Animal Behavior

by Gabrielle Holly

  “‘Friend’? I should bash your fucking head in, you son of a bitch!” Gwen raised the poker higher and was gathering the courage to bring it down on the beast again when it was yanked from her hands.

  She turned to find Alex standing behind her. He threw the poker out of reach and pushed past Gwen. He tossed her the afghan and she finally became aware of her nakedness. She wrapped the blanket around her body and backed against the fireplace. Sergei struggled to his feet. He towered over Alex and his eyes flared with anger. Gwen swept her gaze across the room until she located the poker again.

  Alex strode forward and when he was an arm’s length from the Russian, he glared up at him. Gwen’s stomach knotted. What kind of horror would she witness now? The two men stood motionless, the only movement was the heaving of their chests. A rumbling growl erupted from Sergei’s chest and Gwen started to move toward the poker. Before she could take a step, Sergei dropped his gaze to the floor and backed away, his head bowed. Alex straightened his spine and seemed to grow taller. Sergei slunk, still naked, out the front door.

  Alex stood naked in the center of the room, his back straight and his shoulders back. He was motionless, following Sergei only with his eyes as the giant slid into the setting sun. Gwen shut the door behind him and noticed that the wood was splintered around the deadbolt. She pushed a chair under the knob to keep it from swinging inward again, then turned back to Alex and saw his shoulders droop. He took in a deep breath and fell to his knees.

  Gwen rushed to where he knelt on the floor, took the afghan from her body and wrapped it around him. She swept her fingers over the tattoo on his shoulder. It was the same symbol she’d seen on Sergei’s arm and the logo for Luna Farms. The inverted triangle filled with a spiral seemed so familiar and an old memory tried to float to the surface of Gwen’s consciousness. Alex pulled up the blanket, and lay down on the braided rug.

  Gwen began to shiver, as much from the shock as from the cold. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked. Alex slowly nodded.

  She went to the bedroom and dressed quickly then fished a pair of sweats and a T-shirt from the drawer. Alex allowed her to help him into the clothes. The pants came just below Alex’s knee and the shirt was stretched taut across his chest.

  He plopped down on the couch and gulped down the glass of water Gwen offered. “Will he come back?” she asked.

  Alex shook his head. “He won’t be back unless I give him permission.” Alex’s voice was surprisingly calm and even.

  Behind her Bob whimpered again and Gwen turned to see him slither across the floor to where Jezebel lay. He licked at the side of her face and draped his head over her neck. The golden’s eyes fluttered open and she whined weakly.

  Alex set his empty glass on the coffee table and rose with a groan. He crouched beside the dogs, swiped his hand through his hair and held his bloodied fingers under the twitching snouts. The animals licked the skin clean, struggled to their feet and limped together to the water bowl. While they lapped greedily, Alex returned to his spot on the couch. Bob padded over to his master and laid his head at Alex’s feet.

  “I’m gonna be fine, buddy,” Alex said, reaching down to stroke the silky black head.

  Gwen stood at the picture window, her arms crossed under her breasts, dividing her attention between the front porch and the man-monster on the couch. Jezebel stayed close to Gwen, but kept her gaze on Alex. Alex glanced at the golden retriever and the dog seemed to relax.

  “They’ll be okay,” Alex said, and patted the cushion.

  Gwen sat down on the couch beside Alex. “So, werewolves.”

  “Yep.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I am speechless. I can’t believe this is real. He wanted to kill me!”

  “He didn’t want to kill you. He might have wound up doing just that, but his intent was not to kill.”

  Gwen began to shake and a wave of exhaustion fell over her. She wanted to sleep but was afraid to shut her eyes. “So how long have you been…this way?”

  Alex stood, moved to the hearth and made quick work of building a fire. “About three years.”

  Gwen looked at the back of his head. Though his hair was stained with blood, the gash had healed itself. “Are you immortal?”

  Alex turned. “No, we live two or three times longer than humans, but we’re not immortal.” He reached out and Gwen joined him in front of the blaze.

