by Mac Flynn
"Let us go inside," the stranger invited. He turned to Roger in the waiting taxi. "We won't need you anymore."
Roger smiled, bowed his head and drove off. There went an easy escape, if I needed one. My mind was torn between jumping into the pool with both feet or stepping back and running away from this new life. The stranger guided me inside and into an entrance hall that was large enough to have an echo and small enough the echo would bounce back and hit you. Old wooden furniture sat against the wall in the form of chairs and tables, and thick carpets covered the wooden floors. In front of us and slightly to the left was a wide, carpeted staircase with a landing that wound its way upstairs. The decor was expensive without looking crowded or fake. I noticed the air inside the house was much warmer than outside.
"Mother?" the man called. In a moment there was the sound of gentle footsteps on the staircase, and soon the older woman I had seen last night at the stranger's side appeared. She wore a simple and clean dress that reached to the floor, and around her neck was a beautiful diamond necklace. We met her at the bottom of the stairs, and the stranger gently pushed me forward. "Mother, I have brought her," he revealed. He gestured from me to her. "Miss Danica Lyman, this is my mother, Matilda Fuller."
The woman looked me over with the imperiousness of an empress, but there was a glitter in her eyes that bespoke mischievous and humor. "Good morning, Miss Lyman. It is a pleasure to have you staying with us," she greeted me. Her eyes flickered to her son and her lips pursed together. "I trust my son was not rude in bringing you here."
"He was a little pushy," I replied.
"It was necessary," he defended himself.
His mother's narrow eyes begged to differ. "A gentleman, particularly one who is courting a woman, is never pushy," she scolded him.
The stranger coughed and turned away. I think I was going to like this woman. He gestured to the stairs. "Would you like me to show you to your room?" he offered.
"Sure," I replied.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Lyman," his mother
He led me up the stairs to a hallway that stretched across the entire length of the house. Doors lined the walls on either side, and he turned left toward the east wing. As we walked my mind pondered something that caught my curiosity. "How do you all know my name? Hell, how did you even find me that fast?" I asked him.
"It was no coincidence that you found Roger's taxi last night. He is in my employ and was driving around the block waiting for us when you jumped into his cab," he explained. "Seeing you were injured and most likely a werewolf, he took you home and returned to pick me up. He told me what had happened and where you lived, and it was only a matter of time before I found your name. I had Roger follow you in case you did something rash-"
"Like try to go to the police for help?" I guessed.
He smiled and gave a nod. "Yes, I'm afraid that was a rash decision on your part. The Foundation has operatives in a great many places, not least of which the police. Fortunately Roger followed you and you jumped into his cab before the lieutenant caught you."
"What would he have done to me? He wasn't big on the specifics," I wondered.
The stranger stared straight ahead and pursed his lips. "I'm not sure. The motives of the Foundation leaders isn't always obvious, particularly when Morgan is involved."
"Morgan?" I repeated.
"Yes, he was the one who tried to attack you last night. The long-haired gentleman on the stage," he explained.
"Ah, the one who wanted to take make my acquaintance by ending the relationship with a bite," I mused.
The man smiled. "Precisely." We came to the end of the hall and he stopped us at an elegant wooden door on the left. He opened the portal and stepped aside. "This will be your room," he told me.
I stepped inside and would have whistled if I knew how. The room was large, about half the size of my small apartment. The walls were covered in a light wood paneling and the wood floors were covered in large oriental rugs. A small round table stood in the center with two chairs around it. Against the far wall was a large stone fireplace complete with a hearth large enough to roast a wild boar. Beside that and near the right wall was a four-poster bed with a frilly canopy. To my left against the wall lay a long, taller dresser.
"What do you think of it?" he wondered as I stepped inside.
"This is really mine?" I asked him.
He chuckled. "Yes, all of it."
I turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "So this whole mating thing means I don't have to sleep in your room?" I guessed.
"Not until you're ready," he promised me.
I strolled over to the bed and ran my hands along the quilt cover. "And if I'm never ready?" I wondered.
He followed me and moved to stand beside me. "I hope things will go better for us than that," he replied.
"So you hope what? That we get married and have pups?" I returned. He turned away with half lidded eyes, and I sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so bitchy. It's been a long day." I sat down on the bed and admired the room, but there was something wrong. This was a beautiful home, but it wasn't my home. My home was in that dingy apartment with my noisy neighbors living a life that probably would have ended with me as a crazy cat lady. I leaned my head down and clutched it between my shaking hands. My voice was cracked and trembling. "Please tell me this is a nightmare," I begged him. "Just tell me I can go home and wake up, and everything will be just like it was before."
His soft voice broke through my terrified thoughts. "I'm sorry, but I can't lie to you." I felt him move to seat himself beside me, and his strong arms wrapped around my shoulders. I cringed and shivered. "Your life's changed, but that doesn't mean it's for the worse."
I choked out a derisive laugh. "A lot of changes are bad," I countered.
"I'll admit this one isn't going to be easy, but I'm not going to toss you out into the streets. I'm going to stay here and help you through it," he promised. My arms fell limp to my sides and I raised my head to look into his face. His bright eyes were soft and full of kindness, and he gave me a little smile. "That is, if you'll let me help you."
