Red

By Tracey H. Kitts

Dedication: 
To my mom who always knew I had talent, and to my dad who always knew it came from him.

Prologue 
Lycanthropy is often referred to as a mental condition in which an individual believes himself to be a werewolf, but it's much more than that. According to Greek mythology, a king named Lycaon was visited by Zeus, King of the gods, in disguise. Thinking his visitor to be nothing but a beggar, the king served Zeus human flesh. As punishment for serving human flesh to a god, Lycaon was cursed for his animalistic ways. If you believe that sort of thing, that's what happened.
In reality, Lycaon was visited by a werewolf whom he owed a great deal of money. Knowing what he was Lycaon served his guest the flesh in an effort to appease him. He was contaminated with lycanthropy as punishment for not paying his debt. Apparently, werewolves don't like to be stiffed.
This is how the disease got its name. What has this story got to do with me? I'm getting there.

Chapter One 
I was looking forward to the end of another hot, miserable summer night as I drove home that evening. Hopefully the local police would be able to cover up the night's work without too much difficulty. God forbid they should be inconvenienced. I was called out at eleven thirty at night to hunt down a rouge werewolf, but hey, why should anyone else lose sleep?
Hearing the gravel of the driveway crunching underneath my tires was a relief. It was my signal that I was almost home. Oh, what I would have given to just crawl into bed and sleep for a couple of days. If I didn't hate to stain my sheets with blood, I might have done just that.
I drove around to the back of the house, got out of the car, began unfastening my many weapons and depositing them in the trunk. I had just removed my long silver blade and closed the lid when I realized I had also locked up my keys. Before I could make an attempt at breaking into my own house, a noise caught my attention. It sounded like something was crunching through the underbrush in the nearby woods.
Since I was locked out anyway, I decided to investigate. I should have used more caution. But, I had stopped being afraid of the dark a long time ago. There was nothing in the dark worse than me, not that night.
I looked up, admiring the beautiful night sky. The next thing I knew, I was face down in the grass with something heavy on my back. I should have seen it coming. Perhaps I was more tired than I had thought. The werewolf growled, pressing me further into the ground. I could taste dirt between my teeth, feel its claws digging into my shoulders, and its hot breath on the back of my neck.
I dug my knees further into the grass, pushing back with my hips. By the time I rolled over and jumped to my feet, the werewolf had run back into the woods. I tore off after it, listening to the sound of its frantic footfalls ahead of me. Ducking limbs, jumping roots, and dashing around branches, I stopped at last and listened to the night around me. It was quiet. When I say quiet, I don't mean the normal sounds of a hot summer night. There were no birds, no crickets chirping, nothing.
I closed my eyes and sensed the woods around me, reaching out for any trace of human emotion—a thought, a feeling, a heartbeat. I felt something moving back toward the house. I started back more slowly, more quietly than before. I was in the woods hunting a werewolf with all my weapons locked in the trunk. It was not my night. I could only imagine what my father would say. Here was Lilith Mercury, a.k.a. Quicksilver, a.k.a. The Silver Bullet, out hunting werewolves without so much as a silver nail file.
As I approached the house, I found the werewolf looking through the glass walls of my sunroom at the open back door to the kitchen. All he had to do was break the latch on the sunroom door and he would be inside. Nope. I did not want to have to kill a werewolf in my clean house that night. Without further thought to stealth, I sprang on him. My arm wrapped tightly around his massive throat. He flung his head back hard, knocking me into the flower bed where I hit my head on a large shepherd's hook. The shepherd's hook! Why didn't I think of it before? The hook was plated with silver!
I jumped up and snatched on the hook. Whack. I was back on the ground again, enjoying the flavor of an azalea branch. Spitting out the flower, I stood up and pulled on the hook again. This time I managed to get it out of the ground. I was immediately knocked off my feet again, but I held on to the hook. It was positioned at the perfect angle when, a split second later, the beast leapt upon me, impaling himself on the silver.
He howled with fury and began pulling the hook through his body, pulling himself closer to me. I put my boot against his chest and shoved him backward, removing the hook from his body with a sickening slicing noise. He staggered back against the house. I slammed the hook across the side of his head, knocking him to his knees before I stabbed the hook through the back of his neck, and watched as his body slumped to the ground.
After washing the bloody smears off the vinyl siding, I decided to break in the back door and call it a night. This time, I locked the kitchen door.
* * * *
I heard footsteps coming from the staircase leading into the research lab beneath the house. Alfred came rushing up, looking completely disheveled.
"Good night, Alfred,” I said, continuing toward the stairs.
"What's going on?"
"I handled it,” I answered simply.
He stomped barefoot across the foyer into the kitchen. “Holy shit,” he said, as he stomped back toward me. “You can't just leave that monster in the back yard,” he insisted.
Being something other than human myself, I took offense at the word monster. It must have shown in my expression as his next words were not spoken so harshly.
"What were you thinking?” he asked.
"That you could handle something, for once."
"Fine.” And with that, he turned back toward the lab and I ascended the stairs.
Dr. Alfred Moody isn't exactly what you'd call normal either, but he's human. I knew him through his work with my father before he became my partner. He's about six foot five with dark hair and skin the color of an exotic caramel. He's in decent shape, but not overly muscular. However, I didn't doubt he could handle disposing of a werewolf carcass. He's a brilliant scientist, twenty six years my senior. I believed he had spent every one of those years with his nose in a book.
"Wait,” he called.
"What?” I asked, walking back toward where Alfred stood at the foot of the stairs.
"What about the report? You know the commander will be expecting a report on the incident tonight."
I looked at him blankly for a moment. I had honestly forgotten about giving a report. “Alfred, there are advantages to him being my father. I'll make the report in the morning."
"I'll make the report,” he said with a sigh. “Come on; give me the gist of it."
I walked back down the stairs and into the sitting room to the left. Alfred clicked on a lamp and I winced.
"What? I can't write in the dark,” he said, taking a note pad out of his lab coat. He had a point. I normally didn't turn on the lamp. Why bother with the light, when you can see in the dark?
I gave Alfred the rundown. Just as he rose to leave, I happened to glance out the window. Storm clouds had appeared over what was once a clear sky. The faint rumble of thunder in the distance told me I would sleep well, if I could ever get to bed. I've always loved a good storm, and living in Florida, I got plenty of them.
Gazing out underneath the gathering storm clouds, I caught sight of Marco Barak watching my house through the first sprinkles of rain. I'd left something out of the rundown I'd given Alfred. I'd recognized the werewolf I had killed earlier. He was a friend of Marco's. There was a true monster, though at first glance one might be mistaken. Marco was attractive in that rough Harley Davidson, Marlboro man sort of way. Sexy and rugged, with a natural tan and dusty brown hair. I'd spoken to him only once before. He was being trained as a Hunter years ago, when he'd been contaminated. That had been at least eight years ago, making him around thirty four now.
He hadn't changed. Even through the rain growing steadily harder, I could see his tall frame clearly, looking exactly as I remembered him. Marco is around six feet tall, though he has always appeared larger to me. But, everyone seems tall when you're five foot four.
I was on the way to my father's office when we'd bumped into each other all those years ago. It was the first time I'd worn my now customary black leather cat-suit.
"Why black?” he'd asked.
"Stealth."
Marco smiled at me. As I recalled, he had a nice smile, even white teeth, and full lips. Like I said, the man was good looking.
"Why bother? That red hair of yours glows in the dark.” He ruffled my hair and walked away. I didn't know him well, but I'd thought he was a nice guy. Everyone had, including my father, who beats himself up to this day for not killing him when he had the chance. No one expected him to go crazy once he turned, let alone form a resistance group.
My father is the commander of The Hunters, a group originally formed on planet Terra to eliminate the threat of werewolves. They are the most elite group of professional assassins the world has ever known ... and yet, the world doesn't know them. Very few people know of the existence of The Hunters. A few of the local police had to be informed, for obvious reasons.
Werewolves have turned up for centuries in legends and myths from different cultures around the world. Every country has its own version of the werewolf, what they look like, and the powers they have. It is not a coincidence that before people on other continents were aware of each other, they had all developed their version of the same legend.
Lycanthropy was created during the only world war the planet Terra has ever known. It's a man made disease, born of nightmares. It was engineered as a biological weapon by Lionel Ferdinand, a scientist with radical ideas of what should be done with individuals who disagreed with his own political views. The idea was that people contaminated with the disease would transform and annihilate everyone else. Not everyone is capable of contracting lycanthropy, however. Just as some people have immunity to certain diseases they have been immunized against, others have a natural resistance. It was from these people that a vaccine was developed. Many hoped it would be ‘the cure’ for what was at the time known as the animal virus. Unfortunately, such was not the case. The virus ran rampant. The only person rumored to have developed a successful vaccine was Ferdinand himself, who had at this point had already been killed, slaughtered by a monster of his own making. Only pieces of his research were ever found. The complete formula, it would appear, was in his head. And most unfortunately, that had been lopped off by a werewolf.
Something had to be done. It was at this point that The Hunters were formed under the supervision of the acting President of the United Continental Terran Federation, Josiah Roark. Roark, formally vice President, had been forced into action by the contamination of the President himself. Not exactly the way he wanted to take office, I'm sure. It had been the first mission of The Hunters to assassinate their own President. Once the disease began to come under some sort of control on planet Terra, people who were contaminated began escaping to our sister planet, Earth. The environments are virtually the same, though at this time, Earth was in its primitive stages. That was the beginning, thousands of years ago, of the organization my father now commands. He's the reason I am still alive, but that's another story.
My reverie was broken by a loud crash in the basement, followed by a thunderous curse from Alfred. I blinked. In the seconds it took me to look back through the window, Marco was gone. I remembered my idea of just crawling between the sheets, and seriously considered it for a moment. I looked down at my blood stained hands, attempted to run my fingers through my blood crusted hair and decided against it. I definitely needed a bath first.
I was tired in a way that makes your very bones ache for sleep. I trudged wearily to the upstairs bathroom and closed the door behind me, desperately needing to relax. I kicked off my boots beside the chair near the door. There was blood underneath my fingernails and dry scaly places on my cat-suit that was probably more blood. I peeled the suit off and let it stay where it fell.
I was tough when I had to be. I didn't back down from a fight or a challenge. I wore leather instead of lace, and silver blades had long since replaced my jewelry. But, I'm still a woman, and sometimes nothing is more appealing to me than a bubble bath. Normally, I just took a quick shower. But that night I filled the tub with water as hot as I could stand and bubbles up to my throat. A few minutes later, I was listening to my favorite R&B CD and lighting some vanilla scented candles.
Lowering myself into the water, I winced. The water was so hot it made my skin tingle. After the night I'd had, I welcomed the slight pain. I had finished washing the blood from my hair and scrubbing under my nails when the door opened. Alfred came in, clipboard in hand.
"I've just finished my report. Tell me if this makes sense."
He walked over to the closed toilet seat and sat down on top of my towel. He just walked in and started talking like there wasn't a naked woman in the tub, like Barry's deep velvet voice wasn't playing on the radio. I must have really been losing my touch when men could walk into my naked presence and not even notice me. Not flattering.
"What do you think?” Alfred finally stopped talking.
Sighing with a weariness which seemed beyond physical fatigue, I realized I hadn't heard a word he'd said. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?” I asked.
Alfred checked his watch. “It is tomorrow."
I just blinked at him, too tired to do anything else. He seemed to study me more closely, as if I were something interesting under one of his microscopes.
"Maybe you should get some sleep. You look like shit.” Oh, the flattery never stops! I stood up suddenly, letting the bubbles slide down my body.
"Fine, but you're sitting on my towel."
Alfred stood up, handing me the towel like it was nothing.
Was he that into his work, or was he just not impressed? Either way, it was insulting. I stepped out of the tub, snatched the towel, and began to dry off in an indignant huff. Alfred walked toward the door. He turned and looked back at me before he left.
"Nice ass."
I covered it before he had finished turning back around. He laughed softly, closed the door behind him, and left me to brood once again. That jackass, he'd been looking all along.
I sat down at the vanity and began drying my hair with another towel. I keep my hair in a short spiky cut that requires little maintenance. It's sort of a cross between a pixie and one of those flippy little bobs. It gives me a wild look that, being what I am, I could appreciate. I didn't have to like it, but no point not having a sense of humor about things. Occasionally, laughter is the only thing that stands between us and a nervous breakdown.
I thought about seeing Marco outside the house that night. What was he doing there? I didn't have the strength or the brain cells left to think about it at the moment. My mind kept wandering back to the way he looked standing there in the rain. I could still see the way his wet jeans clung to his every curve. His shirt open and clinging to his body. Whatever color his clothes had been, they were so wet that they appeared black, making the contrast of his skin seem pale.
I remembered water running down his hair and beading in his long eye lashes. In my minds eye, I traced a drop of rain as it slid down his forehead, down his face, his collarbone, around one nipple, and down the ridged curves of his abs, only to disappear in the line of soft hair at the top of his jeans. I wanted to follow that drop with my tongue. I wasn't necessarily meaning to be kinky. Part of me just wanted to know what Marco tasted like. Even as I thought it, I could imagine the faint salty taste of his skin on my tongue, mixed with the overpowering scent of a man.
I shook my head. I was coming undone from watching a man standing in the rain and Alfred had barely noticed a naked woman right in front of him. I would never know how he managed it. Maybe his work was more interesting to him than sex. I opened my towel and gazed down at my body.
"Or,” I thought out loud, closing the towel, “Maybe I'm just too horny to be a scientist."
Letting my towel fall to the floor, I walked over to where my robe hung on a hook by the door. As I passed by the full length mirror, I paused. I had always loved this mirror. It was old, framed by dark elaborately carved wood. It had a sort of medieval appeal to it. Yes, I loved the mirror, even if I was not as fond of what I saw reflected in it. My bright red hair stood out at haphazard angles, sharply contrasting with my skin. I have a fair creamy complexion, almost like alabaster. My muscle tone though not overly ‘cut’ was plainly evident in my curves. For the most part I liked my body. I was attractive, even sexy. The image was only ruined by the scars, slashing their way across my lower abdomen. But, I can hear you thinking, werewolves don't scar. That's right, they don't. But, I'm not a werewolf.
The scars are a remnant of my attack. There are several vicious slashes across the right side of my stomach, beginning level with my belly button, and extending to the front of my upper hip bone. Three diagonal cuts above my navel, and three cuts at an angle on the left side. That's right, no bikinis for me.
I was fifteen when I was attacked. First I should explain I have lived here, on Earth, all of my life. My father was stationed in the Deep South, where I was born and raised. He had only recently been promoted to commander. My mother was out of town, visiting a friend. We were watching television when I heard the glass breaking. Werewolves stormed the house. The halls echoed with frightening blood thirsty howls. Apparently we were not the only ones to learn of my father's new appointment to commander. The werewolf resistance thought it would be a great show of power to cut down the new commander his first week in office. Having a chance to kill his only child, that was just a bonus.
"The closet,” he yelled as more glass broke, signaling the fact that we were being surrounded. The ‘closet’ was more of a mini arsenal, and it was located at the back of that very room. He took out an AK-47 loaded with silver bullets and handed me the same. Before further plans could be made, we began firing at the werewolves charging through the living room door. We mowed them down like tall grass. He went for the heads, I went for the kneecaps.
I'd just emptied a clip and turned back for more ammunition when I was slammed to the floor. Not possessing the strength I now have, I was in trouble. Upon hitting the floor, I took a blow to the head and was nearly knocked unconscious. I was only vaguely aware of tearing pains in my lower abdomen. I looked down in time to see my father slaughter the monster tearing its way through my stomach with a large silver machete.
The world spun. One look at my savaged stomach told me I was on the verge of passing out from blood loss. I felt strong arms lifting me and heard for the first time, the sound of my father crying. The werewolves were dead, but at what price? I drifted in and out of consciousness. The next moment I was aware, voices were arguing over me.
"My daughter is not your guinea pig!” my father roared.
"This may be her only chance,” it was Alfred's voice, pleading with my father. “Do you want to take a chance and maybe see your daughter turn? Or do you want to watch her die right now? Because that's what is going to happen if we don't act now!"
I felt a sharp pain in my arm. I was being given what I would later find out was supposed to be a cure for lycanthropy. Alfred had been one of a group of scientists given the task of creating a working vaccine, as well as an eventual cure. I was injected with the prototype. My memories of the next few days are blurred. I remember pain, terrible pain, and my father's voice, though I've no idea what he was saying. When I opened my eyes days later, my dad was standing over my bed, looking like he hadn't slept.
"What happened to me?” I asked.
He explained about the injection. “To be honest, we don't know what will happen. You may or may not transform with the next full moon.” His hands shook as he reached for a glass of water on the nearby table. Apparently thinking he couldn't hold the glass steady enough to drink, he sat it back down. “There was no choice,” he began desperately. “I couldn't lose you,” his voice broke. “It was either take a chance, or watch you die. Either way, it's a decision I'll have to live with the rest of my life ... I just couldn't live with watching you die.” His eyes seemed to glaze over with tears. “Forgive me."
I wasn't sure what to say, or if I should say anything at all. Watching my father cry was not easy for me. Here was the strongest person I knew, and he was weeping for me, as if I were already dead. “It's alright,” I began, feeling like an idiot. Of course it wasn't alright. He'd just made a decision that for better or worse, had altered both our lives. I tried again, “You did what you had to do. Either way, I'll live."
His expression became determined, the last of the tears falling away as he looked back at me. “Yes, you will,” he said vehemently. “If you turn, those bastards won't come near you. Any of them! If anyone, I don't care from which side of this war comes for my daughter, they'll have to kill me first.” I cried then. I knew my father loved me, but knowing he would turn traitor if he had to in order to save my life ... it moved me in a way three words could not.
I awaited the first full moon three days later in a holding cell in Alfred's lab, then located underneath my parents’ house. My wounds had not yet healed. Alfred took this as a sign that perhaps I was not going to turn. Werewolves heal at an accelerated rate, due to their dramatically faster metabolism. I didn't bother to tell him I had lost five pounds in the past few days. I thought it might discourage him.
The transformation of a werewolf is brought on by the pull of gravity from the moon, not the moonlight shining on them, in spite of popular belief. As the moon began to rise that evening, I was in increasingly more pain. It was as if something were trying to rip its way through my skin. I felt a warming sensation behind my eyes, similar to the feeling you get when running a high fever. Muscle spasms began to shake my body and I grabbed the bars of the cell. Alfred ran toward me, but kept his distance by a few feet. Someone was screaming, a high, angry sound. It was the most rage filled scream I'd ever heard. It belonged on a battlefield in a long ago place.
I collapsed several minutes later as the muscle spasms subsided. I looked up at the mangled bars in amazement. I was no longer in pain, but felt a sudden rush of weakness at seeing what I had done to the reinforced steel bars.
"How do you feel?"
I jumped. Alfred was sitting on the floor on the other side of the bars. He crawled tentatively toward me, as if afraid to come too near. The fear on his face hurt me worse than I could express. Who else would see me the same way? The one thing I was certain of was I did not want people looking at me like I was some kind of monster, or worse with pity.
"I'm fine,” I croaked, my voice barely audible. It was then I realized I was the one who'd been screaming. I felt like crying, but I would not let someone who looked at me like that see me cry.
"My eyes burn,” I said, looking to Alfred for an explanation.
He moved closer. His fear seemed to be replaced by curiosity. Alfred's eyes widened. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, as if he were going to speak, but thought better of it. “Here,” he said, finally giving up on an explanation and handing me a mirror. I took the mirror from Alfred with trembling hands, determined not to scream at whatever I saw. I turned the mirror slowly to face me, my heart hammering in my chest. Looking back at me was a pair of amber wolf eyes. They looked wild and out of place with the rest of me. Under normal circumstances, my eyes are hazel. I looked at Alfred and he jumped back from the bars, cursing under his breath.
"I'm sorry,” he said, sounding embarrassed.
I chose to ignore his reaction. I supposed I was being too hard on him. I cannot begin to imagine my reaction if I saw someone I had known for the past five years looking at me with wolf eyes.
"Is this permanent?"
"I don't know,” he answered honestly.
The next morning, once he was fairly certain any real danger had passed, Alfred released me from the cell and gave me a thorough examination. The wounds on my stomach had healed over night. All that remained were faint pink scars.
