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Melissa A. Graham
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Raging Spirit
The first time I ever hopped on the back of Frank Essex's bike was the day he rescued me from the loneliness and isolation of my parent's home. Three months later, I rode away with him and didn’t turn back. That was the day I told myself I would never be alone again, anything was better than seclusion. It would take me several months to realize there—most definitely—were worse things than being alone.
Two weeks after the surprise call from my estranged sister, I was driving my shambling Toyota to San Antonio. Nearly three hours of suffering through sporadic air conditioning and an awkward tension between me and Jackson. Even with the radio on and playing some motivational tunes, à la David Draiman, I couldn't ignore the silence.
Jackson looked small in my passenger seat. Even though he was almost literally larger than life—at six-foot-three, and built like a brick shithouse—he seemed to be curling in on himself, his face pulled tight with worry. It was the sort of look a kid would have when they just knew Mom or Dad caught them with their hand in the cookie jar.
I tried to give him his space and focused on the road ahead of me, but I didn't like how distant Jackson was being. Normally he was quick to joke around and possessed one of the most catching laughs I've ever had the pleasure to hear. Though, with all the crap that I’d brought down on us lately, I guess I couldn’t blame him for not being his typical lighthearted self.
I wasn’t finding much to smile about these days, either.
"I told you I was fine," I said, finally. "You didn't have to come with me."
Jackson didn't look at me. He merely attempted to shrug one of his massive shoulders. "No big deal. I didn't like the idea of you driving so far alone."
I didn't buy it. I mean, it was only three hours. It wasn't like I was driving across country.
"I’ve been on the road before. Longer, even. I don't think you have to worry about me falling asleep at the wheel."
It was eleven in the morning and not a cloud in the sky. The sun lit up the road as it beat down on us in all its blinding glory. Definitely no worries about falling asleep when your retinas feel sunburnt.
"We both know that's not what I'm worried about," he said.
I risked a lengthy glance to my side and caught his knowing gaze. It made my throat tighten and I tried to clear it as I returned my attention to the road in front of me.
I knew exactly what he was worried about. The big, furry, moon-loving elephant hadn't left the room since Frank had made good on his promise. Anyone in their right mind would worry, but Jackson had seemed to take on being my handler, whether I liked it or not. He’d been watching me as if he expected me to lose control and take out a herd of sheep like a frat boy going wild at a sorority kegger.
I busied myself with watching the traffic, checking my mirrors and looking over each passing road sign with extreme scrutiny. He sighed and I knew he’d finally looked away.
That's fine. He could be irritated all he wanted as long as he stopped staring at me like he expected me to spontaneously combust in the middle of Interstate-10.
I knew I was being difficult. I was so used to having to deal with things on my own and didn't want to be the one everyone concerned themselves with. If I just ignored it and pretended everything was normal, it would go away.
My stomach rumbled loudly, startling us both.
"Good God, girl. When was the last time you fed that thing? It sounds like its tryin' to escape."
I couldn't help but smile at him. "It's been a while. How about we grab some lunch?"
"Please. Before your gut gets loose and tries to rip the meat from my bones."
I laughed, and for the first time all morning, the tension in my neck and shoulders eased. Maybe this was his big plan. Maybe he wanted to come, not because he was afraid of my mental state, but because he wanted to make me feel more relaxed. He knew how hard it was for me to do this. Honestly, I was grateful to have an ally tagging along.
When we finally found an exit sign for a rest stop, we decided to grab a bite while we could. This particular route to San Antonio was new to me, so who knew if there would be any other opportunities to get out, stretch our legs, and sate the ravenous beast in my belly. Jackson was ready to pour out of my little car and had little opinion on what I chose. I had to admit, looking at him all jam-packed into the passenger seat made my knees and back hurt in sympathy.
We pulled into the rest stop and parked in front of a little diner next to the gas station. I'd seen too many horror movies start this way; a young couple on a road trip stop off at a shady-looking rest stop dive only to find themselves served as Today's Special. If Jackson hadn’t been with me, I might’ve been a little hesitant to go in. I needed to lay off the late night B-movies.
