by Nikki Sex
“Thank you.”
Our conversation, which had been jogging along nicely, begins to limp…then stops altogether.
Preoccupied, I can’t help but return to the issue at hand with all the frightening implications. I will never confide in Stafford. Even if he falls desperately in love with me, he could never accept my personal demon.
If I divulged my secret, him knowing about my inner beast would destroy any chance of a relationship. Stafford would live in constant fear, always doubting. Would I murder him or others in their sleep?
His first reaction might be to kill me.
The one time I confided to someone early in my past, soon afterwards the peasants came after me with torches and pitchforks. I was lucky no paranormals were in the crowd. After that I tried to live in an isolated cottage in Switzerland, but being alone doesn’t work for my demon. He needs to feed.
I ponder my problem without resolution. It’s like fighting an ongoing war, where neither side knows how to end it. Decades pass without resolution.
How can I possibly keep the knowledge of my demon safely locked away?
Chapter 40. Making Scents
Coming into greater traffic, I decide to change the subject. “Tell me what it’s like being a wolf.”
Stafford relaxes back in the passenger seat, his arms resting out wide on either side of him. His powerful presence fills my car, while his fingers absently play with my hair.
His touch is a tactile delight.
I’ve heard shifters are touchy-feely—it’s certainly true with Stafford. He constantly has his hands on me, a caress here, a stroke of fingers there. As if he needs to physically know where I am.
“What it’s like to be a wolf?” He repeats the question, while his mind searches for the answer. “It’s an incredible pleasure, a world you can’t really know unless you’re a wolf. I hope you do shift, so you can experience it.”
I have experienced it—in a dream. It was fantastic.
“Tell me about it anyway.”
“When I’m a wolf, I love running at night, especially in moonlight. The scent of the earth, the forest, the incredible amount of vigorous life and activity that only comes alive when the sun goes down.
“The land is so beautiful when seen from a wolf’s eyes. Every sense is heightened, every taste, each sensation. Every scent tells a tale. Rich and thick, it’s like reading a wondrous book—a story of existence and survival. I’d love to share this joy with you.”
“I’d like that, too,” I say with perfect honesty.
I park in a deserted no-parking zone beside the alley where I found Hope and Owen. I don’t want anyone to see me walking around with a wolf.
“How do you want to do this?” I ask.
Stafford gets out, shuts the passenger door, opens the door to the back seat and climbs in. I turn toward him, trying to figure out what he’s doing.
“I’m going to change into a wolf,” he says, pulling his T-shirt up, over his head.
“What, right here?”
His chuckle is soft, light, and teasing. “You have another place in mind?”
“I thought changing was painful and took a while.”
He grins. “Not for me.”
“Cool. Can I watch?”
“Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”
He slips off his boots, socks, pants. Stunned, I notice something is missing. “Stafford, what happened to your scar?”
He runs his palm over the place where I saw a bullet wound only last night. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. It disappeared.”
“Jesus. I can’t believe it.”
His brows draw down. “You’ve never done anything like that before?”
Well, yes, with Hope and Owen. Particularly, with Hope and myself. Then there was Webb—mustn’t forget him. My time with Webb was when I thought healing others first started. Now I know I affected Stafford all those years ago.
I don’t reply.
Stafford shakes his head. “You and your secrets. I wish you would trust me. Whatever you’ve done, whatever you’re afraid of, it doesn’t matter. I know who you are, Jan. You’re a kind person. A trained doctor—a healer. Look what you did for Hope and Owen.”
What I did for Hope and Owen?
I brace with panic, searching recent memories, mentally reviewing my every word. Did I hint at something? Does he know? For a long moment, I wonder. Then I realize how stupid I am. How could he know my demon “cured” Hope? He never knew she had Down syndrome.
My heart rate spikes, my face heats. Crap. As a werewolf, he notices every physiological change.
