“I’ll call you later,” he said. Again, I nodded, and then watched him walked toward the bedroom door and disappear. Suddenly, he stepped back into the room. I flinched. “Hey,” he said. “You know I love you, right?”
I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears. I didn’t know if they were tears of joy, or tears of guilt. But either way I felt that I had to fight them back.
“I know,” I said, swallowing the emotions down. “I love, you, too.” Warren was gone, and I was left to deal with the backlash of my decision.
What the fuck did I just do?
Chapter Seventeen
I heard a large uproar coming from the village as soon as I crossed over the bridge. People yelling, children crying, clearly something had happened. Holding onto my bag, I ran as fast as I could towards the origin of the commotion and came upon a group of people gathered outside Matthew’s house.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Hello!” No one responded to me. I made a circle with my thumb and middle finger and put them in my mouth and blew. The loud whistling caused everyone to turn and look at me. I paused and smiled. “Okay, that’s better,” I said. “Now, does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“You best get up to the house.” A young woman balancing a baby on her left hip spoke up. “Matthew attacked his Daddy and then ran off. I think Donald is hurt bad.”
I looked at the small crowd, waiting for a further explanation, but no one offered anything more. I walked toward the house, the crowd parting as I approached. The front door was open, so I walked inside to find a room in shambles, and Donald sitting on the floor, his back against the couch. There was a pool of blood on the floor, under his left arm, and one leg of his blue jeans was covered with red splotches, with a large darkened area on his thigh.
“Donald?” I quickly approached to assess his condition. “Donald, are you okay? What happened?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m ain’t real sure.” He looked at me, his eyes slightly glazed over. “Where’s Matthew? Is Matthew alright?” I turned to look at the doorway. Several men were standing just inside in the threshold, watching me.
“You three,” I yelled. “Get in here!” They looked at each other and then back at me. “Now! I need your help with Donald.” All three men moved quickly to my side. I pointed to each man as I gave instructions. “You go get as many clean towels as you can find. You stand over here on this side of Donald. And you, kneel here. I need your hands.”
I cut Donald’s sleeve and pant leg to expose the wounds. Deep gaping scratches. Like claw marks. My stomach sank as I saw the seriousness his injuries. The first man returned with towels and I grabbed one off the top, cutting it in half with my medical scissors. I applied one half of the towel to the wound on his leg and grabbed the hand of the man kneeling beside me.
“Hold this here.” I pushed his hand down. Donald groaned. “Keep pressure on it.” The man nodded.” I put the other half on his arm wound and pointed to the guy with the towels. “Put the towels down on the table. Come here and hold this.” He quickly did as I instructed. “Keep pressure on it.” Donald moaned again. “It’s okay, Donald. I’m going to help you. You’re going to be alright.”
Moving around to the other side, I started an IV in his uninjured arm and hooked it up to a bag of normal saline solution. I held the bag up in the air. “Here,” I said to the second man. “Hold this up. Make sure you keep it higher than his head.” It didn’t really need to be that high, but it was easier than trying to explain the mechanics of it at the moment.
“You just want me to hold this?” He asked, looking at the bag. I looked at him, at Donald, and then back at the bag.
“Yes,” I replied, my tone was stern. “Just stand there and hold it. I need both hands to put stitches in Donald’s arm and leg, and to give him antibiotics. Unless you want to?” I held out a suture kit. He shook his head and I smirked. “Then just hold the bag and keep it higher than his head.”
After working on Donald for almost an hour, he finally became more coherent and attempted to tell me what happened. Not much of what he said made sense.
“He growled at me like a bear. He showed his teeth. He grew out his fingernails and yelled at me. He wanted me to kill ’im. He told me to. I can’t see the blackness, Matthew. Show me so I can see it, too.”
I feared Donald was going delirious, maybe even hallucinating due to his injuries. I gave him a shot of antibiotics, pain medication, and had the men help lift him to the couch where he’d be more comfortable. One of the men offered to clean up the blood, which I happily allowed him to do.
