UnMasked

by Yara Gharios

  “What’s there to say?” I ask once I have taken a seat, trying to find some way to avoid the conversation altogether, or at least change the subject. “You’re not going to tell me again to be careful who I reveal my identity to or where I shift, are you?”

  “Nah, that’s the usual talk,” Nathan throws in, trying to be serious. “This is more specific to drugs, sex and alcohol.”

  I chortle a laugh.

  “Dude!” my eldest brother Connor objects.

  “Nathan!’ Mom chastises at the same time, baffled.

  He seems surprised that he was yelled at and looks from one to the other. “What? It is. I’m just summing it up for them.”

  Dad steps in before the argument can escalate. “Why don’t you let us do the talking, son?”

  Nathan shrugs and casually leans against the wall. He watches us with interest.

  “Haven’t we had this talk before?” Daniel interjects. I can sense that he’s dreading hearing this as much as I am.

  “Not with Zoey and Dylan, and certainly not when either of you two was in a serious relationship,” Dad replies. “Look, just hear us out for a bit so we can rest easy that we fulfilled our parental jobs. I know we probably can’t stop you from living your lives, but you have to be careful.”

  For the next few minutes, we helplessly try to get through this mortifying topic and convince our collective parents that we know how to practice safe sex. Technically, this is my first time having the talk, ever, but that does nothing to ease the embarrassment. When your brothers have as much experience as mine do, some things become obvious no matter how inexperienced you are.

  As if having the talk is not mortifying enough, it’s taking place right in front of my friends and siblings. Nathan is trying to hide his reactions from the parents, but I can see him snickering at us when they’re not looking. I have to admit though, as embarrassing as this is for me, it must be ten times harder on Daniel. He’s having it with his girlfriend and her parents!

  Finally, we convince them that we know enough to act responsibly, so they drop it and move on to a less embarrassing conversation.

  “We also want you to be careful when it comes to drinking and going to parties, specifically you Zo,” Mr. Creed adds, “because you’re a minor. We trust you to make good choices, but we don’t know what will happen when we’re not there.”

  “We can’t dictate what you do, but you need to keep in mind some precautions,” my dad goes on. “You know the important ones; don’t drink from a cup someone else has given you, don’t leave your drink unattended, yada, yada.”

  “But drugs are a completely separate issue,” Mr. Creed says emphatically.

  “Dad,” Zoey groans, interrupting him. “We’re not going to do drugs.”

  I agreed with Zoey. I might go to a few parties, enjoy the college experience I kind of wanted to try, but I’m never doing drugs. The effects of alcohol on werewolves fade after a few hours, but drugs take days to get out of one’s system so their effects last longer. After my kidnapping, I know firsthand what those effects are, and I never want to feel that helpless again.

  Sadly, no sex for me either, I remember. Not while Logan’s out of commission.

  “I know,” Mr. Creed tells Zoey. “I’m not talking about you taking them, I’m talking about being careful around others who do.”

  “You’re absolutely right Mr. Creed,” Daniel vehemently agrees with him. “And I won’t let anything happen to Zoey, I promise.”

  I put my hand up to hide a smirk. Mr. Creed gives Danny a look that suggests he is not buying what Danny is trying to oversell. I don’t doubt his sincerity in protecting Zoey, but you can just tell by his expression and tone of voice that my brother is really dying for the approval of his girlfriend’s father. He has been trying –and mostly failing– to get on Mr. Creed’s good side since he and Zoey revealed their relationship. The fact that they snuck around behind everyone’s backs is not working in his favor, though.

  Dad interjects again. “Guys, look,” he says. “Believe me, I know what college parties are like. I remember them being fun in my days, and I’m sure they still are today. But you don’t want to wake up somewhere you don’t remember going to, with no idea where home is and no way to get there. Take it from somebody who’s been there, it is not fun.”