"These may finish healing,” he'd said. He was wrong. The eyes were not permanent, but the scars were. However, they were the last scars I would ever receive. The only thing that can permanently scar a werewolf is silver, to which I appear to be immune. I'm technically not a werewolf. I don't transform with the full moon, and after that night, it hasn't caused me any more pain. My eyes only seemed to change when I got angry, but with years of practice, it's something I can control. I occasionally use them to make my point in arguments with Alfred. Wicked, but effective.

Chapter Two 
I pulled my black velvet robe from the nearby hook. Staring at my scars would not erase them. I didn't bother closing the robe as I opened the door which connects to my bedroom. I closed the sheer drapes covering the French doors to the right of my bed, blocking out the view of the rose covered balcony. The window on the opposite side of the room reaches from floor to the ceiling, gracefully arching near the top. Sheer red drapes hung from above this window as well, and fell in silken folds down either side. They managed to block a surprising amount of sun. But right then I think I could have slept under any amount of light. I just wanted sleep, period.
I let the robe slide to the floor as I slipped between the red silk sheets. I remember taking a deep breath and must have fallen asleep before I could exhale. The next thing I remember was someone pounding on my door.
"Huh?” I grunted. I'm not sure what sort of response I expected, but the beating continued.
"What?” I tried again.
Alfred's voice answered, “Elijah's downstairs."
"So?"
"He's got some questions."
"Good for him."
"Get up, Lilith."
I didn't respond for a few minutes, hoping he would just go away if I stayed quiet.
"You've been asleep for twelve hours, for God's sake."
That got my attention. I rolled toward the clock. He was right. Not that I thought a scientist couldn't count, I just didn't feel like I'd slept for twelve hours. I sat up slowly, afraid the room might spin if I moved faster. I collected my robe from the floor and tied the red silk sash as I crossed to the door. When I stepped into the hall, I found Alfred waiting patiently, arms crossed. I sighed, straightening my resolve along with my robe.
"Why the long face? I thought you liked the little cop."
I glared at Alfred and he smiled. I had said once that Elijah was cute, and I'd been trying ever since to live it down. As I descended the stairs, I saw him waiting in the sitting room by the bay window, reading the paper. Elijah was cute. It was merely an observation, although I thought Alfred's description of him being ‘little’ was a bit harsh. Elijah is five foot six, but that was hardly an abnormality. He had dark blond hair, so dark it was nearly brown, a ready smile, and big blue eyes. Elijah was only two years younger than me, but sometimes, it felt like centuries. There was a naivety in his smile that I envied, and a sparkle in his eyes no amount of bullshit ever seemed to diminish. For lack of a better word, he was innocent. I often wondered what he was doing in my house.
He was the only one of the local cops I could tolerate. Everyone else seemed fascinated by me, but it was in one of those ‘look at the lion in the cage’ sort of ways. I didn't like feeling that I was an interesting ‘thing’ on display. I've always found other's reactions to me difficult to deal with.
Elijah smiled as I walked into the room. He reached to shake my hand. I hesitated, not out of rudeness, just surprise that anyone in town would shake my hand. I don't like to touch people, but in some cases, I'll make an exception. In addition to being half animal, I am also strongly empathic. When I touch someone, I have the ability to feel what they feel, sometimes even see what they see. I get bits and pieces of imagery from their feelings. Of course, I normally take measures to avoid this. There is much about the lives of others I simply don't care to know. I'm sure there are nosy people out there who would be thrilled with this ‘talent', but I had never been one of them. Most of the time, I was able to block it out. It's something I can control. However, I often wear gloves when I hunt, or shake hands with new people, just to avoid the eventuality of seeing something I really don't want to know.
I would have a harder time doing what I do if I read the mind of every werewolf I touched. I have enough on my mind without seeing other people's lives flashing before me. I thought it was safe to shake Elijah's hand. Like I said, he was innocent. I doubted whether there was anything behind those blue eyes disturbing enough to faze me. I took his hand, and to my surprise was able to offer him a genuine smile. I almost said good morning, but remembered it was afternoon.
"Have a seat.” I indicated the chair he had risen from.
"Thank you."
He smiled nervously. Alfred stood propped against the stairs, his arms crossed in front of him, looking every bit like a bodyguard.
"I assume you didn't stop by just because you enjoy my company."
"Ah, no ... I was hoping you would be willing to share with me exactly what happened last night."
"Where would you like me to start?"
"The beginning, I guess.” I would have thought anyone else was being a smartass, but he seemed too sincere. I recounted for him the story of the night before. I had received a call at eleven thirty, informing me there was ‘a disturbance that required my attention’ at one of the clubs in a nearby city.
"The Firestarter?"
"That's right."
When I arrived, I found a tall, dark woman standing in the parking lot in what I loosely described as red lingerie. Most of her outfit had been torn from her body and hung in shreds. Even from a distance, I could see the beginnings of the change taking place. The moon was not yet full. If a lycanthrope changes, in the absence of the full moon, there is normally severe trauma involved. From the gang of frightened men standing around, I was betting on an attempted rape.
I jumped from the car, checking my blades as I approached them. The parking lot was empty, except for five men standing frozen to the spot. They watched in horror as the beautiful dancer began to shed her skin. The bones of her face lengthened as her hands turned to claws. She threw back her head and howled in what could only be described as rage. I came to a stop between her and the gawking men, uncertain which I should be protecting.
I rounded on the men, “What happened here?"
"Monster...” one of them stuttered.
"ME, a monster!” an enraged deep voice growled. “They tried to rape me.” I turned to see her half transformation. She was unmistakably a werewolf, though not fully changed. In her half wolf form, she was even taller. My guess would be close to seven feet, large, even for a female werewolf.
The men seemed to be recovering a bit. “What makes you think we'd want to touch her?” one of them spat. “We don't do monsters."
I didn't have time to ask why it was they were not surprised to see a full fledged werewolf standing in a parking lot.
"And we don't need no goddamned monster hunter to handle our business."
The man who'd insulted me went for a gun. Before he could straighten his arm to fire, I'd removed my silver machete from its sheath, slicing through his wrist. It was the same weapon my father had used to save me years ago. It only seemed right that it should still protect me.
The man writhed on the ground, holding his bloody wrist and cursing me for all he was worth. The werewolf behind me let out a roar as the group surged toward us. My father had taught me a long time ago that to hesitate is to die. “You must react without question, fight without mercy. Your attack should flow over your enemy, like water, drowning the mind, crushing the body."
I took my father's advice. I dropped to the ground and with one fluid motion cut the feet from beneath three of my would-be attackers. The one who'd tried to shoot me grabbed a stick in his remaining hand and charged. I kicked him in the face, skidding him across the gravel of the parking lot. Before he could attempt to use the stick again, I kicked it aside. With me standing over him, a machete aimed at his throat, he didn't seem so tough.
"P-p-please,” he stuttered. “Don't kill me."
I hesitated.
In a rush of flying gravel, I landed flat of my back with the one handed man, trying his best to strangle me. Without further hesitation, I placed the blade against his throat, jerking swiftly to the right. Arterial blood sprayed across my face, covering my hair. One good thing about lycanthropy, it protected you from contracting any other blood born diseases. I spat out the blood across my lips and got to my feet. The other men were dead. Parts of them littered the parking lot in disgusting chunks.
The woman, human once more, sat in the midst of the gore, her hands covering her face, rocking back and forth. I walked over to her and she jumped at the sound of my boots crunching on the gravel.
"Are you alright?” I asked.
She began to moan softly, rocking faster and faster. I knelt in front of her, placing one hand on her shoulder. Before I could ask again, she looked up at me, her face streaked with tears, dark eyes glistening in the neon glow from the sign in the parking lot.
"Are you here to kill me?"
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Yes, I had been sent there to kill her. But, could I kill an unarmed woman who had only been defending herself? Technically, I was equipped for the job, but I didn't have the heart. This was the part of the job I could do without. You come across some occasionally who will beg for their lives. Of course, they were just trying to kill you moments ago, but you're not supposed to remember that. Do I still kill them? Yes. But, I don't like it. There are some things you just don't want to have to remember.
"No.” I finally answered. “I'm not going to kill you."
She looked surprised. “But you're Lilith Mercury. They say to see you ... is to see Death."
I felt like shit. Here was a woman who had been fighting for her life and was fully expecting me to kill her for it.
"What will happen to me?” she asked.
"Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm just ... shaken."
"Then I suggest you go home."
She looked around wide eyed at the bodies littering the ground.
"I'll take care of this."
Seeming somewhat reassured, she gave me a shaky smile and walked to one of the nearby cars. “Thank you,” she whispered before getting in the car and driving away.
I sat there for a minute and cried.
Of course, this was not the version of events I told Elijah. Fortunately, it turned out one of the men was a werewolf, the friend of Marco's I had recognized. He was the one who'd turned up at my house that night, and the only one missing from the pile of gore in the parking lot. I told Elijah he had instigated the attack on the woman and I defended her when they chose to attack.
"They were torn apart,” he said, disbelieving.
I had left out the part about the woman finishing them off.
"Fine,” he said, when I offered no further explanation. “Fine,” he repeated. “I just don't know how much longer we can cover this up. We're writing it up as an animal attack.” He ran his fingers through his hair in irritation. “Do you know how many ‘animal attacks’ this county has?"
"What do you suggest, Officer Jasper? Tell the public there are werewolves among them? We'd have a riot on our hands.” Alfred couldn't be quiet any longer.
Elijah seemed to consider this for a moment, as if it had been a real suggestion. “No,” he said finally. He laughed half heartedly. “The south is full of enough prejudice without the general public knowing there's werewolves on the loose. That's an entirely new species they could set on fire."
I couldn't help but laugh. He was right. Never underestimate the stupidity of other people. Alfred looked at me like I'd lost my mind. After Elijah left, not satisfied, but not getting any more answers, Alfred turned to me.
"What are you not telling me?"
"What do you want to hear? That I wasn't going to kill an innocent woman for defending herself? She wasn't part of a resistance group. She was being attacked!"
"How do you know? Did you ask her?"
My patience had reached its limit. “No, Alfred, I didn't ask her. But I can tell you this, if someone tried to rape me, they damn sure better kill me, or I'm gonna kill them. I would rip them limb from limb, just like she did, for daring to touch me!"
He put his hand on my shoulder and I snatched away as I said, “And I'd enjoy it."
* * * *
I walked down to the kitchen that evening, after I'd cooled off a bit, wondering what sort of mood Alfred would be in. I'd made a second report to my father just after talking, alright, after screaming, at Alfred. Considering my father comes from a planet that believes in eye for eye justice, he had no problem with my actions. Elijah was a different story, but I liked him. He had never looked at me like I was a monster.
The systems of government on planet Terra are vastly different from that of Earth. There has been only one world war, even though they are far more technologically advanced. This might be due in part to the fact that remnants of the war have remained in play for thousands of years. There are no courts or juries on Terra. They have what are known as judges. These individuals have the ability to touch someone and tell whether or not they have committed a crime. They are clairvoyant to the extent that if the person is guilty, they may even see images of the crime upon touching them.
The judges are never told what the person has been accused of. They merely tell what they see. If you are innocent, they will know. Most people confess. After all, there is no lying to a judge, and there's no telling what else they might see. The judges are periodically brought before the Wizard Council to see if for any reason they have been lying about what they've seen. Punishments are fairly stiff on planet Terra. To lie about the guilt of another is a crime punishable by death. It's easier to carry out the sentence if you know for certain the accused is guilty. At least, that's the theory.
The smell of coffee greeted me as I crossed the foyer. When I entered the kitchen, I found Alfred standing at the counter. Without asking he took out my favorite mug and poured me some coffee. He turned around, handed me the deep purple mug, and sat down. Feeling awkward after the way I had spoken to him, I sat down, not knowing what to say.
"Alfred—"
"Don't,” he interrupted. “Just don't. You can't kill someone for self defense. Let's not argue over this. There are bigger issues."
"Such as?"
"Such as, Elijah's right. These so called animal attacks are getting harder to pass off as truth. People have seen things they can't explain ... they're just not buying it anymore."
"You were serious today when you suggested making ... what, some sort of public statement?"
"I don't know if I'd go that far, but something needs to be done. It's not just political extremists we're dealing with. There are innocent people at stake.” He waved his hand absently toward me. “You saw that yourself ... people are being infected at a growing rate and the fact is ... they're not the bad guys, just because they're lycanthropes."
"You're right. I've thought so for years now.” I took a sip of my coffee, relieved he wasn't going to yell at me, but I wasn't entirely sure I preferred this conversation to being yelled at. “A lot of the people that escaped to this planet in the first place were innocent. It wasn't their fault the city they lived in was a target area."
"To the first Hunter, that didn't matter, though."
"So I've heard, but we're all over now. Why did they send just one? In the beginning, I mean. That just doesn't make much sense to me."
He sighed. “It wasn't supposed to be this big of a problem ... they thought he could handle it."
"What made them think one man could handle a viral outbreak that turns people into wolves? Who did he think he was, God?"
Alfred laughed, but he didn't really sound amused. “No, but the guy who messed with his DNA did."
"What do you mean, ‘messed’ with?"
Alfred told me what he knew about the first Hunter sent to Earth. His name has long since been erased from the record books, but his story is legend. He was part of the original group of Hunters formed to control the virus on planet Terra. Shortly after the first year of infection, his family was killed by werewolves. All of them. This was around the time people were escaping to Earth in order to avoid execution. He volunteered to be part of an experiment to become the ‘ultimate hunter', a weapon against the werewolves.
He was injected with a synthetic twenty fourth pair of chromosomes. These chromosomes would, in theory, make him super human. He would have superior night vision in order to hunt more effectively at night, when most of the werewolves were active. His strength would rival that of the monsters themselves. This individual was also rumored to have been blessed with many psychic abilities, as well as descended from wizards.
The Terran people naturally age slower than people on Earth. Telomeres, the ends of chromosomes, are known as the ‘molecular clock’ of the cell. Cell division is directly affected by telomere length. After each cell division, telomeres get shorter. To explain the significance of this as quickly as possible, the Terran people have exceptionally long telomeres. This slows the aging process significantly. As an unexpected side effect of the introduction of the twenty fourth chromosome pair into his system, this ‘super hunter', had his aging process slowed even further, with the potential to even outlive wizards, whose life spans are close to one thousand years.
"You never know how much to believe,” Alfred finished.
"Whatever happened to him? Was he killed?"
"Killed? No. He just disappeared ... somewhere around the middle ages, I believe. Heard he lost his mind."
"Was that a side effect also? Insanity?"
Alfred laughed. “Honey, insanity is a side effect of life. If you live long enough, something is bound to drive you crazy."
I couldn't argue there. I sighed, absently stirring my coffee with the tip of my finger.
"In spite of the obvious reasons to not look happy, I'm going to ask the stupid question. What's wrong?” Alfred said.
I didn't know where to begin. My thoughts had drifted to a subject that had nothing to do with anything we had been talking about. I was thinking about my most recent failed relationship. Yes, I did have a life outside of being a Hunter. I'd just put it on hold for the past couple of months.
I'd been dating a Hunter working in a neighboring state who happened to fit my ideal: tall, dark, and handsome. Alfred joked with me that my ideal comes closer to tall, dark, and creepy. He's right. The point is I dated this man for three and a half years, thinking I knew him. Turns out, the bastard was married all along. I had suspected as much. But, somewhere along the way ... I realized I loved him, despite my better judgment. I wanted desperately to believe the lies he told me. Sometimes, we think we've found something. We want so desperately to believe it's true, despite what our eyes might see. I longed for somewhere in someone's embrace that felt like home. It wasn't the first time I'd been hurt, and if I lived longer, it would not be the last. But that didn't make his betrayal any less devastating.
To make matters worse, when he'd realized I'd found out the truth, he ran. I found out through a mutual friend that he was planning to leave the country, without so much as a goodbye. You tell your friends goodbye, you tell your family goodbye. How could he just walk away like I was nothing? So, I dumped him before he got the chance. I disappeared from his life, just like he had been planning to do to me. A few months later, I heard he had moved. That should have given him plenty of time to figure out he'd been dumped.
I'd never found it easy to trust people, but I'd taken a chance. I had so much going on inside of me, so much going on outside, I hadn't taken the time to ... grieve. Since he turned out to be someone entirely different than I thought he was, I hadn't lost him. I had lost my ideal. I would always love the man I thought he was, and always be disappointed in who he turned out to be.
"I asked you a question,” Alfred softly insisted.
Alfred was one of the few people who knew what had happened. We lived together for crying out loud. I had to talk to somebody. When I didn't answer, he moved into the chair next to me. When he went to touch me, I backed away.
"Don't. Please, don't ... if you touch me, I'll cry, and I really don't want to cry right now. I've got other things that I should be thinking about, other things I should be doing...."
"Shh."
Alfred and I didn't have much physical contact, for obvious reasons. I didn't think it was polite to accidentally read your friend's emotions. I felt that in not touching him, I was allowing him more privacy. I was surprised when he reached over and held me. Then, I did something I hadn't allowed myself to do for the past two months: I cried. I cried, like the world was ending, because to me ... it was. I mourned for the part of me that had been lost when I realized you really couldn't trust people.
We'd known each other a long time, and I was comfortable with Alfred, but I usually didn't let him see that side of me. I didn't let anyone see that side of me. When I'd cried the day before after rescuing the woman in the parking lot, I'd been shocked. That wasn't like me. I cried, just not often, and not in front of people. I cried when I watched a really good movie, or when I went to the theater. But now, it was like a flood gate had opened somewhere inside of me and I didn't seem capable of shutting it off.
I crawled into Alfred's lap, wrapped my arms around his neck and cried until I was most likely dehydrated. I was too caught up in my own turmoil to read what Alfred felt. Besides that takes direct contact with my hands, skin on skin. He held me as if I was falling apart and he was trying to keep the pieces together. When I finally pulled back from his shoulder, his lab coat, which he was seldom without, was soaked. I opened my mouth to explain, or at least apologize, but he stopped me with that charming half smile of his.
"Why must you insist on dating assholes who make you lose faith in all mankind?"
I laughed. “How did you know?"
"I really didn't think you felt that strongly about genetic engineering."
I laughed harder, and it felt good. I realized awkwardly that I was sitting in Alfred's lap. He didn't object to me being there, but he also didn't object when I slid back into my chair.
He got up and refreshed my coffee for me. “You want some chocolate?"
I smiled. “What makes you think I need chocolate?"
"Well, I was going to have some, and I didn't want to be rude."
Since he was nice enough not to mention the fact that I'd just had a minor breakdown in his lap, I decided to have some chocolate with him, and I felt better.

Chapter Three 
Several days passed and my mind kept drifting back to my most recent pain in the ass. Yes, he had broken my heart, but the pain seemed to be lodged a bit lower. So, I did what I often do when I feel like shit, I gardened. I got some tools from the shed behind the house and started with trimming my roses. My yard overflows with roses. There is a trellis over the gravel driveway out front, completely overgrown by a thornless climbing Queen Anne, a fragrant old English rose which hangs in clusters of tiny white blooms. There are many other roses scattered throughout the woods, but my favorite rose grows on the balcony. I made my way around to the side of the house, kneeling beside the roots of the climbing Don Juan.
When I'd moved into the house seven years ago, I had the bright idea of planting the Don Juan underneath the balcony. Not only is it a dramatically beautiful climbing rose, but it is symbolic to me for two reasons. First, my favorite poem of all time is Robert Burns, My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose. Second, Don Juan was famous for entering his lover's apartments through their balcony windows.
As I sat daydreaming of romance that had somehow passed me by, I found myself suddenly sitting in a large shade. I looked up and found Alfred standing over me. He sat down beside me and looked up at the rose, propping on his elbows to lean back on the grass.
"I see you're still waiting for Don Juan to climb through your balcony window,” he teased.
I shook my head, smiling. “I should never have told you why I planted this rose."
He laughed, “Melodramatic, don't you think?"
"A little,” I admitted. “But, great romance and great melodrama often go hand in hand."
"Sometimes I forget you're a poet,” he said.
I've had several poems published in different anthologies. I thought of having them published under a different name, but decided against it. Most of the people who know my name, do not read poetry. There's nothing wrong with being a romantic at heart. I'm just not fond of the idea of everyone knowing I have a heart. It could always be used against me.
"If I didn't have a creative outlet, I'd probably go crazy,” I said. “Besides, I like to write."
"And paint, and sketch, and dance...."
"There's nothing wrong with being well rounded,” I insisted.
Alfred laughed. “Yeah, but most of my family's idea of a hobby is becoming well round."
