Behind the Beginning (Becoming the Wolf Book 1)

by T. S. Joyce

  “They’re magic,” he said with a smile and a shake of her hand. That seemed a good enough explanation, because she giggled and hugged the back of Morgan’s legs again.

  “Come on into the kitchen,” Morgan told him.

  Grey handed her the bag of drinks. “I didn’t know what kind of wine you like.” He shrugged. “Or even if you like wine.”

  The small smile was back on her face. God, she glowed with it.

  “I’m more of a beer girl, but I won’t turn down wine. I’ll put it in the fridge. She shifted her weight from side-to-side and they were doing it again—staring at each other. “Uuuum, I’m almost done with dinner if you want to hang out with me in there.”

  She was so damn pretty when she blushed.

  Black and white photos of Marianna and Lana lined the hallway walls as Morgan led him toward the kitchen. He paused and looked at the woman’s face and waited for any feeling of recognition. He hadn’t seen her alive. The frozen, terrified face of his memory contrasted with the happy woman in the photos. Inside of him, Wolf wanted to kill that werewolf all over again.

  Morgan disappeared around a walled-in stairway and he ripped his gaze away from a picture and hurried to catch up. When he came into the kitchen, Lana was already scurrying into a seat at the table in front of a pink plastic bowl of macaroni and cheese.

  “She couldn’t wait for dinner,” Morgan said with a smile for the girl. “I think she’s on a growth spurt, the way she’s been eating lately.”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling, kiddo. I eat a lot, too.” To Morgan, he said, “Can I help with anything?”

  “No, no, no, please just relax. I want to feed you. Oh God, that sounded weird.”

  “No, it sounded sweet,” he said softly.

  He pulled a chair from the small plastic eat-in kitchen set and relaxed beside the girl while Morgan finished cooking. He studied her shabby chic décor and planned the table and chairs he would make her. And all the while, Lana watched him with earnest gray eyes. Lana had inherited her mother and aunt’s dark hair.

  “So,” Grey said, searching for something to talk about. Small talk had never been his thing. “What do you do for fun?”

  “Besides boxing classes?” she asked with a saucy grin as she turned a dial on the stove.

  “Yes, besides those.”

  Looking decidedly uncomfortable, her gaze darted to a large cupboard that stood against the furthest wall of the kitchen. “If I show you something, will you swear not to think I’m a psychopath?”

  Was she serious? He turned into a wolf on the regular, and howled at the moon. The psychopath position in this relationship had been filled a year ago. “I swear.”

  She shot Lana a furtive glance but the child was busy upending a juice box and squeezing it all over her dinner. Morgan reached for a red ceramic bowl labeled Sugar on the top of a cabinet, and plucked a tiny key from its innards. The lock on the cupboard clicked and she turned before opening it. “Do you pinky swear?”

  Grey stood, and offered his littlest finger to lock with hers in a promise. The urge to lean down and suck gently on her finger was enough that he hesitated. Just the thought of touching her aroused him. If she saw how affected he was, just staring at her small hand, if she knew all the ways he wanted to touch her, she would never share the secrets of the cupboard with him. And suddenly, her mysteries seemed like they could save him. Inhaling to steady his breath, he encircled her pinky with his and dragged his gaze to her. Her pupils dilated, and her lips opened slightly before she yanked her hand back. So she felt it too—the spark of electricity between them when they touched.

  A slight tremor shook her fingers as she pulled the door open. Inside, rows of samurai swords and knives were displayed with a sense of reverence. At the forefront were two worn machetes.

  Holy shit. Grey touched the handle of one of the machetes. Morgan had just gotten hotter.

  “Do you know how to use any of them or do you just collect?” he asked low.

  She studied him with wide eyes, as if she were about to hand him a piece of her soul for safekeeping. “I can use them.”

  Good girl. “Why would you need to use them?”

  “You asked me what I did for fun. I used to train in martial arts. For fun.” She scrunched her face like she’d just admitted something embarrassing. “Somewhere along the way, I started competing with swords, and then I grew this love of blades. Knives that I can carry easier. And that I can stash around the house for protection. These are for looks, but they would do the job too.”

