by Nicole Grane
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“Yes, please.” I continued to chew. “There’s soda in the fridge.” It wasn’t very polite, but I was starving.
He had my soda in front of me before I could finish rationalizing my bad table manners.
“Thank you,” I said as I opened the bottle and took a drink. “Would you like one?”
“No thank you.” He sat down again and waited for me to continue.
“You look at me like I’m some long lost love,” I practically blurted out the words, catching him and myself off guard. He opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it. “I’ve only been with you for a day, but you make me feel like we’ve spent a lifetime together . . . a lifetime I don’t remember,” I added softly dropping my eyes before I met his square on. “But you do remember it, don’t you?” My voice was barely a whisper.
He didn’t have to answer. I saw it in his eyes.
“You’re unlike any man I’ve ever known. Any human for that matter,” I added offhandedly. “Aside from the fact, that you’re a gentleman.”
He raised his eyebrows a little.
“A rare quality these days,” I explained, a hint of sarcasm coated my words.
I watched Marcus for a moment as he stirred uneasily in his chair. It was odd to see him looking so uncomfortable. He always appeared to be so sure of himself.
“I’ve never seen anyone with reflexes as fast as yours.” I continued. “I still don’t know how you saved me from falling down the cliff,” I added, further validating my point. “Or from that shark.” I took another bite. I wasn’t so much hungry now as I was needing an excuse not to look at him.
Marcus kept his face even, his eyes carefully watching me as I fidgeted with my food.
“You can fly . . . I think?” I paused hearing the absurdness in what I’d just said; but still, I couldn’t deny my instincts. I went on. “Your eyes change colors with your moods. You run off into the night to chase down wild animals. You growl, hiss, become physically ill around blood,” I half laughed to myself. How could anyone so strong have a reaction like that to blood? “Yes, I have noticed something different about you,” I mused as I took another bite.
He could see that I was debating something. His expression became guarded.
I quickly shook the thought away.
“What is it?” he urged, forcing a smile on his face; he looked just as nervous as I was.
“Forget it. It’s too embarrassing. I can’t believe I’d actually considered it.” I took another bite.
“Tell me,” he urged again. His face still held a faint smile.
I bit my lip, considering how stupid I was about to sound. “It’s only one of the theories,” I admitted with rose-colored cheeks. “Could you . . . I don’t know . . . ” I looked around the room, finally settling my eyes on the table before me. “Could you lift this table up . . . with one hand?” I continued to bite at my lip nervously.
“Can I what?” He looked stunned. He stared at me blankly as if he’d misheard me.
“You know, lift heavy objects? Punch a hole through a brick wall? Fly through the air?” I frowned, irritated by his vacant expression. Clearly he was going to make me spell it out. “Fight the forces of evil, and all that good stuff,” I explained.
“You think I’m a super hero?” he asked, his face full of wonder.
“Yes . . . maybe?” My voice didn’t sound as confident as before. The idea sounded much better in my head. “It’s better than the alternative.” I shivered.
“I’m afraid to ask now,” he frowned again.
“Oh come on, it can’t be that farfetched?” I argued. “You dove over the side of a cliff, rescued me from a fatal fall, and carried my battered body back home. All in a matter of minutes! That’s super hero stuff!”
He stared at me—expressionless.
“I’ve seen you fly across the room!” I insisted. “Well, sort of,” I admitted softly, noting the disapproving stare that now hung on his face.
“The other conclusion?” He asked dryly, as he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if this conversation had suddenly become painful.
I huffed, deliberating whether or not I should continue.
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
“Alright, but don’t get mad.” I took a deep breath. “I thought maybe you might be . . . a wolf?” I whispered the last part, hoping that by not saying it aloud would prevent him from thinking I was a lunatic.
“WOLF?” His eyes popped open.