  She took his hand and they stood together, bathing in the heat. “So, what, you got bitten by a werewolf?”

  “Nope. That’s how Sergei was made. I took a potion.”

  Gwen felt her eyes widen. “Right. A potion. Of course. And you’ll be this way forever?”

  Alex shrugged. “I don’t really know. There’s a chance it can be reversed. There’s an old legend that says if a werewolf drinks rainwater from a wolf’s paw print under the light of the full moon, he can turn human again.”

  “Oh, is that all? So you just have to wait for a rainy, full-moon night then find some wolf tracks. Easy peasy.”

  Alex laughed. “Yeah. Actually, there’s a wildlife refuge about thirty miles from here. They’ve got a wolf enclosure. It wouldn’t be too hard to get in there. I know the head animal behaviorist. I could just watch the calendar and the weather and make arrangements to ‘do research’ overnight when the conditions are right. I could do that.”

  “You sound like you don’t want to.”

  Alex led her back to the couch. “I’m not sure. I mean there are a lot of really scary and…inconvenient…things about this life, but there are a lot of really amazing and wonderful things too.”

  “Like what? Having your body contort into some kind of monster?”

  Alex shook his head. “It’s not like that. When we change, we don’t turn into something else, just a supercharged version of our true selves. I kind of think of it as a regression—on the cellular level—to a more primitive state. I don’t turn into a wolf. I’m still human, but a stronger, faster more intuitive one. We look the scariest under the full moon—or under extreme duress—but that’s mostly illusion.”

  “Sergei must have been under a hell of a lot of duress because he looked like a wild animal that wanted to kill me. Do you ever get like that—wanting to kill people, I mean?”

  “Only in the beginning. I wanted to kill your grandfather.” Gwen shot up from her seat and glared down at him.

  “What the fuck? My grandfather knew about you?”

  Alex patted the cushion and Gwen reluctantly sat down again.

  “Your grandfather was our human consort. For about sixty years he served the pack, helping new wolves through their transitions. He helped me. But in those first few moon weeks, I wanted to rip out his throat. He made sure I was safe from myself and that others were safe from me. He was quite a guy.”

  Gwen’s mind raced. “If he knew what goes on up here, why in the world would he leave this place to me? Why would he put me in that kind of danger?”

  “Your grandpa didn’t just overlook the fact that you would be in harm’s way. He purposely put you there. He knew you could handle it. You’re meant to be his replacement.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  Alex shrugged. “I know it’s a lot to take in, Gwen, but this is real. You’re a legacy consort and we’ve got to get you up to speed before the next new werewolf finds his way to Talbot.”

  Gwen sat back hard. “I can’t even teach Jezebel to catch a Frisbee and you think I’m going to be able to figure out how to teach werewolves not to go around killing people? Is there a class I’m supposed to take or something?”

  Alex laughed. “I’m pretty sure there’s no class, but he must have left you some kind of instructions. What did you two talk about when you were up here?”

  “We would just hang out and play cribbage or sit by the fire. He’d smoke his pipe…”

  Gwen’s attention snapped to the built-ins flanking the fireplace and back to Alex. She yanked the afghan from his shoulder and pushed up
his T-shirt sleeve to reveal the matching tattoo. “What is this?”

  Alex’s brow knitted. “It’s the mark of the werewolf,” he said quietly.

  Gwen stood and scanned the jam-packed shelves. They were stuffed with all the books and knickknacks that John Chaney had collected over the years. She retrieved a chair from the kitchen table, stood on the seat, then reached up and lifted a large walnut box from the top shelf. She climbed down and returned to the seating area, laying the box on the coffee table.

  She ran her fingertips around the edges of the triangle carved on the top and traced the spiral at its center. She rubbed her thumb over the brass latch on the face of the box and depressed the small round button. The hinged lid swung open and the front panel fell forward, revealing six pipes standing on end inside. Behind the row of pipes, the main compartment held a half-empty pouch of tobacco, pipe cleaners and John Chaney’s silver lighter. The familiar scent of cherry-infused tobacco wafted up, bringing with it a flood of fond memories.