  “Why are you scared to tell people about this?” he asked. “I think it’s hot as hell.” He cracked his knuckles. “I mean, it’s good…knowing how to protect yourself.”

  Blush, blush, blush. She dipped her pretty eyes to the toes of his boots before she admitted, “I got burned when I was a kid. The other girls were talking about clothes and boys, and I was fighting competitively on the weekends. I had trouble relating to others, and I got made fun of more and more for being an outsider in school. So I started hiding that drive. The vicious side was reserved for competing and practice. And I learned to be ‘normal’ at school. It was easier for people to understand me if that part of my life was separate.”

  He looked away, afraid that if she saw the raw hope her admission had given him, she’d take it back. She’d just shared something real about herself, even scared he’d reject something that made her Morgan. The old blades in front were chipped and rusted, and hadn’t been cared for like the other gleaming weapons. “What do you have against your machetes?”

  She lifted her chin. “They were my father’s.”

  She didn’t offer more and he got the feeling she would close up if he pushed her on the topic, so instead he said, “I chase bunnies for fun.”

  Giggling, she pulled a hand over her mouth like she was trying to cover her surprise. Slowly so he wouldn’t frighten her, he pulled her palm away from her face. “Don’t hide your smile from me.”

  “I like bunnies too,” Lana chimed in. “Morgan takes me to the pet store to see them. She says it’s the poor people’s zoo.”

  Releasing her hand, he smiled at the little girl and sat beside her to discuss favorite pet store animals as Morgan pulled plates from the cabinet nearest them.

  “Morgan draws puppies and kitties whenever I want. See?” Lana gestured to the picture covered refrigerator. Smiling photos of the two of them held in place by colorful alphabet magnets peppered the glossy surface and sure enough, just under a calendar, was a sketched picture of a basket of kittens. The detail and depth of the image was amazing, down to every fine hair, and every quizzical feline expression.

  “Wow,” he said, standing to admire it more closely. Other sketches, smaller ones, were interspersed between the photos, and each showed great skill. “These are really good. Are you some kind of an artist?”

  She shrugged as if his scrutiny made her self-conscious. “I’m a graphic designer. Art classes came with the college major and now I make a living from it. I have a website called Dewdrop Designs. I create and sell custom labels, letterheads, holiday cards, business cards, company logos…you name it, I can probably come up with a couple of concepts. It pays the bills and there is a little left over for me to go to boxing classes once a week. I used to work for a big design company downtown before Marianna…” She let the name die between them and pursed her lips, tried again. “When I found out Lana was mine to raise, I quit the corporate world so I could work from home. Started my own business and some of my old clients followed me. Word of mouth has been helpful. It was terrifying going out on my own, but it needed to be done.” She looked at the child who was squishing noodles between her fingers. “She’s been through a lot and I want to be there for her as much as I can.”

  And there it was again. Another layer of Morgan exposed. She was so much stronger than anyone he’d ever met.

  His initial reaction to her home was regrettable. She was young, and a surprise single mom making th
ings work. The interior of the house didn’t much match the outside. It was neat, with tasteful paint colors and homey touches. It was clear she’d put a lot into fixing up the place to make it homey for their little family of two.

  It was more than he could do. Wolf wouldn’t even let him hold down a job without the threat of impending assault charges from annoying co-workers. His mood plummeted. How could he ever be able to provide for a family? Morgan had been devastated a year ago, and dragged herself into success anyway. He’d just fallen apart. He clenched his fists a few times and tried to refocus before dinner was ruined with his endless shortcomings.

  He set the table as she removed steaming pots from the stove and oven. It smelled so good, his stomach growled. She’d made chicken baked in cracker crumbs, mashed potatoes, vegetables, fruit salad, and homemade rolls. Morgan fixed a plate for Lana while Grey popped the tops of a couple beers for them, and poured a tiny cup of sparkling grape juice for the girl.

  Small talk. Do this. Be normal. “What did you ladies do today?” he asked as he settled into a chair.

