Howling Shadows

by C. N. Owens

  I pick it up and thread it into the hole for him. “And if I refused?” I almost bite my tongue at my own cruel response, loving how he referred to his house as my home.

  “I would’ve hog-tied you and thrown you in the back,” he responds blankly, still focused on his task. “Do you have any idea how difficult this is to do with one hand? I sure as hell didn’t until now.”

  I chuckle, hoping the whole hog-tie thing was a joke, but he remains cold. “Please forgive me. I do need your help.” I step closer, take the screwdriver out of his hand, and set it on the car. I take his dirty hand in mine, and he turns to face me when I give it a squeeze. “I know what I said before, but I’m too weak for that right now. You’re strong and smart. You can help me clean up, and you’re too good of a man to take advantage of me.”

  “What happens tomorrow when you’re itching for the needle?”

  “You’ll be there. I can feel in my heart that you won’t give up on me,” I say, still hearing in my mind what he said about the way he nurtured this ugly car back to life. “Trent, I don’t beg for anything. I feel like an idiot for what I’m saying. Want me to get on my knees? I’ll do it. I need your help, I need you.”

  He takes a step back, pulls his hand away and leans on the car, considering his options. “What do I get out of all this?” An odd smirk forms on his face. “You’re a huge pain in the ass, you know that, right?”

  “I know. You were willing to help me before, why not now?”

  “Yeah, but now you have me thinking.”

  If he’s messing with me, this is a seriously crappy time for it. “I don’t know. My respect? A clean house? Sex? Would any of that be enough? Did you expect anything before?”

  “No, I just want to see you get off that shit and be happy.” He grabs a beer bottle, still mostly full, and tosses it into a garbage can on the other side of the driveway. I follow a few paces behind into the house and stop him at the sink.

  “This is why it has to be you.” I pull the sling off his arm and help him out of his bloody shirt. “You’re a good man, one of the best I’ve ever met,” I say while washing the engine grime from his good hand and then move to clean his stitches.

  “You know absolutely nothing about me,” he says with an intense, terrifying gaze. He’s holding his right arm against his chest… I can tell he’s sore. His dark eyes are absent of desire but full of longing, begging for this, my companionship… my closeness. The attention I’m giving him seems to be all he has wanted for so long.

  “I know more than you think—way more.” God, I hate begging, but I can’t give up this chance. This beautiful man is my only hope at having some semblance of a normal life, whatever that may be.

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  “Should I stop? Does this mean you don’t want to help me?”

  “No.” He winces when I squeeze Super Glue onto a busted stitch and then pinch it together while the glue sets.

  “Sorry, I have to hold it until it dries.”

  “I know—I was a combat medic. I’ve had to do this before in a war zone,” he says. “Where did you learn how to do it?”

  “I lived with violent people; they taught me how to clean them up when they got hurt.” I let go of the wound and make sure the bleeding has stopped. “These stitches would be ready to come out by now if you would just let it heal,” I say, trying to be sweet and scolding at the same time.

  “Yeah, well, they might be healed if I didn’t have to go on a drug raid in my own house.” He cuts his eyes at me and pushes himself up from the counter.

  “I know, and I’m sorry. Will you please give me another chance?”

  “Yeah, I reckon. I think we both need to clean up.” He favors his sore arm and walks to the table, returning with a bottle of tequila. He pops the cap off with his thumb and pours it out into the sink. “I’ve got a crutch to cut loose as well. Let’s both learn from this.”

  Such a sweet man. I collapse into his arms and press myself to his firm, bare chest. It’s all I can do to keep from kissing him. “Thank you,” I whisper and take in his scent, knowing in my heart that this is the only place I want to be. “When I come down off the drugs… you need to know, I have a hard time controlling be monster.”

  “I can handle you—do you trust me?”

  “Well, you trusted me enough to work on your beloved car, so I guess I can trust you.”

