by C. Larsen
When I've gotten out as much mess in my hair as I can for the time being, I rush back down the stairs. The sky is lightening now, streaks of pink appearing near the horizon. How the hell am I going to fix this place up before my dad gets home?
Walking into the living room once again, I am relieved to see Gray fully dressed. He turns as I enter, half his mouth quirking up in a smirk. "Brushed your hair out, huh? Shame, I kinda liked the wild-thing look you had going on."
I roll my eyes, barely suppressing a smile. This, at least, feels more normal. Him flirting, me ignoring it.
"My dad's flight is landing at noon. How am I going to explain this?" I gesture to the wreckage all around. "We just replaced that couch, too." I sigh, at a loss.
"Don't worry. Help is on the way," Gray says, a mischievous smile on his face.
"Unless you have a replacement sofa set on the way, I don't think it will be much help. Oh yeah," I add as I catch sight of the bloody paw prints, "better make that a steam cleaner too..."
"Like I said, I have it under control. They'll be here in a few hours. Just relax. You've been through enough tonight."
"Yeah," I say, exhaustion washing over me. "Turning into a viscous monster will do that to you."
I only realize I’ve said the words out loud when Gray gives me a look. "Is that what you think about us? That werewolves are viscous monsters?"
"No, of course not." I scrub my hands over my face, wishing I could take the words back. They’re so similar to Caiden’s comments last night. The comments I so vehemently protested.
"My best friend is a were', so is Sebastian, so are you. I don't think werewolves are monsters, I just—" I huff out a tired breath and sink down onto the ruined sofa behind me. "I just think I am. Look around." I motion to the wreckage in the room. "I'm dangerous. You shouldn't have come near me last night. There's no telling what I could have done to you."
"You really think you could have taken me on?" His arrogant smirk is back and he sinks down next to me onto a pile of foam that used to be a sofa cushion. "There's no way you could have hurt me."
"Really?" I arch one brow at him. "Because I seem to remember chucking you against a tree not too long ago," I say, referring to the time Caiden and I ran into Gray in the woods near Madelyn’s house.
He smiles at the memory, then shrugs. "What can I say, your beauty distracted me. You won't catch me off guard again. You're just a pup, a volchonok. You're no threat, believe me."
"Is that what volchonok means?" I ask curiously, my tongue rolling around the exotic syllables.
"Yeah, volchonok —pup. Wolf cub."
"But you called me that back when we first met, well before you knew what I was." I narrow my eyes at him. I swear to God, if he knew I was a werewolf and didn't warn me, I really think I might kill him.
"Whoa, whoa," he says, holding up his hands. "I didn't know you were a werewolf, I swear! You just reminded me of the young pups in the pack, so much fire and energy waiting to burst free."
I give him a gimlet stare. He'd better not be lying to me.
"Really, Em, I had no idea. You think I would let you shift on your own if I knew?"
True. Gray may be a lot of things, but he isn't cruel. "Fine, I believe you. Now, why don't you back up to the part about my dad not really being my dad. You think I could have been fathered by someone else?"
"It's possible. Maybe she got pregnant by someone in the pack before she left with Jack."
"Impossible. My mom wouldn't have cheated on him. They loved each other. She left her family for him. Her coven. That's not something you do unless you're really in love with the guy." But even as I say this, doubt creeps into my mind. How else can I explain the werewolf blood, if not from my father?
"Maybe that's why she left."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, from what I understand, your mom wasn't even dating the human when she left. She ran away because she didn't want to be mated to Vasily, not because she was in love with Jack. At least, that's what I heard. Maybe she got knocked up by one of the wolves in the pack and left to avoid an arranged mating. She could have met your dad after she left and just let him believe he got her pregnant."
"You think my mom lied to my dad about who my father was?" My chest squeezes. There isn’t any other explanation. Gray must be right—Jack isn't my biological father. "You don't think Vasily could be my dad, do you?"
