I didn’t want to be a werewolf. I wasn’t even a dog person. I wanted to be a vampire: elegant, mysterious, beautiful. Not a hairy wolf who couldn’t control themselves around the full moon.
Outside, the moonlight seemed too cling to me, a lingering insult.
“I guess that didn’t go as planned,” Michael said.
“I can’t be a werewolf. I refuse.”
“I don’t think it works like that.”
We walked to the bus in silence. My leg still burned with the fire of a thousand suns, but it was nothing compared to the numbness that spread through me. I’d spent half my life studying and worshiping vampires. I thought it was possible that Damien would reject me, but not that I’d end up being a werewolf.
“Worst birthday ever,” I muttered.
And that was how I became not a vampire, but a freaking werewolf.
Chapter 2
Three Years Later…
I read the schedule hanging outside the manager’s office three times to make sure I was seeing it correctly, and then I pulled out my phone to double check that I wasn’t mistaken. But nope. I wasn’t. November 4th was the full moon, and it was next Saturday.
I wiped my sweaty hands on my pink Yogurt Time apron and leaned into the office, saying, “I think the schedule is wrong.” Fred, the manager, who was like three years older and was doing homework for his nursing classes, glanced up.
“No. It’s correct.”
I stepped into the office. “It can’t be. It says I’m working Friday and Saturday next week and I requested those days off.”
It was Friday night now, which meant I had six blissful days until the stupid full moon ruined my life for three nights in a row. I didn’t want to spend those precious seconds arguing with Fred about how he’d messed up the schedule.
“Sorry, Charlie,” he said. The name wasn’t being funny, it was the nickname I went by. Michael called me Charlotte, but almost no one else did, except my parents, and we didn’t speak much these days. “Lisa is on vacation next week and since John quit last week, I need people to fill in the gaps.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “But I requested it off. And you stuck me on close. I have things to do both nights.”
Fred shrugged. “I do my best to honor requests, but you request some busy times and I can’t always make it happen. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, just fix it.”
Fred stared at me as though he could win a staring contest and then finally said, “Once the schedule is posted, I can’t really change it anyhow. Everyone gets mad. If you don’t like it, try swapping shifts.”
He got up and ushered me out, closing the door behind me. I growled. Caught myself. Sighed heavily. And then went back to the front.
Dia was restocking the berries for tomorrow’s shift.
“I need you to swap with me,” I said.
She was on next Friday, but off Saturday—why Fred couldn’t have just scheduled her to cover for Lisa was beyond me—and Saturday was the critical day. Friday, I’d be cranky, grumpy, and occasionally wolfish, but I could probably keep it under wraps if I had to. Saturday, though, the minute the moon poked out in the night sky, I’d become a full-blown wolf, and if I was here, people would get hurt.
It was literally the worst supernatural power ever. Turn into a giant, hairy beast you can’t control for twelve hours every month. Yay.
“The schedule is out?” She swapped out the empty container of mixed berries with a freshly prepped one and closed the lid on the service station.
“You’re off Saturday. I need that day off. I’ll work for you Monday.”
Dia was eighteen, with dark skin and gorgeous brown eyes. She was a senior in high school and from what I could tell, massively popular. The kind of girl with a date every night if she wanted it, and no shortage of parties to go to. I’d been the exact opposite, spending my Saturday nights with Michael, eating popcorn and researching vampires.
“I have a thing Saturday night.” She headed into the back, setting the empty metal container in the dishwasher’s sink.
“So do I. An important thing. I absolutely can’t work.”
Dia rinsed out the container and put it on the dishwasher tray, which she pushed into the industrial machine. She closed the cover and hit a button and the dishwasher roared to life. “Sorry. You’ll have to trade with someone else.”
She took off her apron and clocked out. I bit back a scream. The only other person I could reasonably trade with was Noah, who was in his late twenties. He and his wife had just had a baby and Yogurt Time was his second job, which meant if was off here at the yogurt shop, he was probably working at the other place. Or maybe Carrie, but she was famous for never switching shifts.