“I don’t mean a regular wolf,” I interjected quickly, “I mean a . . .” I couldn’t believe I was saying it out loud. “I mean you are human too, at least . . . I think so? So you must be . . . a werewolf?” I winced as I uttered the name. My shoulders rose above my ears cringing as I waited for the fallout. I didn’t have to wait long.
“WEREWOLF! You think I’m a WEREWOLF?” he yelled the name each time he said it. He looked livid. Clearly, he had not expected this assumption over all others. I couldn’t really blame him—it was completely crazy.
“Okay, okay, so you’re not a werewolf! Superman! Are you like Superman? He could fly! You don’t have to be exactly Superman but similar, right?” I was babbling, and grasping for anything to pull me out of the hole I was now in. “Please don’t tell me you’re like the Hulk. You just don’t strike me as the green type, although . . . that would explain the growling,” I teased nervously.
“You think I’m the wretched beast I hunt?” he yelled out, still dwelling on the unintentional slam on his character.
My mouth popped open. For the first time in my life, I was without speech.
He couldn’t avoid it now; he knew what was coming, and by the look on his face I knew he was bracing for it.
“I WAS BIT BY A WEREWOLF?” I yelled out in disbelief by Chinese carton falling to the floor.
He sat there across from me, his eyes closed now. His hand was pinching the bridge of his nose again. He shook his head back and forth. He wasn’t saying I was wrong.
“Marcus!” I yelled for his attention. “Was I bit by a . . . a werewolf?” I had trouble saying it out loud.
Nothing.
“Am I a werewolf?” I gasped. “Is that why you don’t want to . . .” I put my hands over my mouth. I couldn’t even finish the sentence. I was overwhelmed. It all made sense now, sort of. I stood up from my chair, and then sat back down. I didn’t know what to do.
“NO!” he yelled out.
I jumped in my seat. His face was fierce.
“No,” he repeated softer. “You are not . . . completely,” he gritted his teeth. I could see anger building in his eyes. “And I do want to!” he snapped at me as if that remark would distract me from the other.
“What do you mean ‘completely’?” I asked, making little quotes with my fingers in the air.
“It’s complicated.”
I pushed myself up from the table. “Now you listen to me Marcus Ashworth, you un-complicate it fast. You don’t just show up out of nowhere, spend the day with me, and finish it off with announcing that I’m not ‘completely’ a werewolf! Oh my God!” I slapped my hand over my mouth again. “Did I kill those chickens up the road . . . and that poor goat?” I squeaked. “Is that why you wanted to know when the last full moon was?” I was beside myself. I sat down again, my hand still covering my mouth, trying to hold back the impulse to be sick.
Marcus was pulling me up into his arms. “You did not kill those animals,” he said as he yet again wiped away my tears. “You are not like the others—”
“Not like the others?” I interrupted. “This can’t be happening . . . This isn’t real! There. Are. No. Werewolves!” I shouted.
I was in the middle of a full breakdown; I could feel it. I ignored all sense of pain. I was numb all over. I pushed away from Marcus and ran clumsily out the front door into the night.
“Phoebe!”
The storm just added to my misery. I couldn’t t
ell the tears from the rain. My life as I knew it was over. I was a monster . . . not even human anymore. Marcus was a hunter and he was here to kill me—that had to be why he was here.
How long did I have before I would turn into some vile beast from hell? My friends, and family, I could never see them again. No one would ever be safe around me . . . not even Marcus. A deep void suddenly took hold of me. I could never be with him the way I wanted to. I was a fool to think he was in love me. Why would he be when he knew I was going to turn into a monster?
I ran until my legs couldn’t carry my weight anymore. I fell to my knees, defeated. The rain, taking no mercy on me, fell harder.
I would never get married or have children, I thought as the storm beat down on me. “Who’d want to be married to a rabid dog?” I shouted angrily into the darkness. “Who would ever want to love me now?” I cried. I could feel my heart breaking into a million pieces as I curled into a ball, and lay lifeless on the road, hoping a car would come along and run me over.
