Thorne Bay

by Jeanine Croft

  But when I was alone with myself, and no longer distracted by my family’s idiosyncrasies, my mind would invariably fill with Tristan’s face. Missing him had become a dull ache that never went away.

  Gramps was wrong, I was nothing like the self-conscious wallflower that had left Florida earlier this year. His barbs didn’t bother me anymore. I wasn’t scared of his stupid prognostications about my downward spiraling future. Not even my mother’s worried looks made me feel like a failure. And if I was feeling empty just now, it was only because my heart was back in Thorne Bay. It seemed that the “space” Tristan had promised to give me had only confirmed that much.

  I might not belong to any pack, but, during my brief human happiness with Tristan, my soul had been at peace. I’d felt wonderful. I’d felt capable of anything. I’d entrusted a man with my heart and my body, and I’d felt loved. I’d even loved myself for a time. I wanted all of that again. Wasn’t that what a life-mate was? Someone who made you peaceful, and made you want to strive to be a better person. Someone in whose company you felt capable of conquering all your darkness. Tristan was my home. So why the hell had I left him? And why the hell hadn’t I heard from him? It hurt that he hadn’t texted or called me even once since I’d kissed him goodbye.

  Once free of the hospital stench, I paused in the parking lot as a shiver of premonition brushed my nape. Searching the sea of cars proved futile. Nothing looked out of place and no one appeared to be staring at me, but the uncanny sensation of being watched persisted. Weird. Maybe because I was disconnected from a pack, and completely without protection, my inner wolf was on some sort of high alert. Shrugging, I opened the car door and disregarded the crazy wolf-spidey senses.

  37

  Bad Moon Rising

  Storm clouds had long since blotted out the sun. Evening had crept over the buildings like a thief, unnoticed and insidious. With a garbage bag in each hand, I shouldered my way out the back door of the cafe.

  The black scud swept intermittently across the moon, promising rain soon, and the wind whipped plaintively at the fronds of the tall palms looming over me. God, why did it reek of gasoline out here? That was the problem with my nose, every astringent smell seemed to stab my brain.

  I glared up at the ominous harbinger of my wolf curse as I swung the black bags into the dumpster, letting the lid fall back with a slam that only exacerbated the migraine edging in behind my eyes. Was it even a migraine? Or something more foreboding. Maybe I could shove tampons in my nostrils. Maybe that would keep the stench of the world out of my head.

  My muscles gave an unexpected jerk. It felt as though an army of scarab beetles was crawling beneath my skin. I dragged my nails over my nape in dread and then turned away to hurry back into the restaurant, giving my back to the still waxing moon; it was already full of presage. Tomorrow. I would need to drive out to the Everglades tomorrow night.

  Time had flown, just as the dead leaves were flying aimlessly around the nearly empty parking lot. It was unseasonably cold tonight. My flesh, however, was feverish and itchy, perspiration beading incessantly on my brow despite the wind.

  I closed the door behind me and leaned back against it, relieved to have escaped that heavy glow of imminence I was already growing to hate. But Mrs. Goldstein’s sudden squeal of laughter tore across my eardrums. With a painful flinch, I cut my eyes balefully across her features as she cooed and laughed at the fat poodle beside her—the “emotional support dog”—gobbling scraps from her fingers.

  “That’s enough now, Felicity,” she informed the dog adoringly. But Felicity instantly protested with a sharp little bark that had me grinding my aching teeth together. “No, baby. No more.” A second high-pitched bark of objection and Mrs. Goldstein relented with another amused squeal, her fingers bearing the remains of her dinner from the plate to the spoiled dog already lunging at the old lady’s fingers.

  Catching my black look, yet seemingly immune (or oblivious) to my disgust, Mrs. Goldstein gestured for me to bring the check over. This I would gladly do. It was in her best interest that she and her “service dog” leave the cafe before I started barking at her too (or worse).