Purposely ignoring my response, he adds, “Anyway, as the saying goes, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Visit when you want. Do as you like. Come and go from our land, as you please. You’re your own person. I don’t want to control you.”
Yeah, right. What about that “binding” thing, buddy? You know, the condition you imposed on me so I'll get sick if I go too far away from you? Huh? Huh?
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say lightly, managing to keep mocking irony out of my tone. I don’t see the point in addressing this issue. Not immediately. Not till I have a plan. A considered approach.
Stafford shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’ve been on your own for two-hundred years. No pack. No family. No lover. No ongoing relationships with anyone?”
“Nope.”
“Not ever?”
“Not ever.” I shrug. “I like the people I work with, but you know how it is. I can’t stay anywhere long. I constantly reinvent myself. New name, new town, new country. To remain safe, I stay under the radar.”
“I don’t have that problem.”
Our eyes meet. “No, you don’t.”
“If you choose, you could live here with me. Then you wouldn’t have that problem, either.”
I could live in the magic lands.
I say nothing and Stafford doesn’t push me. He knows if I feel cornered, I’ll run. You gotta love his people skills. He’s a wise man.
“OK, ready?” he asks.
“Ready,” I say, holding the bag with Hope and Owen’s clothes in it.
Grinning, he leans towards me and gives me a quick kiss. “Pay attention. Don’t blink.”
Stafford’s shift is virtually instantaneous. One moment, he’s in human form. The next, he’s a huge, light-gray wolf with pale, off-white colored legs, underbody, and neck. His bushy tail has a blackish tip to match his black nose. His coloring is a symmetrical display of natural art.
Added to this, is his glorious aura of earthy, primal magic.
I’m totally blown away by his magnificence.
The wolf lifts his head so his eyes meet my own. I recognize Stafford in that dark gaze. I also see his beast. He stands tall with his ears up and forward. Mystical energy radiates from the gorgeous creature. It’s a rough magic. Primal. Compelling. Intense.
“My God, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I gasp, breathless in the face of such spellbinding perfection.
Instinctively, I reach my hand toward his face. Wagging his tail, the wolf snuffs and licks my palm like a domestic dog. My fingers feather through the fur on his neck. I put my face against his muzzle.
My demon sends distinct images of us sleeping with the wolf.
No, not for sex—at least, I don’t think so. You never know with a demon, though. Still. The thought of cuddling into the warmth of this magical creature through the night enchants me.
Making soft wolfy noises, the werewolf enjoys my generous caresses. Stafford wasn’t joking. His beast definitely likes me.
I wonder how Stafford’s wolf would feel about my inner monster. They’re both drawn to hunting and killing. Maybe they, at least, could be friends.
With determined effort, I resist giggling. Instead, I rip open my plastic bag, give the wolf a sniff of the gore-covered clothes, and shut it again.
“Is that all you need? I want to trash this stuff,” I say with distast
e. Fresh from the vein is one thing, but even my demon has an aversion to spoiled, lifeless blood.
He gives me an unmistakable whine of agreement.
I open my car door, get out, shut it behind me. I look around to ensure we’re alone, then open the back-passenger door. Large as he is, the wolf lightly jumps out. I walk down the alley, chatting to him all the way. The one-way conversation feels natural. It’s exactly like talking to my demon.
The dumpster is exactly as it was previously. The smell of urine, rotting food, alcohol, and vomit storms my senses. I don’t know how a wolf’s sensitive nose tolerates the stink.
“This is where Hope was,” I point out to him. “And here’s where Owen was.” Rust-colored blood has seeped into the concrete.
Nose to the ground, Stafford’s beast quarters the area, checking out every scent. I think I’d recognize the wolf again—not so sure about the vampire.
The wolf stares at me meaningfully, then trots off toward the car. That was easy. I hesitate when I feel the tingling sensation of a nearby ghost. I creep into the darkest corner of the alley where I feel the troubled spirit, but don’t see anything.
Where are you? Can I help you?
