by Cheree Alsop
Energy shot down her arms and light flooded from her palms. My back arched and it was all I could do to keep from shouting as a pain different than anything I had experienced jolted through my side and into my stomach, up to my lungs, and then wrapped around my heart. I struggled to breath as the pain in my side intensified to a burning red-hot centered flare.
The wolf surged beneath my skin, struggling to break free, to defend me against the threat. But it couldn’t fight past the silver, and the pain of not being able to phase was dulled beneath the sharpness of Isley’s touch.
“I can smell it.” Virgo’s voice pierced the bubble that seemed to surround me.
Isley’s hands pulled away and the burning withdrew to a mere simmer at the bullet holes. I looked down, aware that the beaded moisture that dripped from my forehead was sweat, not rain.
A dark red handprint covered the bullet hole as if I had sat on a beach for days with only that part of my skin visible to the scorching sun. Bubbles from the burned skin were already visible, but the wound wasn’t bleeding anymore. Instead, a black layer covered where the hole was, cauterized as thoroughly as if I had put a flaming brand to it. I didn’t have to twist to know that the back of the wound had a similar handprint and burned hole.
“Are-are you alright?” Isley asked.
Her eyes flitted to mine and then away. It was easy to see that what she had done scared her. I couldn’t blame her. Though she channeled it far better than I had thought someone so newly introduced would, her skills were terrifying.
I sat up and shoved away any indication of the linger pain. “I’m fine,” I replied. “You did great.”
Her eyes moved to my lips and widened. “Your lip is bleeding.”
I brought a hand to it and then looked down at the blood on my finger. “I must have bit it when you, well, when you burned me.”
“Do you want me to fix it?” she asked.
“No!” I said far quicker than I meant to. I sucked in a breath and forced a smile when I said, “I mean, I think what you did was perfect. My lip will be fine.”
She nodded and lowered her gaze again. “I hope so.”
“Thank you,” I told her. “I really mean it. I’d be just a puddle without you.”
At that moment, either Virgo or Professor Shipley lowered an end of the tarp and water spilled all over me. Isley burst out laughing as if she couldn’t help herself, and I joined in. In truth, the cold rain felt good against the burns.
“Alright. Now that Zev’s going to survive, let’s get you guys home,” Virgo said.
He jumped down from the bed and climbed back into the driver’s seat.
“Do you want to ride inside?” the professor asked Isley.
She glanced at me. The rain was falling hard enough to create rivulets through her hair.
I nodded encouragingly. “Go ahead. I’d rather stay out here.”
She looked at the front to where Virgo was starting the truck again.
Though her longing to get dry was evident, she shook her head. “No thanks,” she said quietly. “I’d rather stay back here if that’s alright.”
“Fine,” the professor replied. “Then I’m going. No sense in all of us getting soaked.” He looked down at his shirt and pants and corrected, “Or more soaked, as the case may be.”
He climbed down and Virgo steered the truck onto the road once more. I sat with my back against the cab to avoid the worst of the rain, and soon Isley did the same. I heard her teeth chattering before I realized she was shivering.
“Here,” I said. I handed her the tarp. “Sorry it’s not a coat. I would have given you mine.”
She accepted the tarp and attempted to wrap it around her shoulders, but the wind caught the end and ripped it from her hand. I grabbed it out of the air before it could fly away. The answering stab in my side said it had been a bad idea. I ignored the pain and folded the tarp in half so it would be warmer. I set it around Isley’s shoulders in the hopes that it would give her at least some warmth.
“You don’t have to be afraid of him, you know,” I said after a few minutes had passed.
“Of Virgo?” Isley said. She was quiet for a moment before she continued with, “It’s just strange to know somebody your entire life, and then realize you didn’t know him at all.” She smoothed a piece of the blue tarp as she said, “We weren’t exactly friends. We ran with different groups, and if you told me that one day he and his strange mother and sister would save my life, I would have laughed.”
When she fell silent, I prompted, “And now?”
She glanced at me. “Now I don’t know what to think. My entire world’s turned on end.” She held up her hands. “I burn my friends.”
The thought that she counted me as a friend was counterbalanced by the anguish on her face.
“Hey, I think it’s cool. I mean, think of all the lives you saved lighting up that summoning back there, and I owe you my life, too.”
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and said, “Now we’re even. You saved me from the wolf. I saved you from bleeding to death.”
I wished I could tell her that the wolf wasn’t bad, that in fact, the wolf had saved her life. I wasn’t a good liar, and doing so made me feel worse than being punched in the stomach.
Professor Shipley pushed open the window and Virgo called out, “I just spoke to the coven. They said they need time to figure out what to do before the summoning can be completed. We have until the moon is full tomorrow night. They’ll call us if they need us before then. Are you alright if I take you back to the Willards?”
The thought of returning to the closest place to a home I had was a reassuring one.
“Sounds good,” I told him.
The professor saluted and then slid the window shut.
I settled back beside Isley. Our arms weren’t close enough to touch, but energy hummed between us and I felt heat upon my skin. I was amazed she shivered at all considering.
A thought hit me. “I shouldn’t have answered for you. Did you want to go back to your house?”
