Must Love Lycans

by Michele Bardsley

  “I’m what?” I goaded.

  “Can you just check her temperature?” asked Damian.

  “I did,” said Dr. Michaels. “She’s running a little hot, but lycans have a higher body temperature. It’s nothing abnormal.”

  “So I am officially a werewolf?”

  “Given your pupil dilation, your higher body temperature, your increased strength, and heightened senses . . . I would say you are. But the blood work will confirm.”

  “You think I’ll survive my first shift?”

  He looked away, studying the wall for a few seconds, and then he sighed. “I don’t know. Lycanthropes are a different species, and their bodies are designed to shift. You are a human. It’s unclear if your body will accept all the changes necessary to become a full lycan.”

  “Like a patient who gets a new heart, or a kidney,” I mused. “I could suffer a transplant rejection.”

  “In a way,” agreed Dr. Michaels. “Lycans and humans cannot procreate because lycan DNA essentially destroys anything perceived as foreign matter, including human eggs or semen.”

  “So the fact I’m alive means my body has accepted the lycan DNA?”

  “Or it means that the serum is combating the effects and once it runs its course, you will be vulnerable again.”

  “And yet I’m manifesting werewolf characteristics.”

  “Yes,” he said, offering a small smile. “That does seem to indicate a positive outcome.”

  I beamed at Damian. He arched a brow, his expression serious, but I detected a sliver of relief that managed to wiggle through his weighty concern. Aw. He was so cute.

  “I still recommend quarantine,” said Dr. Michaels. “At least until I get the test results back and can determine the extent of your condition.”

  “You think I could be dangerous?” I was completely flummoxed by this idea.

  “This is a rather historic situation,” he said. “There is no one else like you, Ms. Morningstone. We have no idea how the changes might manifest. Not even the blood work will tell me that. It’s safer to keep you contained until we have more information.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt if I accidentally go all furry and fangy.”

  “I will take care of you,” said Damian. He nodded to Dr. Michaels, and then grasped my hand and led me out of the doctor’s house.

  Damian drove us back to the compound—and to his little white house at the end of a whole row of little white houses. They even had picket fences. His was tidy, but boring. No flowers, no paint, no color. Everything was neat and in its place, no comfortable messes in the yard, not even a carelessly tossed hose or a pile of rust-colored leaves. The only incongruity was the snowspattered grass. The porch was too small for a rocking chair, which was too bad because I liked to imagine owning a house with a wraparound porch and space for a couple of old-fashioned rocking chairs. Somewhere in that fantasy was a table that held a bouquet of spring flowers and freshly made lemonade. Or mint juleps. I’d always wanted to try a mint julep.

  Damian didn’t even have a welcome mat on the tiny porch, which seemed sad to me. Not even in that small way could he invite people into his life. It was another symbol of his attempts to keep everyone in their places—far away from him.

  Damian’s cell rang as we walked inside. He shut and locked the door, then plucked the BlackBerry from his pocket and continued into the kitchen. While he had his conversation, I went into the living room and studied the bookshelves. Talk about eclectic. Louis L’Amour paperbacks were squeezed next to science textbooks; there was a whole section of Charlaine Harris novels and underneath those, leather volumes of Shakespeare. Then I spotted a series of slim hardcovers with titles like Vampires Are Real! and Aliens Are Real! and Werewolves Are Real!

  I grabbed the werewolf one and settled on the couch to leaf through the pages. A few minutes later, Damian walked into the living room.

  “I’ve updated Patsy on your condition.”

  “What about her condition?”

  “It appears you were correct about her pregnancy.”

  “Yay, me.” I looked up from the book. “And where will I be quarantined?”

  “Here,” he said. “I will watch you for as long as necessary. My brothers will take over my duties until I can resume them.”

  “What duties?”

  “I head up the security for Broken Heart and for the queen.”

  “I thought you were the crown prince of the lycans.”

