Tala

by Adrianna Morgan

  Panicked, Layla grabbed his arm. “Sir, I am begging you. If an apology is what you want, I am apologizing. I will even admit to using the phone during class if that will please you. I need to stay in the class. I am paying my way through school and without this class I drop to partial enrollment and lose my financial aid. I cannot afford to go here on my own.”

  He looked down at where Layla’s tan hand still held onto his white shirt. She apologized and quickly released him. She heard the door push open, but did not move her eyes from Professor Hart’s, her look begging him to reconsider.

  Professor Hart sighed and spread his arms wide, “It’s a done deal Ms. Donovan. You can take it up with the Dean if you would like, but I think once I explain what has been happening here, he will uphold my decision.” He turned to walk away, then stopped and faced Layla. “You are older than most of the people in this class, I truly expected a little bit more of you. Good night.” He shook his head as he walked away.

  Layla felt her breath hitch as she struggled to breathe. She closed her eyes and felt her body go taut. Her head felt as if it was splitting in two and she felt her face flame. Her blood was pounding and she was so mad she wanted to tear Professor Hart apart. She fell to the floor as her body felt as if it was on fire. Her fingers and toes ached and her nails felt as if they were being pulled off. Her skin felt stretched and tight and her body itched all over.

  She was going to lose it. She could smell the fear on the few students still in the room before they ran out in panic. She doubled over as a sharp pain hit her in the stomach. She struggled to stand, felt the emotions in the room coming towards her and fell to her knees at the sheer magnitude of it all.

  Brett saw Layla collapse and knew she was going through the change. He was hoping it would happen when she was in the privacy of her apartment, but he also knew that stress and trauma could cause a fledgling to accelerate the process. He saw her skin change, the tanned smoothness starting to be replaced by fur as the hairs on her arms thickened and lengthened. She was still gorgeous, even as a hairy monster and he still wanted her.

  He could hear students outside and the distant wail of a siren. Shit. Someone had already called 911. He needed to get her to calm down before anyone saw her. He quickly looked around to see if he could get her out without being noticed, but both entrances led directly to the gathering body of students outside.

  Brett rushed to Layla’s side and held her head in his lap. “Layla,” he said calmly, “I need you to relax.”

  Layla’s breath was coming in huge gasps. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes widening as she felt the pain and tasted the blood pouring from the wound and filling her mouth. “What’s happening to me?” She stared up at Brett as she felt the inch long fangs protrude from her mouth. “What is going on?”

  Brett turned and looked at the closed door. He knew some of the students were becoming more curious and he expected someone to soon peek in. He turned back to Layla. “We’ll talk about this later, but right now I need to you calm down.” He could still see the panic in her eyes as she noticed the back of her hand and as she felt the pointed and hairy tips of her ears.

  “Layla, baby,” He shook her slightly to get her to focus. “Any moment now, there is going to be a team of paramedics streaming through that door, followed by cops, followed by students. They will see you this way, if you don’t calm down. Do you understand me?”

  Layla nodded.

  Brett smiled, “Good, calm down and the process reverses. You need to think soothing thoughts.” Brett could hear the emergency personnel and the campus security start to come on the door. Layla was already starting to look like herself, but she still had the fangs and her mouth was still pouring blood. He used his hand to cover her face as well as put pressure on the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

  “Sir, please step back.” The first paramedic arrived and dropped to his knees. He looked at the blood pouring from Layla’s mouth. “What happened here, sir?” He asked as he rifled through his bag.

  “I think she had a panic attack. Then she fell and hit her mouth.”

  “Ma’am, is that what happened?” The campus security officer looked at Brett with suspicion.

  Layla nodded, holding her mouth.

  Satisfied the campus security officer relaxed, allowing the paramedics to work on Layla. He walked over to the two uniformed police officers and explained the situation. The two officers left and the security officer walked outside, trying not to look at the copious amount of blood that stained both Layla’s clothes and the floor.

  Five hours later, Layla sat in Brett’s living room with an ice pack on her lip. The paramedic was concerned at how deep the cut was and wanted her checked out. After waiting in the emergency room for hours, she was released into Brett’s care. The doctor’s remedy; an adhesive bandage, an ice pack and antibiotics and painkillers. She sat on his bed and refused to meet his eyes, afraid to ask the question that lingered in the air between them.

  “Layla, you have to ask.”

  She looked up at him. “What am I? What did I turn into?” She paused, “I know you don’t know but what the hell was that?”

  Brett sat on the bed and held her hand. He told her the truth. “You’re obviously a Werewolf.”

  Layla felt her body go limp as she passed out.

  *

  When Layla awoke, she was still at Brett’s apartment, his arm around her tightly as he slept. She stirred, her movements awakening him.

  “You okay?” He asked groggily.

  “Yeah,” she whispered sheepishly.

  “Mouth still hurt?”

  Layla raised her hand to her mouth where a dull throb still echoed, but except for a little bump, she had no cut to speak of. “It’s okay,” she said simply to hopefully avoid freaking him out. “A bit sore, but I’ll live.” She stood up and gathered her things. “I have to go; I have work in the morning.”

  “You sure?” Brett asked as he propped himself up on one elbow.