  Gwen touched each pipe bowl in turn. Three were smooth, black ebony. Two were rustic chipped-wood briar pipes. The last was of ornately carved ivory depicting the silhouette of a howling wolf against a full moon. She couldn’t remember her grandfather ever smoking the fancy pipe. Gwen pulled the items from the larger compartment and laid them out on the coffee table. She peered into the empty box.

  “Got something?” Alex asked.

  “I don’t know, exactly. I just had a feeling… I guess it was nothing.”

  Alex scooted to the edge of the cushion then reached for the ivory pipe. “This one is beautiful,” he said, lifting it from the stand. A dull click sounded from inside the box and the two leaned in to look. “What’s that?” Alex asked.

  Gwen followed his pointed finger and saw a small loop of black ribbon poking up from between the side and the bottom of the box. She slid her pinkie into the loop and pulled up. The box had a false bottom and Gwen set it beside the pipe cleaners and tobacco.

  Hidden beneath the panel was a thick, leather journal. Gwen laid it on her lap and opened it. A small sheet of notebook paper was folded inside the cover. She read aloud,

  “Dearest Gwen, Well, I suppose I’m dead otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this. This notebook will tell you everything you need to know—everything I couldn’t tell you when I was alive. I was bound to secrecy, just as I was bound to pass on this responsibility.

  “You know that our family has owned this land for two hundred years. Six generations of Chaneys have lived in Talbot and from the beginning we have been serving the moon people. It is our duty and our privilege.

  “I found this journal left to me in much the same way you have found it. And someday you will leave it to another. Except our line ends with you and with it our family’s responsibility as wolf consorts. You have two choices, dear granddaughter. You may carry on as human consort, and be freed of your involvement upon your death. In doing so, unless you produce an heir, you will leave future moon people without guidance. It would fall to the pack to find a replacement to safeguard humanity from new werewolves.

  “Or you may join the pack as one of them. If you choose this path, I warn you, it will be forever and it will not be without risk, pain and heartache. And frankly, sweetheart, it might be impossible. If you choose to try, you should turn to the page marked by the red ribbon.”

  Gwen closed the book, sat back and rubbed her face. “Well, shit.”

  “Aren’t you going to read the ‘or’ part?” Alex asked.

  Gwen peered at him between her fingers. “Um, give me a minute. I’m still trying to get my head around the part where I’m supposed to babysit new werewolves.”

  Jezebel walked over to Gwen and sat at her knee, thumping her tail against the floor. Bob stood at the front door and Alex moved aside the chair to let him out. “I’ll fix the lock for you. Sorry I had to kick in the door.”

  “You’re sorry you had to kick in the door? Really? You turn into a werewolf to save me from being raped and probably murdered by a bigger werewolf, then you magically heal the dogs with your werewolf-y blood, and you’re sorry that you had to kick in my door?”

  Gwen rubbed her forehead. This was not at all what she’d bargained for. She turned her attention back to the battered old journal and fingered the red ribbon that acted as a bookmark. “You want to sit down and tell me what my grandfather meant by all this?”

  Alex leaned in to read the marked passage. “All the werewolves in this pack were made the old-fashioned way—they were bitten. I’m the only one who chose to make the switch. So it can be done.”

  Alex sat next to Gwen and told her the whole story. He explained how he’d found Desdemona Lustre’s shop and how the kid behind the counter had accidently given him a super-charged dose of magic tea. “But I’ve thought a lot about this in the past three years and I don’t think it was an ‘accident’ at all. Taking the potion, finding Sergei and your grandfather—it was, I don’t know, predestined, I guess.”

  Gwen’s head was swimming. This was the stuff that fairytales are made of—potions and witches, werewolves and curses and spells. “Maybe I should just sell and get the hell out of Dodge,” she said.