  As soon as I reached her table I nearly gagged as her hideous perfume billowed into my nostrils with cloying floral profusion. I swallowed down the sudden nausea convulsing my stomach. My susceptibility to strong scents and noises had intensified during this last gibbous quarter—if someone’s laughter was too loud, or, heaven forbid, a man’s aftershave was too strong, I’d find myself having to run to the restroom to purge my stomach at the least provocation. Tonight had been the worst, and taking the garbage out earlier had nearly done me in altogether. The dumpster itself had smelled like month old dirty diapers or something equally rancid.

  Felicity’s low growling caught me off guard as I returned for Mrs. Goldstein’s credit card. The poodle’s grey muzzle was pulled back threateningly from her yellowed teeth as she glared her suspicion at me. I glared back.

  Somewhere in my periphery, I watched the old lady castigate her poodle, her smudged lipstick moving slowly in tandem with her pursed little mouth, her voice indistinct and her words unintelligible. Blood rushed into my ears with dull echoing throbs as I fixed my eyes to the dog, my canines descending painfully from my gums. My mouth filled with coppery saliva as the dog’s growling suddenly progressed into panicked barking.

  “Evan!” Mrs. Goldstein’s voice finally yanked me from my strange and dangerous fixation.

  I swallowed the bloodlust and transferred my gaze to her. She’d likely said my name more than once, by the look of frustration about her.

  “Hmm?” I mumbled, making sure to cover my mouth with my hand.

  “Did you step on her tail?” She was petting fretfully at her still growling dog. “You must have, she’s not usually like this.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Felicity, trying to steady my breathing. Meanwhile, the old woman’s prating filled my ears like an incoherent rush of water.

  “You should take better care…bleeding…Did you know?”

  “Pardon?” I mumbled around a mouthful of teeth.

  She gestured to my mouth with a disproving tut-tut. “You should get that gingivitis checked out, dear.” She then favored me with a proud little grin. “My nephew’s a dentist, you know.”

  I grunted noncommittally, wiping roughly at my lips. The metallic tang of blood washed over my tongue. My teeth probably looked horrifying, but, thankfully, I’d had enough forethought to keep them hidden. A little blood was nothing to a glimpse of the canines I could feel nudging behind my lips. She’d have had a coronary had I bared my wolfish smile at her dog.

  “You don’t look at all well.” Mrs. Goldstein was now looking me over skeptically, shrewd little eyes focused on my sweaty brow. “Are you ill?” With a displeased crease between her bespectacled brows, she glanced at her empty dinner plate, ostensibly inspecting it for viruses.

  I rolled my eyes.

  She and Felicity, meanwhile, were exchanging worried glances. “I hope it’s not Zika.”

  “Why, are you pregnant?” I said under my breath, leaving to run her card. I returned a moment later with her receipt, still shaking my head at her ignorance.

  She held out a cautious hand and I obligingly returned her card to her, watching as she wiped it off with some disinfectant gel she’d scrounged from her bottomless handbag. Afterward, she dug around a moment more and lifted out some cash which she placed on the table (along with her nephew’s business card) before ushering a vociferous Felicity, still clearly excited by my wolfy pheromones, out the door.

  “Bye, Mrs. Goldstein,” I said irritably, counting the measly tip she’d left. A mere ten percent, if that. Whatever. I had bigger problems now than Zika and shitty tips. Namely that I’d nearly just become a poodle-eater. Which was what I’d, not too many moons ago, accused my boyfriend of being.

  “What does that make you, Evan? You’ve willingly allowed a poodle-eating, nudist weirdo into your house.”


  God, I missed Tristan. Maybe he was right. Maybe I couldn’t do this werewolfing thing on my own. I’d nearly just let my lunacy take me down a dark path. Right in front of Mrs. Goldstein! What was I thinking?! I needed to get the hell out of here. I needed help.

  The bell chimed over the cafe door to alert me to late dinner arrivals.

  Irritably, I turned towards the group of men that had shuffled in from the cold, collars pulled up against the stormy wind that had blown them in. “We’re closing for the—”

  “Hi, Evan.” Andy flashed me one of those charming smiles of his.

  “Hi.” I’d forgotten how unnaturally white his teeth were. Forgotten how pretty he was. Like Surfer Ken pretty.

  “Heard you were back.”