  He gave a short nod. “Yes. I suppose I will not have to worry about Broken Heart for much longer.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  For a moment, Damian looked as though I’d struck him. He went pale, his gaze opaque. I shut the book, alarmed. “What?”

  “Why would you ask about my parents?”

  “Other than it’s a typical ‘getting to know you’ question, I assume that the king and queen of werewolves have to be alive somewhere, otherwise you wouldn’t be a crown prince.”

  “Oh.” He crossed his arms. “It’s complicated. I do not wish to discuss it.”

  “Okay.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “You are not going to harangue me about this issue?”

  “Good use of ‘harangue,’” I said. “And no, I won’t. If you want to tell me, you’ll tell me.” I smiled. “Do you know you speak formally when you’re in Statue Man mode?”

  “You are psychoanalyzing me,” he accused.

  “Making an observation,” I corrected. “Do you want to fight? Because we can do that if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “Did I say I wanted to fight?”

  “Why would you say that?” I rose from the couch and walked past him. “You’re too much a warrior to give away your strategy.”

  He seemed disconcerted by my sudden exit, and turned to follow me down the hallway. I opened the bedroom door, flipped on the light, and stepped inside. “Is this the only bedroom?”

  “Yes,” he said in tight voice. “I’m sorry if it displeases you.”

  “Are you?” I asked, amused at his continued irritation. “Then you should probably do something about it so that I’m no longer displeased.”

  “It’s my house. I decide if anything should be changed.” He made a show of looking around. “I like it.”

  “Okay.” I unzipped my dress and stepped out of it. Then I went to the still-unmade bed, and started removing all the items piled on top of it. Damian watched me in frosty silence—even when he muscled in to take the suitcase, which he heaved over to the closet and stuck inside. I put the lingerie box on the dresser, and then pushed the cupcake box close to where I planned to tuck in. Oh, yeah. I was gonna eat cupcakes in bed. I needed a nap, and probably some real food, but what was the fun in that?

  I stood up and half turned. “I forgot my book.”

  Damian’s gaze jerked up to meet mine. He’d been examining my backside, and I knew he wanted me again. I knew because I wanted him. However, he was trying very hard not to desire me. Something had spooked him—perhaps the reminder that I was almost lycan, but mostly human. Or that he cared about me, and that scared him, or maybe he didn’t like that he couldn’t hide his feelings from me. That tended to irk everyone, not just big grumpy werewolves. I could probably drop my shields and cull through his emotions, but I was feeling a little vulnerable myself. Damian’s feelings were powerful, so much so I was absorbing and reflecting them as easily as my own. I didn’t want to repeat past mistakes—but the circumstances were not completely under my control, especially during lovemaking.

  “I will retrieve your book,” he said. He returned a minute later and handed me Werewolves Are Real!

  “Thank you.” I put the book on the bed. Then I placed my hands on his chest and reached up on tippy toes to brush my lips across his.

  He didn’t step away, but he didn’t touch me back, either. “I have ruined your life,” he said. “I may have even killed you.”

  Ah. So that was it.
He was feeling guilty. Our visit to the good Dr. Michaels had reminded him that all was not well. It was difficult for anyone to stop using the coping skills that had served them in the past. It took patience and time and a willingness to replace the old behaviors with new ones. Getting Damian to stop retreating behind his stone mask would be difficult—and only possible if he wanted to discard it.

  “We may have limited time together, and I don’t want to spend it in recrimination.” I cupped his cheek. “I know better than anyone that feelings are complicated, and it’s not easy to deal with them. You do what you have to, okay? If you want to talk, I’m here.”

  He studied me for the longest time, and then he cracked. The tension went out of his body, and he gathered me into his arms. “You are not like anyone I’ve ever known. You’re not scared of me. And you react to situations oddly.”

  “Is that a compliment?” I asked.

  “An observation,” he said, grinning.

