Werewolves of New York: Dontae

by Faleena Hopkins

  “What the hell was that?” he mumbled against the wind. “I’ve not shifted even that little without meaning to since I hit puberty.”

  He grabbed the railing with actual hands and gripped it tightly, huffing against a growing panic that threatened to envelope him. The Empire State Building was in the distance, an ever-present reason to love his view. He stared at it, struggling for breath. The changing colors of yellow then blue then purple brought him back to the human side of himself. He felt his wolf relax and roll itself into a submissive ball where it would sleep calmly, at least until he thought of her again.

  Chapter Five

  Catherine stared at the phone. A tear slipped unwanted down her cheek. “Bastard!” she whispered, wiping it away.

  Jonathan appeared in the living room doorway, wearing only plaid boxers and a deep frown. “Cate?”

  Standing in the corner like a six year old in trouble, she gripped the phone to her chest. “I woke you.”

  He stepped closer, eyes darting from the phone to her guilty face. “I’m guessing that wasn’t your mother.” Catherine sucked both of her lips into her mouth and shook her head. “Who was it?”

  “Jon…”

  Her tone made him freeze in his tracks. “Oh shit.”

  “No, I haven’t done anything.” Off his look, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and raked her free hand through her hair, trying to muster up what in the world to tell him. “I haven’t! I promise you.” They stared at each other.

  “Okay…but?”

  Her stomach flipped circles, each more painful than the last. This was her chance to make a run for it…or to commit to him for good. He was a good man. Such a good man. Her family loved him, probably more than she did. He’d make an okay father except for the probability that he’d not teach them anything new. He’d probably just make carbon copies of him, a man designed by the term “normal.” For God’s sake, don’t rock the boat was one of his favorite things to say whenever Catherine had a contrary opinion she meant to voice among their judgmental social circles.

  “Well, Cate. What is it?”

  Her body was as tense as though she were about to cage-dive with Great Whites. She closed her eyes begging for the answer from her angels, or anyone who could tell her that she should follow her heart. The room was so quiet. She held her breath, waiting. A small voice inside of her whispered, You know what you have to do, and suddenly she inhaled.

  “Cate, you’re scaring me.”

  Meeting his frightened brown eyes, she shook her head with sadness. “I’m sorry, Jon. I can’t marry you.”

  He staggered back. “Who is it?”

  “It’s nobody. It’s me.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake?” His hand went to his head and he held it there, disbelieving. “Who the fuck is he?”

  “It’s me,” she repeated. “It’s not you. It’s not—”

  He exploded. “It’s not you it’s me. I mean, really, how cliché can you be?!”

  “Cliché? Really, Jon? You think that haircut is original? You think working for your father’s business is a new idea? How about proposing to a woman you barely even want to fuck just because it’s the next step in the relationship? I mean, if anyone knows cliché, it’s you!”

  Wounded puppy dog eyes instantly transformed to unadulterated rage. “Is that what you think of me? Really? Really, Cate? If you are soooooooooo disgusted with my so-called unoriginality then why the HELL DID YOU SAY YES?”

  From the corner, Catherine threw the phone at him. Mistake. She rushed forward but he held it out of reach and swiped the screen. Stupidly, and because she’d previously had no need, she had never set a password lock on it. Within a single second he was staring at the name Dontae.

  “Incoming, two minutes. Outgoing, earlier this very evening, two minutes. So this Dontae is a two-minute man?” he sneered.

  Catherine saw her world crumbling as Jon started dialing her ex. “DON’T!” She tried to grab the phone but he pushed her back and listened. An ugly laugh ripped out of him as he threw the phone onto the couch. “Straight to voicemail. Guess he turned off his phone so you wouldn’t call him again, huh? Is that what that two minutes were? Him saying don’t fucking call me, huh?” He started to pace, his head in his hands, emotions all over the place. One minute he yelled, the next he looked like a child. It killed her to stand there and watch.

  Her grief mirrored his. She loved him enough to know she didn’t love him enough.