I shrugged. "Do I have a choice?"
"There's always a choice," he insisted.
I sighed and shook my head. "Unless it's to become the bearded lady or the wolf girl at a circus, I'm not seeing it."
A mischievous smile slipped onto his lips. "I'd rather you didn't take those choices."
"Yeah, me, too. Clowns scare me."
I got a laugh out of him with that one. "I think I chose my mate very well," he congratulated himself.
Chapter 7
I glared at him. "I'm not a mate to anyone until I decide I like them, werewolf bite or no werewolf bite," I insisted.
He held up his hands to defend himself, but there was still that grin of triumph on his face. "All right, I won't refer to you as that. It'd probably be safer for us both, anyway. I don't want the other members knowing I saved you just now."
"But me being a werewolf should make things all right, shouldn't it?" I wondered.
The humor dropped from his face and he grimly shook his head. "I'm afraid not. As I said before, they consider you a risk."
"But how am I going to tell somebody? Nobody will believe me about them being werewolves, and they have werewolves at the police station," I argued.
"You weren't admitted in the usual vetting process," he told me.
I paused as I thought over that. "Is there really a vet involved?" I wondered.
He chuckled. "No, but some of them do act rabidly violent against ronin werewolves."
"So because I don't have a good pedigree they think I'm just a mongrel that needs to be killed?" I guessed.
He nodded. "I'm afraid so. That's why I'm going to keep you hidden until I can convince them you're no threat."
"But you said you marked me and I met at least one of them at the police station, so don't the other ones know I'm yours?" I wondered.
"No, because your werewolf
scent is very faint. They know you're a werewolf now, but they don't know who marked you," he explained to me.
I sniffed my arm. "I don't smell anything."
He chuckled. "You will, but that will take a few days and a full moon."
"You mean werewolves really do transform during the full moon?" I asked him.
"We can change any time we want, but the full moon is when our instincts and the urge to hunt are at their strongest."
I glanced down at my innocent-looking body. "So I could change right now if I wanted?"
"No. You need to go through a full moon to become a full werewolf."
My eyes widened and a faint glimmer of hope entered my beating heart. "So if I hid from the full moon for the rest of my life I'd stay human?"
"The urge is too strong to ignore, particularly for an entire lifetime," he replied.
My shoulders slumped and I sighed. "Damn. So I have only thirty days left as a human?"
"Actually, only this day."
My mouth fell open. "What? But the full moon was last night," I argued.
"The best full moon was last night, but there will be enough lunar light tonight to force the change in you," he explained to me.
The thought of changing into a bloodthirsty animal like the ones I'd seen last night was a little terrifying. Actually, that's an understatement. I was so scared I needed a change of underwear and a hug. Since I didn't have any extra clothes I went for the hug, and seeing as I had only one person to hug it had to be with this guy. I startled him by wrapping my arms around his body and hugging myself to his warm, muscular chest. "There's no way out of this?" I whispered.
His arms gathered me up, and his voice was soft and a little sad. "I'm afraid not," he replied.
I sniffled, but managed a small smile. "Just my luck to be invited to a party and end up on a werewolf hit-list."
"You have this bad of luck?" he wondered.
I shrugged. "This is certainly up there with the time I puked in gym because I once traded my sandwich for a slightly munched Twinkie."
He chuckled. "You've lived an exciting life," he teased.
"Yeah, you know me, a real dare devil."
"I don't know you very well, but I think that'll change in the next few weeks," he replied.
A thought struck me and I pushed away from him to get a good look at his face. "You know, I have no idea what your name is."
His eyes widened. "I didn't tell you it?"
"Unless you whispered it some time last night while you were taking a bite out of me, then no. Though I did hear your mom's last name was Fuller," I told him.
"Well then, no wonder you don't trust me." He slipped out of my arms, stood in front of me, and gave a a graceful bow. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mark Fuller, rescuer extraordinaire."
I stifled my laugh and held out my hand to him. "My name's Danica Lyman, but you can call me Danny."
He took my hand and gave it a strong shake. "A pleasure to meet you, Danny, and I hope I can make your new life very comfortable."
"Well, you've already made it very exciting," I pointed out.
"I'm afraid I have, but I'll try to make it up to you with a few days of relaxation."
I stretched out my limbs and fell back against the comfortable leather seat. "Starting now?" I pleaded.
"Starting after tonight," he corrected me.
"Tonight? You mean because of that full moon?" I guessed, and he nodded.
"Yes. One last adventure to finish off the week and then I promise you'll be more comfortable."
I winced. That was one adventure I didn't want to go through. "Will this transforming thing hurt?" I asked him.
He smiled and shook his head. "No. Most people find it to be a very pleasurable experience."
I raised an eyebrow. "So all the horror movies-"
"-are usually wrong," he finished.
That was one relief, but it didn't allay all my fears. "But will I kill people like-well, like what I saw last night?"
A shadow passed over his face and he sat back down beside me. "What you saw last night wasn't something that needed to happen, but traditions are hard to set aside, particularly ones that are that old."