  Layla turned to look at him. He was even more attractive when his hair was tousled and his eyes heavy with sleep. “I’m sure,” she blew him a kiss before walking quickly out of the apartment. The night air seemed extra chilly as she ran the few feet to her apartment. She knew as soon as she opened the door that she was not alone. Too late she had already entered the apartment when the door closed behind her.

  “We need to talk.”

  Layla spun around and saw the old man leaning against the white of her front door.

  “How did you get in here?”

  “Do you really want to talk about that or do you want to ask about what happened earlier today?” He snapped at her.

  Layla sighed and walked over to a couch to sit down. “Apparently, I am a Werewolf,” she said, her tone mocking.

  The old man turned on her. “You think this is a joke!” He started to pace, then stopped and looked at her, “I tried to warn you. I tried to tell you and you thought it was a joke.” He sighed. “You’re lucky no one got hurt.”

  Layla tried to look upset, but didn’t see the big deal. She was able to change back from whatever she’d changed into and no one had gotten hurt. That was the important part. She sighed.

  Martin turned to her again. “Do you know how many sleepless nights I have spent outside this apartment in case you changed so that I could help you?” He took a deep breath and sat down on the couch next to her. “Tell me what happened. All of it. Every single detail.”

  Layla told him about working late, getting to class late, the confrontation with her professor and how Brett had helped her.

  Martin looked thoughtful, “He knew what you were?”

  Layla stopped talking for a moment. “No, he said I was obviously a Werewolf. I don’t think he really knew, I just think after being faced with all the evidence, he just went with the most logical one.” She paused, “I mean, I did sprout fur and had fangs and everything. I’m lucky he was cool about it.”

  Martin grunted in response
, his eyes closed.

  Layla scooted back into the softness of the couch and moved her purse to the coffee table. “What am I, Martin?”

  “You are a Werewolf. We are Werewolves.”

  Layla’s eyes widened at Martin’s admission. “Were you bitten, too?” she asked.

  Martin nodded, “I was 63 when it happened. I was hiking in the woods outside my home in Idaho. My wife and kids were in town visiting family. I was attacked, bitten and became this.” He shrugged. “I was lost in the woods for weeks as I went through the change. I knew I couldn’t go back to my old life and I became the man that you see here today.”

  Layla felt sorry for him. He was a man who had a family and he had to give it all up. “How did we—I mean, how do Werewolves even exist?” She laughed, “Did God have a little extra clay left over after Adam and said, okay now I make Werewolf?”

  Martin smiled, understanding her panic. “There are many gods that many people worship and all of these gods have…contributed different things to this world.” He paused. “There are different kinds of Werewolves. We are of Native American descent, most of the North and South American Werewolves are. Native American Werewolves are called Weres, those in Europe are called Wolfen or Lupes. Some, like our German friends, like the old ways and prefer to be called Werewolves. It depends on which region you are in and under what Council.”

  Layla straighten. “There are Councils? How many Werewolves are there?”

  “There are many regions in many countries controlled by Heads of State. Some are a monarchy, others are diplomatically chosen. But we live in shadow, in secret.” Martin sighed, “Native American Weres are a bit different, our story is one that involves magic, pity and sacrifice. Some don’t believe it’s true, but unlike our European counterparts we can transform at will after we are no longer fledglings.” He shrugged. “That’s what you were considered, a fledgling. You started the process when you were 10, but you never quite finished and that allowed you more time as human. If you had completely transformed, you would have stayed virtually frozen at the age in which you first transformed.” He shrugged, “we tend to age a lot slower. 20 human years is roughly one year for us.”

  Layla’s eyes widened. To be stuck for years as a Werewolf at ten years old. How horrible. She wondered if there were children who were Werewolves.

  Martin saw the question in her eyes and answered for her. “We watch them and wait until they are older before encouraging the change. Most Weres that young can’t control themselves and they hurt others. They are killed if they do,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Layla swallowed at the unfairness of it, but knew that what she said wouldn’t change anything. She waited for him to continue the story.

  He cleared his throat as he began, “In a time long before now, our people lived peacefully. But by nature, humans always want more than they have and some got greedy. War broke out among the tribes and foreign gold convinced some of us to betray our own kind. It rained nonstop as the gods watched us and cried for us. Finally, one of the Elder gods had a plan. Endow those of us worthy enough with the power to protect our people.”

  Martin stood up and began pacing again. “The only way it could work was for one of the gods to become partially mortal and give up a portion of his immortality. It also meant being stuck in the mortal plane. None of the gods wanted to give up their home and immortality. The only god brave enough and compassionate enough was the Wolf. He gave up his home in the otherworld to help humans survive. He integrated himself into our Native culture by going to a nearby village and he married a local girl who bore him two sons who were half wolf, half human.”

