Taking a deep calming breath, she now started again.
“You can do this, girl. You’re British, stiff upper lip and all that.” Reaching into the box she pulled out the first item on the top.
Bill for dry cleaners. Okay, that can be binned.
Last electricity bill. That needs checking to see if it has been paid.
Invoice stamped ‘paid’ from the funeral home for her mother. It was not really necessary to keep as it had been so long ago, but she wasn’t prepared to throw it out.
Program from a show she had attended with her dad last Christmas. Definitely not necessary to keep, but no way was she throwing it out. She smiled through her tears, remembering how much they had enjoyed that production of 'The Hound of the Baskervilles.’ She had threatened teasingly to howl along with the actor voicing the cries of the hound. Her dad had given her such a horrifying look of 'Don’t you dare’ that she had snickered through the following moments of suspense. Oh yes, she had enjoyed that production, although she wasn’t sure her dad had.
Receipt from the supermarket. That went in the bin.
Purple ribbon, somewhat tatty. She frowned at this one as she had no recollection of ever having had such a ribbon. She shook her head, and put it in the bin collection.
Photo of a pretty blonde woman wearing such a ribbon standing next to her smiling father.
Summer frowned. So that was where the ribbon came from, and she quickly dug the ribbon back out of the bin, to hold on to as a keepsake, although she wasn’t quite sure why she felt an urge to do that. She considered the picture further. It was an old photo, and it wasn’t of anyone she recognized. She idly turned it over. Emma. That was all it said.
“Oh my God. That’s my mother.” She sucked in a gasp and with a trembling hand ran a finger over the portrait. “I knew she was fair haired. I just knew it.” He had kept no pictures of her. He had never really explained why. To see her mother’s face now after all these years...tears threatened to fall on the precious picture, so she clasped it to her chest for a brief, heart-wrenching second before laying it aside and then gathered a heap of tissues in her hands. Bending her head, she let it all go.
Some time later, having finished her outburst, feeling better for it, and having poured herself a large glass of wine, she returned to the bedroom to finish her task, smiling at the picture she had carefully laid on her father’s pillow. Her eyes kept getting drawn back to it, her curiosity as to her mother’s image being so strong, but she sighed, knowing she’d never finish the task if she didn’t concentrate. She was so pleased to finally have something of her mother and to know what she looked like.
Standing with wine in one hand, she reached into the box. The next item was an envelope. A very yellowed envelope, indicating it had been there a long time. It wasn’t that which surprised her, but the fact that it was addressed to her.
Why on earth would her father have a letter in his box for her? And why hadn’t he ever given it to her? Her brain flooded with questions she couldn’t answer. She shook her head. Well, there was only one way to find out. She had to open the letter, so she lay the glass down on the nearby chest of drawers.
To my darling tyttärentytär (granddaughter) Summer,
I am so sad that I cannot be there to hold you in my arms. My Emma sent me valokuva, photograph I think that word is. You are so beautiful, just like Emma when she was baby. She is so happy you are born. Never did I think she would take husband. And now she has lovely daughter.
“Granddaughter? This is from my grandmother?”
Utterly surprised, Summer glanced up at the address on the letter, having skimmed straight past it to read the body of the letter, and suddenly her legs gave way, and she slumped onto the chair. The address was in Finland.
“I have a Finnish grandmother? Wha—” Her jaw dropped in amazement. “Oh my God, that means my mother was Finnish too. Shit. Hell. Why didn’t Dad ever tell me?” She puzzled, and then laughed out loud. “Well, that explains my—our—fair coloring!”
Returning to the letter, her heart beat faster at the thought of having relatives again. Her father had been an only child, and his parents had died before she was born. She knew that her father had been about twenty years older than her mother.
I cry that you are so far away, but there are reasons why Emma will not come home. However, I think of you every day.
Summer frowned wondering what on earth the reason was that her mother had been unable to return to home, to Finland. There were so many possibilities. Perhaps she had run out of money and left for another country to find her fortune there. Or perhaps she had left her motherland for a man, falling in love and romantically abandoning her former life. Or maybe she had been in some kind of trouble, like protesting against firearm companies or fighting against global warming, or robbing a bank, or what if she was an international spy being hunted by James Bond and his ilk? She chuckled. There were indeed so many potential options, it was extremely intriguing.
But I am sure that my daughter can teach you ways of our life. To be ihmissusi —I had to stop and read letter from your mother. She uses the word werewolf. Such funny word. What I mean to say is it can be difficult for child to be one. However, when you turn into your susi, your wolf, for first time, nothing can be more exciting.
“What?” She sat stunned, her head spinning as she read that last paragraph in the letter over and over, and then when she could voice her thoughts it came out as a whisper, “My mother was a werewolf. My mother was the werewolf. The—” she stopped and read the word again slowly, enunciating it like a child sounding out a new bit of vocabulary just learned. “Ih-mis-su-si.”
