Werewolf Love Story

by H. T. Night

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Well, that’s about the time parents start kicking their kids out.” I looked at Patrick. My instincts were that I liked him. He seemed genuine. He appeared to be a legiTimote guy like myself who got dealt a crappy hand as of late. “You work?”

  “I can make money.”

  “Can you make money legally?” I asked, direct.

  “Yeah, I have a storage unit filled with sports Memorabilia. When I'm strapped for cash I sell stuff on Ebay.”

  “Cool,” I said. I was a huge Raiders and Lakers fan so this guy was right up my alley. “Look, you can stay here for the meantime; just pull in enough money to get your own food.”

  “I really don't eat. My stomach is pretty unpredictable.”

  I looked Patrick in the eyes. “You don't kill, people do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “How do you feed your … you know… desire?”

  “I haven’t been a vampire for very long but my sister works at a medical hospital.”

  “And she gave you blood?”

  “Why wouldn't she?”

  “Cause it's fucking weird, that's why,” I laughed. “She didn’t ask what it was for?”

  “I told her.”

  “You told her?” I asked, shocked.

  “I had to.”

  “And she believed you?”

  “The whole turning into a raven thing pretty much seals the deal in the belief department.”

  “Yeah, that pretty much convinced me,” I stated.

  “There you go Kyro, there you go.”

  The sun began peeking out of the sky.

  “I think your friend probably turned back,” Patrick said, making a motion to the inside of the apartment with his head.

  “It happens that fast?” I asked

  “Put it this way, Tommy. Your beard is gone. And my skin is burning.” I felt my face and sure-enough I was clean shaven. “So what’s the deal with that? Are you some partial werewolf?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Patrick.” I got up and opened the front door to my apartment. Sasha was in a fetal position in the middle of the cage, soaking wet.

  “Why is she soaked?”

  It's what happens to werewolves. It’s like sweat or secretion.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “I actually think it’s kind of hot,” he laughed.

  “It's not funny,” I said. “I might be halfway there.” I turned and faced Sasha. “Sasha,” I called into the cage. She opened her eyes. She seemed disorientated.

  “Tommy?” She asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me out. I need to pee.”

  I took the key out of my pocket and unlocked the cage. Sasha rushed past me and made her way to the bathroom. I looked into the cage and the carpet was scratched up and mangled. Oh well, I thought. There goes my deposit.

  “She's pretty hot.” Patrick said.

  “Oh, she's trouble.”

  “Female werewolves usually are. They are a rare breed.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Because if a woman gets bit by a werewolf she usually dies. Only really strong and tough women survive. You have to survive the bite to become one.”

  “Doesn’t say much for the women's movement,” I said. “My experience is that women can take a lot more pain than men.”

  “We are wimps aren’t we?”Patrick grinned then coughed. We could now hear that Sasha had started a shower and Patrick rolled his eyes at me.

  “Throat any better?”

  “A little.”

  “I want you to know I’ve been bitten twice in the last few nights and you don’t hear me complaining.”

  “You like pain?” Patrick asked.

  “I was a street fighter growing up. Now I’m a professional one, so pain doesn't play a part in my life.”

  Patrick cracked a smile and said, “Says the guy with a bandage covering his entire shoulder.”

  “Again,” I said. “You're funny.”

  “So, did you hit that?” Patrick looked towards the bathroom and was referring to Sasha.

  “For real, dude?” I asked.

  “I would. She's hot.”

  I don’t do anything and tell, and I wasn’t going to start now. “She’s a lovely, young lady, Patrick. You need to learn to respect women.”

  “Oh, I respect them, Kyro. Especially when they are down on all fours.”

  I shot him another look.

  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughed.

  “I think I liked you better when you couldn’t talk.” I motioned again to the bathroom at Sasha. “I'm telling you, she's trouble.”

  “Trouble, or not. Damn, she can drip sweat on me anytime.”

  “Enough, dude!”

  Sasha eventually got out of the shower and I gave her some workout shorts that were kind of small on me, but looked like a trash bag on her. I actually had a woman’s pink Raider jersey I had received as a gag gift from a friend of mine for being a Raider fan. So I let her wear it.

  Patrick went back in my room and layed down. He barely introduced himself to Sasha. He apparently was all talk; he was really shy around Sasha. It was almost humorous. Sasha didn’t seem too interested in my pale vampire friend.

  It was weird; I had been alone for such a long time. The life of a fighter is a lonely one. It was nice having people around. Be how it may, they weren't exactly people, but it was nice having friends. Damn I'm pathetic.

  Chapter Eleven

  The following night was more of the same with Sasha. We had to blast the radio and act like we were having a party a couple times when Sasha decided to lose her mind and make enough racket to wake the whole block. But, we did get through the night without any problems, and in the morning, Sasha seemed very grateful that Patrick and I were there for her.

  For the next two weeks, the three of us became inseparable. It was odd having close friends again. I hadn’t realized how much I missed joking around and being stupid with people. Patrick continued to get better and my injuries were healing pretty quickly. I told Patrick my real name was Tommy, but he said he liked calling me Kyro better. I told him I’d make an exception for him and let him call me that.