Alfred is Italian. His father was a Hunter, stationed in Italy years ago, where he met his mother. They're both in their seventies and as far as I know, doing well. We sat under the roses and laughed while he talked about his fat aunt who had personal ‘issues’ too numerous to name, though he mentioned a few. And his psychotic cousin, who was at last report doing drag shows in London.
"But ... you're cousin, Antonio, he's not gay. Is he?"
"No,” he laughed. “It was the only job he could find that didn't require a criminal background check.” Alfred had laughed to the point of tears. “He has the nerve to be offended when someone comes on to him. I told him, you can't be homophobic and work in a gay bar!"
I giggled. “I didn't realize he was homophobic."
"And I didn't realize how long it had been since you'd smiled ... you should do it more often.” He made a dramatic bow, which looked funny considering he was still sitting down. “If talking about my dysfunctional relatives helps you, then I'm more than happy to oblige."
"How is it you know what I needed?"
"Questa non e la mia prema volta," he whispered. I knew enough Italian to interpret, “This is not my first time."
I smiled. “Are you coming on to me?"
Alfred's smile grew wider, and if possible more mischievous. “If I were coming on to you, you wouldn't have to ask. I'm just trying to cheer you up."
I could feel my expression changing again. I didn't realize how miserable I'd been a few minutes ago, until he reminded me.
"Oh God, don't give me that face."
"What face? I wasn't giving any face."
"That face,” he pointed at me. “I know that pitiful face. Have you seen Kathryn lately?"
"No, but what's Kat got to do with my face?"
"Maybe she could help keep a smile on it. Call her, go out, do something. You're twenty four, for God's sake. You shouldn't look this pitiful."
"I'm busy."
"Liar. There's nothing we can do about anything that's going on in the world right now. We cannot change anything politically relating to werewolves. Someone with more authority than us has to make that decision.” He took a breath. “Furthermore, the world will not end if you take some time off."
"You never go out."
"I'm busy.” He smiled.
"Asshole.” I got to my feet.
"Well.... “ Alfred stood up, towering over me. “Opinions are a lot like assholes, everybody has one."
* * * *
I called Kathryn later that day and we made plans to go clubbing and stay out of town one night that weekend, since all the decent clubs were at least two hours away. She agreed with Alfred. “It'll do you good."
I'd met Kat four years ago, shortly after rescuing her then boyfriend from a pack of werewolves. We'd been friends ever since. Kat is six years older than me and a few inches taller. The first time I saw her, I knew her relationship with the man I'd saved would never last. Kathryn's an attractive, slender brunette, with wavy shoulder length hair, dark eyes, and fair skin. She was way out of his league.
While packing my bags Friday afternoon, I kept remembering the odd dreams I'd been having. I hadn't mentioned them to Alfred. I felt like I'd dumped enough of my personal baggage on him lately. However, I planned to tell Kat as soon as she picked me up. I'd had the same dream twice, so I thought I should pay attention to it. There was more than one reason I'd accepted my friends’ advice. In the dream, I was going out, and Kat was with me. We were in a club I'd never seen before, in a place that was not familiar to me ... and there was a man. I knew him in my dream, though, for the life of me, I could not remember him when I woke up. The more I concentrated on seeing his face, the cloudier the image became.
When Kat arrived, I threw my bag in the back of her SUV.
"You're only taking one bag?” She looked like I'd just committed a crime in broad daylight.
"Why? How many are you taking?"
It had been a stupid question. I looked at the many color coordinated cases beside my own simple black leather bag and gave her a questioning look.
"Well, one is just shoes,” she said, as if that explained everything.
"We're only staying one night."
"I couldn't make up my mind!” She laughed.
"Let me say goodbye to Alfred. He's probably forgotten I won't be here tonight. Most likely would have called in a search party before he remembered."
She laughed, shaking her head as I went back in the house. I found Alfred walking down the stairs, looking confused. “There you are. I was just looking for you. I meant to tell you—Kathryn called, she's running late."
I smiled. “She's already here, Al."
"Oh. Well, I guess that explains why you weren't upstairs."
I laughed as I reached to hug him. Like I said, Alfred and I didn't have much physical contact, I just felt like hugging him. He had been a comfort to me in the past few days, and I appreciated him.
He smiled at me. “Well, I feel special."
"You should. I'll be back some time tomorrow."
"Try to relax, have fun. The world won't stop if you forget to be miserable for a few hours."
"Is that advice or doctor's orders?"
"Doctor's orders.” He laughed.
As I was buckling my seat belt, Kathryn looked at me and shook her head, tut-tut ting me under her breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"If you've got something to say, say it."
She took a deep breath, “I don't understand why you're still broken up over some loser when you're living with a hot Italian.” Kat giggled at the expression on my face.
"Alfred?"
"Yeah, Alfred. You've know him for what, fourteen years now, and you never noticed the man is sexy?"
I shrugged. “I just don't think of Alfred that way."
She was so busy giving me ‘the look’ that she nearly missed her turn. Once we were safely on the right road, in the right lane, she said, “Well, maybe you should."
"Should what?"
"Stop being difficult! You know damn well what I mean. I just can't believe that a hopeless romantic, a poet for Pete's sake, and an Italian, who are notoriously romantic, have been living in the same house for seven years now, alone, and they're not getting in it on."
My jaw dropped. “I think I've been a bad influence on you,” I said.
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
"When I suggested that you listen to some mellow R & B—"
"Stop avoiding the subject. You've noticed, or it wouldn't be so difficult for you to talk about."
The ‘subject’ was beginning to wear thin on my nerves. “It is not difficult for me to talk about. I just have nothing to say, that's all."
Kat looked like she didn't believe me, but figured she wouldn't get any further. “Whatever you say. You know, in some cultures, sex is considered therapeutic."
I couldn't help but laugh. “It is not."
"Sure it is."
"Where?"
She snickered. “I'll think of somewhere. Personally, I'd use any excuse to get into the good Doctor's pants."
"Kathryn!"
"What? It's all your fault. I was a normal, upstanding citizen before I met you."
"Liar."
"No, really, I was. I would never have said something like that four years ago. I might have thought it, but then again, you've influenced my thoughts, too, I think."
"You think I've influenced your thoughts? Bit redundant, don't you think?"
"Give me a break. I'm trying to concentrate on not running into a ditch."
"No. I believe you were concentrating on getting into Alfred's pants."
"Oh, not for me. I was concentrating on getting you into Alfred's pants."
I admitted to myself that Alfred was handsome, and I had noticed. But I honestly had never thought of him ... intimately before. I could have slapped Kat for putting thoughts into my head that did not need to be there. Alfred was my friend. He'd worked with my father ... I could not be attracted to him. It would complicate things I didn't need complicated. My life was messed up enough as it was. After a few minutes, I came up with an excuse I thought would get Kathryn off my back.
"He's too old for me, even if I did find him attractive."
"No. What is he? Thirty six, maybe?"
"He's fifty."
I enjoyed the look of utter disbelief on her face, raising my eyebrows as if to say, See, I was right.
"I knew you guys lived longer, but damn. I had no idea. He looks thirty something.” She pressed on, undeterred. “Oh well, what's the expression, ‘age ain't nothin’ but a number?’”
I laughed, “You're sick."
"Possibly."
"This is off the subject, but I want to ask your opinion about something."
I told her about the strange dream I'd been having, doing my best to not leave out any detail.
"And there was a man there?” she asked.
"Yeah."
"But you didn't know him?"
"I knew him in my dream. I just can't remember his face once I wake up."
"You know what this sounds like?” she smirked.
"I'm afraid to ask."
"You need to get laid."
I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you've got issues."
"Maybe, but I know hormones in overdrive when I see them."
"I know a pervert when I see one, too."
"Takes one to know one."
I decided to not argue the fact. When it came to extracurricular thoughts, my mind wasn't in the gutter, it was the gutter.
* * * *
While we were getting dressed that evening, Kat took the opportunity to pick on me further for my eccentricities. She wore a short black dress and sensible low heels, not too dressy, not too casual. She'd fit in most anywhere.
My outfit on the other hand was ... different. If I was going to go out, I wanted to be able to be myself. I wore tight low cut leather pants, combat boots with a heel, and a slinky black shirt that was open only enough to reveal my spine from the bra line down. I'd been careful, as always, to cover my scars. There were some things I just didn't feel like explaining. The only color I wore was my red hair and silver belt buckle. I felt more confident in black. The leather was just a fetish of mine.
I suppose Alfred had thought Kat would be responsible and keep an eye on me. Yeah, right. We went to a few places. Mostly, Kat drank a lot and watched me dance. I love to dance. It's such an incredible stress reliever. There are some times when stress just calls for physical activity. I'd worked out so vigorously over the past few months that I'd lost ten pounds. But, I was sick of making my punching bag suffer defeat, or slicing and dicing my poor steel dummy in the training room. I needed to do something less violent to calm my nerves. I needed to dance.
It was very late, or very early, depending on how you want to look at it, when we arrived at the last stop of the night. This club was unusual, to say the least. Three bold letters splashed above the door in massive blood colored brushstrokes said, Red. The moment I saw it, I knew this was the place from my dream, and somewhere inside was the man I'd been dreaming about.
The inside of the place was dark, with occasional flashes of strobe lights illuminating a path through the crowd of sweaty, gyrating bodies. When I say the music pumped, I'm not using a figure of speech. You could feel the rhythm in your chest, like a heartbeat. Like really good sex, the pounding music rattled your teeth. The whole room pulsated with an energy I couldn't describe. It excited me.
In the time we were there a variety of music was played and a variety of people were on the dance floor. Some who could dance, others so drunk they thought they could. Kat made her way over to what may have been a stage, but it looked more like an elevated part of the dance floor. She sat at a table there to enjoy watching some drunk guys trying to dance.
"Free entertainment,” she yelled, pointing at the staggering group.
I yelled back that I'd be at the bar for a while and made my way back through the crowd. I sat on one of the tall leather barstools and ordered a cola and rum. Unfortunately for me, it took a great deal of alcohol to get me drunk and right then I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in the wonderful haze of intoxication. I metabolize alcohol at such a fast rate that I can get a buzz, sit down to watch a movie, and be completely sober halfway through. Kat saw my high metabolism as a gift from God, until I told her how fast I burned off alcohol.
"No one could ever take advantage of you,” she'd teased, looking scandalized.
I tried explaining to her there are ways of intoxicating the senses besides alcohol. She'd grinned and said, “Yeah, but I haven't had sex that good in a while.” That wasn't exactly what I'd meant, but I thought explaining would have been a waste of time.
I stayed at the bar for at least twenty minutes, eventually downing straight shots of rum. The whole time I was there, I sensed someone watching me. I put down my tenth empty shot glass and focused for a moment on the eyes that I could feel on my back. Even through the haze I'd managed to accomplish I knew a werewolf when I sensed one. My heart fluttered, my pulse quickened, and I was suddenly short of breath. It was almost like being aroused.
Someone leaned over me just as there was a brief pause in the music and whispered against my right ear, “Would you like to dance?” His scent was thrilling. He smelled clean, like soap mingled with aftershave, and underneath it all, there was the undeniable scent of a man. I turned enough to see Marco Barak.
"Hello, Red,” he smiled.
I wondered if he'd been waiting till I got drunk enough to accept his offer. I hesitated for a moment, just looking at him. I might have to kill this man one day. But that night, I wanted to dance. I took his hand and led him onto the dance floor through the crowd, and onto the raised platform in front of Kat's table. We danced for what felt like hours. I suppose you could have called our dancing foreplay. I know many women consider dancing a metaphor for sex. If that's true, then my God, this man danced well.
Time stood still as we moved together. The touch of his body against mine sent fire through my veins, like small jolts of electric sensuality. I was vaguely aware that Kat had taken out her camera and was snapping pictures between the flashing lights. The room seemed to freeze with each flash, giving me unforgettable mental images. Marco wore black leather pants and a matching shirt that felt smooth to the touch. We looked as if we'd dressed to match.
His hair that I remembered as a dusty brown had darkened over the years. Through the rain a few weeks ago, I couldn't tell. After all, everything is darker when it's wet. But, his eyes were the same deep chocolate brown I remembered. I noticed a light stubble on his chin, as if he'd forgotten to shave, and the beginnings of side burns. Have I mentioned how fond I am of men who look like they've been roughed up a little?
He pulled me close and asked, “What are you thinking?"
"That you're a good dancer.” I paused, looking him up and down. “It's difficult to find a man with such ... rhythm.” I looked into his dark eyes and saw a passion which could only be described as hunger.
"I was seriously considering asking you to leave with me,” he confessed.
"I was considering doing just that."
He didn't seem as surprised as I'd expected. “Are you here with someone?"
"A friend."
"Are you attached to someone in any way?"
"Yes,” I lied. “Are you?"
"Yes, but I'm beginning to regret my choices,” he answered.
He pulled me near, as if to kiss me. Stopping just short of contact, he breathed against my lips, “Let's get out of here."
"Let me tell my friend I'm leaving. She's really drunk and is going to need a cab,” I explained.
"Does she know me?” he asked.
"Yeah, she knows who you are."
He paused, as if trying to figure out how to word his question. “I mean, does she know—"
"What you are?” I interrupted.
He nodded.
"Yes. She does,” I said simply.
"Will she tell on you?” he asked.
"No."
Stepping down from the platform, I walked to Kathryn's table and tried to explain that I was leaving with Marco. She was very drunk and couldn't seem to grasp what I was saying. I handed her some money. “You go back to the hotel, don't take anyone with you, and lock the door. Understand?” She nodded, but still had a blank look on her face.
"But ... isn't he....?"
"Yes,” I interrupted, “He is."
She looked around me at Marco. It was obvious what she was thinking. She looked him up and down like he was on a buffet and she was starving. “Oh ... alright then.” I gave her a look that said this was not up for discussion. “How long will you be?” she asked.
I glanced back to Marco waiting patiently and let my eyes roam over all of the places I'd like to put my hands. “This might take a while,” I answered.
We made our way back through the crowd and stepped out onto the sidewalk. I followed him to his car. We arrived at his hotel and wasted no time getting to his room. There was a straight backed chair in the corner which looked perfect for what I had in mind. I stood the chair in the middle of the room and indicated that he should have a seat. Marco looked very pleased with the way the evening was turning out. I pressed him back into the chair as I straddled his waist. The sound of our leather pants creaking together turned me on.
"I'm not really into one night stands,” I said.
"I was planning to keep in touch."
"Why bother? You're already having me followed."
"You can't pretend not to feel what I felt when we danced.” He paused. “And I'm not talking about a hard on. Say what you will, but we'll never be here again ... this exact place, with this precise opportunity."
"So, you'd like to screw my brains out, then get to know me?"
"Something like that."
I could no longer control my urge to touch him. I ran my hands along the taut muscles of his arms as I kissed him. His skin felt hot, almost fevered beneath my touch. I could feel his hands on my thighs, caressing me through the leather. I ran my hands underneath the short sleeves of his shirt so I could grip his shoulders. Ever so gently, I ground my hips against him. He growled in response, a deep, primitive sound. What I felt for Marco was raw, animal.
"Fuck,” I whispered as I drew back.
"I was getting to that,” he said.
I got up and walked over to the small purse I'd carried with me that evening and took out two sets of handcuffs. I saw the surprised smile on his face as I turned around. One set of cuffs was connected by a long chain. Marco sat quietly as I cuffed his legs together, and cuffed his hands through the bars on the back of the chair. Once I'd sufficiently subdued him, I took a seat, again straddling his lap.
"Did you try to have me killed?” I asked.
He didn't seem to immediately follow the change in subject.
"Huh?” He struggled briefly. “These cuffs are silver,” he looked angry.
"Yes, they are, very observant of you."
"Do you always carry silver handcuffs in your purse?” he growled.
Leaning into him, I decided to take a page from Alfred's book as I whispered, “This is not my first time.” To my surprise, he laughed. He was trying to appear calm, but I knew better. I wasn't sure how much he knew about me or my psychic ability. However, there were things I could sense that had nothing to do with my mind, and everything to do with the body of the man I was sitting on.
I brushed my face against his, like a cat, enjoying the way his stubble felt against my cheek. “Mmmm,” I purred, “You smell good."
"What do you want?” he gulped.
"I want what every woman wants, a man you can trust."
I wasn't lying when I said Marco smelled good. Oh, this was beyond good, it was down right appetizing. Continuing to rub my cheek against him, I pressed my lips to the soft skin just beneath his earlobe, placing my nose near his hair line. I wanted to remember his scent. I could feel his pulse beating faster beneath my lips as I moved in a trail of kisses, down to the curve of his collar bone.
"If we're going to do this, the least you can do is let me use my hands,” he struggled against the cuffs.
"Oh, we're not doing anything. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you're going to give me what I want."
"Which is?"
"Answers, Marco. I want answers."
"Suppose I don't...?"
"Then I'll be forced to kill you,” I said as I licked across the pulse in his throat.
Much to my delight, he gasped before answering. “You'd kill me, but you touch me like this? I don't think so."
I pulled back to look into his eyes and found them to be a rather unfocused werewolf amber. It should have frightened me, I suppose, but I thought it was sexy as hell. Moving forward, as if to kiss him, I hovered just above his lips. “Please ... don't suffer delusions, Marco,” I whispered seductively. “Just because I like to play with my food, doesn't mean that I won't eat it.” I sighed and watched as it made him shiver. “Now, I believe you were about to tell me why you tried to have me killed?"
"I didn't."
"Are you trying to tell me that Simon is no longer your lap wolf?"
"Simon?"
"Yes, Simon. I'm certain it was him I stabbed through the neck a few weeks ago in my back yard. But then again, you guys all look alike to me."
"What did you stab him with?"
"A shepherd's hook,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Now, back to the subject. What's going on?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. I followed Simon to your house. I arrived just in time to see your big buddy dragging the body through the back door."
"Why did you follow him? Did you want to watch him kill me?"
"I told you,” he panted, “It wasn't me."
"Who was it then, Marco? It's getting late and I'm too tired to play these games.” I felt him stiffen. “What's the matter? Have I hit a nerve? Losing control of your lackeys these days?” I toyed absently with his hair, my eyes never wavering from his.
"Bade,” he said.
"Bade Garren? Hmm, you're right hand man.” I caressed the front of his tight leather pants as I said, “I assume he stays busy?"
He made a noise closer to a bark than a laugh. “I could answer your questions better if you didn't ... torture me like this."
"Oh, I'm sure you could answer them better, but no doubt less truthfully. I wouldn't want to give you time to think up a suitable lie.” I looked at him then and felt the familiar burning sensation behind my eyes, letting me know they were bleeding to amber. “Don't make me take what I want from you, Marco.” He looked a question at me. I knew then he had no idea of the true extent of my abilities.
"That's right,” I whispered maliciously, “I can read your mind if I have to.” I didn't bother to elaborate that it was only his emotions I could read. Only if those emotions were strong enough could I get any images from them. He looked terrified as I ran my hands up the sides of his neck, and through his hair, coming to rest on either side of his head.
"Wait. I'll tell you ... if you'll take my word."
I let my hands slide back down his neck and shoulders, leaning forward as I did so.
"I'm listening."
He gave me the rundown of goings on in the werewolf world. It seems he had been trying to convince his fellow werewolves that I was not their enemy, that their enemy was a government who didn't recognize them as people anymore. “Our rights have been stripped away, for reasons beyond our control,” he continued. “Bade disagrees.” A look of unmistakable disgust passed over his face when he mentioned Bade. “He thinks we're all animals, wants to form packs, like dogs. I'll admit, we're not exactly ‘human’ anymore ... but we are still people."
I was surprised. “But, what about Simon? I'm pretty sure he had something to do with a group of men who attacked a woman at The Firestarter recently."
"Yes, I know. And then you killed him."
"I had no choice...."
"I was going to offer you my congratulations."
"Really? What was Simon doing running with a bunch of ordinary humans? They were ordinary humans?"
"Yeah, they were human, but I don't know how ordinary you'd consider them. They were a bunch of Bade's followers. They take orders from him, in the hopes that he will turn them."
"Werewolf wannabes?” I couldn't control my look of shock.
"For lack of a better word, yeah."
"You've gotta be kidding me? Why would anyone want to do this to themselves deliberately?"
"I wouldn't deliberately choose what happened to me. But you ... I think you overlook the gift you have."
"Gift?"
"Hear me out,” he interrupted. “You have the strength and the heightened senses of the wolf, without being forced to take its form. You're ... super human, even if it was by accident. I think Garren may be trying to somehow replicate what happened to you. You got to keep the power, the beauty, without taking on the beast."