  I kissed him, and started tugging at his shirt, but he stilled my hands. “It may be wise to refrain from sex until we know more about your condition.”

  “No backsies,” I said.

  “What?”

  “You can’t undo what we’ve already done. And therefore, we should keep doing it.”

  “That made no sense.”

  I sighed. “All right, Damian. If you think we should refrain, then we’ll refrain.” I gave him my most pitiful look. “But it makes me very, very sad.”

  “I bought you cupcakes. They are the antidote to sad.”

  “Well, I do love a good cupcake . . . especially if I can smear it across you and lick it off.”

  “You know,” said Damian hoarsely, “refraining may be overrated. Perhaps only a precaution is necessary.”

  “What kind of precaution?” I asked, suspicious.

  “Condoms.” He brushed my hair away from my face. “If Dr. Michaels is right, and you are already turning into a lycan, we cannot risk pregnancy.”

  “But we already have, haven’t we?”

  “Yes. It was foolish of me to risk it.”

  “Why did you?”

  A flush of red crawled up his neck. “When I make love to you, I cannot think straight.”

  “That’s a good thing.” I hadn’t thought about the possibility of children. I could see why Damian would be concerned. If I got pregnant, but didn’t survive the initial shift, I would destroy two lives. My physical need for Damian was weakening my emotional barriers. It appeared that I wouldn’t be able to keep my walls strong and steady around him.

  And that was a tad discomfiting.

  There was something else bothering him—the echo of a past decision, a past shame that mirrored what was unfolding between us. Him and Anna. The lycans and the Roma. Second chances—or grievous loss.

  “I broke my promise,” said Damian.

  “You would never break a promise.”

  “I promised not to be Statue Man with you.”

  “I understand your fears about getting close to people, Damian, perhaps better than anyone. Especially if you feel like they might be taken away. What’s happening with us reminds you of Anna, doesn’t it? It’s easier to have no expectations at all. Better really, than to have even the tiniest happiness so brutally ripped away.”

  “Yes,” he said. “But I do not want to keep you out.”

  “I know. Hey, life can really suck.” I kissed him. “But most of the time, it doesn’t.”

  “You’re talking about the cupcakes again, aren’t you?”

  “Yep.” I wiggled out of his grasp, and tucked in to the bed. He watched me hungrily, and I felt his need rising again (and saw it, too, given that I was looking at his crotch).

  “I have to tell you something.”

  Wariness immediately chilled his ardor. “Your tone suggests this will not be a topic I like.”

  “I saw Aufanie and Tark again.”

  “Aufanie.” He said the name slowly, as if he hadn’t uttered the word in a long time. He probably hadn’t. “She told you to call her that?”

  “Yes.” I looked at him. “They want you to go to Germany. They said we should both be at the temple on the night of Winter Solstice.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “I think they want to see you,” I said. “And they want to help me. I get the feeling that maybe things aren’t gonna go my way once it’s time to go full lycan.”

  Damian sat on the bed and gathered my hands into his. “She is a liar, and he . . . he is a fool. It’s been almost a century since she’s talked to anyone, and when she does, she calls on you. You have no connection to her.”

  “You’re my connection. She says she can only call me because I’m still human enough to go through the barrier.” I traced his knuckles. “I think they’re trapped.”

  “And yet they can port into the temple two weeks from now?” He snorted in disbelief.

  “She made a bargain, and the terms are nearly done.”

  “Bargain,” he said sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “That’s all I know. She was reluctant to share details. She made whatever this bargain is and got sucked in to this other place, which FYI, looks like the woods in the dead of night. She said she couldn’t tell anyone—it was part of the terms.”

  “And what could’ve been so important that she left us all without a word?”

  I brought his hand up and kissed his fingertips. “Tark,” I answered. “Whatever she did . . . it was for love.”

  My words didn’t nullify his anger, but I could tell he was mulling over all that I had said. He nodded. “It’s worth considering, Kelsey.”