  Sasha and I continued having some sexual tension. We would kiss here and there, but I would never take it to the next level. I truly was having too much fun and didn’t want to blow it with ‘friends with benefits.’ I knew I didn’t have a desire to be her boyfriend, but I did want to be her friend. I went down and got a queen size bed at a yard sale. I stuck it in the spare bedroom so Sasha had a place to sleep. Patrick always slept in my bed because of the whole sunlight thing—being that my room was the safest place in the house. I, however, would sleep anywhere in the house: sometime next to Patrick, sometimes with Sasha, but mainly I would sleep on my couch. It was damn comfortable and in the end that’s all that matters when it comes to a good night’s rest.

  I also got my windshield fixed at a local shop and the damn thing cost me 400 dollars. I let Sasha know she would pay for it by doing the dishes and keeping the apartment clean. With that being said, for the first time in my life I had real friends and I was having the time of my life. The three of us seemed to be as close as three oddballs could be.

  I had woken up late on a Saturday afternoon as that seemed to be the norm these days considering I was keeping Patrick hours late into the night. I was having the sleep pattern of a vampire and that wasn’t the healthiest way to live my life. I know the value of a good night’s sleep being that I am a fighter but I was having too much fun to worry about that right now.

  I had fallen asleep on the couch watching some morning show. I had to look through the bars of the cage to watch TV, but if I tilted my head just right I could see the television without seeing any bars. Oh, the little things.

  I got up and grabbed some orange juice from the fridge and took out some eggs and made myself an omelet. I wasn’t the
greatest cook, but I knew how to make eggs. It was two in the afternoon and both Patrick and Sasha were still asleep. I didn’t want to wake either of them up and I was enjoying my omelet a little too much to share.

  I went into my room and changed and decided to go for a ride and pick some things up at the farmer’s market. There was a giant one I especially liked in San Bernardino. I needed to start eating healthy again because I was healing up. My shoulder was still jacked up and my arm still looked like a dog had gotten to it. It would be a few months before I could really train the way I’m accustomed to. So for now, I was going to have to let my undefeated record stay idle for a few more months.

  I had checked in with the Commission last week to let them know how I was doing. We were aiming for me to fight again in six months. That should be plenty of time for me to get right again.

  I went out to my car and could hear every siren, call door, and car alarm in a three mile radius. I was learning to ignore it, but I couldn’t believe I was actually sympathizing with canines. I drove up the 91 freeway towards San Bernardino. I hadn't paid much attention to the gas gauge as I pulled off the freeway onto “D” street. I looked down and I noticed it was on empty. I needed to find a gas station fast. I looked around and there wasn't one to be found in any direction. So I kept driving forward hoping to run into something, but it was too late. My car did that regurgitate thing cars do right before they run out of gas. You know that dry heave that comes out of your engine.

  I knew my car was done and it desperately needed some gas. I coasted to the right and parked on the street. I had no idea where the next gas station was and, unfortunately, I forgot my cell phone at my apartment. I knew I had to get out and walk and, luckily, I had a gas container in my trunk. I grabbed it and started hiking up the street.

  I walked up the street for about three miles until I finally saw a gas station over on the left. I decided to take a short cut by cutting through a back alley.

  I walked around a corner building and heard some commotion. I ducked behind a trash dumpster and looked out to what appeared to be some type of altercation. There were a group of high school kids in a circle confronting a tall, lengthy kid wearing a black hood. I could tell he was young by the way he talked. He appeared to have been at the wrong place at the wrong time. I could relate to that.

  The kid in the black hood was outnumbered four to one. “You really should just let me go,” the young man said. “I really don't want any trouble.” Unfortunately, by the look of these guys, they were all about trouble. I watched on and then heard something that shocked the hell out of me. The boy in the black hood made a specific demand to the group of thugs that had surrounded him. He said, “You have ten seconds to let me go through or I'm going to kick everyone one of your asses and not feel bad about it.”

  Holy crap! Are you kidding me? The balls on this kid!

  The group of thugs looked at each other and just busted up laughing. Every single of the other guys were taller and wider than the young man. But that didn’t stop the kid from doing a count down, “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, oh fuck it,” the black hooded kid said, “Now, I want to kick your asses!”

  Are you kidding me!

  I was about to jump out and make sure it was a fair fight, but this kid didn't need my help. He attacked them all like a super hero defending his city from super villains. I felt like I was watching an action movie where you root for the underdog; this young man quickly proved that he was no underdog! He beat them up individually, in pairs, and at one point, the kid had one in a headlock while high kicking another, and with his free hand he right crossed another guy knocking him to the pavement. He wiped the floor with these guys in a matter of seconds. I wanted to walk out and give him a standing ovation; it was by far the coolest thing I had ever seen. This fourteen year old kid either knocked them out or they ran off in fear of another beating.

  He finished off the last guy and wiped his hands. He looked at his masterpiece with three guys laying on the ground and a fourth one a mile down the street. He smiled as if he just finished planting a garden. He sighed and the turned towards where I was standing behind the dumpster. He smiled at me and nodded his head in triumph.