Isley shook her head without meeting my gaze. “I don’t think I should be alone right now.”
“I think that’s smart,” I replied, but the forlorn tone to her words ate at me.
We were nearly to the Willards when dark forms began to appear in the lessening rain. I kicked myself inwardly for forgetting something so important. I could only hope Isley didn’t notice.
“Isley, I think—” I began.
Her shoulders tensed and a gasp escaped her lips to tell me I was too late in my attempt at distraction.
“Do you see them?”
Her voice carried a hint of uncertainty along with the fear as though she was afraid she was seeing things. The thought of letting her believe she was going crazy was tempered by the fact that if we got out at the Willards and the pack came up to greet me, all bets were off.
“I see them,” I said quietly.
She grabbed my arm through the tarp. The vinyl was a meager protection from the light that pulsed beneath her skin at her terror.
“Zev, they’re coming to finish what they started.”
“They’re not.” I kept my tone level, my eyes on the dark shadows that loped along each side of the truck.
Isley rose up onto her knees without letting go of my arm. “How do you know?” she asked.
I could tell by her tone that the question was rhetorical. She wasn’t paying attention to me. Her hands no longer shook from the cold, but from fear, and her eyes darted from form to form as if afraid that they would leap into the back of the truck at any moment.
The touch of her fingers was beginning to burn my arm, but I barely felt it. I knew what I had to do; it was the moment I had dreaded since she woke up with nightmares of a giant wolf.
“I know they won’t hurt you,” I began. My throat tightened. I forced past it, “Because I’m one of them.”
Isley’s eyes widened as we pulled into the Willard’s driveway. Her
gaze shifted from the wolves around the truck and back to me. The smell of terror wafted through the air. I could see her judging the distance to the house, wondering if she could make it before they got her. The wolves pawed eagerly at the sides of the truck. From her eyes, I could see how they appeared to be vicious, ravenous creatures. It made my chest ache.
“Back off. Clear a path to the house,” I said quietly.
The wolves calmed their raucous capering and backed away from the truck. Almost as if we had practiced it, the gray, white, brown, and black animals sat in a group, their attention on us and the stillness for which the wolf was legendary quieting their movements.
Isley looked back at me. There was something indescribable in her eyes. I didn’t know if it was accusation, or hurt that I had lied, or outrage that she had trusted me. Whatever it was, it struck me to the core. I knew I would never forget it as long as I lived.
Isley rose. When she released my arm, the burn of her fingers lingered. I held out a hand to help her down.
“Don’t touch me,” she said in a voice that was almost steady.
Virgo and the professor climbed out as Isley’s feet reached the ground. She took off running for the house and didn’t look back. Both men stood in silence and watched her go.
“So, you told her,” Virgo said. It was a statement, not a question.
“I had to,” I replied, my voice gruff as I climbed gingerly down.
The professor sighed from the other side of the truck. “Truth is inevitably the right way to go, but that doesn’t mean it’s the easiest.”
I nodded and leaned against the truck.
Virgo took a few steps toward the house, then paused and asked, “You coming?”
I shook my head. “I’ll stay out here.”
He gave me a sympathetic look and replied, “I understand. I’ll let you know when the witches call.”
“That sounds ominous,” Professor Shipley noted on his way past.
I couldn’t have agreed more.
Both of the men eyed the wolves sitting sedately as they made their way to the house. As soon as they went inside, the werewolves broke their calm demeanor and loped around me and the truck. It was a ridiculous display, but I couldn’t help the smile that touched my lips. For the moment, it felt like I was one of them again. They gamboled about the yard and into the forest only to rush back like puppies. To see full-grown wolves acting in such a way made them appear far less terrifying. I wished Isley could see them like I did.
My eyes traveled to the living room window in time to catch a face disappearing behind the curtains, but not fast enough for the expression of fear not to linger in my mind.
I walked away from the truck with my focus on the forest. I might not have been able to phase to join the werewolves in wolf form, but the thought of relaxing beneath the trees with them was a welcome one.
My arm throbbed. I glanced down to see Isley’s fingermarks raised in angry red welts on my forearm. The fact that it was the mark of her fear wasn’t lost on me. I turned my glare to the trees. The rain had stopped, leaving the grass and trees glowing with a wet shine in the darkness. The scent of clean, wet soil filled my nose. I was almost to the fence when voices made me turn.
“Invite everyone,” Mrs. Willard was in the middle of saying. “We have plenty of hotdogs, and I know werewolves won’t turn up their nose at something so simple.”
“They’ll just be glad to eat,” James replied.
The family came out of the kitchen carrying armloads of supplies.
Ian, Alia and James’ younger brother, held enough packages of hotdogs to feed an army. A glance at the werewolves in wolf form who crowded around them reminded me than at army was exactly what we had.
Aspen, as the youngest Willard, had been given the duty of carrying the buns. The packages towered over the small eight-year-old’s head. I hurried forward and managed to catch three of them before they hit the ground.
“Thanks, Zev,” she whispered.
I winked at her. “That’s what I’m here for.”
