The Legend of the Werewolf

by Mandy Rosko

  Brock stood by, his face like stone, his giant shoulders still as he held the kit open for Bill. The older man’s body shot up towards the kit, taking what he needed before kneeling again to examine the patient.

  He gently pressed his palms against the scaled sides, inspecting the damage to the joints of the wings. Then he peeled away the blood-soaked shirts and sprayed the wounds with a liquid that Mike assumed was disinfectant.

  As Bill was preforming these tasks, the red scales began to melt into a soft, human colored peach. The long neck became short and the pointed beak rounded down until it was nearly flat, leaving only the normal human lumps of cheek bones, chin, and nose.

  Westley held his friend tighter, their hands coming together while it looked as though he whispered encouragement into Chris’s ear as the dragon shifter sweated, groaned, and struggled to change back.

  Mike's mouth dropped. He'd never seen a dragon, or any kind of changeling, for that matter, go from man to beast and back again. It wasn’t something that was shown in training videos. And, since most creatures needed to remove their clothes to keep from destroying them during a change, it was usually done in private.

  He wanted to offer them any help he was capable of giving, but it didn’t look like his CPR training would do any good here. Plus, Anne needed him to keep her calm.

  Even if he did call out to them, he’d only break the bubble of concentration that surrounded them. No, best he stayed with Anne. If any of the men working needed something then he and Anne would run and get it.

  Anne must have thought the same because she kept her mouth firmly shut as well.

  Her shaking hand found Mike’s, slid inside, and gripped it tight.

  He was stunned that she would do that. Holding her had been one thing, but this seemed so much more intimate.

  Whatever, Carter. Just hold her hand. He told himself, gripping her small fingers.

  Westley lowered Chris’s now human head onto a pillow of hay with the care of a man who held a precious relic in his hands. The dragon kid was lying on his stomach, his wings pointed towards the air. Westley took the fanning wings and held them upright in his arms while they melted down into Chris's back.

  He was now entirely human again. However, where he'd been cut through the scales, deep wounds and scratches remained. Brock and Bill tenderly saw to them by dabbing them with cotton swabs, cleaning and bandaging them.

  Though dragons were one of the few creatures whose clothes transformed with their bodies, Chris’s clothes were shredded from the attack and needed to be cut away.

  Bill took care of that by turning one of his fingernails into a razor sharp claw. It cut through the ruined threads like a sharp pair of scissors against fresh paper.

  Chris seemed half conscious by the way he shifted and groaned. Westley continued to say things to him. When the red-haired man tried to lift his arm towards his wolf friend, Westley gently took it and lowered it back down.

  Mike’s eyes honed in on how Westley continued to hold the dragon’s hand, stroking the trembling limb while whispering tender things.

  A light clicked on in Mike’s head. Well, this was certainly interesting.

  He kept his thoughts to himself and refocused on Anne’s shaking shoulders. The scent of blood was still in the air, mixed with disinfectant.

  “See? He’s going to be fine,” Mike said as more and more of Chris’ wounds were covered and hidden from her eyes with the bandages.

  She swallowed. “Yeah.”

  An empty bottle of water and their wet hands, clued him in on what they used to scrub with before tending to Chris's open cuts. Why they even bothered washing their hands considering they were doing doctor's work in a barn was beyond him.

  Every little bit helps, he supposed.

  Would a real doctor even be called? Some packs were rich enough to afford to get real doctors to perform house calls, and then pay them enough to keep their mouths shut after.

  Though, getting a real doctor, even if the money was available for one, still posed a risk. Which was why why many pack members were trained in first aid, just as Bill and Brock obviously were.

  “Do you have a doctor?”

  “What?” Anne asked, blinking and coming out of her little world.

  She was so worried over her friend. Mike hoped that for her sake, and Westley’s, the dragon would recover soon.

  “Does your pack have any doctors?”