His mouth drops open. "I don't know... I guess it's possible."
Then something else occurs to me, something far more troubling. "James knew..." It comes out as a whisper, no power behind it.
"What? What do you mean, 'James knew'?"
"James, from the Haven Pack. He knew about this. He knew Jack wasn't my real dad. Oh my God... I thought he was just messing with me, trying to get me to doubt Madelyn, but he was trying to tell me about this..."
"When did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you talked to James?" Gray's eyes flash gold, temper flaring, but I'm too busy recalling the conversation to pay much attention.
"And he said Madelyn knew." I turn to Gray, rage burning deep in my chest. "He said Madelyn knew about my dad. Gray, you swear you didn't know anything about this?"
"Of course not! I would have told you."
"How could she do this?" I leap up, furious beyond words. "Every fucking person I know has lied to me! My mom, Madelyn, maybe even my dad—" I clench my fists and force myself to sit back down. "Maybe I should just leave the house the way it is. My dad lied to me my entire life—a ruined living room is a small price to pay."
"Em, it's possible Jack didn't know anything about this. He probably didn't even know your mom was a witch, let alone that your real father is a werewolf. He might think he is your biological father."
"His name is on the birth certificate," I say, remembering when I first discovered that I was a witch, how I broke into his lock box, looking for information about my mother's family. "When I first found out what I was, I wondered if he knew anything about my mom, about what she could do. It's hard to believe that he could have lived with a witch for thirteen years and not have known it, but he never made one mention to me about it, not even when I started asking questions about Madelyn."
"What did he say about her?" Gray asks.
"Just that she wanted nothing to do with my mom or me, and that I should stop looking." At Gray's narrowed eyes, I explain, "He took my mom's death really hard. He doesn't like to talk about her or her family at all."
We sit in silence for a while, the rising sun illuminating the mess around us. I know I should begin cleaning up, but my body feels like lead, exhaustion weighing heavily on me.
"So, you really think I have were' blood? This isn't just some fluke, maybe some part of my witch powers? Caiden once mentioned witches who could transform into animals—ravens and wolves, that sort of thing. Maybe that's what this is?"
"I've heard stories of witches who could transform into wolves, too, but they can’t change into werewolves."
"I don't understand. A werewolf is just a person who can change into a wolf. If a witch shifted into a wolf, how could you tell her apart from a werewolf?"
"Wolves and werewolves are similar at first glance, but if you were to see them side by side, you'd be able to spot the differences. For one thing, we're a lot bigger."
“Well, that's true.” Gray's wolf form was so large last night he could pass for a bear.
"For another, the joints in our shoulders are situated differently, and our claws are longer and sharper than a wolf’s. More like a large cat or a wolverine. If you were just shape-shifting using some witch ability, you would have transformed into an ordinary wolf, not a werewolf."
I stare down at my fingers, remembering the razor-sharp claws that had erupted from the ends. I guess that explains why the authorities think it was a mountain lion that killed Lydia. Regular wolves don’t have sharp enough claws to cause the kind of damage that was done to her.
"Plus, witches aren't able to
change their scent,” he continues. “Werewolves have a particular smell that identifies them to other weres'. You may not have had much of a werewolf scent before your change, but it's definitely there now."
I shake my head. "Is this really happening? I didn't just dream this whole thing?"
Gray gives me a slow smile. "I'll admit I've had plenty of dreams where I've gotten you naked in all sorts of places—my bedroom, the Hummer, the cafeteria at school, outside in the woods... but never in my wildest fantasies have I ever run with you as a wolf."
I huff out a laugh and bump his shoulder with mine. "Be serious, will you."
"Oh, I am."
I shake my head again, still reeling from the events of the past twelve hours.
"If you want to go to sleep, now's your chance. Vasily is still a couple hours out."
I hesitate. Sleep sounds wonderful right now, but glancing around the room, I'd feel guilty for crashing and leaving this mess for someone else to clean up.