  Martin stopped and looked at Layla, “Some of the older Weres say that Wolf’s real name is Mai-coh and he still walks the earth to this day, helping those of his blood that truly need him. I guess even Weres need a Messiah,” he laughed. “The first Weres were born and their genes were passed on from parent to child. Now, only those with the gene can become Weres, humans without the gene will die if they are bitten by a Were. Anyway, Wolf eventually became homesick and longed for the otherworld. He saw that some of his creations were not acting as protectors but were enslaving others. He howled his displeasure at the world to the gods at the moon, the only time of day when man’s voice is strong enough to reach the gods. Some say this is why wolves continue this tradition today. The Elder gods listened and cursed Wolf’s creations. They were doomed to remain cursed as Weres, enslaved by the whims of the moon and even then, they only retained a fraction of the power given to them by Wolf.”

  Layla was silent. The dreams suddenly made sense now. She was seeing the past. The period when Wolf joined the human race. “Why would they take away everyone’s power? How unfair! Why not punish only the wicked ones?” Layla thought about the blonde wolf—werewolf that had killed her mother. “If I had the power, I would wipe out every evil Were in existence.” Starting with that blonde bitch she added silently.

  Martin laughed, “Oh, you will get the chance. There is a time when a Were regains all of their original power; during the blue moon, once every 19 years.” He looked at Layla, “This is why I was trying to warn you, because the next blue moon is only a few months away on New Year’s Eve. But, just so you know,” He paused, “This blessing comes with a curse, because a Were also loses their immortality until the sun rises on the New Year.” He laughed at the irony. “The only time we are all powerful is the time when simple things like a single bullet could kill.” He smiled sorrowfully at Layla. “We are fighting a war that has lasted for centuries. We are on the brink of winning and our only chance may or may not be centered around you.”

  Layla sat up, surprised. “What did I do? I’m the new one; I haven’t pissed anyone off yet.”

  Martin rubbed his head, “No, you haven’t,” he agreed, “But your father’s blood runs in your veins and everyone wants you on their team.”

  Layla looked confused, “My father? I don’t even know him!” She shrugged. “What’s so special about him? Was my father the king of Werewolves or something?”

  “Or something,” Martin agreed, “Your father, according to the elders and to the prophecy, was Mai-coh.”

  *

  Brett held his breath as he heard Martin’s words. Layla was Mai-coh’s blood? No wonder Suzette was trying to find her. He laughed to himself; he couldn’t have thought he was the only one. Mai-coh had only saved his life and given him some of his blood, but Layla was his blood. He realized he had just put himself in even greater danger. Instead of watching his back, he also had Layla to contend with. He was going to have to be very careful. He realized that Martin may be an ally, but he needed to be sure. He needed to call in a few favors to see what kind of man—or wolf, Martin really was. He knew Layla was still adjusting to the news of being a Were, so for the time, he would pretend to still be human.

  *

  Brett knocked on Layla’s door early the next morning. She opened it sleepily, her unruly hair in its usual ponytail.

  “Do I smell coffee?” She asked as she opened the door.

  Brett leaned over to kiss her, a quick smooch that led to another and another until Layla backed away. “Yes, you smell coffee,” he laughed. “And you smell my manly deliciousness.”

  Layla raised her eyebrows, he did smell good. In fact, his scent was rapidly overtaking the smell of coffee and she wanted to gobble him up as badly as she did the coffee.

  He handed her the steaming brew and as if he’d read her mind, “You’ll have to wait to have me,” he told her.

  She scowled. She wanted to say I am Mai-coh’s daughter. I can have whatever I want whenever I want. But she knew Brett would have no idea about what she was talking about and temper tantrums were best suited to 2 year olds, not 29 year olds. She sat at the dining room table, one long leg in the chair, the other in Brett’s lap.

  He looked at her lip. Almost completely healed. “How’s your mouth?” He asked, keeping up the pretense.

  She looked
up in surprise. “It’s almost healed. I guess it really wasn’t that deep, I’m just a bleeder.”

  Brett nodded as he sipped his coffee. He wondered if he should tell her about himself, but decided that it would be too risky. If Layla were captured by Suzette, not knowing the Brett had powers might be able to save them both. He decided to wait. He watched Layla and wondered how he’d missed it. She had the same wild hair as Mai-coh. Most of the other Weres had the long straight dark hair of their Native ancestors, but Layla’s was wild and unruly. Like her father’s. Her eyes were the same shade of intense hazel and he wondered at her mother.

  “You know,” he cleared his throat. “You made a big deal the other night about me not telling you about my family. What about yours?”

  Layla raised an eyebrow. What could she say? Well, I’m a Werewolf—a Were actually, a kind of Native American werewolf and I just discovered last night that my father is the god of all werewolves. She smiled wryly at him, “Well, I grew up with my Aunt Susan in Tampa. She kicked me out when I turned eighteen,” she laughed. “I actually left when I turned eighteen.” She shrugged. “My mom died when I was ten, never knew my father, etcetera, etcetera.” She looked at him, her coffee still clutched in her hands. “And apparently, I have other problems,” She pointed to her mouth, “As you already know.”

  “So what are you going to do about your…other problems?”

  Layla shrugged. “I don’t know. Go see a psychiatrist? I wonder if they still give shock therapy to patients.” She took a sip of the coffee. “But I don’t get you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah,” She stared at him. “Last night, I grew fur, and claws and fangs and this morning you knock on my door with a cup of coffee. Who does that? Why aren’t you freaked out?”