After cleaning up my supplies, the bloody towels, and washing my hands, I stood and stared at Donald for a moment. “Has anyone gone after Matthew?” I asked. All three of the men exchanged looks again. “Really? No one has gone after him?”
“Did you see what he did to his Daddy?” The man still holding the IV bag said. “I don’t want that to be me. Something about that boy ain’t right.” The other two men nodded in agreement.
“He’s just a boy!” I shouted. “A child. It’s obvious he’s sick, or his fever is back, or something worse. Someone needs to go find him.” They ignored me. As I attempted to look at each of them, they averted their eyes. “Fine,” I said, looking around the room. “You don’t want to help, don’t help.” I found a coat rack, moved it beside the couch and hung the IV bag from one of the rungs. “Now you don’t have to help. You can go.” I grabbed my bag and moved to the front door.
“Where you goin’?” The man cleaning up the blood asked.
I looked at Donald lying on the couch. Silent. Still. The only sign of life was his chest slowly rising and falling. “Donald’s okay for now,” I said. “I have to save Matthew. He’d want me to.”
“I can’t believe those men.” I shook my head, grumbling to myself as I made my way through the woods. “They’re scared of a young kid.” I scoffed. Those were nasty wounds though. How’d he do that? He must be sick again. His fever maybe? An infection? Meningitis? I need to get him to the hospital.
“Dammit!” My pace quickened, even with no idea where I was going. “Matthew!” I called out. “Matthew! It’s Rose! Doctor Decker.” I waited, hoping he’d call out a response. Nothing. I kept walking and yelling.
The sun was moving through the trees to my right, moving to its early afternoon position. I reached down to grab a water bottle out of my bag and took a few sips. As I began to tip the bottle back for another drink, I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. I snapped my head in that direction, trying to catch a glimpse of it.
“Matthew?” I yelled out again, hopeful. “Matthew, is that you?” A dark shadow fell onto the path a few yards in front of me as a large black wolf stepped out of the brush.
“Shit!” I tucked the water bottle back into my bag and slowly started walking backwards. How many of these fuckers are there? My heart beat hard against my chest, rushing the blood to my ears and throat. My mouth was dry. My hands began to tremble. I wanted to look behind me to make sure my path was clear, but I wasn’t about to take my eyes off the black wolf.
Having learned my lesson, I slid my feet backwards, to ensure I didn’t trip over anything on the path. My left foot hit something, and I was forced to look down to step over it or risk falling. I glanced down, stepped over the branch, and quickly returned my gaze to the wolf just in time to see him begin to charge in my direction.
I turned my body, put my arm in front of my face, and waited for the impact. Nothing happened. Instead, I heard a barrage of growling, snarling, and deep barking. I slowly lowered my arm and opened my eyes. There were two wolves fighting. The one who just tried to attack me, and the big brown one from before, the one I had cut with a scalpel.
The fight lasted only a couple minutes but seemed much longer. When it was over, tufts of fur of both colors were scattered about, the brown wolf stood over the black one, who then slinked off into the trees. Once the black wolf was out of sig
ht, the brown one turned to look at me, then slowly walked in my direction.
Shit! But this time, the wolf didn’t snarl, didn’t growl, and wasn’t walking in an attack ready stance. It stood tall, walked slowly, and when it was within a few feet, it sat down, as if waiting for my approval.
I spoke softly, not wanting to upset it. “Hi, there,” I said. “Thank you for saving me.” I’m talking to a wolf. What the hell? I’m talking to a fucking wolf. “You are such a pretty wolf. What beautiful fur you have.” I squatted down, to seem like less of a threat. The wolf came a few steps closer and sat down again. “And what beautiful eyes you have.” I looked into the wolf’s eyes and there was something familiar. Almost as if I had stared into those eyes before. I recognized those eyes. They looked like Warren’s eyes. I looked closer. They were Warren’s eyes. Warren?