"Seriously, Ems. There's nothing we can do for at least two hours. Get some sleep; the change takes a lot out of you, especially the first time."
Taking Gray's advice, I curl up on the ruined sofa. I’m asleep within minutes.
The sound of a car outside jolts me awake. Gray gently squeezes my shoulder.
"Relax, luna, it's just reinforcements. About time too." He stands up, brushing feathers and bits of foam from his jeans, then holds out his hand to help me up.
"Reinforcements?" I ask, placing my hand in his and allowing him to pull me to my feet. Through the tattered curtains I spot Vasily, Madelyn, and a woman I've never seen before. She's about Madelyn’s age, but smaller, more petite. Standing next to Vasily’s huge form, she looks downright tiny.
Gray meets them at the doorway. As they take in the state of the room, Madelyn's eyes widen and Vasily's mouth twitches, but other than a few meaningful glances at each other, they remain silent.
The sight of Madelyn threatens to upset my control. I clench my hands and force myself to remain silent when all I want to do is scream. Madelyn will hear what I have to say, there's no doubt about that, but I’ll wait until she does whatever she's planning on doing to fix up this room first. Besides, there are still some things I need to figure out in my own mind, questions I need answers to before I can confront her.
I don't trust myself enough to speak to her just yet, so I settle for arranging my face into as passive an expression as I can manage. A wary glance from Gray tells me I must not be doing a very good job.
Taking a deep breath, I recall Caiden's lessons on self-control. I build a shield around myself the way he taught me. Brick by brick, I construct a hard shell around the core of my emotions, blocking them out, forcing myself to feel nothing at all.
I feel a click, and numbness rushes through my body like Novocain. Worried that Madelyn will use her telepathic abilities to snoop through my thoughts, I use this same technique to build a wall around my mind, hoping it will be enough to block out any unwanted intrusion.
I stand still as stone, waiting for Madelyn and the others to do what they came to do.
Gray seems even more alarmed at my expression now, but the icy shell encasing me doesn't leave any room for concern, not even for him.
Madelyn barely looks at me. Her entire focus is on the small woman wandering around the living room, daintily stepping over chunks of foam, splinters of wood and shards of glass. Occasionally she clicks her tongue, tsking in disapproval.
Rather than the impatience I expect to feel over this production, I find myself idly watching them, uninterested. To pass the time, I go over every word of my conversation with James, logically working through his implied revelations and compiling a list of questions to ask. It's easier to think through all this when my emotions are uninvolved. I can see everything much clearer this way.
For instance, now that I can piece it together rationally, it seems absurdly obvious that Jack isn't my biological father. Madelyn doesn't have were' blood in her lineage, and Jack is so obviously human. By process of elimination, I must have been fathered by a werewolf.
As to my father's knowledge of all this, I find it hard to believe that Jack didn’t know that my mother was pregnant by someone else when they got married. However, it's a proven fact that my mother was capable of keeping some pretty monstrous secrets from him. She hid being a witch from him for thirteen years. I suppose it’s possible she lied about him being my biological father as well, but not likely.
And if he did know, that means he's also been lying to me, just like everyone else.
A tiny fissure appears in my shield and I have to remind myself to breathe. I focus on keeping the barrier intact. There are some things I need to learn from Madelyn, and I won't be able to do that with my defenses down and my emotions clouding my thoughts.
To distract myself, I turn my attention back to the dainty woman and blink in surprise. The liquor cabinet I smashed last night is back in its regular place, the glass doors completely intact, wood seamlessly put back together as if it had never been broken.
I glance at Gray in confusion, but his focus is fixed entirely on me. I don't know if he's even noticed the now pristine cabinet sitting neatly back in place.
His alert silver gaze roams over my face, worry clear in his eyes. I stare back impassively, sparing a glance for Vasily who’s casually leaning against the wall to Gray’s right. He’s also watching me, but his expression is more curious than concerned. Is it possible he’s my biological father?