I laughed bitterly as I slid from Marco's lap, turning my back to him. My fists clinched, nails digging painfully into my palms. I could feel my pulse racing, rage coursed through my veins like a living thing. I growled, a sound that was no longer human, as I snatched off my shirt.
"No, Marco, I don't have to take on the beast,” I said, my back still turned. "I am the beast,” I roared. I turned to him and revealed not only my scars, but the way my muscles rippled beneath my skin when I flexed. My nails grew into razors that extended from my hands, and my eyes, burned wolf amber. “I can do this at will,” I said, flexing my horrible claws as I held them before his face. “And you call this a gift?” I began to pace in front of his chair.
"You know, I could never stop monster hunting, BECAUSE I FIND ONE WHEN I WAKE UP EVERY MORNING! You're right, I don't transform with the full moon. This is as scary as it gets, and the only people to have ever seen this much before are dead. This is not a gift, Marco. It's a curse. I don't fit in either world. I'm not one of you, but I'm not one of them either. You think I'm super human, but most of your kind thinks of me as either Death, or an abomination. Everyone else, if they knew ... would think of me as a monster."
I retracted my claws, picked up my shirt, and took the keys to the cuffs from my pocket. He said nothing while I released him and put the cuffs back in my purse. I turned to leave and before I could blink, he slammed me against the wall, holding me in place with his body.
"You think I'm going to just let you leave?"
"Yeah, I do."
One long claw began to grow from the nail of his index finger as he stroked it gently across my throat. I did not respond. “You know, among my kind as you so colorfully put it, only the very powerful ... the ones who've been wolf the longest can do what you just did. It takes years to learn to control the change. I can change at will now also, but on the full moon, I am forced to change.” He seemed to consider something as he held me there. “Could you really read my mind, or were you just bluffing?"
"I never bluff."
"When did that happen? I don't know any werewolves who gained psychic powers when they turned."
I gave him my most blank uninterested look. “I was born with it."
He pressed against me enough that I could tell he was happy to be there. When I didn't respond, he retracted his claw and took a step back. I slumped forward without his weight pressing against me. “You're no fun, Red."
"I've got a lot on my mind,” I replied.
I left Marco's hotel room without another word. I was surprised to find no werewolf guards as I called a cab downstairs. On the ride back to pick up Kat's SUV, I found myself wondering how much of what Marco said could be believed. Through what powers I had available, I believed he was telling the truth. To have truly let down my guard in order to get the full brunt of what he was feeling would have been a mistake. I lied when I said I never bluffed. I did not want to be in Marco's head. That was something I could not handle then ... or maybe ever.
When I entered the hotel room I was sharing with Kat, I was surprised to find her still awake, waiting on me.
"Well?” she asked immediately.
"Well, what?"
"How was it?"
"It sucked."
"Come again?"
"Nothing happened, but he did give me some things to think about."
I could tell by the look on her face she was considering what I'd just said. “Ok. I know who he is, and that ‘technically’ he's the bad guy ... but you mean to tell me you haven't wanted to screw that man's brains out since you first laid eyes on him? You told me when you saw him years ago he looked good enough to eat!"
I kicked my boots off beside the bed across from Kat's and began rummaging in my bag for something to sleep in. “I'm not saying it wasn't difficult to turn down...."
"You're insane,” she interrupted.
"And you're still drunk. Get some sleep Kat. I'll tell you what happened when you're sober enough to understand it.” I expected her to argue, but she flounced back on the pillows in a huff and turned on the television instead. I stripped down to my black lace underwear, pulled on an old t-shirt that said, ‘One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor’ and crawled into bed.
I would like to say I slept well. But no one could rest seeing what I saw when I closed my eyes. Marco stood before me, smiling his come on smile, looking as appealing as original sin. I slid his shirt up as far as I could reach, letting him pull it the rest off the way. I ran my hands over the ridged muscles of his stomach, over his chest. I pressed myself against him, reveling in the way the hair on his chest felt pressed against my bare breasts.
"Lilith,” he whispered. Lilith? Wait a minute! He'd never call me by my name.
"LILITH?” Kat was standing by my bed shaking me.
"Get up. We need to get on the road. And you need to tell me about last night."
I looked at the clock. I'd had a whopping three hours sleep. So had Kat. “How is it you're so damn chipper this morning?” I asked, rolling out of bed and groping absently for my bag.
"Chipper? I've got a pounding headache, I'm starving, and my mouth feels like cotton."
"I've never had a hang over in my life.” I laughed. I was tired, but at least I didn't look as miserable as Kat did upon further inspection. Her dark hair stood out at odd angles, some of it curling, some straight, with remnants of last nights mascara smeared under her eyes. She had somehow managed to get herself in a sun dress which might have been cute, had she not looked so strung out. I pulled on a pair of old jeans with the knees worn out and a tight little t-shirt that read, ‘Pour some sugar on me'.
"How do I look?” I asked.
"Like you have a vendetta against the fashion police."
"Bite me."
"Which brings me back to what I really wanted to know—what happened last night?"
I carried the bags downstairs. Kat got dizzy trying to bend over enough to pick hers up. Once we had checked out and were back on the road, I told her everything that had happened, right down to my dream.
"Holy shit. So, maybe he's not so bad after all?"
"Maybe. But, I still don't trust him."
"Yeah, but wanting equal rights isn't a crime."
"No, it's not,” I said, “but killing people is, and in the past, I know he's killed people just for disagreeing with him."
She gave me one of those looks that said I had no room to talk.
"I'm not judging him. I'm just trying to figure this mess out. If what he says is true, then he and Bade Garren are no longer on the same side."
"And it was Bade who tried to kill you?"
"Yeah. It looks as if Marco's pack has split right down the middle."
"What would that mean exactly? Giving them equal rights, I mean,” Kat asked.
"It's complicated. To be honest, I'm not completely sure myself. It's a crime to be infected, but it is also criminal to knowingly spread the virus. Most Hunters kill werewolves on sight, period, regardless of the situation."
"That's gotta suck."
"You've no idea."
I told her what had happened in the parking lot a few weeks ago, and watched as the magnitude of the situation began to dawn on her.
"They knew who you were,” she said softly.
"Yeah, ordinary people, and they know who I am."
* * * *
When we arrived at my house, I invited Kat in for some coffee, but she declined, saying she had a bottle of aspirin at home that should do the trick. I walked into the kitchen and found Alfred waiting on me. It was still mid morning and the smell of coffee was a welcome treat. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and chocolate. Alfred does most of the cooking. It isn't that I'm not capable. I'm actually a really good cook, when I have the time. It's just something Alfred enjoys, and I'm not about to stop an Italian from cooking.
"It smells good in here,” I commented, pouring myself some coffee. I sat across from Alfred and took a deep breath. “Cinnamon and chocolate."
"I forget sometimes what a sense of smell you've got.” He slid half of a chocolate bar across the table to me. “Use it to stir your coffee.” Well, that explained the chocolate smell. I took a piece of the chocolate and began stirring my coffee. I'm not sure if it was the coffee, or just being back in my own house, but I suddenly remembered I had a lot of things to tell Alfred, and I wasn't sure where to start.
"You don't look like you had a good time,” he commented.
"Something's happened that I need to tell you about,” I began. I told him about seeing Marco in the club, and everything he had told me about Bade, and werewolves wanting equal rights. Alfred sat quietly and listened as I went over the details of the evening, carefully leaving out the fact that I had actually picked Marco up. I also left out the part where I freaked out and ripped off my shirt in his hotel room.
By the time I'd finally finished talking, I realized my coffee was cold and I'd only drank half of it. I was nervous. I couldn't figure out why I would be so afraid to tell Alfred what had really happened. The information was the important part, at least that's what I kept telling myself. He didn't need to know I'd left the club with a man known to be a werewolf, a man that my father and Alfred both regretted not killing when they had the chance. He didn't need to know how close I had come to accepting Marco's offer. I was honest enough with myself to admit I had wanted to leave with Marco for reasons that had nothing to do with interrogation. It wasn't until I was alone with him that I'd made up my mind what had to be done.
I wanted to chain Marco to the chair and do things to him that would scandalize even Kat. But, I couldn't. For reasons beyond my explanation, I couldn't do it. I knew if I did, I wouldn't be able to come back and look Alfred in the face. It was my own damn fault. If I didn't always like the villain, I would probably never have gotten into a conversation with him in the first place. I have always been attracted to the wrong kind of man. That was one thing which helped convince me Marco couldn't be trusted. I could watch any movie for only a few minutes and tell you who the villain was, because he'd be the one I was most attracted to. That had always been the case with me, and judging from what I felt when I looked at Marco, he had to be evil.
I knew there were werewolves present when I'd walked into the club that night. Lycanthropes were easy to hunt. I can walk into a room and point them out. They have an underlying current of sex and violence, barely contained sometimes beneath their human shells. What really seals the deal, is how they taste. Bitter sweet, warm, and full bodied, like a chocolate and vanilla swirl ice cream mixed with expensive coffee. Yeah, that's right, wolfmen taste good if you lick them.
I've always had a thing for the ‘bad guy'. Normally, the worst case scenario is men who are great in bed end up treating you like shit. In my case, they some times ended up being monsters underneath their skin. Talk about being attracted to the wrong type of man. It's difficult to keep killing people you'd much rather have sex with. Just once, I'd like to meet someone who turned me on and wasn't evil. To be honest, I'd finally had enough of bad men, even if they did taste good. For the first time ever, I just wanted a nice guy.
This brought me back to Alfred, still sitting quietly at the table across from me. Alfred was a nice guy. Was that why I'd never considered coming on to him before? Was he too nice for me? What sort of woman had I become when a man like Alfred didn't pique my interest? After living with him platonically for so long, I really wasn't sure how to bring up the subject. Not that I was going to bring it up ... but the thought had crossed my mind.
"So, he just volunteered this information?” Alfred looked skeptical.
I decided to tell half of the truth to ease my conscience. “I sort of tied him up with silver hand cuffs and asked him some questions."
Alfred raised one eyebrow as he looked at me over his coffee mug. “Really? And he just let you do this?"
I wasn't sure what to say and it must have shown on my face. After a minute of awkward silence Alfred said, “Is this a regular occurrence, you carrying silver handcuffs around to question werewolves?” He paused, then stood up suddenly. “You know what? If it is, I probably don't want to know.” His tone had changed to something I'd never heard in Alfred's voice before. I heard him add in an undertone that I'm sure he thought I couldn't hear, “It would only make me jealous."
Jealous? Of me?

Chapter Four 
That night I had the strangest dream. I was inside of Alfred's head and for some reason, he was making light bulbs. The room was totally dark, that might have been why. As soon as I realized I was in his mind, I tried to escape. He turned to the far corner of the room, and I saw what looked like an opening in the floor. Beneath this opening, I could see a large body of water. It looked like we were in a room built over the docks of a lake or an ocean somewhere. He moved closer and as his toes touched the water, I ‘escaped'. I just suddenly appeared naked in the water. I remember thinking that I was tired, and didn't have time to play tonight. I started swimming away from him.
Then all of a sudden, I was back inside his mind, and I saw myself through his eyes. I cannot describe how beautiful I was, but I will never look at myself the same way. I felt him enter the water to swim toward me, knowing he would sink. He thought sinking wouldn't be so bad if he were only closer to me when he went under.
I woke up feeling overwhelmingly sad. Would Alfred really sink, just to be near me? I wasn't sure what to think, but I was too tired to analyze. It had been too long since I'd had a good night's sleep. Snuggling further down under the covers, my hand clutching the sheets beneath my chin, I sighed, remembering the dream. It had been an incredible experience to see myself as someone else did. Part of me wanted to thank him. But if he knew what I'd seen, he might also realize I knew he'd been aroused.
* * * *
Over the next few days, Alfred and I didn't speak much. He made a point of staying busy, and I threw myself back into training. But, my mind kept wandering back to the dream. It had been such an eye opening experience for me. Knowing the way he saw me was probably the best compliment I'd ever received, and I couldn't express my thanks. Through him, I saw all of me and I accepted it. I saw my imperfections, but didn't resent them. They were visible, but dulled by my glow. I had sort of an ethereal glow.
He wasn't blinded by my beauty. Rather he chose to let it overshadow my flaws, even though he saw them. He did not even appear to notice or care about my scars. Alfred looked at me as if I were a work of art, and not an object. I'd never felt so much like a woman, nor so proud to be one. How do you say ‘thank you’ for reading someone's mind? Especially when you weren't supposed to be there.
* * * *
I slumped to the training room floor, my body exhausted, mind still racing with the thoughts of my conflicting emotions. I had tried everything possible over the past two weeks to get Alfred and Marco out of my head. “If you can keep them out of your head, you can keep them out of your bed,” I kept telling myself. I wasn't entirely sure that line of thinking was correct, but it helped me sleep at night.
I looked up at the solid steel knight I'd been fencing with. “Well there you go,” I said to myself. Putting my hand on his cold metal foot for balance, I rose to my feet. I placed the rapier I'd practiced with to my forehead, and made a dramatic bow. Then with a flourish and a swish, replaced the blade to its holster at my hip. I took a step toward the dummy, propping my head against his arm. The cold steel felt good against my overheated face. “My knight in shining armor,” I breathed.
"Well, aren't we morose?"
I turned to see Kat making her way across the training room, her white pants reflected in the highly polished wood of the floor. I'd always thought Kathryn looked good in white. I leaned more heavily on the knight, suddenly feeling my days of nearly endless training.
"Not that it isn't good to see you, Kat, but to what do I owe the pleasure?"
She held a sparkling piece of jewelry to the light. “I came to return your necklace."
I leaned forward, releasing the knight in order to inspect the necklace more closely. “Kat, you borrowed this last year."
"Bout time I brought it back then, don't you think?"
"Why don't you just admit you came by to check on me?"
"Ok. Fine, I came by to check on you. And just in time, it would seem. You're talking to dummies for crying out loud."
With a melodramatic flourish of my wrist, I motioned toward the statue as I said, “Kathryn, meet Don.” I turned to the knight with a smile. “You're not a dummy, are you Don?” I said playfully.
"Don? As in Don Quixote?” She laughed. “Gees, you really are losing it, Lil.” She motioned toward the knight. “Your knight in shining armor, huh?"
With a sigh, I placed my hands on both her shoulders. “Darling, this is as close as I'm likely to get."
She laughed before saying, “If you ask me, it'd be too hard to pry him out of that tin can, even if he were real."
"Is that all you ever think about?"
Kat pretended to actually consider the question. “Mostly."
I began unbuckling my sword belt as I walked to the hook where it normally hung.
"What's wrong, Lil? What's really wrong?” she asked.
With my back still turned to her, I answered as honestly as I could. “When I figure it out, I'll let you know.” She seemed to understand my answer. As we walked past the large full length mirror near the door, I realized we looked like different sides of the same coin. Kat looked so vibrant and alive. Her snug white pants and sleeveless matching blouse looked fresh, like the summer day outside.
Preferring form fitting clothes for training, so as not to hinder my movements, I wore black yoga style pants and a sleeveless matching shirt. Both were tight enough to reveal I'd lost more weight lately. I had always been slender, but as of late, I'd begun to look positively thin. Staring at my reflection that morning, I looked every bit like the Death the dark woman had called me that night.
"Speaking of morose,” Kat said, “What's wrong with Alfred?” She gave a sort of half laugh. “Who pissed in his cornflakes?"
I couldn't help but laugh. “That would be me, I'm afraid. I sort of ... told him about cuffing Marco to the chair when I questioned him."
Her mouth fell open slightly. “And he was jealous?'
"I think so."
Kathryn looked as if that was the best news she'd heard in a long time. “Really? You know,” she added, smiling, “This might not be a bad thing."
She was right. The ‘bad thing’ was waiting in my kitchen. As we walked across the house from the training room, my ears were assaulted by the sound of shrill feminine laughter. Kat shot a questioning look at me. We entered the kitchen to find a woman I did not know obviously flirting with Alfred. I wanted her out of my house.
"Lilith.” Alfred smiled. “I'd like you to meet our new neighbor...."
"Marcy Johnson,” the woman said, rising from the table and extending her hand.
I looked at the hand with its polished red nails as if someone had just offered me strychnine. My lip curled slightly as I forced myself to say, “A pleasure, I'm sure.” She looked awkwardly at her outstretched hand. Before she could retract the offer, Kat seized her hand and introduced herself quickly, “Kathryn Roberts,” she said with a smile.
I gave Kathryn a look that said clearly, “Whose side are you on?” as she turned her fake smile to me, and nodded toward the two empty seats at the table. I ignored the gesture, walking toward the refrigerator instead, while Kat took a seat beside our guest. Marcy looked to be about five foot seven. She had blond frizzy hair, a flat chest, wide ass, and a pointy nose. I opened the fridge and pretended to look for something in order to avoid conversation as much as possible.
"So, Marcy, what do you do?” Kat asked.
I paused for her response. “I'm a teacher,” she said, her thin lips parting in a sugary sweet smile that turned my stomach. I closed the refrigerator door harder than I'd intended to and she turned her big blue bug eyes on me. “And what do you do?” she asked.
I smiled maliciously, about to blurt out that I killed frizzy headed school teachers, but Alfred interrupted, “Lilith's an artist,” he said quickly.
"Ah, that explains it,” she said, glancing at my bare feet with their deep purple toenails, lingering on the dragonfly tattooed to the top of my right big toe. I wiggled the toe and she jumped, much to my satisfaction. Her sweet smile wavered only slightly as she turned her attention back to Kat.
"What about you?” she asked.
"I'm an interior designer,” Kat answered.
Marcy gave another shrill giggle, casually touching Alfred's arm as she said, “That's always looked like such fun to me.” My grip tightened on the bottle of water in my hand. I turned to look out the window above the sink. If I kept looking at Marcy I'd either retch, or start throwing the set of expensive kitchen knives that my eyes kept wandering toward. I looked down and saw a hastily scribbled note in Alfred's handwriting. It said Elijah had called. That at least gave me something better to think about than the annoying, giggling woman at my table.
I gazed back out the window, tuning her out as much as possible. I let the image of her pale blue bug eyes fade into the startling deep blue of Elijah's. Elijah Jasper was absolutely adorable. Watching Marcy fling herself at Alfred made me wonder if I shouldn't talk to Elijah more. The thought of going out with him had occurred to me before, but the innocent way he smiled made me wonder what place he could possibly have in my life.
He definitely wasn't my type. That in itself made him seem dangerous somehow. I wasn't sure I was ready to explore new territory. For the most part, I liked older men. I've always felt comfortable with an older, more experienced man. I supposed I was considering a relationship with Elijah in retaliation for having to watch that woman coming on to Alfred. Until Kat brought up the subject, I'd never thought of Alfred romantically. I wasn't sure what I felt, but until I could sort it out, I did not need some slutty school teacher hanging all over him.
I caressed my hip absently, wishing I'd kept on my sword belt. But, then again, who needs a sword when you're part animal? I looked at her fake smiling face with its over done make up and wondered how she'd react if she knew I could rip men apart with my bare hands. That's when it hit me, I was jealous.
I remembered the way she'd looked at my tattoo. If she knew what I really was, she'd no doubt be the first to point a finger at me with one of those high gloss red nails, calling me a monster. Make no mistake, if ever the opportunity presented itself, I would hurt this woman. I was snapped from my fantasy of strangling her till her eyes bulged out by the realization that she was leaving. Kathryn quickly offered to show her out. With an artificial smile to me, she followed Kat to the door.
Alfred looked at me like he wanted to say something, but after seeing the expression on my face, changed his mind. Kathryn walked back in, smiling at us both. “So, what do you think of your new neighbor?"
"You know, Kat, that was what first attracted me to this place, its lack of neighbors."
"She seemed pleasant enough,” Alfred said, his smile widening at the glare I shot toward him.
"Sure,” I said. “She had a brainless, amoeba sort of charm about her."
Kat barely stifled a giggle at the look that passed between Alfred and me. “Well,” she said, trying to maintain her composure, “I should really be going."
"I'll see you out,” I offered.
"That's alright,” she said, “I've been here before.” And with that, Kathryn was gone, leaving me alone with the man I'd managed to avoid for the past two weeks. Alfred gave me a look that said he was clearly displeased with my treatment of Ms. Johnson.
"If you don't like the woman, fine,” he said, “but you don't have to be openly hostile."
He seemed surprised when I replied, “I don't want to argue,” and quietly left the room.
