guys on Orange County Chopper probably built, was the most beautiful truck he’d ever seen.
Westley unlocked the door and lifted himself into the black leather seats. He leaned out the window with the air of a man showing off his firstborn child. "This is a Ford F-150, 1975. Completely custom and rides like a newborn truck should."
Mike knew what it was without being told. He whistled and pat the silver hood. He wanted to see the engine underneath. "She does look good for her age."
"That's because I've been working on her since I was sixteen. Never let anyone tell you a gay man only likes to decorate bedrooms and redo kitchens."
Mike admired the gleaming sheen, the spotless grill, and the chrome wheels. It certainly looked like it had received a lot of love and attention.
His eyes returned with longing to the ladies that still called his name. The voices in his head were damn near sexual. Stroke us, slip inside us, ride us, no one has to know.
It was like being tempted by the innocent yet gorgeous farm girl who was desperate to have a man’s touch. "None of the cars in this garage are ever used, are they?"
Westley smiled sardonically. "How'd you guess?"
Mike went along with the sarcasm. "Probably because we're on a ranch, and the only thing these cars could do around here is get dirty."
"They're my dad's trophy wives. He shows them off when he wants to feel important. Occasionally, he takes them out after it rains and brings them back covered in mud so he can wash them. Or to prove that mud wrestling isn’t just for chicks. I’m not sure which it is.”
Mike grinned, liking Westley more and more now that he was coming out of his shell.
“But this truck is mine,” he said, running his hands along the wheel. “So he can't accuse you of theft when it turns up missing."