The thought threatens my carefully controlled façade, so I look away, returning my attention to the tiny witch, vaguely curious about how she fixed the cabinet so quickly.
The woman is now near the shredded sofa. She bends down and swirls her hand above the tangle of foam, feathers and fabric. A soft light begins forming in her palm the faster she swirls her hand, and my eyes widen as I witness the remains of the sofa tremble, then slowly reform, the big foam pieces banding together, reforming into the shapes of cushions, as if healing themselves.
Even through my icy shell I feel a sense of wonderment and awe. This petite woman is using magic to fix the furniture. It's like she's healing it. I dimly remember one of Caroline's witches fixing the room in Chris's house after the Carrion Crows attacked, but I didn't stick around to watch the cleanup. Seeing it happen is incredible.
With the cushions reformed, the shredded white ribbons of fabric begin knitting back together, covering the exposed foam. Decorative throw pillows reform, as is sewing themselves back up around mounds of feathers.
When she steps away, the white sofa is intact, as flawless as it was prior to my destruction. She begins work on the smaller sofa chairs and I watch in amazement as the same thing happens to them.
After putting the couch and chairs to rights, she works on the curtains. It takes her much less time, perhaps because they are just panes of fabric, then she kneels on the floor and begins painstakingly swirling her hand above each bloody paw print on the carpet.
One by one, they disappear, leaving nothing but pure white behind. In the spots where I tore up the carpet with my claws, it takes her a bit more time, but before long, the carpet looks brand new.
The only damage left is the front door. The frame is busted from Gray kicking it in, but it proves no challenge for her skill. In less than an hour, the entire downstairs is as good as new, though the petite woman looks ready to fall over.
"Thank you," I say when she finishes fixing the door. "I don't know how you did this, but thanks. You're a life saver."
"It was just a bit of cleaning, dear. Not the worst I've ever seen. Pretty bad," she says, gaze roaming back around the living room, as if cataloging every bit of damage. "But not the worst. I do live with a pack of werewolves, mind you. And it's not like I was fixing people, just furniture."
"But how?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
"Hearth Witch," she says with a slight smile. I've never heard of a Hearth Witch before, but I a
ssume it's another class of witches.
"Time to go, Hestia," Madelyn says, giving me a wary glance.
"Well, dearie, it was nice to meet you. Do try not to cause any more damage today. I admit, I'm quite tired." She smiles again, and this time her eyes crinkle at the corners.
"Emerson, we'll talk later. Vasily and I need to get Hestia back," Madelyn says, avoiding my gaze.
"No. We need to talk now." I can feel my icy calm slipping. I clench my hands into fists. I need to have this conversation while I'm still calm and in control.
"Hestia needs to rest," she says, finally meeting my gaze with a steely one of her own. She opens the door, attempting to leave, but I reach out with my mind and slam it shut. She straightens her shoulders and gives me a disgruntled look.
When I refuse to back down, she says to Hestia, “Why don’t you wait in the car while Vasily and I have a few words with my granddaughter.”
Vasily doesn’t move from his position near the wall, watching Madelyn and I with interest. I feel a slight probing in my mind and quickly slam my shield back into place. Madelyn’s trying to read my mind. I focus my energy toward strengthening my wall, building up my armor. Madelyn tries to hold back a flinch, but I can tell I’ve surprised her.
"Tell me.”
She raises one eyebrow, her expression giving nothing away. "Tell you what?"
"Tell me who my father is."
"I was led to believe Jack Greenwood was your father, Emerson."
My gaze briefly flits to Vasily and back again. "So, you had no idea that I had werewolf blood in my veins?" I intentionally keep my voice even.
"No, I had no idea. I'm as shocked as you are."
"I doubt that."
She arches a brow at my terse response. "Emerson, your mother ran away from home when she was seventeen. I had no idea she was pregnant at the time, let alone by one of the pack."