* * * *
I entered my bedroom, and closed the door on the world. There was more than one reason I'd felt bad that day. I sat down at the small writing desk and picked up my journal. I kept a journal of my most unusual dreams, occasionally recording important events in my life, as well. It had been a year ago that my cat, Conan, had died. I closed my eyes and remembered a large, long haired black cat, with a white belly, white paws, and a streak of what looked like white war paint smeared across his pink nose. I felt tears sting my eyes as I turned to the page in the journal I'd written last year.
"My cat died today. I believe there is a purpose in everything, but I fail to see the purpose in my cat dying. Conan was probably the best friend I had. He was certainly more loyal than most people I know. Now that I think of it, I don't believe I have a picture of him. That's ok. I'm not likely to forget him. I think he was poisoned. He got sick last night and died early this morning. 
Why is everything I love taken from me? I'm afraid that I don't love enough, that I don't show enough of what I feel. But, just when I give up the fight, stop holding back my feelings ... they're gone. 
If it's a man, he leaves. If it's a friend, they turn on me. If it's a pet ... he dies. The story of my life, I suppose. I am so close to loving Bradley the way that I should, the way that I need to...." 
Bradley was the name of the man I'd been involved with for three and a half years, who later turned out to be married. I continued to the next passage I'd written only three months before.
"The last time I gave myself over to that type of all consuming, accepting, understanding love, it all went to hell. I should have seen this coming. The first time that I was hurt this badly, I nearly lost my mind. Ever since then, once I'd mentally recovered, I've held back. 
There is a part of myself I do not give. I give my compassion, my understanding, my protection, if need be. I give my time and my energy, but every time I give my trust ... my heart, something goes wrong. 
Is it so wrong to love a friend like family? Is that why they abandon me or stab me in the back? Is it wicked of me to find some measure of peace in a strong embrace? I'm tired of withholding myself from the people I care about. I'm tired of living in fear of what will be taken next. It's eight forty five in the morning, I've been awake since four and now, I've just been to visit the grave of my cat, my companion for the past four years. I've got to eat lunch with some of my mother's family in a few hours ... Fuck me." 
I put down the journal and dried my eyes. It was painful to remember, but reliving that memory seemed to help me. We cannot really begin to heal until we give ourselves permission to hurt. The first time I was hurt badly, that I'd briefly mentioned in my journal, brought to mind a face I thought had long been forgotten. I saw the face of Peter, the first man I'd ever loved. We'd been dating when I was attacked and like a trusting fool, I'd told him what had happened. His face that used to shine with love, became the first to cringe at the sight of me. I watched the hand I'd once held be the first to point a finger, and with a voice I'd committed to memory, call me ‘monster'.
I kept telling myself that I was not a monster. A man who could throw someone away so carelessly, he was the monster. Even knowing that, I still wondered what was wrong with me. I was tired of having to dilute myself in order to make other people feel safe. No one could handle knowing all of me. If only I could find someone who would understand. I have let go of people I wished I could keep. You can't keep people, but you can hold on to the love you felt for them. All I've ever wanted is for someone to love me for me, not who they think I am, or who they want me to be. I know what it's like to be turned away because it would be too difficult to love someone ‘different'. Men fear what they do not understand. I stood by and watched Peter marry another girl I'd known in school. She was ordinary, simple, easy, and I despised her for it. Looking at Marcy Johnson, the resemblance was uncanny.
However, I sympathized with Peter, as I later came to sympathize with his wife. Does it really matter if Peter was hers in the end, when he was mine first; when a part of him would always be mine ... a part she was not capable of touching? At least Peter had been man enough to say goodbye. I would always love him for it. I didn't really miss Bradley, for I saw him as he truly was before he left. I was glad to be rid of someone like him, it just ... hurt. My love and my trust had been abused by someone who was unworthy of them both. I found myself wondering if what I felt for Alfred was something more than friendship. And, I asked myself, does it matter if Marcy has him, knowing it's me he cares for?
"Yes,” I answered out loud, “it does."
* * * *
The beautiful summer day had begun to turn as ugly as my mood. Through the doors to the balcony, dark clouds could be seen gathering. Technically, it was still spring, but when the temperature reached nearly eighty degrees every day, I called it summer. That's the only thing about Florida I wasn't fond of. I did not deal well with the heat. But, you can't have everything, and living in the middle of nowhere, with almost no neighbors, I was probably surrounded by some of God's best art work. As I walked out onto the balcony, surrounded by deep red roses, I marveled at the fact that there were people who did not believe in the existence of a higher power. I watched the storm clouds rumble and swirl, looking like a bruise mingling with the blue of the sky. I had the urge to get a blank canvas and some paint. Yes, God existed, and he was an artist. In my opinion, anyone who doubted that need only watch one sunset. Every day the countryside around me was painted with the same masterful hand in a slightly different portrait.
The first few rain drops began to fall around me, making the roses look like bobbing little red heads as the rain bounced from their petals. I closed my eyes, tilted back my head and let the rain wash away the bad memories. After a minute or two of the refreshing downpour, I stepped inside and made my way to the shower. The upstairs bathroom is huge. There's an alcove in the corner that hides the walk-in shower with a wall made of large river rock. I shed my wet clothes, throwing them onto a mat so as not to damage the wood floor.
The shock of the hot water on my skin after the cool rain was surprisingly pleasant. I looked out the small octagon shaped window to my right, watching the rain slide down the glass. I needed to talk to my father. Talking to him always helped to put things in perspective. I dried off quickly, put on my robe, and began looking for my communicator.
My father was on planet Terra. He went back and forth as his job required and at the moment, it required him to be there. I sat down at the writing desk, making sure my robe was closed up to my chin. My father knew I wasn't a saint, but there was no reason to look trashy. I pushed the red button on the small communicator and watched as my father's image projected into mid air before me. He was cooking French toast.
"Hey,” he said, dropping his spatula on the floor.
"Hey, Daddy. Do you have a minute?"
"Yeah,” he picked up the spatula, flinging it into the sink behind him. “I've been wanting to talk to you,” he added, sitting at the table so I could get a better look at him. Jacob Ellis Mercury was fifty one years old, but he didn't look it. The streak of white hair on the chin of his otherwise red beard was the only indication he was over thirty five.
"What's wrong?” he said, apparently getting a better look at me, too.
"Bad day."
He smiled in a way that said he remembered exactly what my bad days normally consisted of. “Someone pissed you off, huh?"
"Yeah.” I laughed, feeling better already. “I'll get over it. What did you need to talk to me about?"
"Barak.” He said the name as if he were referring to a cockroach.
"Why, what's he done?"
"Remember the crap he gave you about equal rights?"
"Yeah."
"Well, he's asking for permission to speak before the council."
"The Wizard Council?” I said, disbelieving Marco would go that far.
"That's right. Won't say what it's all about, though."
"He'd need a special escort even to be allowed back on the planet."
We both paused, considering the situation. I spoke first. “Do you think he'll get it? Permission to speak to the council?"
"I'm not sure, but if he does, I'm damn sure gonna know what he says.” He held up what looked like a small blue dragonfly.
"A bug?” I asked.
"In more than one sense of the word.” He smiled.
"Won't that look odd, a blue dragonfly on the wall?"
"Not really. The woods around the Council Tower are enchanted. There's all sorts of weird things in there. No one will notice a blue dragonfly.” He looked very pleased with himself and I had to admit it was a good idea. Neither of us was sure what it would mean if Marco spoke to the council about equal rights for werewolves. How would that change the job of The Hunters? Better yet, how would that change the lives of those people on Earth who were lycanthropes?
The President of the United States as well as other world leaders had all known of our existence for some time. But this, like so many other things, had been kept from the public. If the Wizard Council agreed to equal treatment of lycanthropes, other world leaders would be hard pressed to find a reason to disagree, at least on Terra. Earth was another story. There were remote places where The Hunters had not been allowed, letting the werewolf population run unchecked. Lycanthropes would still need to be governed by some laws that would not apply to ordinary people. But, as my father said, “That's for people with more authority than you and me to decide.” He was right, and it would do no good to worry. It sometimes took months for the council to decide if they would even allow someone to speak, let alone side one way or another. Wizards did not get in a hurry.
Most of this world has been shaped by wizards, though no one has been aware of the fact. There had actually been many famous wizards on Earth. Only seven wizards are born every century, with most living close to one thousand years. Three of these seven will serve on the council for their lifetime, however long that might be. Council members are elected by the public. Only two wizards were ever known to refuse the office, until recently. Methuselah was the first, and everyone had heard of Merlin.
The most recent wizard to refuse the office was Alek Ambrose, whose name, roughly translated meant, ‘the immortal protector of mankind'. Ambrose was famous for defeating the goblin army created by the dark wizard, Tavarius Maeryn, in his youth. It was a surprise when he turned down the appointment. To have such a powerful wizard remain neutral could be dangerous.
Julius Caesar was descended from wizards. Even Cleopatra was rumored to have been a sorceress. Science and the unexplainable have lived side by side as far back as recorded history. In the past, wizards played an important role in many cultures, before society developed a need for scientific explanations. Science has not yet been able to explain the power of wizards. It's sort of like trying to explain how God created the heavens and the earth, people will always disagree. Some theorize that wizards derive their power from extreme psychic ability, others say it's magic. However you want to look at it, wizards simply are what they are. People have always mistrusted someone different, instinctively fearing what they cannot rationally explain. In this case, however, their fears were not entirely unfounded.
One of the most truly evil wizards in our history, Ulric Weylin, was closely associated with Lionel Ferdinand, the creator of the lycanthropy virus. It was speculated that science would never find a cure for something the wizard likely had a hand in. There is no vaccine for black magic. All attempts at vaccination have only spread the virus further. Just like some people develop the flu from a shot, nearly everyone vaccinated contracted lycanthropy.
Much of the population of Terra has some psychic ability, or knows someone who does. Nothing extreme, just some flicker of ability. Because of this, their distrust has never extended to psychics, though on Earth, anyone calling themselves a psychic is pretty much a joke.
* * * *
I felt better after talking things over with my father, but I was no closer to being able to clear my head. My mind was flooded with images of things not found even in the Kama Sutra. I knew my thoughts of Marco were completely inappropriate, but that didn't stop me from thinking them. As much as he wanted to deny being an animal, when it came down to brass tacks, he was as alpha male as they came ... and that just turned me on. Maybe my attraction to power had something to do with being a woman. Or maybe, as much as I denied it, I was close enough to being an alpha female that he simply had that effect on me. Either way, I needed to do something to get Marco out of my head.
I love art, in all of its many forms. Drawing in particular has always been a great way for me to relax. Sometimes, if I can get my thoughts on paper, I can get them out of my head. Bearing that hope in mind, I collected my sketchbook from its shelf, along with the small bag where I kept my many assorted color pencils, turned on some music, and began to sketch.
The images that had plagued my mind for days began to take their erotic forms on the velum before me. In my mind, I pictured everything I'd seen of Marco that night ... and everything I hadn't. My darkest fantasies took the shape of sordid graphite images, Marco chained to the chair, tied naked and helpless in a dungeon somewhere, kneeling like a slave before me.
Of course, no one would ever see these except me, so I gave my imagination free reign over my hands. One picture consisted of nothing but his chest with my hands pressed against him. My hand worked as if it had a mind of its own. The more I sketched, the better I felt. I suppose it was like telling a counselor all of your problems, or talking to a really good friend. I just felt better getting these pictures out of my head.
As I stood up to stretch my legs, I decided it was time for a change in my musical accoutrement. I looked over my assorted CDs, stopping finally on a mix I had labeled, ‘favorites'. The first song that began to play was an old favorite of mine from the seventies. I had always liked the song, but something came over me that evening. I sat down, searching for a pencil that didn't need sharpening. I had seen something I had to capture before the image was gone.
I began sketching frantically, trying to get on paper what I saw. My hand moved wildly over the page. As the image began to form, I saw a man, a handsome man whom I'd never seen before. His hair was somewhat wild, his eyebrows thick, and even though I drew in black and white, I knew he was blond. His eyes that I drew with a detail which had previously eluded me, were brown. I could not picture his body, just his face. He had a long almost aquiline nose that cast a slight shadow over his lips, which seemed to be pursed in thought. He had fine lines around his eyes and mouth, which gave some indication that he was at least middle aged.
I sat back and looked at the picture in amazement. It was not unusual for me to see things in my dreams, but something like this had never happened to me before. I wasn't sure what to think, or what it might mean. But, I knew, eventually, this man would mean something to me. It was odd. I sat staring down at the face looking back at me ... and I knew him, though I'd never met him. I don't believe in past lives, and I'd never seen this face before in my dreams. I was at a loss.
By then, the hour was late, and I was very tired. I decided to put the drawings away, and think about it all another time. I looked over at the ornate iron clock hanging on my wall. It was two thirty in the morning. No wonder I was tired. I collected the many sketches and pencils that were scattered across the bed and placed them on my writing desk.
I slid between the silk sheets, staring at the sheer red hangings draped above my four poster bed. I didn't like the idea of bed hangings that would completely obstruct my view so I had long pieces of sheer fabric loosely wrapped around the iron bars that connected above the bed. It gave the room a dramatic flare that I loved. The first time Kathryn had seen the room after I redecorated, she described it as ‘a romantic mix between Victorian elegance and a medieval dungeon'. I'd say her description was pretty accurate.
No matter how long I lay there, or how hard I tried to rest, the comforting arms of sleep would not embrace me. At about three o'clock, I gave up and decided to have a cup of tea. The air seemed cooler after the rain. I figured I would need to wear something more than my robe downstairs. I went to the chest of drawers and took out some black silk pajamas. My favorite color is purple, but no one could guess that from my wardrobe.
My room had been decorated in different shades of purple before the dramatic red. I was ready for a change. Kat said I was projecting the romance I wasn't getting in my life onto my bedroom. She was probably right.
* * * *
As I crossed the foyer I noticed the kitchen light was already on. Apparently I wasn't the only one having trouble sleeping. After walking out earlier that day when Alfred had so obviously wanted to argue, I was almost afraid to be alone with him. But, I'd be damned if I was going to be intimidated out of my own kitchen.
I found Alfred sitting at the table, reading one of my books of poetry and enjoying what smelled like English tea. A bowl of strawberries and cream sat on the table untouched. He didn't notice me at first, which gave me the opportunity to appreciate how good he looked. He was wearing gold satin pajamas which went well with the caramel of his skin. I had worn black fuzzy slippers, but I noticed Alfred's feet were bare. I'd never known Alfred to wear slippers, but watching him that night, the sight of his bare feet seemed more intimate somehow. His hair was tousled, looking as though he had tried to sleep, but the circles underneath his eyes told me he'd had about as much success with sleeping as I had.
He was either oblivious to the fact that someone else was in the room, or he was deliberately ignoring me. Since he was reading my poetry, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I sat across from him, noticing the slight smile that had begun to play across his lips. “This is quite good,” he said without looking up.
"You knew I was here?"
He looked at me then, with the same half smile as he said, “Of course. I just wondered how long you were planning to stand there watching me.” He sighed, placing the book on the table, his smile beginning to fade. “Can't sleep?” he asked.
"No.” I wasn't sure what else to say. Obviously telling him how Marco had haunted my thoughts was out of the question. I almost mentioned the other picture I'd drawn that night, the handsome man with kind eyes, but it seemed somehow wrong to discuss the drawing with Alfred.
"What's on your mind?” he asked.
"Honestly? I'm not sure where to start."
"You can't keep pretending I'm not here, Lilith. I'm not stupid. You've been avoiding me for weeks now."
"You didn't exactly make yourself available either,” I accused.
"Why should I? Do you realize how many times I tried to speak to you ... and you didn't even look at me?"
Ouch. Had I been that distant? I wasn't ready to discuss my feelings with Alfred, but I hadn't meant to be so cold. “I'm sorry,” I whispered. “I've been dealing with ... some things ... I never meant to take it out on you."
He seemed to consider what I'd just said. “Would it help if you talked about it?"
"There are some things that I'm not sure I can say to you."
"What about Kathryn?"
I laughed. “Kat's solution to everything is for me to get enough of my brains screwed out that I can't think straight enough to worry."
He laughed softly and I realized I had never fully appreciated the deep subtle quality of Alfred's voice. I think I might have blocked it out in an effort to protect myself. I was so afraid of falling, only to find there was nothing to catch me but the cold, hard ground. I leaned forward over the table, looking deeply into Alfred's eyes. I could see he genuinely wanted to understand. I had an idea, but I wasn't sure if it would work.

Chapter Five 
"Do you remember the guy I was dating when I was attacked?” I asked, sliding back into my seat.
His eyebrows drew closer in concentration. “Peter?"
I nodded.
"Yes, I remember him. He was John's son wasn't he?"
"Yes,” I said my voice unable to hide the sorrow that even the mention of Peter caused. John had worked with my father, also, once upon a time. He was killed by a pack of werewolves only six months before my attack. I looked up into Alfred's eyes and found them full of compassion. It was more than I could take. I moved into the seat closest to him, reached over and took his hand in mine.
"There are things that I never told you,” I began, “things that I never told anybody, even Kat.” I looked down at the hand that I held between both of my own, lightly caressing the calluses on his knuckles. “There's something I'd like to show you."
"Alright,” he said, as if unsure what his response should be.
Without waiting for further permission, I grasped Alfred's hand tightly and forced myself to remember Peter. I saw him just as he had looked almost ten years ago. I remembered the way my heart fluttered to look at him, standing outside one summer afternoon. His light blond hair blowing in the breeze, his sky blue eyes sparkling with a joke that I couldn't remember. I recalled how happy it made me ... just to be near him. Every time he smiled at me, the world seemed to be a better place. I loved him so deeply, so passionately, that it hurt to breathe. I took those strong emotions, those memories and I pushed them with my mind, through my hand and into Alfred.
The memory of the night that Peter had turned on me played itself out in my mind as if it were yesterday. At last, Alfred knew what it felt like to be called a monster. I let him feel my memory of being afraid that the world would end and I would have never known love. Then I remembered another face, one without fond memories attached. I let him see the girl Peter had married and how strongly she resembled Marcy Johnson. I remembered the way I had felt when I learned of Peter's engagement. No one had had the balls to tell me. I'd had to read it in the paper. It felt like someone had hit me. I remembered the picture of their smiling faces looking back, mocking me from page five of the local news. I knew they had been dating. It had been five years since my attack when Peter got married. But seeing it there in plain black and white brought home more than ever that he would never be mine again. I took my rage, my unfulfilled need to cause someone else to hurt as badly as I did and flung it at Alfred.
I relived meeting her years later in a supermarket. She was wearing dark shades to cover her black eye. She knew who I was. We'd known each other in school. I spoke to her, determined to be the better person and never let her know how much I loathed her. She had taken my hasty greeting as a sign that I didn't hate her, and poured her heart out to me.
There I stood, with the woman that I had despised for years, crying on my shoulder because Peter abused her. I let Alfred feel how much I wanted to strangle her, and how glad I was that it was winter, and I'd worn gloves. I did not want to directly touch that woman. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my hands around her slender throat until I felt the bones crack, just for the satisfaction of hearing them crunch. Instead, I held her. I held her to me as if the world were ending, because to her ... it was.
As we stood there, in the middle of the frozen food isle, I cried with her. As I held her I suddenly understood that she had no one else to turn to, not if she looked to me for comfort. If I was her idea of refuge, what must the storm be like? Though I wanted to do so, I could not turn her away.
Through my touch, Alfred knew what if felt like to fall in love again, against your better judgment, with a man that you knew deep down would only break your heart. He understood what it felt like to have someone not only fear your love, but run from it. I hurt so deeply that it was beyond my description. The disappointment I'd felt when Bradley had shown his true colors coursed through me, crashing into Alfred like the tide. It wouldn't have hurt so much if he had at least spoken to me. I knew Bradley planned to leave. His plans were not a secret to me, but he thought they were. I had hoped that he would be man enough to tell me he was leaving. Coward. Through my memories, Alfred experienced my fear, my longing, and my hatred. What I felt was beyond words.
When Alfred's face appeared in my mind, I broke the contact. After all, he didn't need to know everything. We sat quietly for a moment, before he whispered, "Figlio di cagna, troia." That's Italian for son of a bitch.
"Exactly,” I said, wiping my eyes. I looked up at Alfred and realized he'd been crying. As red as his eyes were, he must have cried from the time that I'd first touched him until I broke the contact. I felt guilty. I'd wanted him to understand what I had been going through, but I'd never meant to hurt him.
"I'm sorry...."