  Silence passes over us. Looking behind my back, I see that my brothers are just as surprised as I am. My dad is so serious all the time, I kind of imagined him being the same during his teens and college years. I never imagined him as the type who got wasted and ended up in an unfamiliar place.

  “Are you saying you’ve actually woken up somewhere before without remembering how you got there?” Mason ventures to ask for the rest of us.

  “Of course!” his voice comes out a bit defensive.

  “We both have,” Mom adds. “Single and together.”

  That’s when my eyes start trying to bulge out of their sockets. “What?!”

  My parents have always given me grief for even forgetting to close the drapes when I’m getting dressed! I can’t picture them going out, getting drunk and passing out. They’re just too... proper.

  “No way,” Connor replies in sincere disbelief.

  “What, did you think we were boring? Because we weren’t. We liked to party just as much as the next group,” Dad confirms. “We once won on a trip to Amsterdam. It was a year before you two were born.”

  He gestures to Danny and me as he says that. I try to picture my parents blending into the party scene in Amsterdam, but all I see is every teenager’s nightmare of their parents awkwardly standing out with horrid dance moves. A terrifying thought suddenly occurs to me, and I grimace as if in pain.

  “Please don’t tell me we were conceived on this drunken escapade of yours?”

  “I beg of you,” Danny seconds.

  “No, you two were conceived five months later when we–”

  “Mom, don’t even finish that sentence!” Connor stops her.

  She rolls her eyes, but thankfully, she doesn’t finish her story.

  “The point is,” Dad continues with an impatient tone, “we woke up in a hotel room that was five miles from ours with the worst hangover I ever remember having. We couldn’t get out of bed for two weeks, and I couldn’t shift for almost a month, because something was also slipped into our drinks.”

  We all exchange looks, and I know we’re thinking the same thing. For a human, my mom has always been a resilient heavyweight. She rarely ever got sick, and she has always been able to hold her liquor pretty well compared to the rest of us. And if my dad, a werewolf with a highly strong immune system, can get this affected by a drugged drink, it must have been a pretty strong drug. Maybe they’re right to warn us.

  “We don’t want something like that to happen to you guys,” Mom adds.

  “Hence why we’re having this conversation,” Mr. Creed finishes.

  The four of us exchange a look of resignation. A silent agreement passes between us concerning who should speak first and concede to our parents’ terms. However, before we can say anything, a loud insistent sound coming from outside makes everyone stop in confusion, even the humans who don’t hear as well as werewolves. Footsteps. Running, based on the fast rhythm.

  “Dylan!”

  Seconds later, the front door is flung open and Cade comes stumbling in, gasping loudly and struggling to get a word out.

  “He’s... awake.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Logan

  Part of my training to become the pack alpha included theoretical lessons. It’s not enough to be strong, or a good leader, I need to also be equipped with knowledge. Most of what I learned was related to history, but I was also taught a bit of science, like biology and physics. My knowledge isn’t advanced; I’m not a genius in any way. But I do have a basic understanding of several complicated concepts, because they might someday be helpful to the pack.

  Sometimes, I went outside my training and did some research b
y myself. Once, Dr. Ackhart was explaining to me how REM sleep works. I started wondering about how we sometimes kick our legs or move around in our sleep, and whether or not it could be dangerous. He explained that something happens in REM sleep that prevents such movements, but that disrupting a REM cycle can cause something called sleep paralysis. That was one the things I was curious enough about to research on my own.

  Sleep paralysis happens when you are either just waking up or just falling asleep. You are aware that you’re awake, but you can’t move. You feel like you’re floating because your body movements’ coordinators are activated, since you’re dreaming of it, but you aren’t actually moving. Some people experience hallucinations during sleep paralysis. There is a feeling of helplessness involved, because they know they are awake, but if they feel a dangerous presence with them, even though it’s not real, they can’t do anything to protect themselves. They just lie there, terrified.