  “We went grocery shopping—” Morgan started.

  “And I got a Ring Pop,” Lana said. “Morgan said I can eat it if I’m not a kraken at dinner.”

  Morgan sat wide eyed with her hands in her lap. “Well, I said if you weren’t a cretin. But maybe they’re the same thing.”

  Surprised, Grey huffed a short laugh. “I can’t imagine you being anything but a well-behaved little girl.”

  “I throw tantrums.” Lana beseeched him with such honesty in her solemn gray eyes. “Morgan says she has to use brivery to keep me in line.”

  “That’s bribery—”

  “You’re cute,” Lana interrupted. “Morgan said so.”

  “Okay, that’s good, Lana,” Morgan said with a big empty smile. “Eat your macaroni.”

  Grey looked from her to Lana, and back again with a growing grin. “You said you think I’m cute?”

  Morgan’s lips pursed and bright pink tinged her cheeks in the most adorable show of embarrassment he’d ever witnessed. “Well, yes, but I was just explaining to Lana—”

  Lana gulped a bite. “Food comes from your booty but water comes from your penis. And apple juice.”

  “Lana! Your Ring Pop is on the line, little miss.”

  “Why? I don’t have a penis. He does because he’s a boy but I don’t because I’m a girl.” Lana shoveled another bite of noodles into her tiny maw. “That’s what you said, remember?”

  “Oh my gosh,” Morgan whispered as she covered the rising color of her cheeks with her palms as if they would cool the warmth there.

  He was trying not to laugh. Seriously, he was putting in effort, but he couldn’t help it. The grin stretching across his face felt so good. And the more he laughed, Morgan loosened up and built up a fit of giggles too.

  And after they’d settled, He tried honestly to divert his attention to eating, but couldn’t keep his gaze from Morgan for long. She was so damn beautiful. Her self-consciousness made him want to pull her close and give her other things to think about.

  Concentrating on his dinner seemed like the wisest idea. If he stared at her lips for another second as she talked, he was going to lean over the table and kiss them.

  The food was just as delicious as it smelled. With a lopsided grin, Lana took a bite every time he did as if it were a game.

  “Am I done?” Lana asked Morgan around the last bite of her macaroni.

  Morgan made of show of examining her bowl, where only a few stray noodles remained. “You can be excused if you put your bowl in the sink.”

  Lana crawled from her chair and stood on tiptoe as she launched the plastic bowl where it was supposed to go. Her tiny footsteps sounded as she ran for the living room, and moments later, the animated voice of a television cartoon spouted off alphabet letters.

  “I can’t even believe how much you can eat,” Morgan said with a laugh as he scooped a third helping onto his plate. “Where do you put it all?”

  “The animal side needs a lot of food. My metabolism is stupid fast now, and I didn’t take care of myself for the first six months. It was so hard to control any part of my life when I was starving. Hope you weren’t planning on leftovers.”

  “Nope, I’m glad you liked it. I was nervous,” she admitted. “I didn’t know if you had a specific diet or anything.”

  “Nope. No special diet, but I’ll never be able to embrace vegetarianism.”

  She became quiet and looked somewhere behind him with a faraway expression. After she took a long swig of her beer, she spoke again. “That…man. The one who attacked us last year. Why’d he do that?” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I mean, have you ever hurt anyone?”

  Wolf let out a long low growl before Grey could stop himself. He squeezed his eyes closed and stood, took the dishes to the sink, his back to her. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, pressing his palms against the counter. “It’s just, when I think of telling you things about that part of me, I’m afraid you’ll run and I’ll never see you again.”

  He turned and let her see his eyes. She deserved to see the truth of those words on his face as he spoke. She watched him quietly, and he leaned against the sink. “I don’t think I’ve ever hurt a person. The first six months, before I met the pack, I blacked out a lot and Changed uncontrollably. I had to camp at different parks, hoping I was far enough in so I wouldn’t run across people.”