  “Yeah, for a little while.” Had I really been so besotted with him earlier this year? His features were arranged neatly enough, but I found his face too tame. Almost effeminate when compared to Tristan’s rugged beauty. It was like comparing Justin Bieber to the sexual magnetism of 1950’s Paul Newman and Marlon Brando. Totally absurd. I nearly laughed when he shot me what he probably thought was a sexy wink as he followed his friends to their usual table.

  “Waters for everyone?” I asked, depositing four menus on the table.

  “Iced tea for me please”—one of Andy’s friends dragged his eyes over my breasts as he read my name tag—“Evan.” The other three, Andy included, ordered the same.

  I checked the clock on the wall longingly. It was usually dead in the evenings, so tonight it was just me and the sous chef, Mario, holding down the fort. Technically, it was just me since Mario was in the storeroom arguing with his girlfriend on his phone, ignorant to the fact that I could hear every single nasty word she was screeching into his ear. Compliments of the freaky werewolf hearing I now possessed, I could hear everybody’s private conversations. I still cringed to think about how many of my private conversations Tristan had overheard. Poor me. Poor Mario. I shook my head as I poured the iced teas into four tall glasses, absently listening to Mario’s useless placations to the yelling voice. But my ears soon pricked toward the table behind me instead. Toward the conversation that I was now the subject of.

  “She looks hotter than I remember. Reckon she got a boob job or something?”

  “Bet you she spills the iced tea on your crotch again.” This was followed by snickering. “Remember the last time she was here?”

  My hands stilled as I frowned.

  “I think she wants you, Andy. That girl falls apart every time you smile at her.”

  “Oh yeah. She wants the D for sure,” Andy drawled.

  I felt myself bristle. What a piece of shit.

  “So you in?”

  “Not yet. But soon.” Andy again.

  “Are you in on the bet, fucker.” The guy with the stupid haircut that looked like a cow had licked it askew was shaking his head, tickled by Andy’s crude joke. “Got a twenty here says she spills it on your dick again.”

  “Spills what exactly?” came the suggestive retort. The group erupted instantly into obnoxious laughter. “Are we talking iced tea or…?”

  “Oh, I think she’d rather you do the spilling…”

  Ugh. I’d had enough listening to those jerks talk about me like that. I marched over, teeth set irritably. Once I’d placed the teas down, none too gently, I asked if I could get them something to eat.

  Two of them coughed into their fists while Andy and the cow loogie hairdo guy beside him snickered suddenly, tickled by the unintentional innuendo I’d presumably dropped.

  Jeez, how old are you knuckleheads? Twelve? How the hell had I not seen through Andy before now? Had he always been this conceited, childish pretty boy?

  “Yeah, Evan” —with another stupid wink— “we are kinda hungry…”

  “For what exactly?” I shot a glare at his friend who was snorting into his iced tea. My scowl quickly shut him up.

  “What would you recommend tonight?” Andy asked. It was beyond ridiculous because he knew the menu as well as I did, being as he’d practically grown up in this cafe.

  “The crab cakes,” I answered with a shrug, checking my watch. The crab cakes were old and smelled funny.

  “Crabs it is!” Andy’s friend nudged him pointedly.

  I rolled my eyes. “Clever.”

  “Cut it out, Jimmy.” The guy on the opposite side of the table smiled apologetically at me. “We’ll just have a plate of fries for the table, thanks, Evan. We know it’s closing time.”

  I nodded and left them to give Mario the order. But just because I’d disappeared into the kitchen didn’t mean I couldn’t hear them carrying on as before. Even Mario shot me a few odd glances as I continued bristling at all the lewd jokes that were being uttered at my expense. All the stupid innuendoes that would never reach Mario’s ears (even if he hadn’t just had his hearing blistered by his girlfriend’s screeching).

  “Shit, when did she get so feisty?”

  “Actually,” I heard Jimmy say, “on second thought, I bet my left nut she turns you down.”

  “No way, she’s had a thing for me from day one. That girl can’t control her hands every time I’m near. I have tea-stained shorts to prove it.”