  This is the closest I can come to accurately describing my two-months coma. I experienced moments when I was truly asleep and dreaming regularly. But the moments when I was aware were like nightmares. I couldn’t open my eyes to see what was happening around me. I couldn’t move whenever someone took my hand. I heard them talking to me, but I couldn’t talk back. The first few days were the worst. I was in a lot of pain from the fresh stab wound, and I couldn’t do anything to ease it. I heard my friends’ reaction to seeing me, and it killed me that there was nothing I could do to let them know I was still here. Sadie cried and clutched my hand painfully. She kept repeating that she was sorry, but I wasn’t capable of telling her that it wasn’t her fault. Dr. Ackhart examined me and concluded that he didn’t understand what was wrong with me but that he thought I was going to be fine. I couldn’t yell at him that it was not fine.

  The worst was Dylan’s reaction. It was unbearable hearing her call for me, her voice completely heartbroken. She was still recovering, and she should have been resting. I was angry with her parents for letting her out of bed.

  “Please, I need you to come back,” she cried. “I’m right here for you, and I’m waiting. Just please, open your eyes, baby.”

  Then it happened.

  You can’t leave me, she whispered, sending her thoughts out to me. I need you. Please, Logan.

  Up until that point, all my attempts to communicate with her in my mind had been futile, but I wondered if I could try again. It didn’t work at first, because whenever I started saying something to her, it would get cut off by a migraine, like there was an unseen force pushing my thoughts back into my head. But I finally managed to say her name.

  I knew she heard me because she gasped and thought, Did I just hear right?

  With effort, I was able to say her name again. She crushed my hand with both of hers, but I couldn’t care less. This was the first time I was finally able to let someone know that I’m still here. More importantly, it was the first time she ever heard my thoughts.

  Logan? she called out again. I heard you! Can you hear me?

  My strength was wearing down. I could feel myself weaken, on the edge of losing consciousness. I had a feeling I wouldn’t get the chance to say much, and I had to choose carefully what I wanted to say, what was more important.

  I took too long answering her, and she called my name again, worried I was slipping away. That’s when I knew exactly what to tell her.

  I love you, I whispered.

  Her relief was so great that she laughed through her tears. It was just the push I needed to regain my optimism. I didn’t have to reply to her all the time, but I could do it just enough for her to know I was still here. And if she continued talking to me, maybe the waking moments wouldn’t be so bad.

  I love you too, she replied. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to wake up soon.

  However, ‘soon’ didn’t come as soon as we were both hoping. My coma persisted for a month and a half before I started regaining some tiny form of control over my body. The first thing I moved was my toes. It was brief and went unnoticed by the others in the room with me. But I noticed it, even though I couldn’t do it again for several days.

  Then my senses started coming back to me. First, I could smell what was cooking in the kitchen, one floor below me. I was hungry, and I think the sense worked on its own as a response to that. The second time I moved, I was able to repeat it once in my hand. But it was night time, and again, no one saw.

  But then yesterday, my heightened hearing was suddenly working again, and it came back stronger than I’ve ever felt it before the coma. I don’t know how it happened, but I detected the sound of Dylan’s voice all the way across the pack house. Her window was open and the sound traveled. She was playing the piano and singing a song I don’t know.

  I was amazed by her. I know she’s talented, but I haven’t really heard her sing before. I have seen her perform on an instrument, though. We snuck into her school once, and she played me a piece she said is one of her favorites. She was still a boy to me back then, but that was the moment I started loving her. Because she didn’t just play a song; she lived the music. It went through her entire being and transported her to some state of mind that was beyond just existing. Her passion is what first drew me to her, and it transported me along with her. The one time I heard her sing was at her graduation party, but I was too focused on getting her away from the lustful stares of the males in the room to really pay attention.

  I listened to her fingers moving effortlessly over the keyboards, to her voice carrying over to me in my hospital room. It was tinted with a sadness that I knew was not just because of me. I could picture her closing her eyes and pausing over the keyboards in between parts, and then leaning toward the keys when she started again. I was floating in a different way. When the song was over, she took a deep breath, held it in and sighed, like she just let something very heavy out of her system.