  He laughs and strokes my hair. “You did pretty good, too. I hope you hang in there with me. I have plans for you.”

  I look up at him from his chest, curious. “Plans?”

  “Big plans. I want to keep my alpha happy.”

  I take a shaky breath. “I’m yours? What does that mean?”

  “Shit, I don’t know, we can paint our nails, have slumber parties,” he says, smirking.

  I laugh and slap his arm, wondering if he realizes how happy those few words just made me. “I’ve seen your exes. You’re out of my league,” I say, holding back the rest. I’m a worn-out prostitute. What could you possibly see in me?

  “You’re reading into what I said a bit too far. Let’s just see how things go.”

  Chapter 24

  Leila

  Two months have passed. I feel like a different person, part of a family now. After giving up my addiction, the withdrawals came on the same as they always do, the nausea, the tiredness, and all the other shitty things that come along with the flu: weak muscles, vomiting, and stomach problems that kept me in the bathroom or near a trash can for days.

  It was embarrassing at first, and I shunned everyone in the beginning, but the one that was always there was Trent. He insisted on it, even when I was a total bitch, he wouldn’t go away, which also pissed me off at times. He moved a TV into my room and brought me anything I wanted, even if I just casually mentioned it. At night, we would camp out in the living room and watch old movies, or he would get me talking about random things, like my family, or when I was a little girl. He’d keep me distracted until I finally dozed off, and whenever I did, I’d find him next to me when I woke up.

  Trent’s injuries are healing well. The ones I made are now scars, and his shoulder has healed, but he’s constantly in pain. The doctors say that if therapy doesn’t help, he may need additional surgery. He’s positive he’ll continue to improve, but he’s one of those guys that hate not being able to do everything on his own, so it’s making him impatient.

  Thanksgiving came and went. Determined to give me a taste of family life in America, Trent invited a bunch of friends over, filling our newly finished house with people—a rare treat for the both of us. I’m not much of a drinker, but Andrea got wasted. It was all new and educational, I loved every minute of it. Trent even coaxed me into carving the turkey.

  ***

  Eleven p.m. I pull my shorts off and slide under the cool sheets of my bed, adjusting my long shirt so it’s not bunched up.

  It feels so nice now, not looking over my shoulder. No more Vlad, no more sleeping in a car, drugged and blindfolded. No more playing girlfriend to the wealthy pervert who paid money to violate me and then leave with no fear of consequences. I’m home.

  My room is dark and cool; its only window is choked with vines. Beyond it lies dense woods. My mind wanders as I listen to the creaks and pops throughout the old house, and I drift off to sleep peacefully, no longer sick or in pain.

  ***

  I wake to the sensation of fingers sliding through my hair. I’m lying in a man’s arms. Icy cold radiates off his porcelain skin, a contrast against his black eyes and hair.

  “Plague Bringer… Child of Naamah.” The words come out of his mouth with the comforting voice of a woman, confusing me. It has high cheekbones and a muscular man’s body. “You must do your job for Naamah,” it says.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Don’t be frightened, I created you,” it says, and a subtle smile emerges, baring jagged gray teeth. It goes silent, studyi
ng me with its unblinking obsidian eyes.

  This has to be a dream, please be a dream. I fall backward and descend into deep emerald grass. Naamah now stands several feet away, moving as if vaporizing and rematerializing there.

  “What’s my job?” I say, while trying to sit up.

  “You can feel your other form.”

  “All the time.”

  “I am the one who imbues you with that power. I renew you and give you strength, at a price.” Naamah’s voice deepens. “You are the doorway. A child you bear with another of my lineage will allow me to know again the world of the flesh.”

  God, please be a dream. “I don’t believe you.”