The rain continued to fall, but it didn’t bother me any longer. My tears had stopped. I stared off into the blackness; there was nothing left for me but death, and I waited impatiently for it.
I felt arms around me, pulling me up. Marcus was holding me. I didn’t want to run from him again. I rested my head on his chest. I needed someone to hold me, if only for a little while.
“You are not a rabid dog,” he said lovingly as his arms held me closer to him, shielding me from the wind. He started walking back toward the house.
“As for someone loving you, and wanting to marry you . . .” his voice cracked.
“I know,” I interrupted. “I understand now why you didn’t kiss me before . . . I don’t blame you. And I won’t be surprised when you have to kill me. It wouldn’t be safe to leave me alive,” I said hopelessly, accepting my fate.
“You should not have come out into the night alone.” His words were harsher than his tone. “It’s not safe.”
But by now we were walking through my living room and I was a wet dog, literally. He brought me into my bedroom and sat me on the bed, his eyes, meeting mine. “Stay here.”
Where was I going to go? My legs were limp noodles, and my will to live was gone.
He came back with some towels from the bathroom. He wrapped one around my shoulders, and with the other, began gently wiping my face dry. I sat there staring off into nothingness.
“Phoebe.” He shook me slightly.
I looked at him through blurred eyes.
“Phoebe, I’m not going to kill you,” he began. His eyes were soft, tender like his words. “I could never kill you. Even if you were a . . .” he didn’t finish. “You’re not a werewolf!” His words were absolute.
“But you said I was bit.” I grabbed onto his shoulders with both-hands, frantically searching his eyes.
He shifted uneasily at the sudden closeness of our faces. “Yes, but from what I can tell, the bite wasn’t deep enough,” he sighed as a blank expression took hold of me. “The venom couldn’t have had time to enter your bloodstream, at least not much of it anyway.”
His words seemed foreign to me.
“Phoebe!” He shook me to attention again, my mind desperately trying to make sense of his words. “Think! Has anything changed about you since you were bit?”
I tried to think. I thought about hearing the ocean earlier from the parking lot when we’d taken a ride to the beach.
“I can hear things far off in the distance . . . things that I hadn’t been able to hear yesterday,” I admitted.
“The full moon . . .” Marcus murmured to himself. “Is that all?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I could smell you earlier, when I stepped out my door,” I admitted bashfully.
“You could smell me?”
I nodded. “You smell like,” I took in a deep breath. “The air after it rains.” I couldn’t look at him, it sounded so corny.
“You can smell my scent.” It wasn’t a question. He was awestruck.
“Then there are the nightmares.” I continued. It’s almost as if they’re through the eyes of—”
“The wolf that bit you,” Marcus spoke knowingly. “It passed on its memories to you.”
He’d finished my thought. I stared at him incredulously. How could he possibly know that?
“Anything else?” he continued excitedly, ignoring my shaken expression.
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Phoebe, your sight, hearing, and sense of smell have changed, but that’s all. Apart from the memories you’re recalling,” he added as an afterthought.
“I’m not a . . .” I couldn’t believe I was saying it, “a werewolf?” I asked leaning closer, not wanting to chance anyone else hearing.
“No, you’re not.”
“I won’t turn into a dog and howl at the moon?”
“No,” he cracked a smile.
“Marcus, are you sure?” I could hear the desperation in my own voice.
“Yes. If you were going to turn into a werewolf, you’d have done it by now.” He spoke with great assurance.
Without hesitation, I threw my arms around his wet body. I was elated; I wasn’t going to die! I wasn’t going to turn into a monster from hell! I could hear the hallelujah chorus playing loudly in my head; until I felt the instant tension that seemed to move through him. Remembering myself, I loosened my grip, shrugging as I tried to pull away but his hold around me became tighter.
“Phoebe . . . ” Marcus’s cool breath blew across my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “I still can’t do this . . .” His words were firm, but soft.
I let my hands drop into my lap. I felt his breathing become more erratic as I untied my soaking wet robe and let it fall from my body, my tank top mercifully still dry.