"Don't.” He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his pajamas. “I asked. I wanted to know. I wondered what happened between you and Peter. I knew about Brad, but I had no idea...” He seemed at a loss for words.
"And I didn't know how to even begin to explain it."
He offered me a weak smile. “A picture's worth a thousand words."
"So you did see the memories, you didn't just feel them?"
"I saw them ... and I felt them.” He reached out, covering my small hand with his. I was surprised that he would be willing touch me after what had just happened. “I'm sorry, Lil. I've been an ass. I've deliberately provoked you. I saw who Peter's wife looked like...."
"I don't own you,” I interrupted, trying to sound casual.
"But, you could ... “ I looked down at my hand, still resting in his and realized that I was hearing his thoughts. I didn't know what to say, or how he would feel if I were to respond to his thoughts. I was afraid to know what Alfred felt, but ... I didn't want to break the contact. His hand felt so warm and comforting. I wanted to touch more of him. I wanted to run my hands over his satin pajamas, just to feel the warmth of his skin beneath. What I felt wasn't sexual, I needed comfort. I let some of what I was feeling pass to Alfred.
"Don't be afraid to touch me,” he whispered, more softly than I'd expected. He stretched out his arms to me, and I leaned into his embrace.
"I'm so confused,” I whispered.
"I know,” he said as he swept me onto his lap, wrapping me in his arms.
I rested my face against the side of his throat, feeling his pulse against my forehead. Alfred held me for a long time, speaking softly to me in Italian. His voice soothed the emotional storm that had raged within me. For the first time in weeks, I found some measure of peace as he stroked my hair, whispering words of comfort, like a caress to my tormented mind. I couldn't tell you a word he said, but I remember the way he made me feel. I drifted to sleep in Alfred's strong embrace, knowing that I was not alone, and that this night I could rest, knowing that the arms that held me would also protect me.
I felt myself being lifted. Someone was carrying me, but where was I going? The last thing that I remembered was Alfred holding me. Where was Alfred? I was startled awake by this thought. “Shh,” Alfred whispered. I sighed, appreciating for the first time how good he smelled. I breathed deeply, rubbing my face against the satin of his pajamas, wanting to commit his scent to memory.
Alfred shifted me in his arms and I heard him open my bedroom door. Had I been awake enough to think about it, being alone in my bedroom with Alfred would have made me nervous. But, I wasn't awake. In fact, I was barely conscious when he laid me back against the silk covered pillows. I felt cold without him. As I opened my eyes, I realized that he was leaving. I reached out and caught his wrist just as he turned to go.
"Stay,” I whispered.
He looked over his shoulder at me, but he didn't turn around. I saw the question in his eyes.
"I'm not asking you to climb through my balcony window, but please ... don't go."
He sat down beside me and caressed my cheek with the back of his hand. “So, you're not asking me to climb through your window, huh?” He smiled. “It's a damn good thing, too, cause I pulled my back again carrying you up the stairs."
"Again?"
"I pulled it weeks ago, dragging that damned werewolf down to the incinerator."
I couldn't stop myself from laughing at the pitiful look on his face while I slid between the sheets and patted the space beside me. “Come here."
"Do I look like a teddy bear to you?” Alfred asked as he stretched his long legs out beside me. He held his arm out toward me and I snuggled up against his side.
"Maybe if you wear one of those little bow ties.” I smirked.
"Me wear a bow tie?” He patted my head as he continued, “You poor thing you're delirious."
I giggled, snuggling closer into his embrace. It had been a long time since I'd slept with a man—and actually slept. I felt so small pressed against his side. I fit completely under his arm. My feet only reached to the middle of his shin, where I pinched his pajamas between my toes, enjoying the feel of the fabric on my bare feet.
"This feels good,” I mumbled, already drifting off again. I felt Alfred sigh as I rested my head against his chest. I fell asleep letting the steady rhythm of his heart soothe me like a lullaby.
* * * *
I awoke to the safety of Alfred's embrace, his body wrapped around me like a warm blanket pressed against my back. I turned to face him, careful to move only as much as necessary. With his arm still across my waist, I watched Alfred as he slept.
I lay there for the longest time, admiring his full lips and creamy caramel complexion, amazed that it had taken me so many years to notice how handsome he was. Soft rays of morning sunlight touched the top of his head, making his dark hair shine like polished obsidian. The urge to run my fingers through that thick dark hair was too difficult to resist. I snuggled closer to him, running my hand up the back of his neck and into the softness of his hair. I giggled at the thought of asking him what sort of conditioner he used. His long eyelashes fluttered slightly and I was soon looking into his sleepy dark eyes.
"You look rested,” he said.
"I slept surprisingly well."
"Did you?” Alfred smiled his charming half smile as he ran his hand up my back. He looked puzzled for a moment. “Are you wearing a bra?"
"Yes."
He looked even more confused. “To bed?"
I wrapped my arm more tightly around his waist meaning to slide him closer to me, but because of our significant difference in size, I slid closer to him. Smiling seductively I said, “I'm too well endowed to go without some kind of support."
"Is that so? I hadn't noticed,” he replied playfully as he ran his hand up underneath the back of my silk pajama top. He toyed with the clasp on my bra as he whispered softly, "Tu guardare bella in la mattina luce." (You look beautiful in the morning light.)
"Grazie." 
I wasn't sure what else to say, or how I should react, but I didn't want him to stop. I leaned in to kiss him, wishing that I could spend the day in his arms while he whispered sweet Italian nothings in my ear. However, before our lips could touch, I heard an unusual clattering sound against my balcony window.
"Did you hear that?” I asked.
"Unfortunately."
As the clattering sound grew louder, I realized that someone was throwing rocks at my window.
"A bit early for Don Juan, don't you think?” Alfred said irritably.
I crawled out of bed and flung the balcony doors open. Kat was standing beneath the roses, her hands filled with small pieces of gravel from the driveway.
"Psst, Lilith, are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here,” I said, leaning over the railing where Kat could see me.
"I couldn't get Alfred to answer the door.... “ She broke off suddenly. Her jaw dropped as Alfred walked up behind me and placed his hand on my shoulder.
"Everything alright?” he asked. Looking over the balcony he added, “Good morning, Kathryn."
"G-good morning,” she stammered. An evil smile played across her features. “Well, no wonder you didn't come to the door. You weren't downstairs, were you?” Her wicked smile widened when Alfred didn't bother to correct her line of thinking.
He turned to me with an evil smile of his own, “I'll let you girls gossip. I've got work to do.” He pinched my butt as he added, "Zuccherino." I couldn't help laughing.
"You're evil,” I said to Alfred, soft enough that only he could hear.
"Zook what?” Kat asked.
"Sugar pie,” I interpreted with a smile.
"Oh.” She yelled at Alfred before he could leave, “Hey, what makes you think I'm here to gossip?!"
"Because you are,” he yelled back on his way across the bedroom.
I looked back at Kat and she giggled, “Yeah, I am. You suppose I could come in now? I'm getting a crick in my neck."
I stepped back into my black fuzzy slippers and went downstairs to meet Kat. When I opened the door I was greeted by the most mischievous grin I'd ever seen. It was like looking at the Cheshire cat on crack. “So, does it match the rest of him?” she asked, stepping into the foyer.
"Does what match the rest of him?"
"You know, he's big, and tall...."
"Kat!"
"What?” she laughed. “It's a perfectly natural thing to ask."
"Oh, yeah? Good morning, Lilith. So, how big is Alfred's dick? That sound normal to you?"
She burst out laughing. “That's not exactly what I said, but I guess it's close enough."
We walked into the kitchen to find Alfred making coffee. Kat blushed to the roots of her hair. Apparently she realized he had most likely overheard our conversation.
"Why don't you ask him yourself?” I said, determined to get even for the interruption that morning.
"Ask me what?” Alfred said. He winked at me in a way that let me know he had heard every word we'd said in the foyer. I took a seat at the kitchen table, smirking at Kat's obvious embarrassment.
She turned an almost tomato red as I blurted out, “Kat just wanted to know how big your dick is. You know, since you're so ... big and tall.” I turned a smile to Alfred that would have made the devil proud, while I slid down in my chair so that I could reach him enough to run my bare foot up the front of his pjs, taking advantage of how near he stood.
"So, why don't you tell her?” I purred seductively, “Is it as big as the rest of you?"
Alfred's eyes sparkled with a mischief I'd never seen before as he said, “You can tell her yourself, I've got work to do.” He turned around and began pouring himself some coffee.
"So you've said, but I don't see you going anywhere."
"Watch closely then.” He picked up his coffee cup with a smile and left the room.
Kat sat down across from me, her embarrassment replaced by curiosity. “Well?” she persisted.
"What brings you here this early, Kat?"
"Oh, no. You're not changing the subject. You're going to explain what just happened here."
"Nothing."
"Nothing? It didn't look like nothing from the view I had."
"Yeah, well, your view was blocked a bit by the roses."
"Not blocked enough to miss him pinching your ass or calling you sugar pie, in Italian, no less. He was in your room, and it's too damn early for business."
"So what, it had to be pleasure?"
"Well wasn't it?"
"No,” I laughed, “but it might have been if someone hadn't started throwing rocks at my window."
"Oops,” she giggled. “Seriously?"
"Yeah,” I said, getting two mugs out of the cabinet, “seriously."
"Wait a minute. He spent the night with you?"
"Yes."
"And nothing happened?"
"Depends on what you'd define as nothing,” I took a sip of coffee and managed to burn my tongue. Kat raised her eyebrows. Alfred walked back in suddenly, going straight for the refrigerator. We got suspiciously quiet.
He looked at us briefly before commenting, “I see the subject hasn't changed.” He walked around Kat, leaned over her shoulder and said, “You know, curiosity killed the cat."
"Is that a threat?” she laughed.
"No,” he smiled, “But a lady never asks, and a gentleman never tells."
Kat seemed to regain some of her composure along with her wicked grin as she said, “Ok then, show me where I can find a lady and a gentleman, and I won't ask them to tell me anything."
I laughed at the look on Alfred's face. “Well, you've got me there, Kat. But, Alfred really is a gentleman."
"I thought those were extinct,” Kat said skeptically. “Shouldn't he be on display somewhere?"
"Maybe,” I said as I imaged him ‘displayed’ across my scarlet bed sheets. The honeyed bronze of his skin looked good against red. Alfred picked up the cream he'd taken from the fridge and left the room with a smile.
"You really didn't...” Kat began.
"No,” I interrupted.
"How disappointing.... He's not gay is he?"
"No!” I looked as scandalized as possible. “He really is a gentleman ... although, I might have changed that in a few more minutes."
"Well, next time you plan to seduce someone before nine o'clock, leave me a message."
"Don't think I won't,” I threatened with a laugh. “So, what brings you here?"
The smile faded from her face. “I just wanted to warn you to be expecting another visit from your new neighbor."
"What?” I was horrified at the thought of having to endure that woman's presence in my house again. “What for?"
"She stopped by my shop yesterday after I left here, wanted me to decorate for her party."
"Party?” I felt nauseated.
"Yes, and you're invited.” She giggled, doing a really good impression of Marcy Johnson.
"Why?” I asked, still hoping this was all a bad dream.
"She wants to get to know everybody. She's invited half the town."
"Great, more people to make me feel like a weirdo,” I said sarcastically. “I'm not going.” My mind was made up.
"Well, she was real keen to invite Alfred. Asked me all sorts of nosy questions."
"Such as?"
"Like, if you two are a couple."
"And what did you say?” I asked as I put down my cup. I'd lost my taste for coffee.
"I told her that I didn't pry into your personal life, so I really wouldn't know."
"Good answer. It's bullshit, but good answer."
"So, what will you say when she stops by?"
"No, thank you."
"What about Alfred?"
"I don't own him,” I said. My blood boiled at the thoughts of Marcy even speaking to Alfred.
"No, but you could.” I was surprised to hear Alfred's thoughts coming out of Kathryn's mouth. “Don't look so surprised,” she mistook the reason for my shocked expression. “The way he looks at you, it's obvious how much he cares.” Was it obvious? I'd never noticed before.
"If he wants to go, I can't stop him. He's a grown man.” I tried to sound as if I didn't care.
"Sure. You can stop a pack of werewolves from killing my ex-boyfriend, but you can't stop one scientist from attending a party. That's completely believable.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “You know, those silver blades are not your only weapons."
I laughed. “That's my line, remember? I told you about saying that to someone one time."
"Yeah, you did, but I don't think you took it to heart. It's true, you know. All you have to do is say, ‘Alfred, don't go', and he won't go."
"Yes, and that's exactly why I'm not going to say anything. It's his decision. If he stayed here, I'd always wonder if he stayed because I'd asked him, or because he wanted to."
"Wow. Too deep for me,” Kat said while she took a sip of coffee.
"When's the party?” I asked, not able to change the subject yet.
"This Friday. You've got two days to think about it."
I laughed bitterly as I said, “There is no thinking. I'm not going and that's final."
"What will you do then? I mean, if Alfred does go...."
"I'll find something else to do."
Kathryn's wicked grin returned as she said, “As opposed to doing Alfred?"
"Oh, give it up.” I laughed. “If it happens, it happens, but I refuse to rush into anything,” my expression turned serious, “not again."
* * * *
I only had to wait until later that day for Marcy to stop by. I was outside pruning my roses when I saw her drive up. I watched as she reapplied lipstick to her thin lips and gave a quick fluff to her frizzy blond hair before ringing the door bell. My pulse raced with the urge to crack her in the head with my garden shears. To say that my mood was suddenly foul would be like saying that milk that expired last year was bad. Understatement didn't begin to cover it.
Just as I was toying with the idea of walking in the house holding the garden shears, only to see the look on her face, of course, I had an unexpectedly pleasant surprise. Elijah Jasper was making his way up the front drive. He came to a stop just underneath the arch with the big white Queen Anne rose. As I walked over to his car, I was overcome by the sweet smell of the roses in full bloom. I stopped to take a deep breath, closing my eyes.
"Never miss an opportunity to smell the roses.” He smiled as he rolled down the window.
I walked over, propped on the car, and leaned in as I said, “They really shouldn't allow cute cops out in public like this.” I smiled. “I have a weakness for bacon.” He had a genuine heartfelt laugh that did me good to hear. I felt my mood lighten as Elijah smiled up at me through the car window. “Would you step outside the vehicle please?” I said in my best cop imitation voice. He smiled, but didn't ask questions. As Elijah got out of the car, I tossed the garden shears near the bottom of the roses and began removing my leather gloves. “So, what brings you out this way? Please tell me there haven't been any more animal attacks?"
"No,” he said, glancing at his feet, seeming more nervous than he had a minute before. When he looked up at me with those incredibly deep blue eyes, I couldn't help but smile. The smile seemed to encourage him, but not enough to speak.
"What can I do for you Officer Jasper?"
"Please, call me Eli,” he said, his bright smile reaching his eyes. “You've heard about Marcy Johnson's party, right?"
Well, that was a subject I hadn't expected. “Yeah,” I was barely able to keep the full extent of my dislike for Marcy out of my voice.
"I assume you're not going?"
"You got that right.” I glanced at her car. “Would you arrest me if I ran my garden shears down the side of her car?” I asked, half serious.
"No,” Elijah smiled. “I can't stand her."
I looked back at him, obviously shocked. “Officer, are you contributing to my delinquency?” I joked.
"Maybe. So, if you're not going to the party, what are you doing Friday night?"
I turned back to him. The fact that Elijah looked good in uniform was not lost on me. “Are you coming on to me ... Eli?"
He smiled at me in a way that no longer looked innocent and I wondered if I hadn't underestimated him. “No. But, the thought had occurred to me."
I smiled, despite my best efforts to control myself. There was something about Elijah and his blue eyes that just made me want to smile. The man was just so damned cute, I couldn't help myself. I looked back at the house and could see Marcy and Alfred talking through the kitchen window. From the bewildered look on his face, I had no doubt that she'd suckered him into going to her party. I sighed. Nope, I couldn't make Alfred stay at home, but that didn't mean that I had to sit around waiting on him either.
"What did you have in mind?"
"Honestly? I didn't get past convincing you to put down the shears and step away from my window.” We both laughed. “Do you like sushi?"
"I love it,” I said, thinking that spending time with Elijah might not be so bad.
"I was thinking maybe dinner and a movie,” he said.
"The only problem with that is there's nothing playing that I want to see,” I said. “I suppose we could always rent something."
"Hey, why don't I get take out, rent some movies and just come over here?” he suggested. “Unless you prefer to go out?"
"No. That sounds like fun. What time should I expect you?"
"When would you like me?” he asked playfully. Elijah was much better at this flirting thing than I'd given him credit for.
"I'd like you on time,” I said, not about to be outdone. “But, leave the handcuffs.” I smiled.
He laughed. “Are you sure?"
"I never use restraints on a first date,” I said as I picked up my garden shears.
"How's five o'clock sound? Without the handcuffs, of course."
"Alright."
He got back in his car and smiled at me through the window. Yet again, his smile reached the deep blue of his eyes, causing them to twinkle in a way that was nothing short of adorable.
"I'll see you then.” He winked.
I walked to the shed in the backyard, thinking to myself that two could play this game. From the self satisfied smirk I'd seen Marcy wearing, I knew where Alfred would be Friday night. If he wasn't man enough to turn her down, I saw no reason why I should refuse Elijah. Besides, with Elijah there were no mixed emotions, no confusing feelings to sort out. He was nice. He was cute, and seemed like he would be fun to spend some time with. He was also the only person other than my father who had never looked at me in fear. Even Alfred had been afraid the first time he saw my partial transformation. Not that I could blame him, but it meant something to me that Elijah had never looked at me that way. He knew who and what I was when we'd met, but he never looked at me as if I were any different than the girl next door.
I waited until I heard Marcy's tires crunching on the gravel before I went inside. I walked past the sitting room and found Alfred waiting at the foot of the stairs. He looked as if he was preparing to go to war.
"Let me explain,” he began.
"There's nothing to explain,” I cut in. Truth be told, I didn't want to hear it. Childish perhaps, but true. “Like I said last night, I don't own you. If you want to go then go, but I won't be there."
I tried to walk past him, but he stood in my way, using his considerable height to try to intimidate me. “And where will you be?” he asked.
"Will you be at her party Friday night?” I asked as blandly as possible.
"I said I would ... I had no choice, she wouldn't go away otherwise...."
"Then kick her ass out,” I interrupted again. “You worry too much what other people think."
"So, I'm beginning to see,” he said coldly. With that, Alfred pushed past me and stormed off toward his downstairs bedroom.
"Damn it,” I shook my head at my own stupidity, went upstairs and got in the shower. I wondered how the day might have turned out differently if Kat had shown up only an hour later. I wasn't angry with Kat. She had no way of knowing. I was angry with myself for letting the day's events stop me from picking up with Alfred where we had left off that morning.
I rested my forehead against the cold stone of the shower wall. The fact that I could be touching Alfred's warm skin at that very moment made it seem even colder. I couldn't keep letting my fears push me away from him. So I'd been hurt. Who hasn't? I couldn't let my past stop me from ever having a future. Besides, I loved Alfred, in my own way. He'd been a friend of my family for years, and I cared for him. I kept telling myself that I should go downstairs and apologize. I stepped out of the shower, dried quickly, and snatched on my robe. For once, I was going to admit that I'd been wrong.

Chapter Six 
I went downstairs and found Alfred asleep on the couch. My heart fluttered as I watched the even rhythm of his breathing, and wondered how I should wake him. “I'm sorry I was an asshole, would you like to come to bed with me?” didn't seem quite adequate. How was it that a poet stood there at a loss for words? That was it. I'd wake him and say that I was at a loss to describe what I felt when I looked at him ... but I knew that I did not want to spend the night alone. I reached out to wake him, but before my hand touched his shoulder, he spoke. As he rolled away from me, still asleep, one name was clearly audible, “Marcy."
The anger that I would have expected did not come. My knees felt weak and my chest hurt, but I had not misunderstood him. My senses were above and beyond what they should have been. I'd heard him correctly. I stumbled backward, feeling foolish. Here I was about to confess that I had feelings for him while he lay on my couch, dreaming of another woman. I backed out of the room quietly. I did not want Alfred to know I'd been there, no reason to add insult to injury.
That made up my mind, more than anything, to give Elijah a chance. It didn't have to lead to anything serious. Elijah was a nice guy and that happened to be what I was in need of. I made my way to the kitchen where I took three sleeping pills. With my metabolism, it would take that many to keep me out for very long. I went back upstairs and stretched across the bed, waiting for sleep to claim me. I did not want to dream. Surely with as many pills as I'd taken I would be able to spend a few hours blissfully unconscious, without dreams of Alfred and Marcy to torment me.