  Anne cleared her throat. “No. No, Gordon doesn’t really trust humans. He’s pushing for some of the mothers to put their cubs into med school though.”

  Mike rolled his eyes.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.” He knew that any pack without a doctor or, at the very least, a vet, needed one. First aid couldn’t take care of everything. But, no matter how loyal people could be to their packs, Mike new personally that, nowadays, you didn’t tell a kid how to behave, spend their free time, or what to do with their entire life without causing problems.

  Anne half glared at him. “I’m not stupid. Gordon’s been doing that for years and it still hasn’t worked. Hell, he even tried getting grandpa to send me hints of how great being a doctor could be; how much respect I would get and what the pay is like.” She shook her head. “I’m not smart enough for that kind of thing. It’s why I work here.”

  Mike stared at her hard. “Where you work has nothing to do with how smart you are.” Hell, his own boss was an idiot.

  Another pained groan from Chris pulled them out of their conversation. Anne’s hand gripped Mike’s like she was a woman in labor.

  He grit his teeth, swallowed the pain from crunching bones, and let her do what she needed to do.

  Westley’s voice came back to them, still speaking encouragement to his friend. "That's it, you're almost done. Stay awake, your wings aren't entirely in yet."

  After what felt like forever, Westley deemed the wings small enough to release, allowing them to disappear into Chris's back on their own. They left behind deep cuts that exposed chunks of flesh, likely the product of being attacked while he flew. Westley grabbed more bandages and creams and proceeded to wrap him up.

  How long would it take for wounds like that to heal? If he knew his dragon studies, Chris would be at a hundred percent in just a few days.

  Anne fidgeted. "He’ll be okay. Right? I mean, he looks better now that he’s human again, don’t you think?"

  Mike looked at her. “Yeah,” he said, his voice coming out in a croak.

  She quirked an eye at him, then looked down and saw how tight she was gripping his hand.

  She abruptly released him. “I’m so sorry.”

  He shook out the poor abused limb, “Don’t mention it.”

  All three heads of the men inside the barn spun to where Mike and Anne were standing. Westley moved away from his unconscious charge and pulled Anne into an embrace that she sank into.

  "He'll be fine. He's going to be fine," he said.

  Anne sighed gratefully into his shoulder and Mike hoped her friend’s comforting words would be enough.

  He didn't expect Westley to turn his blue eyes on him, reach his hand out, and yank him into a brief hug like he'd done with Anne. Though Mike was huge, even next to Westley, Westley’s strength gave him no choice in the matter. He was going to be held, like it or not. "Thanks for helping."

  Westley slapped his back in a friendly manner before stepping away, not waiting for Mike's response before returning to Chris' side.

  Anne went with him, though her nose did squish as the scent of blood, blanketed by disinfectant, thickened the closer they got. Mike hesitantly followed, unsure of his welcome in such a place.

  "As soon as we have him cleaned up, we'll move him to a bed," Bill stated, picking up the ruined clothes and folding them neatly, as though they wouldn’t be going in the trash.

  Westley went down on his knees and started rolling the bandages anywhere his friend needed them. Which was almost everywhere. "We'll have
to be quiet about it. Dad doesn't even like that he invited him here. He'll hate it if he actually has to be nice to him."

  Mike shook his head at himself, guilt racking him again. "What’s the kid’s number? I’ll call his parents," he said as no one seemed to be thinking in that direction.

  "Kid? Parents?" Bill sputtered, a small laugh on his lips. "He's a good deal older than you, I'd say."

  "What?" Mike looked at Chris’ face, color was already beginning to return to his cheeks. It allowed Mike to take in the youthful features of someone who had yet to finish growing. The old man had to have made a mistake.

  Chris looked like he could still be in high school.

  "You're kidding."

  He expected everyone else to be in on the joke despite the serious situation. However, no one gave him the impish grin that usually came with the territory.