Watching Jackson pry himself out of the passenger seat was something I will forever hold dear to my heart. I offered him a crowbar, and he offered me his middle finger.
Over the last two weeks, I'd started seeing a different side of Jackson. While he had always been a gentleman to us at the club, he still held himself a little reserved. A smile, a hug, a joke here and there. That was about it, though. Once I knew the secret he was holding back, he seemed to be relaxing his grip on his true personality. It was as if someone pulled the thorn from his paw.
The diner was empty, save for a couple of older guys at the counter. The walls were papered in a "country harvest" theme, complete with pumpkins and wheat, and looked way past due for an upgrade. Anything that I could think of that said 'Mom and Pop' was here.
I slid into the nearest, cleanest booth while Jackson looked for the waitress. As if on cue, a woman in loose-fitting jeans, t-shirt, and frilly apron walked up to us, sliding a pencil from her pocket. It was all too perfect. The diner, the surly waitress; all that was missing was a name tag that read "Flo."
"Coffee," Jackson said, giving the woman his most pleasant smile.
Unfortunately, no matter how warmly he smiled, he still looked so imposing that people automatically branded him as a thug. Not everyone was as fortunate as me and the rest of the girls from the club to know just how cuddly he was.
When she turned her wide eyes from Jackson to me, I tried to ease the concern dancing in her tired-looking baby blues.
"Same," I said as I started to hand over my little menu. "Bacon and eggs, too. Oh, and some sausage gravy on my eggs? Extra sausage—like, a lot extra."
The woman stared at me then shook her head, putting her pencil back into her pocket.
"I wish I could eat like that without the consequences," she said, and I looked at her a little more closely. Her clothes were just a little snug, but I wouldn't exactly call the woman fat.
"She's eating for two," Jackson blurted out, earning an aghast look from me.
As if that explained it, the waitress left.
"I am not pregnant," I whispered with a hiss.
Jackson turned an entirely-too-amused grin on me. "Never said you were, angel, but you are eating for two. You and your wolf."
I stared at him. My brain just did not want to cooperate and wrap itself around any of this. "How is that even possible? It's just me in here," I said, poking at my chest for good measure.
"Yes, but—" he shifted in the seat a moment. "Alright. Think of it like a split personality. You have your human side and you have your animal side. The wolf is going to get stronger with each day until," he paused, reached over the table and mov
ed my prodding finger from my chest to my temple, "it's as much in here as you are. Now that you have this wild animal living inside of you, it has needs that are going to need to be fulfilled to keep it from attacking you."
"Sounds more like a parasite," I said, not liking how that sounded.
"Yes and no. Normally, when a human is bitten, it acts more like a biological infestation. The germs, for lack of a better word, that come from the wolf's saliva invade your blood stream and start to latch onto your DNA—like a disease. It's going to change your body in certain ways, like symptoms, and there will be... flare ups. About once a month under the full moon."
My next question died in my throat as the waitress returned with our coffees. She poured them in silence, sliding her gaze between me and Jackson. I swear it seemed like she was considering whether Jackson was the father of my non-existent baby. He just smiled at her, like the gentleman he was, and waited until she left.
"I think she's starting to like me," he said with a soft chuckle.
"So, if it's like a disease, then there's a cure, right?" I asked, fidgeting in my seat.
Jackson's eyes snapped to me so quickly I found my pulse rising. He didn't say anything at first; he just stared at me. I watched as a myriad of emotions passed through his eyes before he looked down at the mug in his hand.
"No. There are tales about a wolf who searched for a way to reverse it, but they're just fairy tales. A lost cause. Once you’re wolven, there’s no going back—ever," he breathed the last word into his mug before taking a drink.
There was so much emotion in that one word. I couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever tried himself. I settled back a little and let the silence stretch between us until the waitress returned with food. The deliciously decadent aroma of Applewood-smoked bacon hit me before she’d even opened the kitchen door.