  He looked at the ceiling. How was he supposed to explain this to her? It was impossible to sugarcoat any of it. “I would hunt animals. I’d wake up, a man again, and animals would be near me. I’m not a man-eater. I’m not like the wolf that attacked you, but hunting when I Change helps me to keep some control. I Change more than I have to now. We really only need to a few times a month because our bodies demand it, but I Change a couple times a week because it makes Wolf happy. It doesn’t have to be on a full moon or anything. That’s a myth, but we like to because it is brighter for hunting at night. I don’t black out anymore because I’m taking care of my body. Keeping it fit, eating enough, Changing enough. The routine of catering to the wolf keeps me sane.”

  She stayed quiet, so he turned and rinsed the dishes. When he returned to the table to grab her plate, she reached for his hand and held it.

  “Come here,” she said, tugging him gently to the chair beside her. “I’ve seen the way people look at you. When we were on the sidewalk together, people scattered like roaches away from you like there is something about you that scares them. Why?”

  He gave a half shrug. “I don’t know. It’s just the way I came out, I guess.” Nope, he definitely wasn’t ready to tell her Wolf was king of the monsters. Dominance wasn’t a discussion he was ready to tackle. He just wanted her to think he was a normal werewolf for a little while.

  “Why don’t you scare me?”

  “I don’t know. I keep waiting for you to figure me out and run. Maybe you just know I’d never hurt you or Lana. I wouldn’t let myself. Morgan…” He sighed and traced a crack in her table with his fingertip. “I don’t have some of the answers you’re going to want from me.”

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. He could hear her swallow audibly. “How’s your arm?” And there it was—the subject change he needed.

  “My arm?” he asked, looking down at his skin.

  “I saw that man stab you with a knife last week. You were bleeding. I could see it even through your dark shirt.”

  “Oh, it’s okay.” He lifted the sleeve of his fitted, red shirt, exposing the closed silver slash mark. “I heal quickly. What about you? You were bleeding last week too. I could smell it.”

  “You want to see?” she asked.

  Maybe she’d cut her leg and her jeans hid it or something. Slowly, he nodded.

  She rotated in the chair and lifted the hem of her pink cotton shirt until the bottom of an impressive patch of road rash peeked out. He sucked air in through his teeth and pulled the shirt up until the entirety of t
he healing wound was exposed. It ran from tailbone to shoulder blades. She wore a black lace bra that looked like it would hurt to rest on it. He touched the jagged edges gently with the tip of his finger. “How’d this happen?”

  “He dragged me to that alley and my shirt came up when I was struggling. Yesterday was the first day it felt okay enough to wear a bra.” Her expression looked almost apologetic. “This one is the loosest one I own.”

  Tough girl. She hadn’t even favored it yesterday or while she was cooking today.

  “I like the black.” Especially in a wet, white, basically see through t-shirt, but she didn’t have to hear that part. Only a monster would get a boner when she was showing him an injury, but he was what he was. He straightened her shirt, and she turned.

  The color of deep roses rested in her cheeks and the corners of her mouth were turned up. “Why wouldn’t you look at me in the alley?”

  “Because I don’t want this for you, Morgan. I’m not good for anyone, and you deserve better than what I can give you and Lana. My life, what I am—it’s dangerous. I planned on staying away, watching but never talking to you. I don’t want to suck you into this hell. I want you to be happy. I want…shit, I don’t know what I want.” Frustrated, he rubbed his hands through his hair.

  “Grey? Grey, look at me,” she said. “None of this scares me. You can protect us. You’ve saved me twice now. Try for me, and if you can’t handle it, you can leave. I won’t make you stay out of guilt or anything, but there’s something…when you touch me —”A small shudder trembled through her. I feel. The unfinished words hung in the air between them.

  He should run. He should thank her for dinner, walk out the front door and leave her to find someone normal. She should be with someone safe, with stable friends and family, and a good role model for Lana. He would ruin her, and this was the part where he should decide not to cross that line. There were moments in life where the path of fate would change with a pivotal decision made. This was his moment. His gut quickened with her closeness. Instead of running, the coward in him admitted the inescapable truth. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”