The brown wolf slowly turned and ran away, leaving me in a haze of confusion and fear. I sat down on the ground, numb, not knowing what to do or say or think. I needed answers and it seemed only one person could give them to me.
I reached for my bag and pulled out my cell phone. I dialed Warren’s number, hoping he’d answer, but as I expected, I got his voicemail.
“Warren, I think I might be going crazy. Things are happening that I never thought were real, or should be real, or could be real. But I really, really, really need to talk to you. So, could you please come over tonight? Like anytime. I’m going home now and I’m not leaving so I’ll be there.”
I hung up the phone and immediately made my way out of the trees and drove home.
Looking back on what happened, I decided that I was over worked, overtired, and overdue for a real vacation. “Nope,” I said, climbing into the shower. “There’s no fucking way that Warren is a werewolf.”
Chapter Eighteen
I opened the door to see Warren standing in the light of the setting sun. The orange, red, and yellow hues highlighting him from behind surrounded him in a halo of beautiful light. It almost made me forget why I asked him to come over – almost.
“Before you say anything, can I just explain something first?” Warren quickly slid by me into the house. I closed the door and turned to face him, folding my arms over my chest.
“What?” I said, furrowing my brow. What’s he up to? “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“You were right,” he said. My defenses lessened slightly. He had my attention.
“Right about what?” I asked, moving to the couch.
“Back before I left, on that day,” he followed me to the couch and plopped down beside me, his leg touching mine. “You asked me if something happened on my trip with the guys, remember?”
“Of course, I remember,” I said. “How could I ever forget? It was the day you walked out on me.”
“Yes, I know. And I am so sorry about that. But please. Let me explain.” I folded my arms over my chest again. “When the guys and I were camping, something attacked us – a pack of wolves.”
“Wolves?” I was so tired of wolves.
“Yes,” he said. Looking into his eyes, I saw both fear and excitement. Was he finally going to tell me all that he had been hiding? “There were three of them. We managed to kill one, which made the other two only attack harder. I was bitten, and so was Kevin. Joe and Chris weren’t bitten but they were scratched. Mark and Paul got away and weren’t hurt at all.”
“So let me see if I follow you. Out of the six of you, four of you were injured by these wolves.” Warren nodded his head. “And now, the four of you are werewolves?”
He nodded again. “But we’re called shifters,” he said.
“What?” I scrunched my face.
“Shifters, not werewolves. Werewolves are creatures made up in Hollywood.” With a serious look on his face, Warren folded his hands in his lap, as if waiting for my next question.
“Sure.” He’s telling me he’s only half human and he’s worried about terminology. I paused, taking it all in. Remembering how I felt the first time I laid eyes on the wolf. “Wait!” I said, turning my body toward him. “Was that you? The big brown wolf I saw? In the woods? That tried to attack me? And Matthew is the black wolf, right? What about the white one? Who’s the white one?”
“Okay, slow down,” Warren said. He reached out and took one of my hands. “First of all, I didn’t attack you. I was trying to protect you.” I raised my eyebrows and glared at him. “Seriously, I was. I was out there keeping a look out for the wolf that attacked those two girls.”
“The white one,” I said. I needed him to clarify to ensure that I had my facts straight.
“Yes, the white wolf,” he said. “And I sure as hell couldn’t do that with you lurking around. I had to get you out of there. I just wanted to scare you, so you’d run away.”
I chuckled. “Well, you succeeded in that.”
“Yes, I did. But I didn’t think you would kick my ass first.” Warren reached up his free hand and touched the side of his face that had once been bruised. I gasped, realizing the truth behind the cause for his injury was me.