  “Bro, did you not just see how she looked at you. Her hands aren’t getting anywhere near your junk any time soon. Her knee maybe…”

  “Classic hard to get tactics, believe me.”

  “I dunno,” Jimmy went on, “she looks like a little ball-buster.”

  “I’m always up for the challenge.”

  “Do women never say no to you, man?”

  “Nope. Bet her mother wouldn’t turn me down either.”

  More laughter.

  What a slimy turd.

  “What’re the stakes?”

  “If she turns me down I’ll pour tea down my own goddamn shorts.”

  “Deal!”

  The table became conspicuously quiet as they watched me approach empty-handed, their stupid fries forgotten in the kitchen. I leaned over the table to pin Andy with a feral smile. “How about I save you the trouble, Andy…” With that, I lifted his glass and promptly emptied the iced tea onto his crotch.

  “What the fuck?” he sputtered angrily, wiping at his jeans.

  “My answer is no, by the way.” I yanked my apron off and threw it on the table.

  “No what?” he muttered.

  “I’m saying no. There. Now you’ve heard a woman turn you down for the first time.” Then I slammed the measly tip I’d gotten from Mrs. Goldstein down on the table in front of him. “Here, go buy yourself some class, asshole.” That said, I stormed off, passing a bemused Mario who was holding a steaming plate of fries.

  “How the hell did she hear us?” I heard Jimmy whisper as the door slammed behind me.

  But I never heard Andy’s response, nor did I make it to the car. I was filled with so much rage as I stalked across the parking lot that I could feel my veins swelling at my temples. Felt my eyes kindle with heat even as they were pelted by the rain. I cried out as the wolf roared for release beneath my skin just as a clap of thunder struck the ocean nearby. Suddenly I was on my hands and knees, my nails digging into the asphalt as my bones began to give way.

  Not now! Too soon! It wasn’t supposed to happen till the full moon. Not till tomorrow!

  Terrified, I tried to let out a human scream, but the night and the thunder swallowed my agony and all that escaped my lips were small grunts. It was too late. I was changing. Just before I blacked out, though, I heard a woman’s voice in my ear. Felt cool fingers clasp my wet face.

  “Evan,” she said.

  Who was she? Her scent was so familiar, but I couldn’t see, my eyes were clamped shut. The world, all the sounds and sights, were already dissolving around me, giving way to the pain. And shortly afterward…Evan disappeared as well.

  38

  Manslaughter

  It wasn’t the rush of waves across the sand that startled me awake but the sudden harsh cr
y of a seagull. At first, I merely lay there, disoriented, annoyed at myself for falling asleep in the sun again, like I used to do when I was younger. My grandad would probably tell me that I deserved the sunburn already inflaming my skin. Smug old grouch.

  Wait! My eyes swiftly popped open to confirm what my other senses had already revealed. What was I doing on the beach? The question formed in my head even as my blood curdled. Dreadful realization struck like lightning, and last night’s events swiftly careened into focus. The last thing I recalled was being doubled over in the parking lot. The debilitating muscle ache was easily explained—the result of my early transmutation. The stickiness on my skin, however, was not. Flinching at the sunlight that bore down on me with glaring ferocity, like some sharp celestial judgement, I rolled onto my naked stomach and pushed myself onto all fours before sitting back onto my haunches. I was covered in sand. And blood.

  Morbidly, I lifted my fingers to my nose and took a delicate whiff. Human. I blanched and searched the beach with terrified eyes. All was quiet this time of the morning. Evidently, I was on some secluded beach. Somehow, I’d made it to Blowing Rocks Preserve during the night and had, during moonset, passed out amidst the grassy dunes. Thankfully, though, there was no mauled and limbless body nearby. Then where had the blood come from? What the hell had I done?! Bile shot up hot and acrid into my mouth as I tried to recall more of the night. What if there was more than one death on my hands?

  Overwhelmed with disgust and dread, I buried my bloodied head in my hands, raking my sandy nails over my cheeks in hysteria. I was a monstrous cannibal! I’d killed someone! There was too much blood on my hands, and my belly was distended with last night’s bloody feast.