  “Hey,” I yelled to him, “What are you? Some kind of black headed Superhero?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I am, you little shit,” I said.

  “You have a name?” he asked.

  “Yeah, sure do. My name is Tommy.” I looked at this kid and he hadn’t even broken a sweat. “You’re about the baddest motherfucker I have ever seen fight. What's your name?”

  The kid pulled off his black hood and he had long, flowing blondee hair. He grinned at me with his piercing blue eyes. “Well, Tommy. I'm glad you enjoyed the show. My name is Josiah.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I stared at this blondee, blue-eye kid and was astounded that he just took out four guys like they were kindergartners.

  “Josiah, huh? Sounds biblical. Do you have God on your side?”

  He smirked. “I might have an angel or two watching my back.” Josiah wiped his brow and stretched his neck and then said to me, “You're not some creep hanging out in alleys are you?”

  For this first time I noticed his stance. Even though we were having a peaceful exchange in dialogue, his footwork would say otherwise. The kid was a trained fighter. Only someone who has Jujitsu training or some kind of boxing training would stand with his momentum potentially ready to spring forward. He wasn't sure if he could trust me. How could I blame him? I was a twenty-two year old man in a bad part of town hanging around dumpsters. I was probably sweaty and dirty from my three mile hike.

  “Well you’re in luck,” I said. “I’m not a creep. Even if I was, I don’t think I would want to mess with you after that display.” I once again noticed his body language and this punk still wasn’t sure if he could trust me. “Hey, Josiah,” I said calmly. “Stand down. I’m one of the good guys.”

  He looked at me with a curious stare. “How did you know I was on my guard?”

  “I'm a professional fighter and your body language displays that in a blink of an eye you’re ready to protect yourself.”

  “You can tell that by just looking at me?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I could also tell you were in protective stance and didn’t want to attack me. It’s subtle, but a guy like me can see it a mile away.

  “Wow, you really know what you’re talking about.” Josiah eyes widened and then he finally relaxed. “A professional fighter? So you get paid for it?”

  “That would make it professional,” I answered, with a little snarky in my voice.

  “Where do you fight?”

  “I'm in the California Commissioned MMA.”

  “Bullshit!” Josiah was impressed.

  I grinned. “I'm 2 and 0.” Why I felt I needed to validate myself to a young teenager was beyond me, but I guess after what I just witnessed he deserved it.

  Josiah looked at me with his piercing blue eyes and then his eyes brightened, “Wait! Did you say your name is Tommy? Did you fight a couple weeks ago at the Staple Center?”

  “Yeah, I sure did.”

  “That is so awesome. I was there. I had horrible seats, but I remember your match. You kicked the crap out of the guy while only using your left arm.”

  “You saw that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You could tell I was only using the left side of my body?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking this guy is so good he’s fighting his opponent with one-arm tied behind his back.”

  “Trust me, it felt that way. I had an injury to my right shoulder.”

  “I figured as much, unless you’re such a badass you only fight guys one-handed.”

  “I’m impressed you noticed that. Not even in the write up on Yahoo was that mentioned.”

  “How could I not. My right hand is my bread and butter. The first thing I watch in every fight is how explosive an opponent’s r
ight arsenal is.”

  “Are you training?”

  “I'm a boxer.”

  “That’s a good place to start. Are you any good?”

  “What do you think?”

  I looked at the spot where he easily took care of four guys and laughed. “I guess so.”

  “I’ve been Golden Gloves champ three years in a row.”

  “That is impressive. You plan on doing the Olympics?”

  “Hell, no! My dad would love that. But, I want to do what you do. Olympics are a waste of time. There is no real money there. I want to get into the ring the second I'm 18 and kick ass as much as I can.”

  “Well, you’re off to a good start!” I said, with obvious intentions.

  Josiah looked down the street and noticed the guys he kicked the crap out of had gotten up and left. “Hey, Tommy Boy, we better split, I have a feeling those guys will be back with a few more friends, if you know what I’m saying. Unless you’re prepared to fight about twenty guys with me we should take off.” I nodded and followed Josiah in the opposite direction I had come from. “By the way, what is a MMA fighter doing in an alley? You buying crack?”

  “Not quite, my car ran out of gas.”

  “Oh that sucks. Where's it at?”

  “A couple miles back near the freeway.”

  Josiah pulled out his cell phone. “Let’s go to this Starbucks that’s down the street and I'll have my sister come pick us up. Then we'll drive you to a gas station.”

  “Ah shit! I remembered I dropped my gas container back by the dumpster.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I left my gas container back there.”.

  “Don't worry,” Josiah said. “Well get one at the station.”

  “They are like twenty dollars.”

  “Who said anything about paying for it?” Josiah winked at me and I shook my head at the young punk. I had to admit, I really liked him. He reminded me of myself, a little more out of control, but he was definitely a cool kid.

  We made our way to the Starbucks and sat down. Josiah called his sister and she told him she would pick him up in about ten minutes.