That brought a laugh from the little girl. “To catch stuff?”
I smiled. “Just if you drop it.”
She grinned as we followed her family and the werewolves to the detached garage.
James had pushed the garage door up and Ian and Mrs. Willard were busy pulling out mismatched lawn chairs with the help of several of the werewolves who had phased back to human form. I noticed that they wore different clothes than I had seen. Mrs. Willard must have made good on her promise to run to a used clothing store for some replacements.
My heart went out to her. The woman had not only taken me in, but refused to throw me out when she realized I was a werewolf instead of just an injured dog Ian had hit with the car. After treating me like family even with the danger my presence posed to her family, she had brought out her late husband’s supernatural weapons and books he used to study. Their help had been priceless in defeating both my vampire Master and the other vampire who came to town ready to take the Lair over for himself.
And even though I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised or blamed her if she sent me on my way after that, instead, she welcomed the entire mass of werewolves from the Lair to live in the forest behind her house and to eat her food. About ten of them had gone on their way, disappearing at night alone or in pairs, but fifteen still remained, including Mitch, who appeared with an armful of firewood from the pile on the side of the house. Alia walked beside him with matches, newspaper, and a glowing smile that hadn’t left her face since she and the werewolf had met.
I turned away and busied myself helping Aspen pile the hotdog buns on the card table James had set up just inside the garage. It wasn’t that I did feel happy for Mitch. Seeing him smile was definitely not so rare anymore now that we were away from the Lair, but knowing Alia was the reason for his smile still stung.
“They like each other, don’t they?”
I looked down to see Aspen watching the pair. I nodded and hoped I kept my face expressionless.
“Well, she wasn’t good for you,” Aspen whispered.
Surprised at how keen of an observer the little girl was, I whispered back, “What makes you say that?”
Aspen lifted a small shoulder. “Alia is strong and stubborn. You are, too. You would have hurt each other eventually.”
She turned and headed back toward the house.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Mom said to grab ketchup, and I know they’ll forget the mayo. I like mayo on my hotdog.”
She left the garage and silently picked her way around the werewolves without saying anything. Her statement, ‘You would have hurt each other eventually,’ swirled in my head. I turned back to see Alia stuffing newspaper between the logs she had set up in a teepee type formation. Mitch crouched beside her, his expression intense. The other werewolves crowded around curiously.
When Alia struck the lighter, everyone jumped back. I fought down a smile. Werewolves had a hard time getting over our fear of fire. It was inborn from our wolf heritage, a survival instinct to avoid something that could mean a painful death. The werewolves watched Alia light the newspaper, which in turn caught onto the logs that had been kept dry beneath the Willards’ tarp.
“Now to cook them,” James said.
He stuck a hot dog on a metal rod and held it out toward the flames.
“Why cook them?” a werewolf named Striker asked. When he spoke, the remains of a hotdog between his teeth were visible.
James turned the hotdog over to cook the other side. “Because it’s better for you this way. You won’t get the bacteria from eating raw hotdogs.”
“There’s bacteria?” Joven asked. The beefy werewolf held up the raw hotdog he had already eaten half of. “Am I going to die?”
Several other werewolves watched this exchange with their own worried expressions, hotdogs either half eaten or about to be eaten held in their hands.
“Probably not,” J
ames replied. “You’ve survived this far on raw meat and whatever else you ate in the Lair. A raw hotdog isn’t going to kill you. But—” he said before anyone could continue eating. “I recommend trying it this way first. It adds a smoky flavor and makes them taste better. I’ll show you.”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the frame of the garage door. I watched with amusement as James took his cooked hotdog to the table, placed a bun on a paper plate, put the hotdog on the bun, and proceeded to smear it with a variety of condiments, including the mayo Aspen had brought out.
The werewolves around us watched with rapt attention when the human brought the hotdog to his mouth and took a bite.
“Is it good?” Safira, a dark-haired werewolf Virgo had named, asked as if she couldn’t wait for him to finish the bite to tell her.
James nodded. “It’s good,” he mumbled around his mouthful.
The werewolves quickly caught up their own cooking sticks and soon a dozen hotdogs stuck into the flames.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
I schooled my face to show only a small smile at the sound of Alia’s voice.
“A little,” I admitted, looking at her. “But I’ll wait for them. They’re enjoying it.”
Alia smiled up at me. “You’re very considerate.”
I snorted. “I don’t know about that. I’m just waiting to see if they burn the place down.”
A laugh broke from her and she turned to watch the werewolves.
“Is it done?” Joven asked.
“How do I know if it’s done?” Frost seconded. The wiry werewolf eyed his hotdog anxiously. The charcoaled black look of the outside made me hold in a laugh.
“It looks done,” Alia said, her voice bubbling with laughter.
A group of werewolves rushed to the table where Mrs. Willard attempted to help them by handing out buns on plates.
“One at a time,” she directed in her deep voice. “Try ketchup, mustard, relish, cheese, mayo, chopped onions, sauerkraut, whatever you’d like. A combination of them is usually best.”
“I’m trying them all,” Joven said.
“Me, too!” Marley, a werewolf a year younger than me, seconded.