"Murdering a bunch of people is a tradition?" I gasped.
"I'm afraid so. The Foundation my mother and I belong to is very old, and one of their traditions is to appease our instincts with a ritual slaughter." The idea of this man being a part of that slaughter disgusted me. He noticed when I cringed away from his hands, and firmly shook his head. "I've never killed except for self-defense."
"Then what were you doing there?" I countered.
"It's required attendance, but my mother and I have never taken a life. I swear it," he insisted.
There was doubt in my mind, but that voice inside of me told me I could trust him. I figured this voice hadn't steered me wrong before, so I decided to trust him, at least for now. "All right, you haven't killed anybody else, but why are they killing so many people all at once?" I asked him.
"Because they don't satiate their instincts during the years in-between the ritual, and in order to keep themselves from an obvious murder they convince people to follow them to that building and kill them there."
"Private murder?" I guessed, and he nodded. "And here I thought everything was public. So it's a pack package deal? Everyone stays mum about the whole thing and everyone gets a bite?"
"I'm afraid so." He glanced down at his hands that sat palm upward in his lap, and there was an expression of regret on his face. "I might not have killed any of those people myself, but I haven't done anything to save them, either."
Mark had such a sad puppy dog look on his face that I felt sorry for him. I patted him on the shoulder and offered him a smile. "You saved me," I reminded him.
He managed a smile back. "Yes, I suppose I did, but it cost you your old life. I see the regret in your eyes," he told me.
I cringed. "I can't even go back to my old job?" I paused and thought about that. "Wait, on second thought, you probably saved me from a fate worse than death or werewolf-ism."
Mark chuckled. "And what fate would that have been?"
"A life of a boring office job."
"Boredom might be better than what I just gave you," he argued.
"Well, I'm willing to try it out."
"It isn't like slipping on and off a fur coat."
"You mean a wolf coat?" I teased.
He looked me over with a careful eye. "You're taking this all very well. Most people, especially females, would have panicked or not believed a word I was saying." He leaned toward me and smiled. "That makes you very special."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's a first."
"What is?" he wondered.
I shrugged and sheepishly grinned. "I've been called special by a lot of people, but I think you're the first one to make it into a compliment."
He chuckled. "It's definitely a compliment, and I don't think I'd choose just any girl to be my mate."
I frowned. "There you go with that mate stuff. What's that about?"
"Have you ever seen a werewolf movie?"
"Not one where the werewolf wasn't trying to tear everybody up."
"Have you ever read any werewolf romance novels?"
"No, I'm more into vampires."
He sighed and rubbed his temple. "Have you ever studied anything about wolves?"
"I did a book report about wolves in the sixth grade. Does that count?"
"You were in sixth grade, or the wolves were?" he teased.
I rolled my eyes. "I was in the sixth grade, and the book I read was about wolves."
"Then does the term 'mate' mean anything to you?"
"If a mate's carrying a check in front of it than I'd say we're talking about chess, but I don't think you're talking about chess," I replied.
Mark let out a snort, but gathered himself. "No, I'm not talking about chess. For wolves, a mate is a life partner, someone who stays by their side for their entire l
ife."
"Yeah, it'd be kind of hard to split the cave in a divorce," I quipped.
"Are you taking any of this seriously?"
"Comedy is my sanity-reflex. Otherwise I'd be one of those panicky females desperately trying to not believe you," I told him. I fell back on the bed and sighed. "But yeah, I know what a mate is. Kind of. It's the spouse of another wolf, but what do werewolves do about it? What does it mean for you to want me for a mate because you like my scent? Is there a courtship or do you just want pups?"
"For those with this curse and blessing our instincts and senses are heightened. For example the instinct to find a suitable mate and procreate is very strong. The use of smell determines which scent our instinct most believes is best suitable for us," he explained.
"So if you think somebody smells like trash that's not the person for you?" I guessed.
"Exactly," he replied.
I raised my head and glanced across myself. "So what do I smell like?"
He chuckled. "Like lemon-scented roses."
"You have a strange sense of nice smells," I commented.
"I have a partiality to lemons," he explained.
"All right, so you have a partiality to lemons and my scent. Now what?" I asked him.
"Now we see if you feel the same after your transformation," he replied.
"And that's tonight?" I recalled.
"Yes."
"Is there some time I need to set my watch to?"
"No. You change when your body decides the moon is at its perfect position for you," he told me.
"And then what happens after I-well, after the change?" I wondered.
"You will remain here under my protection until the Foundation decides what to do with you," he replied.
I sat up and frowned. "What's that mean? If I don't want to join their club can't I just leave the city?"
He shook his head. "No. The Foundation territory is tightly controlled by Morgan and the others in the leadership, and even if they don't allow you into the Foundation they won't let you leave. You are their responsibility, and to let you go would anger other Foundations in other cities. They would see it as a breach in controlling the werewolf population inside this city."
I jumped to my feet and glared at Mark. "So because I'm a werewolf I need to get their permission to do everything?" I snapped.
"It is how our world works," he insisted.
"No, it's how your world works. Mine says I can go to Bermuda if I want and not have to worry about getting permission from a bunch of psychopaths," I argued.