  “I think so, too.”

  He tilted his head, and studied me. “Something else is bothering you.”

  “Very perceptive. It’s like you’re a werewolf or something.”

  “Maybe I’m an empath.”

  “Hey, no horning in on my territory.”

  He laughed. Then he said, “Tell me, Schätzchen.”

  “I want a copy of my mother’s new book. I need to know what she wrote.”

  I felt the shadow of his fury. He hadn’t been thrilled at Jess’s news, either, but he’d been much better at compartmentalizing it. “She had no right.”

  “Oh, she thinks she had rights out the wazoo, believe me. I think it’s a side effect of being an advice guru. You tend to think you know what’s best for everyone. And it doesn’t hurt that she knows how to spin gold from straw—me being the lucky, lucky straw.”

  “I will get you a copy.”

  “Thank you.”

  He brushed his lips over my temple. Then he pushed me back onto the bed and murmured, “You said something about smearing cupcakes all over me?”

  Yes. Yes, I did.

  The next two days, while Dr. Michaels ran his tests, I enjoyed the limitations of quarantine. Damian and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other. We’d be doing something mundane like making sandwiches in the kitchen and in the next moment, we’d be tearing off each other’s clothes and having hot monkey sex on the floor. Or table. Or couch. Or in the backyard underneath the branches of an old pecan tree. Damian kept several condoms in his pockets for these occasions. I didn’t mind the protection, but it made me wonder about the first times we were together, and whether my lycan DNA had been strong enough to accept his. Or maybe I’d been too human and the potential of making a baby had been nil.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about children, and how very much I wanted to have them with Damian. But he was skittish about the idea, and I couldn’t blame him. We didn’t know if I would become a full-blood, much less have the ability to make babies. There were lycan females who could not conceive or worse, carry to term—what chance did I have?

  Damian talked to me about werewolf basics, and he fed me rare steak and wine and cupcakes. He was always touching my hair or rubbing my back or kissing me. His emotions were as full and open as mine. It was almost like he could read me, too. Maybe it was the werewolf in him,
or he was just a good man who paid very close attention.

  On day two of quarantine, my mother’s book arrived. I left it in the living room and ignored it, even though I knew I would have to eventually confront all that she had written.

  She never once asked me about what happened. She knew some of it, because she’d sat in on several police interviews. She’d written an entire book about me and my infamous patient, and hadn’t bothered to interview me. Or mention she was going to profit off one of the worst episodes of my life. It made me wonder if she’d cut me out of her life because I’d shamed her, or because she didn’t want me to interfere with her research.

  But I had Damian, so I left the book and I turned to him. He was funny and kind, courtly in some ways, and barbaric in others (of course I’m talking about sex). Damian was the perfect blend of gentleman and ruffian.

  Broken Heart ran on an evening schedule due to all the vampires and other creatures who appreciated the dark. So we slept all day, stayed up all night, and created our very own love cocoon.

  Then, on the third evening, we got a visit from Dr. Michaels.

  We sat on the couch, the doctor on one end and me on the other. Damian perched on the couch’s arm behind me and massaged my shoulder.

  “It seems that Kelsey might have successfully transitioned to full-blood lycan,” said Dr. Michaels. “However, Dante’s serum has complicated the process.”

  My heart dove to my toes. “You mean if Jarred hadn’t injected me with that crap, I’d be okay?”

  “There are no guarantees, of course,” he said. “But yes, I believe that would be case.”

  I shared a look with Damian. I could feel his concern wrap around me, and put my hand on his thigh because I needed the extra contact.

  “You have an interesting genotype,” continued the doctor. “One that would’ve no doubt remained inactive your entire life. But with the introduction of Damian’s saliva into your system, this genotype was, for lack of a better word, awakened. It absorbed the new DNA and attempted to . . .” He paused, obviously searching for a word that wasn’t ten syllables long. “Um, replace it. Well, part of it.”