“Come on, Dia,” I said, following her to the break room. She was pulling her purse out of her locker.
“Sorry. See you later.”
I went back to the office, but it was dark. Fred must have slipped out while I was begging Dia to trade with me. Since the last one out had to lock up, I double checked the front doors before setting the alarm and locking the back on my way out.
I didn’t know what I was going to do. As a werewolf, I’d had to move out of my parent’s apartment, since you can’t exactly keep something like transforming into an angry wolf a secret in close quarters. Granted, I’d been planning on moving out as soon as possible after graduation anyhow, but it stopped being a choice. That meant I had to pay rent. Which meant I needed this stupid yogurt shop job. But obviously I couldn’t serve yogurt in wolf form. For one thing, it was absolutely a health code violation. And for another, wolf me was more likely to chomp on customers than serve them vanilla chocolate swirl.
The house I rented with Michael was only a few blocks away from the yogurt shop, to the East of Queen Anne Avenue in Seattle. It was an older house, built in the early 1900s. It was square and painted a cheery blue with white trim. It had a basement with a spare bedroom and two bedrooms with two bathrooms on the top floor. For an old house, having more than one bathroom was a minor miracle. The basement bedroom was where I locked myself up during full moons. The kitchen was small but big enough for Michael and I to make pots of macaroni and cheese and cook frozen pizzas. The living room was also “cozy”, but Michael had wedged a decent sized black sectional near the fireplace. The curtains were black and the room was accented with silver candle holders and sconces. Vampire chic, even though Michael was not a vampire. Yet.
He was filming on the sofa when I arrived. I could tell because a velvet rope had been pulled over the living room’s entry way, his “oh-so-subtle” way of telling me to stay the hell out. Michael made his living doing gothic makeup tutorials on YouTube, although lately his secondary channel, Confessions of a Vampire’s Boyfriend, had started to make some serious revenue.
Michael was dating Damien, because of course he was. Everything worked out for people like Michael. I’d inadvertently introduced the two in my attempt to become a vampire. But I’d accidentally been turned into a werewolf and Michael got a hot immortal boyfriend out of the deal, proving that life is not fair. No doubt he’d be a vampire before he was thirty.
Another twinge of bitterness squeezed my stomach so I went into the kitchen to find some food. There was no food, because it was Friday, my payday. Michael almost never went shopping but often handed me cash for groceries (and, irritatingly, a list). But I hadn’t stopped to hit the store, because I’d been distracted by how I was going to get out of work Friday.
I opened my computer and ordered a pizza. The delivery might mess up Michael’s filming—the doorbell was loud—but oh well. A girl needs to eat.
I changed into a comfortable t-shirt and jeans, happy to be free of the khaki pants and pink polo shirt that comprised my work uniform. The doorbell rang as I was shoving my work clothes in the hamper. It’d been like seven minutes since I ordered the pizza and while they were fast, they were never that fast.
I heard Michael swear. I ran to the door
and pulled it open. When I saw who it was, I slammed it shut.
Michael had given up on his current video and came to see what was up. He pushed past me to open the door again. He probably thought it was Damien, since I wasn’t keen on him. It was worse.
“Hi, Holly,” Michael said, giving me the side-eye. “Come on in.”
Holly was smaller than you’d think if you saw her wolf form first. She was shorter than me, probably five-three, with thick brown hair and a narrow frame. She appeared to be in her mid-to-late thirties. She wore a purple hoodie and jeans. She didn’t look imposing at all. Of all the people you’d guess were a werewolf, well… Holly wasn’t near the top of the list. For that matter, neither was I. I was a natural redhead, but I dyed my hair black. I had some curves, but I wasn’t muscular or strong, mostly because every time I committed to going to the gym it only lasted two days.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my tone making it clear I wasn’t happy to see her.
“I hope it’s not a bad time,” Holly said.
“It’s always a bad time.”
“Ignore Charlotte,” Michael said. “Come on in. You want a beer? I have some IPA in the fridge.”