Even though I should have been more worried about our conversation, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the plate of steaming goodness headed my way. My mouth was, literally, salivating at the sight of it. My eyes followed it as the woman brought it over. She'd barely lowered it to the table in front of me before my fork stabbed into a thick, juicy sausage patty and I shoved it, burning hot, into my mouth.
"Flo" watched in horror as I chewed it savagely, making sounds of pain from the grease burning the roof of my mouth but not bothering to slow down or, God forbid, spit it back out until it cooled. Jackson's booming laugh filled the diner. Trying to get himself under control again, he cleared his throat and looked back to the woman.
"Long drive," he explained.
She rolled her eyes and turned on her heels, leaving us to our conversation. A few more minutes later, and Jackson had the laughter out of his system. I took advantage of the quiet to shovel a bit more food into my mouth and mull over what it was I wanted to ask him. Washing down the latest forkful of eggs with my coffee, I drew a bracing breath and set my fork back down.
"Did you try—the cure?"
"No," he said quickly, but he never looked up from his mug.
"Then how do you know it's impossible?" I couldn't keep the hope out of my voice.
He shifted in his seat again, resting his arm across the back of the booth. "It just is," he said.
"Do you know anyone who tried?"
His eyes met mine. There was something haunting in their reflection. Jackson's eyes were the most vibrant green I'd ever seen in my life, almost unreal, always sparkling with laughter and good cheer. But as my question hung in the air between us, they were almost glowing. I remembered how Frank's used to be similar; the softest cocoa brown until he got emotional—or violent—and then they would have an eerie glow to them.
I chewed on my lower lip for a heartbeat then rolled my shoulders back, looking away. Okay, so it wasn't something he wanted to share right now. Deciding to do a little backpedaling, I revisited another question that had popped in my head a few moments ago.
"Did you ever want to be cured?" I returned to my plate.
Jackson gave a soft smile, "I don't think there is a one of us that doesn't have a moment of doubt. You do something you're not proud of, something the animal makes you do, and you wish you weren't the way you were, wish you could stop it. It takes a while to figure out how to live in harmony with your wolf."
"But what about you, specifically?"
"Yeah, a couple times. Not that it would do me any good."
"Why not?"
"Aside from the fact that it's impossible?" he chuckled and took another drink of coffee. "Even if the stories were true, I don't qualify. I'm pureblooded. Born from two wolven parents."
That caught my attention.
"So your sister, Gina, she's a werewolf, too?" I asked, putting my fork back down and leaning forward.
He shook his head.
"But you said both of your parents are werewolves... and you're a werewolf. So doesn't that mean your sister is, too?"
"Hmm. You see, it gets a little tricky there. When two wolves have a child, that first-born baby is a wolf. They grow up like any other kid until their hormones begin to fire off. Like at puberty," he drained his cup and set it on the end of the table.
"But when they have a second kid... nothing. He, or she, is just a normal pink chubby baby that grows into a normal, eye-rollin', angsty teenager without the furry side effects. They are wolfblooded but not wolven. They can lead normal lives. Like you."
I snorted at that, "Yeah, because my life is just as pretty as a Norman Rockwell print."
He gave me a full-blown grin.
"If you hadn't crossed paths with your ex?" He shrugged. "Maybe."
I knew it was bullshit. Even if I hadn't met Frank, my life was far from normal. Boring? Yeah. Lonely? Very. But it was never normal. Now I was beginning to understand why.
"My parents were pureblooded?" I asked, afraid to even look up at him.
"Yeah, angel," he said softly. Suddenly straightening up more, he cleared his throat. "I mean that’s usually how it goes with families. If your sister is a born wolf, they were as well. Which is why you’re just another human."
"Was," I said, still staring at my hands on the table. "I was a human. Now, I'm a werewolf."