  I stand and notice a black stream at the base of the hill. This world is familiar, I think Bento showed it to me at the hospital. “Child, I created you in my image, allow me to show you.” Like removing an invisible hood, it uses its hands to wipe its face and smooth back its long black hair. Emerging from behind is the same pale face, but this time silvery gray eyes and ashen hair. Before me now is a woman. Her teeth are still rows of spikes, but otherwise she could be my twin. “Like the moon, you are a symbol of all things graceful and feminine… Humans will find your beauty strange yet irresistible, and male alpha werewolves will be drawn to you; they will only want one thing in your presence—to plant their seed in your womb.”

  “You’re a demon. Demons and angels are below humans,” I say, my skin growing warm. I don’t know if I could fight her off, or even shift. It’s strange, but I feel normal in this world, more human. I hear no one’s thoughts nor pick up interesting scents on the air. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Naamah turns away to scan the horizon, and I hear a tinkling sound—it’s coming from the grass. “True, but you aren’t human. That’s how I can summon you, only on nights when the moon is most fertile.”

  We go silent again and all I want is to wake up, so I can never fall asleep again. I wring my hands but recoil when the rough-spun shift I’m wearing begins to fall apart. I try to hold it up, scrambling to stay covered, but the fabric is too brittle, crumbling into small fibrous pieces until it lies in a circular ring around my feet.

  “Clothing doesn’t last long here.”

  “You’re still dressed.”

  “This is my world; those rules don’t apply to me,” she says with a faint growl in her voice. “Would you prefer I be nude as well?” She shrugs off her black robe, and a genderless skeleton shrink-wrapped in alabaster skin emerges, coursed with blue and green veins. Her ribs and spine are clearly visible, and her long fingers bear slate-colored claws. She’s tall and slender, but she lacks all the other attributes that make her human. Her breasts have no nipples, and there is only a flat gulf of hairless flesh where her legs meet. A bony whiplike tail emerges right at the top of her backside.

  “What are you?”

  “A messenger,” she says, smiling, loving how her appearance is making me uncomfortable. “I admit, I do envy the human form, and all the adornments that make procreation possible. It’s charming, the chemical signals that your brain releases, telling you what is beautiful, and what is not.” She laughs a little harder. “It’s all an illusion. Breasts… the size of a man’s phallus. It’s all an illusion.”

  “Okay, now I’m confused.”

  “Artists sit and brood in their loft apartments, painting, etching, chiseling the perfect human form, believing it’s beautiful, natural. In some ways, it is. But deeper than that, it is all a game. Your mind tells you that the large size of a man’s cock would feel good inside you, when in reality, your mind knows he’s most likely the one who will reach your womb easier to increase your chance of impregnation. The same way that a man ogles large breasts. What he doesn’t realize is that his mind believes they would be better able to feed his young.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Instinct.”

  We go silent. I wait a long time for her to elaborate, but it never happens.

  “And?” I finally say.

  “It’s undeniable. The way humans chase the perfect body, you will know how to react when you see a true alpha male. You’ll know without knowing.”

  “I guess you screwed up when you made me, then.”

  She laughs harder, which again is lined with a rumbling growl that sounds like it would come from someone (or something) much larger. “Leila, you speak four languages, and you are gifted with telepathy, but still, you miss my point. You are so much more than your breast size. I could have made you a leper; it wouldn’t have mattered. My sons would still seek you out and see you as a goddess.”

  “Every woman is more than her breast size, and I guess you need to be human to understand love,” I say. My argument seems flimsy, but I can’t accept that we are all just animals, being tricked by our brains to indulge in our most basic desires.

  She turns away. “Love is a weakness.”

  We go silent again, and I want to say more, but our attention is drawn to a scream. The black river lies fifty yards away. It looks like tree limbs clutter the water, slowing down its flow, but after I study them (my vision is perfect in this world), I realize they are bones, dyed brown from blood. The water flows like a singular gelatinous body, as if it were a creature all its own. On the shore, a man appears, naked and bloody. He’s running but slows when he makes it to the sand, collapsing soon after.