“Oh, shit! I didn’t know, you know? I’m sorry. Really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Which time?” He lifted his arm, motioning to the area that had previously been covered by a bandage. Remembering how I not only hit the wolf – or Warren – in the side of the head with my bag, but also cut his leg with a scalpel, I was overwhelmed with remorse. I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he wrapped his arms around my back. I could hear him chuckling into my neck. “I’m sure you caught on that wolf shifters heal fast.”
Turning to lean my head on his chest, I listened to Warren’s heartbeat. The tump-thrump was regular, steady, and strong. It was comforting. Comforting to know even though he was a shifter, he was still human, too.
“Is what happened that night the reason why Mark and Paul won’t talk to you anymore?”
“Yes.” He jostled underneath me a little, making me wonder if my question made him uneasy. “They know what we are and how we got this way. They saw what happened to us, how it happened, the violence of the wolves that attacked us. They didn’t want any part of it.” Warren kept talking, but I was stuck on one phrase that he said. Eight words that sent my mind off in another direction.
The violence of the wolves that attacked us.
I pushed myself up from the couch and walked a few steps to the middle of the room. “Did one of them bite Matthew?” Spinning on the balls of my bare feet, I turned to face warren. “Did one of them attack those two girls?”
“Oh, God no,” Warren said. He popped off the couch and shuffled to me, wrapping his arms around me, holding me tight. Once again, I felt the heat radiating from his body, reminding me of what he truly was. I could feel the conflict building inside me and pushed him back slightly.
“You being a werewolf – a shifter – is that why you’re so hot now? And why I couldn’t figure out why Matthew was running a fever after his attack?” Warren nodded his head, confirming my suspicions.
“But I promise you, none of us turned him or attacked the girls,” he said, insistently. “Every attack was the same wolf – the white one. And we’ve been trying to figure out who it is. We have a lead, but I can’t say anything else yet, not until we know for sure.”
“But it’s not just you looking? Others are helping you?” I was scared for him. He was in a world where there was nothing I could do to help. And I hated feeling helpless.
“Yes, others are helping me,” he said. “And, we’ve been trying to help Matthew and the girl who survived get through their transition. It wasn’t easy for any of us and we didn’t have anyone there to help at the beginning. We didn’t want Matthew and Rebecca to have to endure all that alone.”
“And now that Matthew has turned and attacked his father …” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“We’ll help him as well,”
Warren said. “And we’ll do our best to make sure none of them attack anyone else. There are a few packs in the area. All of them are willing to take them in.”
“A few packs? Just how many fucking shifter wolves are out there?” Warren opened his mouth to speak, but I put up my hand to stop him. “You know what? Forget it. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” I pushed my hair back off my face and took a deep breath. “So,” I said, trying to get a grip on all that had been thrown at me over the past hour. “That’s where you’ve been going? Meeting with these packs? Helping Matthew and Rebecca? That’s why you’ve been so secretive and distant?”
“Well, I couldn’t exactly tell you that I’ve been trying to help Matthew control his rage and anger from his shifter transition, now could I?”
“Wait a minute …” Having a sudden revelation, I turned and moved to the kitchen for a bottle of water. “When we were fighting, and you were being all hateful and mean to me, that was you going through your transition?”
Warren followed me, sliding into one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table. I twisted off the cap and tossed in on the counter. I gulped the water.
“It’s hard to control your emotions,” he said. “Everything is heightened. Your hearing. Vision. Taste. Touch. Smell. When it’s all coming at you in overload, keeping yourself in check is next to impossible. It’s like having the flu, with a migraine, enflamed taste buds, and those sleepy pins and needles all over your extremities. It’s not fun!”
“And that’s why you left me? Because you couldn’t control it?” I downed more water, possibly trying to extinguish the rage fire beginning to burn inside.
“That and because I just found out I was a shifter.” Warren scoffed. I glared at him. I didn’t find it amusing. “It’s just that I didn’t know what was going to happen. I didn’t want to risk hurting you. Or putting you in the middle of anything. I was trying to keep you safe, Rose.”
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