Her father had rarely talked about the life of a shapeshifter, but one thing he had been clear about was that Summer was half human and half wolf shifter—a werewolf—not that there were other types of animal that a human could turn into, as that was only the stuff of stories as far as she knew. So that meant he must have been the human. No wonder he didn’t talk about being a shifter, since he couldn’t. Then something else struck her. “That means that I might not be the last werewolf. There could be others out there, in Finland.” Her jaw was practically on the floor in astonishment at this revelation. Her mind was a whirl of images, questions, sensations, all fighting for dominance, all threatening to overwhelm her already overladen emotions.
For several minutes she couldn’t do anything more than sit and let it wash over her. When she could compose her thoughts into some sensibility she looked again at the letter and saw that she had nearly finished reading it.
Your valokuva is by my bedside, and I kiss you every night. One day I hope to see you. But know, darling Summer, your grandmother loves you.
Annukka-mummu.
The overriding thought that was going through her head was that she knew beyond a doubt that she had to go to Finland. Her grandmother, her mummu she guessed would be the translation, may no longer be alive. Summer winced as she considered this, and a pang of sorrow hit her that she may have lost her only other relative before she had even met her. But there may be others in her family she could find, and that gave her hope, excitement.
She turned to a photo of her late father, which she had laid on his pillow next to her mother’s. “Hey, Dad. You know I have to go, don’t you? This was our home,” she said, waving an arm around the room. “But without you it isn’t the same. I need to find my family. I need to find more people like me.” Knowing that part of her was using this as an excuse to get away from her immense sadness, she still felt the urge to do this, almost an impulse. Other feelings like intrigue and anticipation were dampening down the rawer emotions.
Taking a look at the new picture of her mother, on the corner of which she had attached the ribbon, Summer added more quietly, “And I need to find out what happened to my mother and why she left Finland, her home.”
Chapter Two
“What on earth?”
The scent that hit Rik as he walked along the concourse of
the airport was overwhelming, and he staggered to a halt. It was female, but not a cloying perfume like some women wore. No, it was something else altogether. It reminded him of something. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but whatever it was it was very, very appealing. And, it was getting closer.
Lifting his head to the side, he sniffed the air to assess the fragrance more deeply, ignoring the odd looks he was getting from people trying to pass him. He had been making his way out of the airport, having seen some friends off to a rock festival in Germany, when he had walked straight into the path of this alluring smell.
God, it’s wonderful. It smelled unusual, like it belonged to a foreigner, which wasn’t surprising considering where he was. Helsinki-Vantaa airport got a large throughput of people every day, although, as this was the spring, there were fewer tourists than in the late summer months.
He frowned as he started to notice changes in his body, his back tensing, getting straighter, and hairs on his body standing up. If he were a dog, he would say his hackles were rising. He snorted wryly, and closing his eyes, he fought to calm himself. He hated it when his senses unconsciously took over, demanding alterations in his body he wasn’t prepared to let happen. Not in public anyway.
But, although he dampened down the need to shift, the scent wouldn’t fade away, and with an almost compulsion-like need to find its source, he turned on his heels, and bumped immediately into a girl, her things flying everywhere as he reached out instinctively to try to stop her fall, her fingers slipping through his, and she went tumbling down on her rear end.
The electricity that went between them as he touched her was devastating, and palpable, and more overpowering than even the scent had been. He’d only experienced a similar sensation once before.
And that had been with the man who had changed his life, when he had been bitten. And that hadn’t been just any old love bite.
That wasn’t a happy memory, so he quickly dismissed the feeling and turned to the girl to apologize, when he was stunned by how lovely she was. Long blonde hair with red hues, the tresses that had fallen from where she had tied it back fell in rippling waves over her shoulders and framed her enchanting face with her strawberry locks, like a Renaissance painting. He had been a little surprised to note, before she tumbled over, that she was nearly as tall as he was which meant, at six foot, she was very tall for a woman.
Studying her lovely face, he saw that her nose was long and straight, but in proportion to her slender face, her beautiful cheekbones showing a hint of redness at the situation. Then he looked into her eyes. Green eyes, almost the color of spring leaves, so different from his own dark muddy-brown ones, were staring back at him, and a jolt went through his body. She appeared just as shocked as he did.
After a moment of silence when he had to avoid the urge to howl—God, where had that come from?—he swiftly bent to help the fallen woman.
“Anteeksi.”
The look of incomprehension made him realize that she hadn’t understood a word of his apology, so he tried again in English.
“Are you all right? I am sorry for bumping into you.” He held out his hand to assist her again, but she ignored him, scrambling to her feet by herself, rubbing the dust off her jeans. He sighed. He would certainly have liked to rub down that backside, firm, pert, and just the right size. He’d never been attracted to voluptuous girls, tending to go for the stream-lined, athletic women who shared his love of sports.
“Thank you. I’m quite okay. It was probably my fault anyway. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” An English accent, he recognized, and found he liked the sound of it already.