  I step closer, clutching my bare core, shivering in the cold breeze. The grass shatters into little shards under my feet. I hesitate; it should be shredding me, but it crunches like snow as I step toward this tall slender creature and look out over the rolling hills of this world. The man kneels in the sand, and close behind, they appear, an army of them—werewolves. They descend on their victim like a swarm of bees and tear the man apart.

  “Your ancestors,” Naamah says. “They make a sport of hunting abominations… beta werewolves.”

  “Is this hell?”

  Naamah laughs. “Hell is just a word. There are many places like this. I was banished here after I created your kind.”

  “Why?”

  “I was given a job, thousands of years ago, in your world. Punish a race of man, for their misgivings against God’s chosen people.”

  “The Israelites?”

  “Yes. I offered your gift to a select few of them, allowed them to drink of my blood.” Naamah takes a breath, and her eyes, sparkling in the light like faceted amethysts, shoot away again to survey her ethereal prison. After a moment, she smiles and looks back at me. “They killed the firstborn of every living thing in Egypt. They did so well, I allowed them to keep their gift, so they might be available if I ever needed them again.”

  “If you were successful, why—”

  “God commanded me to do the job, not employ others for the task. And He, in all his magnanimity, saw the efficiency of their deadly skills as evil. So, He sent me here to be with my creatures.”

  “We are evil.”

  “Nonsense. You are simply the dark side of nature, the other half of the circle of life: decay, corruption, disease. All a part of God’s design.”

  “Now that you put it that way… Why would God find me evil?”

  “Because I made a mockery of his greatest creation.” She tips her head and shrugs. “God sees sin… I see beauty.” Naamah watches her pack with such pride, it’s as if she’s watching her kids play.

  Maybe I’m biased, but I can’t help finding truth in what she says. “It looks like they enjoy it here,” I say, watching them fight over the remaining scraps of their victim.

  “This is a land of eternal night. You can shift and join them for a while, if you like. Several of your blood relatives run with that pack,” she says. “See that one there?” She points to a gray one, leading the pack with a leg dangling out of its mouth.

  I nod.

  “Your distant cousin. She loves her gift so much, she refuses to shift back into human form.”

  “This is a curse, no
t a gift.”

  “Only to those who fear God’s punishment. In truth, we are the last thing on His mind. He knows where we go when we die; He believes He has us under control.”

  “Why doesn’t He punish me?”

  “I assume it’s because of your mother.” Naamah sneers. “She’s your human half, and He so loves humans.” Naamah comes for me and takes my hands. “This is why you must do your job. Join with a male alpha so that I may know freedom.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “I will make you a queen, and I’ll reveal to you the true power of your other form.”

  “Say I agree, what then? What happens? Do I need to brush up on the book of Revelations?”

  Naamah laughs. “I wouldn’t waste my time on scripture, but the arrival of your child will bring great changes to the world of mortals, have no doubt.”

  “No, I won’t do it, I don’t want to be a queen, I just want to be a normal person,” I say, shaking my head. I back away, but she follows me, crunching through the brittle grass.

  “You act as if the embracing of carnal desires is a bad thing.”

  “Men used me to embrace their carnal desires for most of my teenage years.”

  “And you can honestly tell me you enjoyed none of it? The parties, the drugs, the sex?” Naamah laughs. “It is only bad because society says it’s so.”

  “Slavery is wrong. Destroying the innocence of a child is fucking wrong!”

  Naamah clasps her long fingers together and lets out a sigh. “You freed yourself, using my gift, and now you are stronger for it. What about the wolf? The taste of blood?” Naamah’s expression softens. “Leila, you glean thoughts from people’s minds only because I can. What do I see, you ask? I see that the taste of blood, to you, is intoxicating, just like the needle. Consider your way of thinking. You love those things for all the reasons you hate them.”

  “It’s wrong,” I say while shaking my head.

  “Your opinion may change… maybe not. It makes no difference. As long as you exist in that plane, I have a chance. Your other form knows only instinct, and all it will take is a chance encounter with a male alpha.”