I send my questions mentally. It’s a male, for sure. I think he’s crying. The moment he hears me, he flips out. I get the impression of a violent death, gut wrenching fear, ongoing terror.
Gibbering, snarling, and screaming, the ghost yells, Keep away! Keep away!
I still can’t see him. He’s too afraid to show himself. I wonder if he witnessed what happened the other night? It would be good to find out. It’s likely he was here at the time.
I’m trying to help you.
Liar! Liar!
OK. OK. I’m leaving now.
No point standing here when he wants nothing to do with me. Maybe he needs time to chill out—not that time passes when it comes to the spirit world.
One thing I’ve learned about both people and ghosts is, you can’t help them. Not unless they’re ready. They have to want it. To crave change. The person in question must be willing to roll up their sleeves, put in the effort, face their fears, and help themselves.
All this guy is prepared to do is hide.
“Aussi éphémère que les rêves et les ombres, aussi capricieuse que la rosée et l'éclair, telle est la vie,” I think to myself, remembering the quote from a Chinese action film I managed to watch in French. Hilarious, eh? But it was one my demon was actually willing to watch.
“As transient as dreams and shadows, as erratic as dew and lightning, such is life.”
Chapter 41. Conversations with a Wolf
Stafford told me earlier that rapid shifts from human to wolf, then back again, can be exhausting. He prefers to change back to human in the magic lands. Consequently, he stays in his wolf form for our return drive.
While driving, I glance at the wolf sitting in the passenger seat next to me. “You can understand me, right?”
He tilts his head and smiles—yes, he definitely smiles. He places his paw on my knee, exactly where Stafford placed his hand earlier.
I grin. “Cool. I thought so. Anyway, the thing is, you mystically bound me to you without asking. You didn’t give me a choice.”
The wolf, not surprisingly, says nothing.
I feel trapped. If I stray too far away from Stafford, I’ll feel sick. I can’t hide from him either, as his metaphysical link allows him to find me. I’ll test both of these assertions as soon as possible. If the bond doesn’t work as advertised, I’m outta here. If it’s true, I’ll go for the minimal-exposure-keep-out-of-trouble approach.
I frown. “This whole binding thing is something I need to think about. As far as I’m concerned, you might as well stay in your beast form tonight. You sure as hell aren’t getting lucky with me.”
He huffs.
“I’m not joking, big guy. I don’t want to set a precedent by rewarding you for making decisions on my behalf. I’m a person with my own mind. If we’re going to get along, we need to discuss these things.”
He bares his teeth in a silent snarl.
“Ha. Like that’s gonna work. You don’t scare me.”
Amber eyes wide, head tilted, he stares at my face. We both know that’s a lie.
Stafford could tear me apart as wolf or man. I’d put up a fight with my pepper spray and silver knives, but doubt I’d succeed. Few would win a fight with a powerful, determined alpha.
I exhale an audible breath. “OK, you do scare me a little sometimes, but—” I pause.
But what? But I don’t think he’ll hurt me? Except he’ll kill me if he finds I’ve got an inner demon.
I sigh. “Look, don’t get me wrong, Stafford. I like you. I also like that you’re alpha. I feel safer knowing you’re the boss.”
Ears forward, his body faces mine. He’s intently listening.
“I love the magic lands. The idea of settling down is attractive. I’m totally on board with the possibility of having children, but I have to consider this new reality. To be honest, I’m pissed-off you took my choices away. I won’t go on and on about the subject—I’m just saying.”
The wolf grunts, lays down, rests his head on his front paws. He appears defeated. How can this animal make me feel so damned guilty? Clever wolf. He reminds me of Toby when he does this.
As the queen of manipulation, I often find myself surrounded by talented manipulators. There’s karmic irony for you.
My mouth quirks. “Listen, Stafford, the truth is, I was going to take off on you,” I admit to him. “I’d planned to fly out of the country on the next available plane.”