  “I’m so sorry, Jonathan. But I promise you, I haven’t been with anyone since you and I…since that fundraiser. But I did call him tonight because I don’t know…I guess I was searching for why I was so unhappy. He’s the man I was with when I met you. I’m only saying this so that I’m completely honest and so that you know I haven’t been touched by anyone but you. I’ve been faithful!”

  He stared at her. “Why doesn’t that make me feel better? You’re still calling off the wedding. You’ve been unhappy? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Have you been happy? When was the last time we truly laughed? I mean, you must have noticed we hardly ever have sex anymore. It’s like we’re roommates or something.”

  He spun in a slow circle, looking around their living room like it was packed already. “What now? I can’t believe this is happening. What now?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t plan this.”

  “No, because you didn’t think about it at all, did you?” Suddenly the rage was back and he shouted, “DID YOU!?”

  She hugged herself and shook her head. “No. I didn’t. I’m so sorry.”

  “Fucking selfish is what you are,” he snarled, flipping around and heading for the door.

  “Jonathan!”

  “WHAT?”

  Her voice was quiet, her body soft. “You don’t know it now, but ending this I just saved you years of unhappiness.”

  He stared, dumbstruck, then pointed at her and rasped, “I was happy, Cate. It was you who wasn’t happy.” As he headed for the bedroom, his voice trailed behind. “I’m getting my things. I’m going to stay at Mark’s. We’ll talk later.”

  Catherine burrowed back into the corner, tears falling.

  Chapter Six

  Dontae awoke on the floor of the balcony, still in his clothes. The morning sun beat down on him and he blinked with surprise. “What the hell?”

  He stood up and dusted off his suit pants. His feet hurt since this was a new pair of shoes that needed to be worn in. “Great.”

  Rolling out an ankle, he cast a sweeping glance onto the horizon. The city was awake, the sky spattered with puffy clouds peeking between dozens of skyscrapers. He turned to find the glass door out of whack. Exhaling impatience, he slid it back on its hinges then back and forth to test it. It was fine. “Well, at least this still works.”

  Walking inside he glanced to the clock on the DVD player. 11:11 a.m. He froze and blinked at it, unable to believe his eyes.

  “What the hell?” he said again, then caught sight of his phone lying in fragments. “Oh great. No more alarm then.”

  He strode to his office nearly knocking down the Julie Tremblay sculpture in the process. Swearing at himself for almost ruining one of his prized possessions—her use of recycled materials matched the integrity of his partners’ design goals—he raked a hand through his hair and headed for his iMac. Hitting the keyboard, he knocked it out of sleep-mode, glowered at the screen, and plopped down on the expensive, high-backed desk chair. Quickly he cc’d an email to Nathaniel, Eli and Darik: Slept in. Phone’s dead. I’ll be there a.s.a.p.

  As soon as he hit send, he jumped up and headed for the bathroom easily the size of a small New York studio. He hadn’t held back when he’d renovated this unit. After the Co-op approved him, he’d gutted the place to match his taste. Everything elegant. Shining. Black or charcoal grey, with the ceilings white for added feeling of space. His bathroom had two showerheads with room for four people, not two. There was a separate, Jacuzzi bathtub. If he and h
is wolf friends were going to live like humans, they should live like the best of them, since by default werewolves were superior already.

  Not that human beings would see it that way.

  He ran the water extra hot and stripped off his clothes, kicking the annoyingly tight shoes aside with extra gusto. As soon as the scalding water hit his sore back, he sighed long and loud. Then he turned and got a surprise. It felt a little better than he thought it would. He glanced down. “What the fuck?” He was hard as a rock. Now that he was paying attention it occurred to him that his wolf was clawing at him. Again, not normal since he’d hit puberty. He was the master, his wolf the domesticated pup.

  Except not today.