* * * *
I spent the next day either in my room or out on the balcony painting. I set up my easel that morning, angled toward a good view of the roses. As I painted, I asked myself what I was really worried about. Everything, like the roses, had a time and a season. At times, life seems so clear and then you wake up. The coffee that you were meant to smell is actually burning, and you're late for an appointment.
As I mixed the colors to achieve the perfect blood red, I thought to myself that if love were a color, it would be red. This reminded me of the last poem that I'd had published. I figured I was already feeling down, so why not read some sappy poetry and make things worse? That's like listening to country music after a bad break up. You know it won't help, but you really just want to wallow in things for a bit before moving on.
Self pity is one of those qualities that we'd all like to get rid of, but at times you just can't help but indulge yourself. Some people get depressed and live off of ice cream and chips for a week. I read lovey-dovey poetry and paint. What's the point in being an artist if you can't be a little morose from time to time? Besides, it was either throw my own pity party, or go downstairs and talk to Alfred. At that moment I would have rather typed invitations to a pity party than talk to Alfred about what I'd overheard the night before, let alone explain what I had been doing downstairs.
Putting aside my paintbrush, I took the leather bound book of poetry from my shelf, I read:
The Color of Romance 
Pink is a flirtatious someone for 
whose embrace you are willing to take a chance. 
Lavender is a soothing person whom you'd like to know more of under a different circumstance. 
Orange is a fire that you cannot put out, it makes you scream, from within and without. 
Yellow is the golden hair of the one who got away. 
We know we'll love them longer than just today. 
But, we know we are done for when we see Red. 
It inspires us to do more than take a chance. 
It goes beyond entrancing us with a single glance. 
Red is the color that passionate souls see when they dance, for red, my dear, is the color of romance. 
I glanced at the brief author's biography that accompanied the poem and realized that this was the volume Alfred had been reading a few nights ago. I could feel my cheeks burning as I read further, feeling pathetic to know that he had read:
"I've never really felt like I belonged anywhere. My passion burns within a fire beside which no one warms their hands. I am a sensitive soul, though most people don't know it. I'm a hopeless romantic who hides my passion from most of the world. Poetry provides an audience to which I can bare my soul and not be taken advantage of ... People don't see how deep I truly am. They skip a stone across the surface, but never watch how far it sinks." 
I closed the book, and wondered what I must have sounded like to Alfred. As I replaced the thick volume on my shelf, I decided it didn't matter. So I'm a bit melodramatic and I write poetry, who cares? After all, you can't chop up werewolves every day. A girl's got to have a hobby. Lately, it would seem that my hobby had been finding the biggest jerks around and becoming involved with them. Some days I felt like looking in the mirror to make sure that ‘jackasses welcome’ wasn't written across my forehead.
* * * *
The one guy that I felt fairly certain was not a jackass called at four o'clock the next day. “Sweet and sour pork, or kung pow chicken?” he asked when I answered the phone.
"Either one's fine."
"Good, cause I got both."
Elijah and I talked while he stopped to get gas on his way to my house.
"Wait,” he said suddenly.
"What do you want?” I heard him ask.
There was a loud clattering noise that sounded like his cell phone hitting the ground. I stayed on the line, afraid to hang up, but not knowing what else to do. I heard a scuffle and two muffled voices arguing over where to put him. Elijah was being kidnapped! I felt helpless as I listened to them argue over whether or not he would suffocate in the trunk of their car. I listened intently, hoping Elijah's attackers would be dumb enough to say where they were taking him. Just then, one of them noticed the phone. Elijah must have had me programmed in by name, because I heard the thug say, “It's the monster hunter."
I hung up and ran to my wardrobe. If they knew who I was, they were coming for me next. I had no intention of being unprepared. I slid into my leather cat-suit and began pulling on my many weapons. I wore my father's long silver machete, which looked more like a short sword, in a sheath down my spine. Around my shoulders I wore a double holster. I'd had it custom made to fit three silver daggers on each side. This holster clipped onto a heavy belt that rode low on my hips, with a large silver buckle that had been sprayed black to avoid reflecting the light. Across each thigh, I wore an additional holster. Each carried a sharp silver blade. I'd left my rapier in the training room. Something told me I wouldn't be fencing with these thugs.
As I placed my last two blades in sheathes along the inside of my knee high boots, I heard a noise outside. From the upstairs window, I saw two men approach my front door. Damn Marcy and her stupid party. I needed Alfred and his high powered guns to back me up. It had not been a good day for me and it wasn't about to be much better for these guys. They actually rang the door bell. Since they'd had the balls to come to my front door, I answered it.
"Lilith Mercury?” the tallest one asked. He took in my weapons with a glance.
"That's right. What can I do for you boys?"
"Come quietly,” the shorter guy made it a question. It earned him a sharp look from the tall one and gave me the opportunity I had hopped for.
I moved forward and delivered a flying knee to the crotch of the taller man. As he slumped forward, my elbow connected with the back of his skull with a sickening thud. The other man stood in stunned silence as I jump kicked him in the face and sent him flying into the azaleas near my front door. As I rummaged through their pockets for the keys to their car, something hit me in the back of the head so hard that I was lifted off the ground. The world became a dizzy nauseating swirl around me and I knew I was about to lose consciousness.
A man that I hadn't seen when I took down the other two stood over me with an aluminum baseball bat. As I noticed bloody smears on the bat, my eyes began to lose focus. Even I couldn't take a crack to the head with a baseball bat and not suffer. I'd live, but first, I was going to pass out.
* * * *
When I came to, I was lying on the floor of a plain room. By plain I mean no furniture, no windows, nothing. The whole room, walls included, was covered in pale blue tiles. It was a room made for torture, easily cleaned. From the throbbing pains in the back of my head, I knew better than to try to move. I was still down, but I'd begun to heal. I looked to my left, careful not to turn my head, and saw Elijah. He was chained to the floor by his right ankle, not too far from the door. He must have seen me open my eyes.
"Lilith,” he spoke softly. “Can you hear me?"
"Yes,” I whispered, afraid that if I spoke any louder my head would explode.
"I was afraid they'd killed you. I've been watching to make sure you kept breathing."
"How long have we been here?"
"Maybe an hour."
"Give me till morning,” I groaned. “I'll get us out of here.” With that, I passed out again.
When I awoke several hours later, my head still hurt, but it was bearable. I attempted to roll over and found that I was bound by both wrists to two long, thick chains that were bolted to the wall near the floor. I could move around, but not much.
It looked as if all they had taken from Elijah was his phone. They'd even left a pair of chopsticks in his pocket. I guessed they didn't see him as a threat. On the other hand, they had not only taken all of my blades, but my shoes, as well.
"How do you feel?” Elijah asked.
"You mean other than being cracked in the head with a bat and chained to the floor?” I replied sarcastically.
"Yeah.” He smiled. “Other than that."
"Great,” I said as I took a closer look at my restraints. “You know this goes against my principles, right?” I noticed the mortar was cracked around the edges of my right shackle where it connected to the wall.
"What does?” Elijah asked.
I held up one wrist as I teased, “I never use restraints on the first date."
He smiled and in spite of our surroundings it brightened my mood. I pointed to the chopsticks in Elijah's pocket. “Can you pass me those?"
"Sure.” He looked confused, but slid me the chopsticks.
"Any idea why we're here?” I asked as I inspected the mortar more closely.
"No clue,” Elijah answered. “A guy comes in about every hour or so."
"What does he do?"
"He just looks at us. Some times he checks your pulse, then leaves.” I couldn't reach the crack in the mortar with my hands, so I put one of the chopsticks between my toes, stretched out and began to chip it loose.
"Can't you just rip these out of the wall?” Elijah pointed at his shackle.
"Probably, but do you have any idea how much noise that would make?"
"Oh, hadn't thought of that."
A few minutes later the short guy that I'd kicked in the face walked in. I looked at him more closely this time. He was about my height with dark hair and pale skin. He appeared to be in good shape, with a sleek athletic build. The guy might have been nice looking if it weren't for the two black eyes he was sporting and the fact that his nose was obviously broken. He approached me with caution despite the chains. Apparently he wasn't as stupid as I'd thought.
"How's your head?” he asked in a surprisingly deep voice.
"Why do you care?"
"I don't.” At least he was honest.
"Then why ask?"
"Because I was told you need to be fully recovered,” he replied.
"For what, torture?"
"Couldn't say, but I'm not going to get close enough to look for myself."
I laughed, but not like I was amused. “Well, my head still hurts, so that gives you plenty of time to go screw yourself."
He gave me a nasty sneer before he turned on his heel and left the room.
"Do you think that's wise, pissing them off like that?” Elijah asked.
"Doesn't matter,” I said as I stretched back out to chip away the mortar.
"Why?"
I stopped for a second and looked at Elijah. I had been about to say, “Because they'll never see tomorrow anyway.” Instead, I went back to work on loosening the shackle. It took several hours to loosen the heavy bolts from the wall. The short dark haired man came back in, but this time he went for Elijah. A gun was clearly visible pressed against the small of his back as he walked toward him. Elijah shot a pleading glace my way, and I knew that I couldn't allow him to be taken away from me. One look at the other man said he had nothing good in store for Elijah.
"It's me you want.” I decided to provoke him.
He turned to me.
"Before they do whatever it is they have planned...” I licked my lips, “don't you wanna touch me?” I motioned toward my body suggestively. “You know you want me,” I purred seductively. “I've seen the way you look at me.” I winked at Elijah as I said, “We can make him watch."
Elijah looked horrified as the man began to walk toward me, but there was no way to let him know what I had in mind. He knew what my job was. I only hoped seeing me do that job wouldn't change the way he looked at me. There was no time to think of another way. Once the dark haired man was within range, I snatched the chain free with a roar, hitting him across the face and cutting his cheek badly. I hit him with the chain again as I swung it so that it wrapped around his neck. I yanked him toward me and slammed his face into the wall, several times.
"Where are the keys?” I asked as I pressed him face down into the floor, strangling him. He motioned to his belt. I snatched the keys from his belt and let them hit the floor. My feet were cold and it pissed me off.
"Where the hell are my shoes?” I growled.
He rolled his eyes toward the door.
"In the next room?” I asked.
He nodded.
"Are there more than two of you?” I let up so he could speak.
"No,” he whispered.
"If you tell me the truth, you might be the one I leave alive,” I taunted.
"There's four,” he said quickly. “Two across the hall, and one at the front door."
"You lied to me,” I choked him harder. “What do you say?” I leaned in closer, as if waiting to hear an apology. “What's that? You're an asshole?"
I broke his neck.
"Yeah, I thought so."
I unlocked my chains and tossed the keys to Elijah. He looked stunned. I knew he had seen worse things, but he'd never watched me do any of those things before. I couldn't bear for him to look at me that way.
"Don't look,” I said. “Don't look at me."
I took the dark haired man's gun and checked to be sure it was loaded.
"Wait here while I check out the room across the hall,” I said as I pressed Elijah back against the wall. To my relief, he didn't withdraw from my touch. He still looked shocked, but nodded his agreement.
I listened at the door for a moment and distinctly heard two voices inside. I kicked the door in quickly as I shot one guy in the back of the head. Another rushed me, and I caught him in the chest three times. I found my shoes, but my blades were still missing. When I went back for Elijah, he seemed to have regained his composure. After all, he was a cop, and this wasn't the first dead body he'd seen. It wasn't even the first body he'd seen that I was responsible for, but it was the first time he'd ever seen me harm anyone. I couldn't blame the poor guy for being shocked. He was no doubt wondering how he'd gone from kung pow chicken and old movies to watching me break some guy's neck on a cold tile floor. Not the way he wanted to spend his weekend, I'm sure.
As best we could tell, there was no one else inside the small building. We sneaked out the back and around the side without encountering anyone. I put my hand against Elijah's chest and motioned around the corner. There was a guard standing there, I could smell him. The wind was blowing just right to carry the scent of his cologne to where we stood. The building must have been sound proof for him to have not come running when I'd shot the two men inside. One look at the surrounding woods told me we were in the middle of nowhere, but I was still afraid that someone might hear if I shot him. I passed the gun to Elijah and removed the shoe lace from my right boot. I moved slowly toward the unsuspecting guard, careful not to make a sound. Just as I looked around the corner, he turned away to light a cigarette, and I struck.
Before he knew what hit him, I'd strangled the guard and begun to drag his body out of sight. As I re-laced my boot, I looked up at Elijah. He was obviously trying to remain neutral about seeing me strangle someone. I knew a cop face when I saw one. It was one of those looks that said, no matter what happens, I will not think about it now. There would be plenty of time to have nightmares later.
I fished some car keys out of the guard's pocket. “Let's hope there's a parking lot on the other side, because I don't see anything in front,” I told Elijah.
He nodded and began to move down the wall toward the back of the building. We found more than cars waiting for us on the other side. Emerging from the woods all around was what could only be described as a pack of werewolves. There were at least thirty of them, not enough for a true pack, but what else do you call a bunch of werewolves? They were still in human form, but there was no mistaking the current of sex and violence that radiated from them. You could almost reach out and touch the scent of lycanthrope in the air. I let one of them take me by surprise and wrestle me face down to the ground.
"We've been given orders to detain you and your little boy toy at all costs,” a female voice said. “Not so tough without your weapons, are you?” the voice taunted, still out of my sight.
I turned toward Elijah, where he struggled against a choke hold from another female lycanthrope. There was no easy way out of this. I looked into his innocent blue eyes and knew that the only way to escape was to make the one person who'd never looked at me like a monster change his mind.
A pair of spiked vinyl boots appeared in front of my face. “I'll never know what Marco sees in you,” the voice continued from directly above me.
As I laughed I heard my voice drop lower, into a deep and evil rumble before I replied, “Please, let me show you."
The werewolf on my back was caught by surprise as I flung him off of me. My eyes began to burn, and I knew that they had turned to amber. The werewolf that I'd just dislodged from my back lunged at me. I threw an uppercut as razor sharp claws shot from my fingertips, catching him under the chin.
Pieces of his throat landed on the ground beside him as I ripped my nails across his wind pipe. I rode his body to the ground while I stabbed him through the ribs with the claws on my other hand. I rose slowly. Blood dripped from my hands as I looked into the face of the woman who'd taunted me. She might have been attractive had it not been for the look of complete hatred on her face.
She was taller than me and thin, with long, curly red hair that was beginning to frizz, thanks to the humidity. Although I thought it was creepy that Marco was dating someone who slightly resembled me, I noted with some satisfaction that my breasts were bigger. She had to be Marco's girlfriend. There was no other explanation for that level of hatred in a woman I'd never met before.
"I can't believe he named that goddamned club after you,” she spat.
Yep, she was Marco's girlfriend. I sneered at her with nothing short of malice. I don't know if it was some hidden feelings for Marco, or just the alpha female in me, but I wanted to hurt this woman. What she said about the club had only confirmed my suspicion. That would explain why I'd sensed so many werewolves that night. Marco owned club Red.
"You must feel special,” I said silkily.
She growled as her eyes turned wolf amber and I felt my blood boil. How dare she threaten me? I barely kept the growl from my voice as I said, “Come get it then ... Bitch."
Just as I'd expected, she lost her temper and swung wild. I leaned into her as I covered my head and rammed my elbow into the underside of her bicep. She yelped like an injured dog as I grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to put my left knee through her side. A rage such as I'd never felt before broke over me. It was the rage that I'd held in over the past week, watching Marcy flirt with Alfred, imagining what he must have been dreaming when he'd called her name. For all I knew he had spent the night at her house last night, and now this bitch was going to get in my face about Marco? I should have screwed his brains out when I'd had the chance. Maybe then I would've at least gotten some sort of satisfaction. Oh, but I would have satisfaction, if I had to take it out of her hide. Enough was enough, and I'd more than reached my limit for bullshit and bitchy women.
I grabbed her by the hair and snatched violently to the right, knocking her into three other werewolves. A tall man with claws for hands ran toward me. I dropped to the ground and delivered a brutal heel palm to his left knee, shattering it so badly that the bone protruded from his jeans. He howled as he fell to the ground, where I broke his neck with a loud snap. The red headed shewolf staggered to her feet and lunged at me. I caught her in the chest with my boot, just as hard as I possibly could. She coughed and blood dribbled down her chin as she fell back to the ground.
The woman who'd been strangling Elijah flung him at the ground with an eerie inhuman howl as she began to transform. In mid transformation, her face suddenly exploded and she collapsed. It took me a minute to realize that Elijah, who was still armed, had shot her through the back of the head.
Marco's disgruntled girlfriend struggled to her feet again. Her otherwise pretty face lost some of its appeal as she began to grow fangs. I decided that I wasn't going to wait for her to come at me again as I charged forward and grabbed her by the hair so hard you could hear it tear loose from her scalp. Over and over again, I slammed her into the ground, picked her up by the hair, and slammed her again. Chunks of her frizzy red curls began to fall out in my monstrous hands. With each fall, I heard her bones break, like a wooden toy cracking beneath pressure. I could hear the howls of the werewolves around me, and gunfire echoed in my ears, but I kept slamming her, flinging her limp body like a filthy rag doll. I dropped her to the ground, threw back my head and screamed. It was the same rage filled battle cry that I'd heard on the first full moon after my attack.
I grabbed her again and began throwing her at the crowd. I hurled her mercilessly into them, just to watch her bounce off again, and again. When at last I threw her down, she just lay there, broken, in a twisted heap. The crowd of werewolves had drawn back, whether they were afraid, or just shocked, I couldn't tell. I straddled her waist, propped a clawed hand on either side of her head, and looked at the pack around me, some still in human form, others well into the change.
"I've got a message for you to deliver to Marco,” I growled threateningly. And without further ado, I broke her neck so hard her head spun around backward to face the crowd.
"Oh no, love, not Marco,” said a deep voice with a thick Australian accent.
Bade Garren stepped through the pack into the clearing. I growled low and menacing as I bared my teeth. Bade wasn't exactly handsome, but he wasn't unattractive either. He and Marco were like opposite sides of the same sadistic coin. He had shoulder length hair of the palest gold and a creamy white complexion. They were both muscular though Bade was perhaps an inch or two taller. To see them standing together was enough to conjure thoughts of hedonistic pleasures in the most faithful lover.
Bade Garren's body was a masochist's paradise. He had a flare for the dramatic and was into S & M, so his wardrobe was no surprise. Tight black vinyl pants clung to his muscular legs like a caress. He wore a flowing black satin jacket, held open to reveal the white perfection of his chest. Through one nipple a silver stud glinted in the fading light of dusk. Werewolves have an extreme allergy to silver. Direct exposure to the internal organs, such as being shot with a silver bullet, almost always results in death. The stud must have caused him constant pain and I'm sure that's why he wore it.
I decided to play with him a bit if I could, to buy enough time to recover my strength. If I did not fight our way out, we would die in that clearing. Elijah was out of ammunition and I was outnumbered. Not to insult him, but Elijah was no match for a fully grown werewolf.
I retracted my claws as I rose to my feet, but my eyes were still blazing amber.
"Bade,” I purred, putting as much sex as possible into my voice. “I would have expected you to keep better company,” I said as I kicked the woman's body at my feet.
"Think highly of me do you?” he asked. His sarcastic smirk added a charm that I would have liked to ignore.
I remembered how I had let my feelings flow to Alfred and wondered for a moment if it would be possible to do the same to Bade. I concentrated on what I wanted him to feel, what I wanted to be in my voice when I spoke again, and it felt as if a door opened in my mind. Something warm and hot flowed beneath my skin, giving me a fever that I had previously only felt behind my eyes when they had turned. It was like flipping a switch in my head, but instead of turning on a light, I had turned on what could only be described as pure sex. I was unsure of this new ‘talent', but I wasn't going to waste my one chance of delaying Bade and whatever it was he had planned.
"I have never put you in the same category as Marco,” I said, and my voice no longer sounded like my own. It was deep, earthy and sensual, a bedroom voice in every sense of the word. Truthfully, I thought much worse of him. But, when I spoke, I was delighted to find that at least some of what I had intended was felt by the wolves around me. I heard a few who were closest to me, gasp in response to the sound of my voice.
I moved closer to Bade. No one tried to stop me. As I spoke, I felt my voice take on a hypnotic quality. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I whispered as my voice flowed over the crowd like silk.
Bade visibly jumped when I spoke, his eyes rolled and his lids fluttered slightly.