“Don’t offer her beer!” I said, incredulous. “She made me into a monster. She doesn’t get refreshments.”
Holly let out a long breath. “And I’ve apologized a dozen times. And it wasn’t really my fault, given that you were trespassing in my condo. And as you surely realize now, the wolf is not always easy to control.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. Michael had lowered the velvet rope and gestured for Holly to sit on the sofa while he went to get beer. I’d just turned twenty-one, but I didn’t drink. Michael returned with two bottles, giving one to Holly and sitting next to her. I sat at the very end of the sectional, as far away as I could get.
“I’m here because there’s a pack meeting next Friday.” Holly glanced up at me.
“So? I’m not going.”
By pack meeting she meant a gathering of local werewolves, which, no thank you. It was bad enough I had to be one. I sure as hell didn’t want to spend time with other hairy, icky wolves, even in human form. Especially the night before the full moon, when tempers would be high and blood running hot. That was a recipe for disaster.
“The thing is, it’s sort of mandatory?” Holly’s voice went up at the end, making it sound like a question.
“Says who? I didn’t sign any werewolf contract,” I said. “Just because some dudes think they can decide they’re in charge doesn’t mean I have to listen or obey.”
Holly and Michael exchanged a look, one that suggested a familiarity that made me itchy. Michael was my friend, darn it. But then, he was Damien’s boyfriend, and Holly was Damien’s roommate, meaning they probably spent a good amount of time together.
“You have to go,” Holly said. “And as your sire—“
“Werewolves don’t have sires. Vampires have sires. Werewolves have unfortunate accidents.”
Holly cast her eyes downward.
“Stop being horrible,” Michael said.
I blinked. “I’m not—”
“Holly didn’t mean to turn you, and you know it. You’re the one who went storming into Damien and Holly’s apartment. It was an unfortunate situation, but you can’t keep being so hostile to her.”
It wasn’t like Michael to be so assertive. My stomach churned uneasily. “I’m not being hostile. I just don’t want to go to the monthly werewolf meet up.”
“It’s not a meet up,” Holly said softly. “It’s a mandatory meeting, and you have to be there.”
I remembered the schedule debacle and said, possibly a little too proudly, “I can’t, I have to work. Fred put me on the schedule even though I requested it off.”
Holly looked exasperated. “I don’t know how to explain this any more clearly,” she said, meeting my eyes again. “This isn’t a request. It’s not something you can get out of. You have to be at the meeting.”
She stood, thanked Michael, and handed him her half empty beer. And then she left.
“I can’t go!” I shouted at the door as it shut behind her. “What part of that doesn’t she understand?”
Michael headed into the kitchen to dump Holly’s beer. “You’re the one who spent so much time studying the supernatural,” he said, his voice soft again, the chiding tone gone. “You know how this stuff works.”
“I studied vampires. And they don’t have group meetings.” Michael shrugged and I felt something else worm through my gut, a feeling of jealousy. I was no longer the vampire expert between us now that Michael was intimately familiar with one. “I mean, not that I know of.”
“All I know is that when something in the supernatural world is ‘mandatory’ you’d better get your butt there.”
I sighed. This was turning out to be a really crappy week.
Chapter 3
I’d managed to trade shifts for Friday and Saturday, because my coworker Carrie, who’d actually needed Wednesday night off, and was willing to switch and take an extra shift, which was a huge relief. I seriously doubted anyone would eat fro-yo served to them by a hairy werewolf hand, not that wolf me would have been constrained enough to stand behind a counter and do my job.
I still wasn’t looking forward to this wolf pack meeting. Everything I’d read about werewolves suggested a ridiculous pack mentality that I wanted zero part of.
Holly picked me up in her boring white sedan. The meeting was to take place at an apple orchard up near Snohomish, which was almost an hour north of Seattle, and would take longer because we were leaving at the height of rush hour.
The drive was agonizing, and not just because Holly turned out to be a fan of talk radio. After the third news break, I turned it off. Holly shot me a look but didn’t argue or turn it back on, so I considered that a win.