  Westley explained, still refusing to take his eyes away from his task. "It's a common misconception that because dragons live longer they look their age. They don't. They maintain their youthful appearances up until about the age of two hundred."

  Mike hadn't known that. There were a few vampires on the force, even a witch, but no dragons. Were there any dragons even living in Griffon City? Everything he knew about them came from books. Even then dragons were mentioned in passing, not seriously studied since they were such a private race.

  Having Bill chuckle and point to the boy laying in the stack of hay, telling him that he was older than Mike made him curious. "How old is he?"

  "One hundred and twelve,” Westley answered.

  Whoa. Guess that meant he didn’t have to talk ethics with Westley.

  Westley looked to Brock. “Could you go to my house and make sure the spare room has sheets on the bed?"

  Brock jumped up like a faithful servant and ran out of the barn to do as he was told. Mike was still gaping at the injured kid.

  "Gordon isn't going to like that," Anne warned.

  Westley gently lifted the red-haired man into his arms and followed Brock. "He can get over it. I'm tired of this."

  Mike still stared as the werewolf carried the dragon to cleaner lodgings.

  ***

  Anne waited until things calmed down before she asked Westley if he’d found the moon stone. His answer disappointed her. She had to walk back to the cabin and tell Mike that Westley couldn't find it. Gordon must’ve moved it or given it to someone for safe keeping.

  "Like who? Who in your pack would your pack master trust with something like that?" He asked.

  Anne went through a mental list of the people Gordon trusted. She stopped when she couldn’t think of anyone. “I don’t know.”

  She sighed and stared out the window at the setting sun.

  It had been hours since Chris’ crash and she had yet to visit him. Gordon’s orders.

  Between the lack of sleep, Chris' accident, and listening to the loud yelling match between Gordon and Westley that later ensued, from all the way across the ranch, dealing with Mike's questions were torture. She was beat.

  She couldn't wait for the other pack members to arrive. She wanted to get her plan up and running. The sooner she and Westley got out of this sham of an engagement, the better.

  She couldn't keep her eyes from traveling along Mike's body. He half lay, half sat in the chair opposite her with his feet next to hers on the coffee table. Even relaxed, his muscles made him huge.

  “Anne?”

  She shook herself. “Hmm, what?”

  He was eyeing her as though wondering where she went. “You okay?”

  Anne blinked. "Oh, yeah. Uh, Gordon might have given the stone to Bill, but it’s doubtful. I’d bet he just hid it somewhere."

  Mike sank further into his seat and rubbed his eyes. "Great."

  She launched herself from the couch by the window. "Don't give up! I'll go talk to Bill right now."

  She made a half turn to go directly to the door before his voice halted her. "Look, I know you want to get out of your marriage. I also know the opinion of a pack master is usually a strong incentive, but why can't you just say no? I don't think he'll grab a shot gun and force either of you down the aisle."

  She clenched her fists. "Knowing him, he probably would."

  Her eyes met Mike's. He had a single eyebrow raised at her.

  She relented. "Alright, he probably wouldn't, but disobeying him means leaving the pack."

  “I know that. Disobedience usually does, but nowadays pack masters are more open to letting that rule slide.”

  Anne crinkled her nose and went to the fridge, popping it open. “You don’t know Gordon.”

  She moved the OJ and water jug out of the way until her hand found the cold neck of a Coors bottle. The fridge had been stocked for her and their guest. There was an almost whole chicken inside. Half of it was missing, along with half of the loaf of bread that had been wrapped up. Mike must’ve eaten while waiting for her to get back.

  Probably pissed him off, being stuck in a cabin by himself with a wolf watching outside to make sure he went nowhere. Anne figured she was lucky he left her anything at all.

  She twisted off the cap of her beer and took an angry swig when Mike’s voice came to her.

  "You must really love your pack."

  She swallowed, lowered the bottle, and nodded as painful memories floated up from the haze where she buried them. "They took me in, risking a lot to do so."

  He nodded. "Right, you're a turned wolf."

