by Rebecca Main
“Ben,” my voice takes on a squawking quality as I say his name.
“No, no, no!” he practically shouts, waving his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it like that—I meant—”
“That her natural place is in the kitchen?” Aunt Mo offers dryly.
“No—”
“Like her rightful place is to cook and serve you your meals like your mama did?” Aunt Lydia asks.
“No!” his voice raises, face now completely red. “Zoey is… is magic! Anything she makes is out of this world. I couldn’t imagine her doing anything else in this life other than cooking. It makes her happy, and I’m just the lucky guy who gets to benefit from her undeniable talent. A talent that I encourage.”
“Is that so?” Ben nods sharply to Aunt Lydia’s question. “Did your mother cook the meals in your family?” Ben nods reluctantly, his body held taut and ready for the next attack. “Interesting.”
The room goes silent, and a small wave of relief rushes through me as the table remains that way. The inquisition is over. Thank—
“And do you see your future wife doing the same? Staying home to cook the family meals and tend to the house?”
All eyes fall to Ben, who, in an odd turn of events, loses all color. I feel myself do the same, eyes pleading with Ben not to answer. Why did he keep answering?
“Of course.”
The answer slips from him, coated in remorse, and once more the room goes silent. Aunt Mo’s pointed “Hmph” keeping all lips sealed shut. This is too much to bear. I feel ashamed and horrified as I look at the scene before me. This is not the reception I wanted Ben to receive. This is not the way I wanted the aunts to react. This is not the way Ben is supposed to act. For a pained moment, the wine rushes to my head. I stand, startling the table and nearly spilling the other glasses of wine that sit atop it.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” I finally manage to say, picking up my plate as well as the bowl of potatoes. “Ben?” He stands and follows me into the kitchen. “I am so sorry,” I whisper to him harshly, barely holding back the angry tears assaulting my eyes.
“It’s all right,” he says cautiously.
“No, it isn’t,” I correct him. Depositing the items by the kitchen sink, I stride back into the dining room and snatch up the salad and lamb as well, the aunts coolly assessing me as I do. Their regard fuels the rising well of anger in my stomach. How could they? Never, not in a million years, did I imagine tonight going so terribly. It’s clear as crystal the aunts don’t approve of Ben, and now I doubt Gran’s feelings as well. After all, how many times did she truly try to intervene? Why didn’t she mediate the discussion between the aunts and Ben when he arrived?
When I return to the kitchen, Ben is on the phone. He shoots me an apologetic look, but I only nod stiffly in return. He passes me a small smile and steps to the small kitchen table nestled near the bay windows. His face pulling into a frown as he nods wordlessly at the conversation that plays in his ear.
I methodically wash the accumulated dishes. The sound of the aunts and Gran’s sudden laughter grating on my last nerves. Before I lose myself to my growing anger, Ben’s presence appears behind me. The warmth of his body pressing along the length of my back, and he tugs me away from the dishes.
“Are you all right?” he asks. I turn around in his arms, my eyes wide in confusion as I stare at him. Ben pulls me more tightly into the circle of his arms, dropping his face to my collarbone to kiss it lightly, or rather the birthmark that rests a couple of inches beneath it.
Why couldn’t the aunts have asked normal questions? Like what Ben liked most about me? What his favorite food was?
Ben pulls back, waiting patiently for my answer. “I’m so sorry,” I rush to tell him, “I had no idea they would act like that.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly what I expected either, I guess.” He scratches absently at the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink. “I wasn’t exactly a delight either, and while I hate to end the night on this note, I have to go. Abby needs me in the office early tomorrow, and the drive back is a killer.”
“Oh.”
He frowns, “I really need this job. It could lead to bigger things for me.”
“I know, I know,” I say feeling a swell of disappointment in my gut. I swallow it down and duck my head. “I guess that means you won’t be staying the night?”
“No.”
“When do you need to leave? The cake should be done soon.” I cast my eyes upward to watch his reaction.
He shoots a longing look at the oven, but the furtive glance he spares the dining room tells me my answer. “Next time you come, we’ll have dinner just the two of us,” I whisper. Ben envelops me in a bear hug, his lips placing themselves firmly to my brow.
“Next time,” he whispers back, “you come to me.” His smirk teases, but there is a seriousness to his tone that cannot be mistaken.
“Deal.” Cupping my face, he presses another kiss to my brow before moving to my lips.
“I love you.” His words trail on the back of a hum, almost too soft to hear, even with our close proximity. A strange rush of emotion tumbles forth at his sweet declaration. But not love.
“I—”
“Ben.” We both groan quietly at Gran’s ill-timed intrusion. “Will you be staying for dessert?”
“Unfortunately, not.”
“That's a shame. I was hoping to hear more about your work. We hardly got to talk, just you and me, this evening.” She ushers him to the door as I follow at her heels. “I’ll let you two say goodbye. Drive home safely, Ben.”