  “They’d find you, Gwen. They already know who you are and they can’t let you go back to a ‘normal’ life. You know too much. You really do have only two choices. You can either take over your grandfather’s work and become the pack’s new human consort, or you can switch yourself.”

  Gwen glanced back at the note. “What did he mean when he wrote that I couldn’t be bitten?”

  “You’re protected. Your bloodline is protected. We can’t bite you with the intent to turn.”

  “Meaning what? That you can bite me with the intent to kill?”

  Alex shook his head. “No, not one of us is allowed to bite you. We can’t harm you in any way once you decide to become our consort. They—we—can kill you though, if you refuse take the charge.”

  Gwen shook her head. “That’s it? I just have to say that I’ll help—do what exactly?”

  “You would be agreeing to see new pack members through the moon weeks until they have enough self-control to withstand it themselves.”

  “And how often does that happen?”

  “We’ve had as many as two a year, but usually it’s not that often. I was the first in more than eight years.”

  “Was Sergei the last one my grandfather—assisted?”

  “No, Sergei was changed back in the Ukraine. He had a different human helper. He told me that he’d been locked in the dungeon in the ruins of an old castle. The last one before me was Henry.”

  “The barber?”

  “Yep. He got bitten on a hunting trip up in Canada. He’d been living in Iowa and stumbled upon Talbot much the same way I did.”

  Gwen raised her eyebrows. “Nifty coincidence.”

  “It’s not a coincidence. There’s some kind of binding, universal force that governs us. Once someone is turned, the ‘coincidences’ kind of align to bring them to a pack before the next full moon. It’s fascinating really, to hear all the different stories. Some people start seeing the symbol everywhere they look and become obsessed with solving the riddle. Henry looked it up in the library. He searched for three weeks before he finally found his way to Talbot and he—like a lot of others—just made it here by the skin of his teeth, no pun intended. Henry arrived on Sergei’s doorstep at noon on the first day of his newborn moon week.”

  Gwen ran her fingers over the journal and imagined the mild-mannered barber turning into a snarling, murderous beast while her grandfather watched. She wondered if she’d ever be able to face such horrors. “What would happen if there wasn’t a human here to help new werewolves?”

  Alex shrugged. “Pack members aren’t equipped to supervise the change because they’re shifting themselves. Without a human consort, new wolves would have to go to the next nearest enclave.”

  “Which is?”

  “There’s a small group
up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. They could probably use the numbers.”

  “Michigan! That’s less than a day’s drive away! How many packs are there?”

  “There are about sixty in the US, thousands around the world. New ones form, others disband. Members move to other packs.”

  Gwen didn’t bother to ask where Alex came by his encyclopedic knowledge of werewolf culture. Her mind was so overwhelmed with new information, she thought it best to just concentrate on the things that directly affected her. “And what about the other option? If you can’t bite me, how could you help me change?”

  “Louis, the kid who made my potion, gave me two servings of the tea. He said at the time it was in case the first dose wasn’t enough then I could get a booster on the following full moon. I certainly didn’t need it and, frankly, I don’t think it was a coincidence that I have that extra bag.”

  “What would you do if you were me?”

  “It’s one hell of a choice, Gwen. If you join the pack as one of us, it’s forever—there’s no going back. If you accept your charge as human consort, it’s a lifelong gig too.”

  Alex laid his hand on her thigh and she could feel the warmth through her sweatpants. “And there’s something else, no matter what you chose, you will be bound to me.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m the alpha now, and I want you for my mate—whether you change or not.”

  “Like I have no choice in the matter?”

  “No, frankly, you don’t.”

  Alex leaned in and brushed the hair from Gwen’s face. He kissed her and kept his mouth pressed against hers until she returned his advance. Gwen couldn’t help herself. Her body thrummed with energy the moment their skin met. She didn’t wait for him to undress her. She wriggled from his embrace, stood and stripped off her clothes. He’d already seen her in all kinds of naked. Alex stood and followed suit. He pulled her into an embrace and his hands roamed over her body.

  “Are you going to—change—again?”

  “Probably, but remember, Gwen, it is still me.”