His eyes, a luscious shade of chocolate, wandered over my naked shoulders before they met mine again—a small glint of red now swirled through them.
I ignored the little voice in my head that told me to back away . . . I felt myself being pulled deeper into his stare. My hands moved involuntarily up his shirt. I could feel the tight ropes of muscle that made up his stomach and chest beneath my fingertips. He was a perfect masterpiece. God-like.
He moaned softly. His hand felt its way slowly down my side, resting itself on my thigh. He squeezed it gently, giving me a sensation of excitement and unexplainable fear, all at the same time. Still, I couldn’t pry myself from his arms, or ask him to let go. I was right where I wanted to be. His fingers had twined their way into my hair. I could feel him gently pulling my head back. I breathed heavily, while his lips glided along my throat, barely touching. He pressed his nose against my skin, inhaling deeply. I gasped, surprised by his sudden action. His hands were behind my back now, holding me to him, leaving very little air between us.
My eyes fell shut as I took in the sweet smell of his breath, the cool touch of his hands, and the soft uneven rhythm of his breathing . . .
“Phoebe,” he could barely speak my name. His voice sounded distant, like a dream. I didn’t open my eyes. I leaned into his kiss; my neck longed for his lips to touch it again.
He released me abruptly, pushing me off him.
I stared at him, dazed, as if I were drunk. I tried to collect my thoughts, but his eyes still held mine, drawing me in again.
“We have to stop this.” His words were sharp.
“What? Why?” I reached out to him, resting my hands on his chest. The very feel of him was electric. “You really don’t want me to stop, do you?” I asked playfully, still not breaking my stare.
He whirled me around so fast I landed on my back in the middle of the bed, his body on top of mine. He held his head down tight against my shoulder. I gasped, trying to catch my breath.
The sudden movement of my body under his as his fingers trickled down my side was more than he could stand. He moaned, the sound of it drawing me deeper under his spell.
My heart beat faster now with anticipation. I couldn�
�t explain the wild attraction I felt for him. The raw need I had, to be possessed by him, physically. But also, a feeling of going home. I’d loved Marcus before; I could feel it.
“I can’t,” he shook his head. “I won’t hurt you.” His voice sounded frustrated, almost tortured.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I panted under the weight of his body. He lifted up slightly as he realized my struggle. I moved my hands over his shoulders and down his arms.
“This can’t be happening . . .” He whispered. “This isn’t real. You can’t be real.”
I found his hand resting on my hip. I rubbed my fingers across the top of it and gave it a gentle squeeze. He tensed as I drew it up to my chest and placed it on my heart. “This is real!” I whispered a kiss across his ear. I knew he could feel every beat of my heart.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” His tone was firm. “You’re making it impossible for me.”
“That was the idea,” I admitted bashfully. “I feel so comfortable, so safe with you.”
“Don’t!”
The harshness of his tone should have frightened me, but it didn’t. “I feel like I’ve known you forever,” I said, ignoring his warning. “I feel like we’ve been here before . . . close, like this.” I lightly pressed my face against his cheek and inhaled . . . filling every part of my soul with him. I felt deliciously dizzy. I let go of his hand and with great effort, lifted his head away from my neck.
“Marcus, open your eyes . . . please.”
“I can’t.” His voice was shaky. “I’ll scare you.”
I stared at his unprotected lips and decided to take a chance. I pressed my lips against his. It was like a surge of electricity had run through us. My mouth touching his seemed to jump-start his heart. My hands held his face as he kissed me intensely, almost wildly. It was as if he’d been waiting all his life for this moment, our lips were finally touching and he couldn’t deny himself any longer.
His mouth fit mine perfectly. Our lips seemed to know each other. They moved together, anticipating every touch. His hand was moving down my waist and around my thigh now. Instinctively I wrapped my leg around his hip and gave him a gentle squeeze, my battered body long forgotten.