“So, how did you get cursed?” I asked as we slowly made our way up the Interstate 5.
“You mean, how did I become a werewolf?” Holly glanced over at me as if trying to decide if she wanted to spill or not. “I was camping with friends. Someone a few tents over was werewolf. They didn’t know it, yet, I don’t think. It was their second month and they just felt compelled to go be in the woods. They bit me while heading for the bathroom in the middle of the night.”
“Wow, that’s an awful story,” I said. “‘I was cursed with werewolfism because I had to pee at the wrong time.’”
Holly’s jaw tightened and she focused on the road for the rest of the drive.
The apple orchard’s parking lot was full of cars that ran the gamut from eco-friendly hybrid to pickup truck with monster wheels. Honestly, with this crowd, I was surprised it wasn’t all wannabe monster trucks.
There were several barn-like buildings around the parking lot, I guess for processing and sorting apples or something. Behind them, I saw a big white farmhouse, large enough to be considered a mansion, but it was dark. One of the buildings had the lights on so we headed in that direction. I hoped the meeting was at least short so I could get back home, order a pizza, and maybe play some video games.
My stomach growled. Maybe I could get Holly to swing through a drive-thru on the way home instead. I could really go for a burger or five. The day before the Full Moon always gave me a massive appetite complete with powerful red meat cravings. It was almost like the days before my period, only I was way crankier and raw meat didn’t actually sound gross.
Not that I was going to be gross and actually eat it. I could still put away a few dozen (cooked) burgers.
Thinking about food meant when the barn doors opened and there wasn’t so much as a tray of mass produced cookies in sight, my crankiness level went up a few notches.
The barn was set up like a meeting room. It had a concrete floor and rows and rows of folding chairs. Signs on the walls advertised varieties of apples and I got the impression this room was a gathering space for amateur apple pickers during the daylight hours.
Holly
sat near the back and I sat next to her, for lack of any better options. Most of the seats were already full.
From the back, I saw a vast array of people: different skin colors, hair colors, builds. Some people were short, some fat, some thin, some tall. I’d been expecting mostly buff white guys with superiority complexes, like the werewolves I’d read about it books (though admittedly, some of those books were fiction), but here I was, pleasantly surprised.
I still had zero desire to make friends.
Holly and I sat and waited. And waited. I checked my phone. Played a few rounds of Candy Crush. Shot off a text with a surreptitiously taken photo of the group to Michael. He didn’t answer and Holly told me that photos were not allowed with a teacher-like attitude that made me worry she would try and confiscate my phone, so I put it away. We waited some more.
Finally, after an agonizing amount of time, a guy went up to the podium. He was tall and thick, though he didn’t look particularly muscular. He had gray threaded through his brown hair and beard. I’d have put him in his late forties, but he might have been a little older. He wore jeans and a plain t-shirt beneath a green and blue flannel.
“Good evening, and Happy Full Moon Eve,” he said.
The crowd broke into applause. Holly clapped half-heartedly. I didn’t bother to make an effort.
“For those of you new to the pack, I’m Drake. My wife and I run this small orchard, family owned and operated for the last sixty years.” More applause. I rolled my eyes. Who cared about apple growing? “Anyhow, I’m happy to host y’all and if you need a place to roam tomorrow night, we have some fields beyond the orchard that I’ll have open. Just meet here tomorrow before dark. And now, Sasha Rothschild would like a few moments of our time.”
Sasha Rothschild was dark-haired with brown skin. She wore a pink dress the color of Pepto Bismol with lipstick to match. Werewolf Barbie was my first thought. She looked like all of the girls I’d never gotten along with in high school, although to be fair, there really hadn’t been anyone I’d gotten along with in school besides Michael and the occasional person who tried on a goth phase for ten minutes before rejecting me again. She was only a little older than me, too, maybe mid-twenties.
Moon Cursed: The Reluctant Werewolf Chronicles, Book 1 Page 2