  Dontae let the stream almost burn his face, shaking out his blonde head in it. He found his hand traveling to relieve himself of the ache that had become an insistent throb. “Mother fucking Catherine,” he muttered as he stroked himself. The pulsing in his veins was intense and immediate. He groaned and opened his mouth, allowing the spray to enter his lips. He drank and ducked his head under, the strands of his hair a perfect pathway for the rushing water. He gripped his length hard and gave himself a tug, masterfully pulling the sheath up and down. His hips began to move and with one hand he grabbed onto the tile in front of him, thick fingers spread. He became unreasonably hard and threw his head back, the water pouring onto his chest and abs. His juices came quickly, merging with the burning hot water. He moaned loudly, jerking the final strokes until he slapped both hands on the tile wall and panted.

  “So that happened,” he said on a low exhale, shaking his head.

  Turning off the fountain, he heard in the distance an email alert coming from his office. He grabbed a black bath sheet and dried his hair with it as he left wet footprints all the way down the hall.

  No meetings today. Just court stuff. Stay home if you want. – Darik

  He stared at the reply, considering it. “What the hell am I gonna do here all day?” He started to type a refusal but another email came through.

  Darik told us you saw the devil incarnate. Get in here and get your mind off her. - Nathaniel

  Well, now he was stuck. Being told to do the thing he was going to made him not want to do it anymore. He started to type, but a third email showed up in the inbox instantly.

  Come let me hold you and make you forget you ever loved women. I adore you. – Eli

  Dontae started laughing, which for him was one guffaw followed by a shake of the head on a low, lingering chuckle. He stared at the screen and dried himself off with the enormous towel, thinking about what he wanted to do. Bending over, he typed the best idea he’d ever thought of.

  Leaving town for a few days. Going to the woods. Phone is dead. I’ll be fine. Don’t wait up. – D

  He waited for the responses he knew would bounce back immediately. His packmates didn’t let him down.

  “That’s awesome.”

  “Get a new phone before you go.”

  “If you’re lying and hiding out in your apartment for 3 days, you’re a bigger pussy than I think you are.”

  He group emailed them one last time.

  Darik, stop watching ‘Supernatural.’ Dean is not a good role model for vocabulary choices. Nathaniel, I’m a big boy. I’ll be fine. You know this. Eli, fuck off you dickhead. I adore you, too. Leave Rose for me and it’s on.

  He grinned and turned off the computer, dropped the towel over the back of the chair to air-dry and headed naked to his bedroom to pack.

  Chapter Seven

  “Why do you need to borrow the Benz?” Margot Zenith asked. Catherine could picture the emotionless stare as though her mother was in front of her and not at ‘Daniel,’ the uber-expenseive Upper East Side restaurant she loved, where she was no doubt on her third glass of Illumination 2008 Sauvignon Blanc.

  “I’m going away for a few days. At least. But if you guys need it, I can always rent one. It’s no big deal.”

  Her mother scoffed, “Why would I need it? It’s been in the garage for months. Your father has it serviced, of course, but other than that, who drives in Manhattan?”

  Catherine had no patience for her mother’s ways right now. She still hadn’t told her she and Jonathan called off the wedding and everything else between them. It had only happened last night so she really wasn’t in the mood for shrieking at the moment. “That’s great he keeps—”

  “He must keep his museum intact,” came the bored interruption. “Are you and Jonathan going on a trip?”

  Catherine tapped on the kitchen counter, staring at a photo of her ex-fiancée with his arm around her, taken on his last birthday. “Uh...yeah.”

  “Jealous. We haven’t been anywhere in nearly a decade.”

  “Mother, you went to Belize last year.”

  “Anywhere bugs didn’t eat us alive, I meant. Tell me you’re going where there are no bugs.”

  Catherine stifled a sigh. “There are no bugs anywhere I am going.”

  “Good!” The sound of ice rattling in the wine glass came through the phone. “You still have keys to our home?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Don’t be so quick to attack, Cate.”