  Since he was a Griffon City cop, she knew telling him exactly who turned her would be a mistake. She’d be an idiot to assume he didn’t suspect though. "Right."

  Mike settled more comfortably into his seat. "When you explained your plan to Westley, you didn't look too concerned when he mentioned that it wouldn't prevent him from having to get married."

  Her face heated with bitter rage. Her fist shattered the bottle she held, beer and glass rained down on her feet. "You've been here a day so don't look at me and hint something like that."

  The high octave of her voice didn't faze him. He didn’t even look down at the broken glass at her feet. "So, if your plan works, what will you do to stop him from being married off? He and the dragon looked pretty close. What will happen to them?”

  Anne gaped at him. How in the Hell did he—?

  “I’m a cop, remember.” Mike tapped the side of his head with his finger. “I notice things.”

  For the first time in … ever, Anne examined her behavior throughout the course of her engagement to Westley.

  All of the secret meetings they’d had with Chris centered on her escape from the upcoming wedding. What excuses could she give to Gordon, things she could do to make him call off the wedding? How running away wasn’t an option.

  At the time, she’d been focused on getting herself free, thinking in the back of her mind that when she was out of the engagement, Westley would naturally follow. She figured Gordon had to see that what he was doing to his son was wrong.

  Right. Like that would’ve happened.

  It made her angry, angry at herself that it had taken so long for her to see the truth. She’d done virtually nothing to help her best friend. Even if she got out of this mess, he wouldn’t.

  “Don’t think of your friends much, do you?”

  Wrong thing to say.

  Anger boiled like bubbling acid. Her fingernails grew long and sharp, biting the skin where she clenched them as her teeth tingled and moved to become the incisors that would mark her for what she was.

  Westley was known for his calm temper. She, however, wasn't.

  A white light passed over her eyes, followed by the blaring horn of a truck. She blinked her eyes and shook away the instability that nearly took her. Her nails righted themselves and the tingling in her teeth left her. The wolf went back to the sleep.

  Mike stood firmly. She hadn’t seen him rise from his seat. His fists were clenched, knees bent as though ready to spring. Ready to fight.

  Another light fro
m another car passed over her eyes, its headlights illuminating the room better than the light fixture on the ceiling ever could. Illuminating Mike’s scowl.

  Her face heated with unbearable shame.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not very good at controlling yourself. Might’ve been a mistake for your master to put you with me.”

  Her eyes fell away from him, unable to stand the scowl any longer. She couldn’t help her temper sometimes.

  Outside another car passed, the lights sweeping across the cabin. It parked with the other trucks and vans outside of Gordon's house. Through the windows, she could see the drivers and passengers all but hopping out and running to Gordon’s door.

  Why were so many pack members suddenly showing up?

  With a start, she realized they were here for Mike.

  Why so many of them?

  It didn’t matter. The fact was that they were here and it only left her a few minutes to tell him how sorry she was for nearly tearing his head off, again.

  "God, I'm so sorry."

  She took a step towards him and he took a step back. "Stay away from me."

  "I'm not dangerous." That was the last thing she wanted him to think. Not just because of what he could do for her.

  "I'm not dangerous," she said again, pleased with how even her voice was despite the hurricane of emotions swirling inside her.

  His eyes were unforgiving, skeptical, cop eyes. "That's the second time you became angry enough to nearly lose it around me. You are dangerous."

  She crossed her arms. “Afraid of a girl?”

  “Only afraid of having to hurt one in self-defense.”

  Lousy smart-ass.

  “Don’t pout.”

  “I’m not pouting!”

  More cars came, honking their horns as they raced to get the last spaces in front of Gordon's house.

  More were coming? Anne moved to the window for a better look.

  Mike didn’t move, forcing her to step around him. "What's going on out there?"

  He brushed her arm as he leaned down to see out with her. Anne shivered and knew that their conversation was over. "I'm betting they're here to see you."