His head shoots up to regard me with a steady gaze. He’s utterly motionless, yet I can tell I’ve shocked, surprised, and pleased him.
“You thought I’d run away and you were right.”
The wolf jumps to his feet, mouth open, tongue out, resting on his haunches. I suspect this is the equivalent of a human choking with laughter. Justified and exonerated, I can almost hear the inner man slap his thigh and say, “I knew it! I knew it!”
I chuckle. “You don’t have to look so damned happy about it.
The handsome wolf keeps grinning.
“Listen, there are reasons for the things I do. Good reasons. So, here’s the deal. There’s no way I’m sleeping with you tonight. Not with human you, anyway. Sex is out.” I slant him a look. “However, I’d be pleased to cuddle up with you, you gorgeous wolf. Your beast hasn’t done anything wrong.”
His ears fold back. I swear, the wolf is frowning.
My laugh is full-throated and uninhibited. “I hope you’re not thinking disgusting thoughts. See? Now you’ve put those ideas into my head. I’m kinky, but even I am not that kinky. Just because I like you and trust your beast—doesn’t mean I’d go there.”
The wolf stares at me.
“Have you ever slept near a human as a wolf? Do you think it’s safe? I believe it would be, but what do I know?”
The body language of his reply is unreadable, so I carry on. “It’s the weekend, right? If you have the night off, you should spend it with me as a wolf. Right now, I really love the animal part of you. I can talk to him.”
I especially love that you can’t interrupt me with difficult questions.
I straighten my shoulders, raise my chin, and look down from a greater height. Like I’m superior. Like I’d never use magic to bind him without his consent.
He whines a bit over this. It’s a low noise, coming from the back of his throat.
I take it as a compromise. I’m fairly sure I have the moral high ground here—as far as he knows, anyway. This also gives me another night of not having to answer difficult questions.
Reaching over, I ruffle his incredible coat. His outer fur is harsh, yet my fingers fall deep into the soft, downy fur underneath. I love the feel of him. I absolutely love the wolf, too. My partiality may be colored by my demon however, so I’ll have to watch for that.
Demon magic is sneaky and subtle
. Far more dangerous than anything witches can come up with.
My naughty inner monster wants to sleep with the wolf. I should be worried, but I’m not. Does the devious creature have a plan? As long as his plan doesn’t include violence, torture, murder, or mayhem, we should be OK.
This time, when I drive into the witch’s ward, I only recall a handful of pleasant childhood memories. Once I pass through the enchantment and enter the magic lands, I feel as though I’ve arrived home.
“I love this place,” I say. “It’s so pure and full of life. I feels like I belong here. I wonder how much of that desire is witchy magic?”
The wolf huffs. He’s grinning again.
I stop in front of Spukani Lodge, put the car in park, turn it off. Opening the door, I step out. The huge wolf closely follows, silently leaping to the ground, standing beside me.
Stafford’s beast is colossal—his shoulders level with my waist. Unconsciously, I run my hand over his head and neck, my fingers riffling through his warm, furry coat. It feels so good to touch him. I feel his nearness as a soft hum of magic flows through me.
It’s summer, so nightfall arrives later than usual. Yet the sun has sunk below the horizon. It’s almost dusk.
My eyes travel along the meadow, the road, and glittering green of the forest. God, I love this time of day.
Artists call this the magic hour. Typically, the most intense colors come out about twenty minutes before sunrise or twenty minutes before sunset. Right now, the last of the sun’s light is bouncing off the atmosphere, painting the sky purple and pink.
The light I see isn’t directional, it casts no dark shadows. Instead, all the earth seems to be illuminated by soft, colorful light.
Magic light in the magic lands.
As I walk up the stairs, the wolf holds back. “You’re not coming with me?”
He stares back at me with an unfathomable expression. Behind his eyes is insight and wisdom from endless generations of wolves. A human could never understand.
I realize he doesn’t want to enter this unnatural dwelling. He would prefer to hunt, to be alive and free in the forest.