  “Photograph?” Marianna’s voice spoke.

  I guessed that was the name of the song she was playing.

  “Yeah,” Dylan replied quietly. “I’m practicing.”

  “For what?”

  “There’s a performance event during orientation. Just in case I decide to go up. I’m not sure I’m going to have the will to play, though.”

  My surprise was only mild, because I was mostly concentrating on maintaining this link to her. But a tiny part of my brain did wonder what orientation she was talking about.

  “Sœurette, you do know he will wake up, right?” Marianna softly asked.

  “That’s not what I’m afraid of,” Dylan replied evasively.

  There was a pause before Marianna spoke again. “You leave in two days,” she stated. “You’re afraid you won’t get to say goodbye before then. And maybe you’re also a little scared about going to college?”

  Dylan’s silence confirmed all of Marianna’s assumptions. The girl is usually very intuitive, but when I heard her mention Dylan leaving, I was hoping she would be wrong for once. The college reference was what did it, what made it finally hit me.

  “Go to bed, Dyl,” Marianna went on. “It’s late. You know you’ll be grumpy all day if you don’t get enough sleep.”

  Dylan is going to Berklee. In two days. And I’m still f*cking unconscious.

  I didn’t suddenly lose the super hearing and go back to being comatosely paralyzed. I retracted it on purpose, because I needed to focus on getting a different function in my body going again. I couldn’t let Dylan leave without talking to her at least one more time. Really talking to her I mean, and not just in my few-worded thoughts.

  That’s what I’ve been doing all night and all day today. I don’t notice the time passing, but I’m guessing it’s late in the afternoon by the time I start having some sort of success. It starts with my extremities again. I pinch my toes together until they crack, and I fist my hands.

  “Logan?” a voice asks.

  It’s one of the younger pack members, a teenager named Blake. Cade has been assigning people to stay i
n the room with me, since he has to take my place as alpha for the time being, and Dylan is being forced by her friends and family to continue living her life. I’m grateful they did that; I don’t want her to put her life on hold because of me. But I still miss her.

  “Oh my God,” Blake says with agitation.

  My fists are so tight that my arms are shaking. My body then goes into spasms because I’m struggling so hard. I have to bring myself to the surface.

  Blake runs out of the room, yelling, “Doc! Doc you need to see this!”

  Seconds later, he comes back with Dr. Ackhart. The doctor runs to my side and starts a hasty examination of my responsiveness. He lifts an eyelid, and directs a light there. The brightness burns, because it’s the first thing I have seen in two months. He lets it drop again and checks my pulse. Seconds later, he grabs my hand firmly in his.

  “Logan, if you hear me, squeeze my hand,” he urgently requests.

  Within a few seconds, I succeed.

  “Find Cade,” he orders Blake. “Tell him what’s happened.”

  Blake’s running footsteps echo out the door and into the hallway.

  No! I want to scream at him. Get Dylan!

  “Don’t strain yourself, Logan,” Dr. Ackhart cautions. “You need to relax. You’re regaining your motor functions, but give yourself some breathing time. Your muscles have been out of practice for too long. You have to be patient and wait for them to respond. It’ll be easier to come back.”

  If relaxing gets me to Dylan faster, then that’s what I’ll do. I stop pushing so hard and let my body go limp. It’s like I’m having a seizure, and it takes a moment for the tremors to stop altogether.

  “Very good,” Dr. Akhart says encouragingly. “Let’s do this slowly. Flex your hands and toes.”

  I comply. My movements are shaky and slow, but abrupt. Like the information to move is being slowly faxed from my brain to my muscles. Step by step, Dr. Ackhart guides me into regaining control of my body, until I start opening my eyes. Somehow, this final part is more difficult to accomplish than moving the rest of my body.