“Have a pleasant night yourself,” he tells her departing back, giving me a wide-eyed look at Gran’s unusual behavior. “Before I go, I just need to know… did I do something wrong tonight?”
“Of course not” I exclaim quickly, though we both know that’s not entirely true based on what he shared at the dinner table. A curl of despair tightens around my gut, but I plaster on a smile. “It must have been all the wine. But next time—”
“You come to me.” I nod my head feverishly, and we kiss our goodbye. I close the door behind him with regret, desperately wishing the night hadn’t gone so terribly. When a sudden bark of laughter bursts from the kitchen I feel my anger return.
I want so badly to go in and confront them. Yell and shout at how unfairly they treated both of us, but such heated conversations always end in tears, at least on my part, and I have no intention of letting them see me cry. A run will clear my head, I think deftly. I take the stairs two at a time, ignoring the timer on the oven going off in the kitchen. Someone else will take the cake out, I think bitterly. I rummage through my mostly sorted belongings and put together a suitable outfit to run on the cool autumn night.
As I make my way back down the stairs and toward the back door located off the kitchen, I steel myself. With a deep breath, I stride through the room, noting somewhat savagely that once again all conversation dies upon my entrance.
“We’ll talk when I get back,” I tell them with hardly a glance over my shoulder.
“Where are you going at this hour?” Gran asks, her voice harsher than I expect it to be. I halt, the door opened halfway and primed for my exit.
“For a run.” My voice sounds back in a perfect mimic of her tone.
“It’s late.”
I scoff. “It’s barely after seven. The sun won’t set for at least another hour.”
“Stay out of the forest, Zoelle. It’s no place to be at night.” Gran tells me sternly. I look back, struck by her flinty demeanor.
“I’ll be fine,” I respond tersely.
“I mean it, Zoelle, stay out of the forest. It’s a full moon tonight and—”
“Seriously.” I huff and jerk the door open wider. “It’s a full moon tonight, Zoelle,” I parrot, pushing past the hard lump in my throat. “Beware the creatures of the night for their beastly natures do arise.”
A look of hurt flashes across Gran’s face at my bitter words. “Yes,” is
her only reply as she sits down next to the aunts stiffly. “It’s practically nightfall and running alone in those woods is just plain stupid. And we both know you’re not that, sweetheart.”
“Well,” I respond with a brittle smile, “with any luck the moon will be bright enough to light my way. I’ll be fine.”
“Zoe—”
“I’ll be back in a while. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Stay out of the woods!” Gran’s words fall on deaf ears, the door shutting with more force than I intend as I scamper off away from the house and those who inhabit it.
+++
Gran’s house is on the east side of town, and conveniently close to the forest that curls around the city. Out of spite and laziness, I ran straight to it. I don’t anticipate running into any wild animals because I don’t plan to stay in the forest long after dark.
My thoughts drift back to the short-lived dinner. The wine, which I naively assumed would create an atmosphere of ease, escalated the situation. Then there was the food, something I had been sure would bring everyone comfort once I finally settled on it. I thought Gran would help me cook, maybe the aunts and Ben as well, as all of us gathered around the kitchen island laughing…. Instead, the entire task of cooking rested on my shoulders, and between my anxiousness over Ben being comfortable and worrying over the aunts making fools out of themselves—let alone Ben—my food lacked the attention I normally gave it.
I still find myself stunned over the aunts’ presumptuous and hostile questioning. Never have I seen them act that way around anyone, especially not in their home. I’m as disappointed as I am angry.
Tears cloud my vision. I blink them back forcefully. Why didn’t Gran intervene? She’s supposed to be my secret weapon; the one I can rely on to smooth anything over with a well-placed look or well-timed joke. Instead, she just watched. She did nothing! Nothing except drink her wine and let my dinner go to waste.
When my lungs begin to burn, I slow to a jog, veering left to avoid the fallen branches and debris that block the trail I've happened upon and check my phone's clock. I almost stumble as I register the time, brow crinkling in confusion as I stare at the numbers on my phone’s screen. Had I really been running for almost 40 minutes?
I scan my surroundings, focusing on calming my breath and note with some dread that the forest seems to have grown thicker around me. The trees and bushes fit more snugly against the trail, and more and more debris seems to litter the ground. I turn in a circle. It’s darker too.
Colder and darker, I think. Time to go home and face the music. Turning sharply, I’m rewarded with a sharp stinging sensation that raps against my shin.
“Ouch!” I plummet forward. “Shit.” The word is released in a hiss as I crash to the ground, hands shooting forward to catch my fall.
Bad idea. Bits of earth and rock dig painfully into my palms as I pull my knee snug against my chest to examine my shin more closely. “Just fucking great,” I groan. Little rivulets of red stream down my leg past bits of bark and dirt.