Rik was surprised, however, by the disappointment he had felt when she hadn’t taken his hand and shook his head at the curiosity of his feelings, instead helping her gather her luggage from all over the floor where it had been thrown during the fall.
When they both reached out to a paperback book their fingers did touch, and lightning shot up his arm. Her soft, inarticulate cry made him conscious that perhaps she had felt it too.
Chuckling sheepishly, he declared, “Oh God. I am so sorry. I seem to be a complete disaster around you. Static electricity or something must be in the air.”
She laughed infectiously, making him grin in return, the sound very engaging. “Hell, it could be me the way things have gone bat-shit crazy lately.” Wow, a girl who cussed like a pirate. Rik was instantly smitten.
He smiled and leaned down again to pick up the book, which was still lying on the ground.
“No,” she yelled, causing him to stop and look at her in surprise as she hurriedly retrieved the book herself, practically snatching it from his clasp.
Frowning at her response, he looked at the book to see what all the fuss was about, and groaned inwardly. It was a story about werewolves written by someone called Denise Lane. He asked softly, “Looks, um, exciting. Are you interested in werewolves, er, I mean the paranormal?”
Her laughter returned, but Rik could have sworn there was an edge to it. “It’s only a bit of light-hearted reading for the journey, you know, just a bit of fun.” She stuffed it into her bag as if it wasn’t of any consequence.
Rik winced and ran a hand through his short brown hair. He truly wished that it was only a bit of fun, and that being a werewolf, or wolf shifter, could be described as light-hearted, but he knew it was anything but.
As she finished gathering her things and started to step away an intense dread came over him that he wouldn’t see her again, and his inner feelings demanded that he didn’t let that happen.
“Hey,” he nearly shouted at her, stopping her in her tracks as she got startled by his abrupt call. “I’d still like to apologize for this. Can I at least offer you a cup of coffee?” he said, gesturing toward the nearby café.
He waited in trepidation while she thought about this. It was probably only half a second, but it felt like hours. “Yeah, why not?”
****
Rik brought the drinks over to the table—coffee for himself and tea for the girl. He couldn’t stand tea himself, but knew the English couldn’t live without it.
She held out her hand. He wondered at first what she wanted. “I thought we’d better introduce ourselves,” she explained. “My name is Summer. Summer Harrison.”
He laughed and held back, his hands on his hips. “Are you sure we should touch?”
Her hand wavered. “Oh. Um? Oh, let’s just go for it.” She stuck her hand out again, decisively.
Tentatively, he took it, only feeling a slight tingle go up his arm this time. It made him feel warm and content. He smiled. “I’m Rikhard Linna. Call me Rik. Nice to meet you, Summer.”
“In all the bars in all the towns.”
He looked at her, confused, and released her.
Seeing his look of perplexity, she giggled as she settled back into her seat, clearly relaxed with him. “Sorry, I’m a film buff. Casablanca, you know?” He must have continued to look uncertain as she waved a hand around her. “Well, we have a bar, sort of, in an airport, and a Rick.”
Finally catching on, he laughed with her, sitting in his own seat. Leaning forward he said almost furtively, “Well, as long as you don’t want me to start singing. When I try it just comes out like a dog howling, out of tune as well.”
Propping her elbows on the table, she cupped her pretty face in her palms and chuckled, her eyes glowing with merriment. “Surely not that bad?”
“Oh yes. You really don’t want to hear me.”
Tilting her head on one side, she smiled and stared inquisitively at him. He was worried. It was the sort of look where you wonder if you have some spinach lodged between your teeth.
“But I do want to know more about you. You speak very good English. Are you from Helsinki originally?”
That was good, that she was interested in him, and it wasn’t just a one-sided thing. He smiled, pleased with the way things were going. “Thank you for your compliment. Younger Finnish people generally do sp
eak English well, at least those from the cities, and, yes, I am from here originally, although I have lived elsewhere too.”
Then he frowned. He wasn’t about to tell her he had lived in Ruovesi, in the north, because that would mean getting into a whole other story about being bisexual and living with Leevi, the love of his life. At least he had lived there until Leevi had betrayed him. Shaking his head to dispel these unhappy memories, Rik asked, “What about you?”
“No, I’m not from Helsinki.”
Startled, Rik glanced up at Summer and saw she was grinning. She had a lovely smile, full of fun and laughter. His growl was good-natured. He was beginning to realize she had quite a wicked sense of humor and found that he liked that a lot. He may have loved Leevi, but he hadn’t often had fun with him, sexual fun, yes, but sharing a joke hadn’t really been Leevi’s style, and part of that had been the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.
Acceding to his unspoken demand, she replied, “Okay, okay. I’m from England, London, originally, but I live in York at the moment, which is in the north of the country.”
“So, why there and not London?”
“Ah, that would be for work.” When he raised his eyebrows in query she continued, “I am a sports coach at a university, but my dad lived in London, so I did go home to London often, although York is a really beautiful historical city. Now, your turn. What’s your job?”
The Last Werewolf (The Weres of Europe) Page 2