I sat and let that sink in a little. My whole family were wolves—always had been apparently—and I was supposed to be human, but thanks to Frank I wasn't. The tears burned the back of my eyes. Even though I was now a wolf, like them, it shouldn't have ever happened. I was still the freak in my family.
His hand moved over mine and squeezed it gently. I was able to hold the tears back long enough to look at him and see the sympathy in his eyes.
"You're Harley. The rest don't matter. You’re you and you’re an amazing girl." He smiled at me and I gave him a half-hearted one in return.
"That's sweet of you. Even if it's bullshit."
He started to say something but I cut him off before he could.
"Thank you."
Whatever he was getting ready to say, he dropped it. It was one of the things I loved most about Jackson.
I never felt pressured by him.
The waitress came by to fill up our coffees. Jackson put his hand over the top of his mug before smiling up at her and asked her for the check. I finished mine in record time.
"We need to get goin' if we're gonna make it to your folks' house by one," he said as he paid.
Though Jackson seemed to be in a hurry, I was in no rush to get there. I didn't want to see them. Not when they'd made it clear so long ago they didn't want me.
I did want to see my mom, though. If she was going to die, I needed to be there with her, or I would never forgive myself. Even if she rejected me again, I would be able to go on knowing I was the bigger person. This thought helped me get to the car.
"Want me to drive the rest of the way, angel?" Jackson asked as he opened the driver door for me.
"Nah," I said weakly, "driving helps keep me from running the other way."
"You run away from your problems often?"
&nb
sp; I slid into the driver's seat. "It's all I've ever known."
With that depressing confession, we piled into the car. We were less than an hour away from my parents' new house, hardly enough time to collect myself, but we'd already come this far. This was something I couldn't run away from.
The rest of the drive was silent, and I noticed Jackson was even beginning to put off an anxious vibe, though I couldn’t understand why. I was the one seeing my werewolf parents for the first time in years. One of them was even dying. And my sister... Well, she was a bitch. More literally than I'd ever thought before. If anyone had the right to dwell in their unease, it was me.
We weren't exactly going to San Antonio, but rather just north of it. My family had relocated from their tiny house in Simmons County to Bulverde not too long after I'd left. At least, that’s what Lori told me when she had called.
She, of course, told me that it was entirely my fault. She said Mom couldn't handle living in that house anymore. Not with both of her babies gone. I called bull on that, but whatever. I'm sure if I'd stayed after Lori went off to college, then we still would have moved. All of those warm and fuzzy memories with the golden girl hanging in those rooms would have been too much.
I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't hold a grudge about them packing up and leaving the house I grew up in. They just gave up my room, my house, the woods in the back where Lori and I used to play together. If I had really meant something to them, they would have stayed in a desperate hope of keeping those memories of me close.
And, yes, I also realized that made me a hypocrite.
Pinning the scrap of paper I had written their directions on against the steering wheel, I double checked the road signs and house numbers to make sure I was going the right way. When the houses began to space further and further apart from each other, I wondered if I'd missed a turn. When it had been almost two whole minutes since I'd seen a house, I was pretty damn sure I had gotten lost.
"Shit," I hissed and began to search for a place to turn around.
"What is it?" Jackson asked.
"We're running out of houses. I think I passed their street," I spotted a small access road to one of the fields next to the road and started to turn into it.
"Just keep going," Jackson said.
"I got the directions right here. I’ll just turn around and go back—"
"Harley," he said, making me look to him. "Trust me. Just keep going. I know exactly where they are."
I stared at him for a moment. He knew? Even I hadn't been here before so how would Jackson know? As I stared at him, his ears turned a deep shade of red.
"Jackson?" I clenched my fists around the steering wheel, looking back to the road ahead of us. I didn’t want to look at him anymore. I didn’t want to see what my gut knew was coming.
"I'll explain everything when we get to your folks. I promise." I felt him move beside me. Either I could feel the burn of his eyes staring at the side of my head, or it was that all-too-familiar rush of red-hot anger flooding through me once again. "And I'm sorry."
Deny the Moon Page 32