  Okay, so that impatient sigh hadn’t been stifled. Escaping from the refrigerator view, Catherine said through gritted teeth, “I’m not, Mother. But you know I have keys. You always have to ask questions when you know the answers. Why? Seriously, why do you do that?”

  “It’s called conversation. Someday you’ll learn how to participate in one. The car is there. Gas it up before you bring it back. And remember to let Jonathan put the gas in. A man wants to be the man.”

  “You think so, eh?” Catherine paused near their coatrack filled with scarves and coats. Quite a few hats were hung on the rungs as well, each assigned to at least one memory, not all of them good. “I’m going over to get the car now. Is Dad there?”

  “Your father is sitting across from me. So no.”

  “Since when do you and Dad have lunch together?” She frowned at all of it. It seemed like every inch was seeped in memories. Breaking up sucks so badly. “What’s going on?”

  “Your mother and I are getting to know one another again!” Henry Zenith called out, loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to make an undignified scene.

  Catherine stared into her parent’s past, at the infidelities on both their parts, the fights, the estrangements. “Is this true, Mom?”

  “Oh, it’s Mom now, is it?” her mother dryly chuckled. “Yes, it’s true. Henry and I are giving it another go. Who knows if it will work, but why the hell not? It’s hard to throw thirty-three years to the winds, isn’t it?”

  Catherine smiled, “Well, I’m impressed.”

  “Hopefully you and Jonathan will have as good a run as we’ve had,” her mother returned.

  She rolled her eyes and headed for her waiting suitcase, packed with enough clothes for five days just in case she stayed longer than the weekend. She wanted to put off facing him for as long as possible, but really, traveling alone can get pretty dreary. “Yeah. Thanks for the wheels. I’ll call you later. You two have fun.”

  Dragging her suitcase down the three flights of stairs, Catherine grunted and opened the front door of their building, excited to find a cab dropping off a teenage couple right out front. “Taxi! Hold up!” He nodded from where he sat and jumped out to help with her bags. The kids gave her the once over and she smiled for the hell of it. They didn’t return the politeness. “Well, screw you, too,” she muttered.

  The cabby grabbed the suitcase and popped the trunk, asking over his shoulder, “JFK or LaGuardia?”

  “No, no. I’m not going to the airport. I need a ride to The Upper East Side. I’m picking up a car.” She noticed his disappointment at losing the higher fare, so she shared without invitation, “I’m driving up to Maine!”

  He climbed into the driver’s side and shut the door. “Pretty there. Visiting family?”

  “No,” Catherine said on a sl
ow smile as a seed of excitement planted. “I wasn’t sure until just now. You know what I’m going to do? Have fresh Lobster in a cute little café right on the water. I’ve seen people do it in the movies and it looks so romantic.” She leaned back and looked out the window.

  Chapter Eight

  “You sure you don’t want me to drive you, sir?” Dontae’s rather beefy, dark-skinned limo driver Hank, asked. His face showed all the surprise he was unable to hide despite his best, professional effort.

  “I want to be alone,” Dontae said without emotion. Hank threw him the keys. “I’ll pay you like you were here.” Getting in the driver’s side, Dontae stared at the console. Hank started to lean in but Dontae closed the door with a look that said, Don’t even think about helping me.

  Hank headed for the subway to go back home to his wife. “Easiest money I ever made,” he chuckled to himself. His employer was a quiet man but extremely fair. Since Hank had come from the Dominican Republic for better work, he knew well from the recounting of his other friends who’d migrated here, too, that good jobs like these weren’t common. Normally when you were in a subservient position you were treated as such. Dontae Sheppard always treated Hank man-to-man.

  Fiddling with nobs, Dontae finally got the mirrors where he wanted them. He moved his seat, looked for good music on the radio, and pushed the gearshift back and forth, watching the letters and numbers light up one after the other.

  “’D’ has to mean drive. ‘R,’ reverse,” he muttered, testing the theories.

  He’d never driven before, but he figured it couldn’t be too hard. Pulling away from the curb, he almost careened into a passing car not having had looked left before merging.