I hold both hands to the wound, hissing at the immediate pain, but giving a small sigh of relief as the throbbing sensation dulls. I’ll need to wash up once I get home to avoid any type of infection. Gran and the aunts will be head over heels with worry if they see me like this. Which will go along nicely with a side of ‘I told you so’ ready on their lips. Ugh. Sitting up, and feeling worse for wear, I let out a pathetic sigh. The thought of limping home in the dark is completely unappealing. I look up and gaze at the full moon peeking out from beneath a maze of branches. It is especially bright tonight and beautiful.
Then, it sounds.
A low growl that reverberates off the forest floor. Something deep and primal. Something wild. And it’s coming from behind me.
My pulse skips a beat as I slowly flatten myself on the ground, eyes darting along the forest floor fearfully. “Shit,” I rasp, spotting something large and gray some thirty feet away. To my horror, the animal in question stiffens and turns its head in my direction. Oh, God. It’s a wolf. A very large—very terrifying—wolf. Oh fuck. Fuck! I flatten further, horrified when I see it sniff the air deeply. A slow snarl tumbles from its mouth as it takes a step in my direction.
Well, limping home isn’t on the table any longer, I think morosely. Maybe I can force myself into a sprint? Ignore the pain and just go.
I weigh my options as the second one appears. A sandy colored wolf barrels into the side of the first, and they tumble over the ground. Loud yips and playful barks ensue as they roughhouse, and a surge of hope sprouts inside of me. This might be just the distraction I need to get away.
With speed I hardly know I possess, I manage to stand and dodge behind the nearest tree to conceal my presence. The scuffling of the wolves still rings clearly throughout the trees, letting me know they’re still near and distracted. I’ll need to choose my next move wisely. Wait them out? Or run for it?
Building my courage, I ready myself to push away from the tree trunk. I just need to time it right. Run while they’re still distracted with each other. I’m just about to bolt, when I hear a bout of laughter ring through the forest. The sound stills my heart, holding it hostage as I tremble in fear. What on earth is going on?
“There’s nothing like a new moon, is there, brother!” cries a jubilant male voice.
“I’m not your brother,” a gravelly voice responds. Oh God, I think, my heart’s going into overdrive as I take in a rattling breath. How many are there?
“Come now, Keenan. We’re all pack. Therefore”—the voice trails off, laced with condescension—“we are all family. Now, why don’t you change?” Why were these men out gallivanting in the forest with wolves?
Slowly, I sink into a crouch and peek around the tree trunk. It’s a weak view, but it’s enough. The two wolves sit idly by the men, their tongues hanging out as they lightly pant. They seem… large. Much larger than what I imagined a real wolf to look like. I swallow, eyes drifting to the men.
The first, a man no more than twenty-five, stands tall and lean. His black hair is fashionably styled and his clothes are tailored to fit. There’s no denying his handsome looks. His clean-cut jawline and the wicked smirk he wears, tells me he knows it too. I swallow with some difficulty. The 25-year-old stands with his arms crossed over his chest and a cavalier air about him in front of the other, older male. Though I can’t presume to know why he looks so confident against the larger man. Much larger, I think fretfully.
The second, slightly older man is intimidating, to say the least. Tattoos cover the length of his arms, some crawling up over his stout neck. He seems the direct opposite of the other. His clothing plain, a T-shirt and worn blue jeans, and his hair military short. He’s older as well, I think, maybe in his early thirties. When the larger man grunts and begins to strip I almost faint away.
I suck in a sharp breath, realizing belatedly that I’ve forgotten to breathe. Of all the things to do, I think in a stupor, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene. The younger, cockier man watches without comment. His smirk only growing as the older man continues to strip.
What the fuck?
I'm more than prepared to look away, cheeks flaming hot in response to the flesh made bare to me, when a ghastly crack resounds from the now naked male. He lets out a snarl so terrible he begins to shake. Then he falls to his hands and knees, a shout of pure agony drawn from his lips. His body twists and bends. It breaks, transforming into some kind of monster or beast. Or wolf. A wolf with fur as dark as night. The new canine lets out an ear-shattering howl. One loud enough to make me gasp aloud as I clasp my hands over my ears.
What. The. Fuck?
Hot tears spill over my cheeks. Too terrified to wipe them away, my hands shake as they brace themselves against the tree trunk. The two original wolves pounce on their new acquaintance and begin to scuffle once more, while the remaining male laughs at the display. His hands drag his shirt up over his sculpted abs, and by chance, his eyes catch mine. Several emo
tions flit across his face. Shock. Sharp anger. He takes a calculating step forward and lets his shirt fall back into place, his head tilting to the side. A more inquisitive look falls upon his brow, and then a grin. One full of sharp white teeth.