"How do you do that?” he said, breathlessly.
"I'm not doing anything ... yet,” I caressed his bare chest, leaving a bloody trail across his pale skin.
"Lying bitch.” He winced as I moved around his silver nipple piercing.
I bent over his chest. My lips hovered mere centimeters above his nipple as I breathed against his skin, “What reason would I have to lie?"
"What reason would you have to tell the truth?” he pointed out.
I bit down on his skin and tugged on the piercing, not enough to cause pain, just a little pinch. He threw his head back and cried out.
"Why have you brought me here?” I asked as I looked up into his pale blue eyes. His full pink lips parted as I bit harder, bringing a growl from his human throat that was frightening and out of place.
"I need a sample of your blood.” Bade placed his hands on my shoulders, his nails were beginning to form into claws and they bit into my flesh. I have a high tolerance for pain, and in small amounts I sometimes enjoy it. But this was a pain that I was not expecting and for a moment, my concentration wavered.
Bade looked down at me with my teeth attached to his nipple. The grin that spread across his angelic features was nothing short of evil.
"Clever,” he purred appreciatively. “But it won't do you any good, love."
Without waiting to see what would have happened next, I bit down on the silver stud as hard as I could and ripped it from his flesh. He roared as he flung me away from his chest. His claws that were dug into my shoulders got stuck in the leather cat-suit and ripped it completely from my torso. I was left with only ragged leather sleeves clinging to my arms.
Bade stormed toward me menacingly, his face contorted with furry as he stood above me. I spat the stud at him, with a bit of his nipple still attached. He backhanded me across the cheek and I thought my head would explode. I rolled to my stomach and tried to get to my feet, but he grabbed me around the hips, digging his claws into me again. I leapt into the air as I did a rolling dive at the ground. I felt the last of my suit being ripped from me, but it got stuck around my boots. The force of my forward jump had snatched Bade to the ground. He began climbing up my body as I struggled to free myself from the cat-suit stuck around my ankles.
It sounded as if a battle was raging in the distance behind me, but I couldn't turn to see. By that time, Bade had me pressed to the ground with my arms above my head. Having super human strength has its advantages when your opponent is an ordinary man. But when faced with a male werewolf I was forcefully reminded that I am still a woman, and often times less strong.
I bucked forcefully under his weight, causing his body to bounce.
"Hold still,” he growled as he fought to reach his pocket while trying to hold my wrists with one hand. Having had no desire to find out what was in Bade's pocket, I kept bucking as hard as I could. The only real disadvantage of that was with each bounce his heavily muscled body knocked the breath out of me.
"You're heavy,” I panted.
He laughed. The sound surprised me. In the midst of what was now clearly a battle, I had not expected to hear laughter.
"I'd say that's the least of your worries, love,” he grunted, still struggling to hold me down.
Gunshots echoed through the woods and werewolves howled with a mixture of anger and fear. Alfred had come for me. There was no other explanation. I wondered what had become of Elijah, and the thought made me more desperate to escape. I began to jerk as violently as possible with my hands and feet restrained.
Just then someone snatched Bade from atop me. I glimpsed a dark hairy figure that could only have been a very large werewolf, and judging from its anatomy, it was male. There was something oddly familiar about the color of its hair, but before I could put the pieces together, I was cracked in the back of the head again, and again I was lifted from the ground by the blow.
"Son of a bitch,” I moaned as I rolled over to face the same bastard who'd nailed me with the bat the day before.
His self satisfied smirk was too much to endure. Extending my claws once more, I snatched him off his feet. I meant to kill him before I passed out. My feet were still bound by the half of my cat-suit around my ankles, so I began to pull myself up his body, using my claws to gain leverage.
He started to change, but I was already strangling him. When he was almost unconscious, I rolled off him, grabbed the bat, and began whacking him in the forehead. The world swam around me and my head bobbed forward of its own accord as I growled, “How-do-you-like-that-you-son-of-a-bitch."
Last I remember, his forehead was clearly dented. I looked up, and had only a second to realize that a very large boot was coming straight at my already battered head.
* * * *
I awoke to find myself in unfamiliar surroundings. After blinking a few times, I realized that I was lying on the sofa in Alfred's lab. I tried to sit up. The pain in my head was instant and overwhelming, a cruel assault on what was left of my senses. I had a feeling of movement behind me and could only hope it was Alfred. After a few seconds of holding my breath, I began to sense his familiar presence. It was such a comfort that I nearly cried. For the first time in a few days, I was alone with someone whom I was not trying to kill, and they were not trying to kill me.
"Bade,” I rasped.
I found my voice barely audible and my throat dry. Alfred was instantly looking over me. He sat down beside me, placing a cool cloth over my forehead. I saw concern in his dark eyes. I also noticed for the first time the beginnings of crow's feet, those delicate little bastards that start their walk across our faces somewhere between middle age and death. I thought about how often I made Alfred worry, and knew they were my fault.
"That bastard,” I tried again to speak.
"No kidding,” he said blandly.
"Will I live?"
"You've already begun to heal.” That was good news to me, but Alfred seemed angry. I didn't understand. I'd been beaten worse before.

Chapter Seven 
I slid my hand down the length of my thigh underneath the blanket that covered me and realized Alfred had found me naked in the woods with my pants around my ankles. Surely he didn't think I would be this calm had I been raped? I thought I would ease his mind. I reached up to where his hand still rested lightly on my forehead.
"I'll be ok,” I said.
He snatched his hand away and stood up.
"I'm sure you will,” he snapped.
That bastard! Ok, now I was pissed. I tried again to sit up and follow him. I stumbled over the edge of the sofa, my naked ass smacking the floor. The effect was somewhat less than the graceful ascent I had hoped for. I snatched the blanket around me and stalked toward Alfred's rigidly set shoulders.
"What the crap is your problem?” I asked his back. “Hey, tall, dark, and asshole, I'm talking to you!"
No one else unraveled me like Alfred did. How dare he ignore me? “Prick,” I breathed as I turned away. Oh, that got a reaction.
"I'm a prick?” he yelled, making it a question.
"Yeah,” I answered, deliberately misunderstanding him.
He stomped furiously toward me. You could see small veins popping out on the side of his neck.
"I save your ass, your naked ass, and I'm the prick.” This time he stated it as if it were a fact that he wasn't at all happy about.
I saw an angry fire dancing behind his eyes, and something else that I couldn't name. If I could touch him again, maybe ... No. I had never tried to read Alfred, and now was not the time to start. I didn't know what was up his ass, but I refused to invade his private thoughts. That was one of the reasons that I rarely touched him. I looked at Alfred then, his full mouth, and tousled hair. I gazed into his soulful brown eyes, eyes which blazed with the intensity of emotions that went beyond anger, and realized that I regretted not touching him.
"I saw your sketches while you were gone,” he blurted out.
"You went through my things?” I was shocked. I'd never expected this behavior from Alfred.
"I knocked it off of your table. But, once it was open, yes, I looked."
I knew what he was mad about. There were at least a dozen sketches of Marco in that book, many of them nude. I suppose that finding nude drawings of the bad guy in your partner's room would be enough to get anyone worked up. In my defense, I did not have carnal knowledge of Marco. They were purely from my imagination, and it was quite active.
He must have guessed by my reaction that I now understood the problem.
"You hunt the bad guys, Lilith. You don't fuck them."
My hand reacted to the accusation before I could think of what to say. The sound of slapping his face was shockingly loud. He didn't even flinch. He just stared at me with the accusation now clear on his face. A small red right hand began to appear across the smooth olive skin of his left cheek. That had to sting, but Alfred didn't let on.
I stood there, stunned, not knowing what to say. All the years that I had known him, and I had only then realized how badly I wanted to touch this man. Even the smack of my hand across his face had been exciting. I felt a flush creeping up my neck and abruptly turned my back on him. To my surprise, I realized that not only did I want to touch him, but I felt feverish at the thought. If he had seen me blush, I hoped he mistook it for embarrassment.
Alfred knew that I was rarely, if ever embarrassed, but we had never been in this situation before. Maybe he wouldn't think about it too hard. For that matter, maybe I could stop thinking about it hard, if you know what I mean. I had been cracked in the head with a bat twice in as many days. I should not have been thinking about sex.
I started walking toward the stairs. I had to get out of there before I made a worse fool of myself. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I realized that I'd never really thought of Alfred that way, even after we'd spent the night together.
I'd flirted with him in a joking way, it's just my personality. But before that night, I'd never really thought of Alfred as a woman thinks of a man. I cared for him, and I'd certainly felt affection, but there was another word to describe what I'd felt only moments before, lust.
The fact that I now wanted to do things to Alfred that I couldn't even pronounce left me speechless. That was quite a novelty for me. I never knew when to shut up.
"Where are you going?"
I was halfway up the stairs.
"To bed,” I answered, trying not to reveal my thoughts.
"You can't."
"Excuse me?"
"Elijah's in your room."
I'd forgotten about Elijah. I must have been hit harder than I'd thought. How awful of me to have not asked about him.
"Is he alright?"
"He will be. He has a slight concussion, and he's pretty banged up, but he'll live."
"Why my bed?” I couldn't resist asking.
"Because the man has a head injury and your bed is more comfortable."
I couldn't help but wonder if that was a sneaky way of getting me to spend the night with him, or just an evil reminder that he knew how comfortable my bed was. Slowly, I walked back down the stairs, not because I was reluctant to return, but if I moved too quickly, I still felt very dizzy.
"Where should I sleep?” I asked wearily.
Alfred smiled with an expression that I'd never seen him wear before, but it suited him somehow. It was the look of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.
"You can stay in my room,” he said with a flirtatious grin.
I stared at him blankly, waiting for more of an explanation. Finally, he looked back at me and said, “Don't worry. I'll be staying down here."
I think I was actually upset more at the thoughts of him avoiding me than if he had deliberately planned to get me alone.
"What's really bothering you, Alfred?” I sighed. “We can't live like this. Whether we ... feel anything for each other or not, we still have to work with one another."
He turned around and leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms in a gesture of obvious frustration. As he tried to find the right words, he began to run his fingers through his hair, which told me more than anything how frustrated he really was. It was a nervous gesture that I'd seen Alfred use for years when he and my father occasionally butted heads.
"It's just that—” He took a deep breath and started over. “Before Kathryn came by ... I thought we had something.” He ran his fingers through his hair again as he said, “I felt something ... I thought the feeling was mutual."
It was. But, that's not what I said. There was something that I needed to know first. “I came downstairs that night. You were asleep on the couch."
"Why didn't you wake me?"
I couldn't keep the anger out of my voice as I answered, “I wouldn't want to disturb your dreams."
He looked confused. “My what?"
"Why were you on the couch anyway?” I pressed, ignoring his bewildered look.
"Wasn't it obvious?!” He sounded irritated again. “I fell asleep waiting for you to come downstairs."
It felt like someone had thrown cold water in my face. He had fallen asleep waiting for me. I felt like a fool. We had so obviously been on the same page that night. Why didn't I wake him? That reminded me, “If you were waiting for me, then why were you calling Marcy's name in your sleep?"
He looked thunderstruck. “I was having a nightmare!” Alfred looked as if something had just occurred to him. “What were you doing downstairs?"
"It doesn't matter."
"The hell it doesn't.” His next words were spoken more softly. “You came back for me, didn't you? You came back for me, heard me say her name, and left.” He'd come to his own conclusion.
I just looked at him for a moment, my head beginning to pound again. “What would you have done?” I asked.
"I probably would have woke you up and had a fit, like I just did about the pictures, that you never explained, by the way.” His words were still accusatory, but the anger was gone from his voice.
"You know I'm not sleeping with him."
"Yes, but your not sleeping with me either, and quite frankly, I'm jealous."
"That I'm not sleeping with you?"
"That I'm not the one you think about when you're alone at night."
I must have looked as surprised as I felt.
"I'm not jealous that I'm not in your bed. I'm jealous because I'm not in your heart."
Those softly spoken words melted me in ways the hot Florida sun never could.
"Marco isn't in my heart,” I almost whispered as I moved closer to Alfred.
"Then where is he?” He added more softly, “Where am I?"
I decided to be honest. “I'm not sure where you are, but Marco's not a part of the picture."
"Not even in the background?” he smiled as I ran my hands inside his coat, leaning into him.
"Not even the ugly brown paper on the back of the frame,” I said.
He cradled the back of my aching head in his hand and I went limp in his arms.
"Lilith,” he said. His voice sounded far away. “Lilith, you need to stay conscious. You've been hit too hard too many times."
He pulled me more tightly against his chest, and I felt the blanket slide down my back. I had overexerted myself when I lost my temper. I was tough, but I wasn't invincible. Maybe one day I'd get that through my gratefully thick skull. I felt my legs growing weaker and knew that I couldn't stand on my own. Unfortunately, when I get hit that hard in the head it seems to bring out the comedian in me. But, it wasn't like Alfred hasn't experienced my twisted humor before.
"What can I say?” I looked up into his eyes and smiled. “You make me weak in the knees."
He laughed, but his eyes looked sad. “If you hadn't been nearly bludgeoned to death, I might be able to take that seriously."
"I haven't been bludgeoned."
He smiled kindly at my slurred words. “Yeah,” he said, “I think you have."
"What should I do to stay awake?” This would have been the perfect opportunity to suggest something inappropriate, but because he is a gentleman, Alfred said, “You could start by letting me wash the blood out of your hair."
"I've got blood in my hair?"
He nodded, still smiling at the confused look on my face.
"Is it mine?” I asked, horrified.
"Not all of it."
I wrinkled my nose at the thought of spending the night with blood in my hair.
"But, I can't stand up to take a shower."
Yet again, this would have been the perfect opportunity to suggest something naughty. Alfred kissed my forehead as he said, “Let me help you.” Ah, perhaps there was hope for him yet. He leaned forward and pulled the blanket back around me. Alfred knew that I was far from modest, but I appreciated the gesture. He swept me gracefully into his arms and carried me toward the stairs.
"You're in luck,” he teased, “My back just started feeling better."
Alfred's downstairs bedroom was the second largest in the house. It connected to another bathroom that, though not as big as mine, was quite nice. The bathroom also connected to a guest bedroom that was rarely, if ever used. I wondered why Alfred hadn't put Elijah in the guest room, because I wasn't buying that my bed was just more comfortable. Like the bathroom upstairs, this one also had a garden tub, but what it had that mine did not was Jacuzzi jets. Just the thought of all that warm water massaging against my aching body made me feel even weaker.
Alfred laid me across his bed, walked to the bathroom, and started running water in the tub. I liked Alfred's room, though I rarely saw it. His room was decorated in shades of brown and cream, with the occasional dark chocolate or white appearing here and there. A large stone fireplace sat against one wall, it was connected by a central chimney to the smaller fireplace in my bedroom upstairs. The only thing that was missing was a bear skin rug. I tried to sit up, but found that the room spun in a way that was not at all pleasant.
I groaned.
"I know you're not trying to get up,” Alfred's voice scolded through the open door.
I lay back against the sheets, defeated.
"How come I could walk halfway up the stairs on my own, and now I can't even lift my head?"
"Adrenaline,” he answered simply.
"Adrenaline?"
"Yes,” he said, walking back into the room to stand over me. “About how pissed off would you say that you were when you got up off the couch?"
I considered this for a moment and decided to accept his explanation.
"I was livid."
"Come here,” he said soothingly as he swept me into his arms.
Alfred carried me into the bathroom, my long blanket dragging the floor like a cape. My head didn't hurt as badly, but I seemed to be incapable of standing without support. He helped me to sit on the side of the tub before looking at me with a mischievous smile as he knelt before me.
"You'll need to lose this,” he said, tugging gently on the blanket.
I braced myself against his shoulders and stood shakily, letting the blanket slide the length of my body to pool around my feet. I'm normally very self conscious about my scars, but it wasn't as if Alfred hadn't seen them before. He had seen the vicious injury first hand and compared to that, the scars were nothing.
"Better?” I asked.
"Much,” he smiled.
I sat back down and slid my feet into the water, moaning as the heat soothed my aching calf muscles. Alfred wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly against his chest, but careful not to touch my breasts.
"Do you think you could sit up long enough for me to get undressed?"
I tried to turn my head to look at him, but a sharp pain near my temple changed my mind.
"Undressed? You're getting in with me?"
"How else do you expect me to wash your hair? You can't sit up on your own. You're barely conscious."
He did have a point. I wasn't entirely sure that I could sit up long enough for him to get in. So, I decided not to argue.
"Alright,” I slid slowly down into the water and propped my arms on the side of the tub, leaning my cheek against my forearm. It was the only way that I could keep from sliding all the way under. I watched Alfred begin to unbutton his deep purple shirt that I'd only then noticed went every well with his olive skin. Never had I had such a craving for caramel and been so helpless to do anything about it.
"Are you going to watch?” he inquired softly.
"I can't turn my head without getting dizzy,” I answered honestly, but with a smirk that I couldn't seem to control.
He walked around behind me with a smile, and I heard his clothes fall to the floor. As I felt Alfred slide in the tub behind me, my heart beat faster, causing my head to throb. He reached around my ribs and pulled me back against him with a splash. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I took pleasure in the feel of his long fingers as they massaged their way through my short hair with an expert tenderness that I had not expected.
When the last of the blood had been washed away, I half turned in his arms, laying my face against his chest.
"I'm I clean?” I sighed.
"You're hair is, but I'm afraid I can't do anything about your mind."
I laughed softly, careful not to move my head.
"I can barely move, Alfred. I think you can safely assume that I'm not going to molest you."
"Some days, you take the fun out of living,” he teased as he ran his fingers through my wet hair and began to massage my scalp.
"Mmmm,” I breathed.
"Stop, you're turning me on,” he smiled.
As I looked into his handsome face, I realized that my eyes were beginning to lose focus. There was something that I wanted to tell him while I most likely would not be held accountable for whatever I might say.
I rested my cheek back against his chest as I said, “I had a dream about you."
Alfred knew about my dream journal. I had mentioned to him before, though not in any great detail how most of my dreams had a way of coming true, whether literally, or symbolically, and I'd always been fascinated by dream interpretation. He was very still as I told him about the dream, especially the part where he went into the water, knowing that he would sink, but thought that wouldn't be so terrible a fate, if he were only closer to me when he went under. Deciding not to skip the details, I also told him how I had seen myself through his eyes. I also let slip how I had told Kat about the dream and she said that it was only further proof that he wanted me. Her exact words were, “If he knew he had a chance you wouldn't be able to beat him loose with a stick."
He laughed at that last part, “She's right. If I thought I had a snowball's chance in Hell, I'd have been waiting outside your door the other night, instead of on the couch. Although, that might have been the most profoundly stupid thing I've done to gain a woman's attention thus far."
"There are so many reasons why I shouldn't get involved with you,” I said.
"Name one."
I couldn't. Maybe it was the head injury, or maybe I just didn't have a good enough reason to not notice how great he looked, wet and naked, and right in front of me. I was beginning to ramble and went on to say things that I probably shouldn't have.
"I'm sorry that I never touch you,” I apologized sincerely, running my wet fingers through his hair.
"Why is that?” he asked softly.
"It's not that I've never wanted to touch you,” I went on when I should have stopped. “I have very much wanted to know what it feels like to touch you ... But I was afraid that if I knew, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off..."
I felt slightly embarrassed by this confession, but only until I heard his response, “I would very much like to know what you taste like, but I'm afraid if I knew ... I might eat you alive."
Damn, he was good. Where was this man three and a half years ago when I'd met Bradley? I was struck with a profound sense of loss as I realized, he was right here. The whole time I'd spent my love and my time on some jerk that didn't deserve the effort, here was a nice man who seemed to genuinely care for me. Stupid is too mild of a word for what I had been.
Alfred cradled my head in his hand as he leaned in to kiss me. He paused, hovering above my lips for a few seconds. I think somehow both of us knew that with that contact, things would change. His lips were warm and tender as they brushed gently against mine. I heard myself sigh and leaned into his embrace. For the first time, I understood how much I had wanted, no needed for Alfred to hold me like this. My hands seemed to move of their own accord from his chest to his shoulders, pulling him closer to me. My arms had been the only thing keeping my bare breasts from touching him. With that obstacle removed I pressed myself against him, my nipples hardening against the roughness of the hair on his chest.
The kiss deepened, causing him to press slightly harder against the back of my head. I moaned, but not in the way he had expected, I'm sure.
"What's wrong?” he asked, the pupils of his dark eyes dilated with desire.
I offered him a weak smile as I said, “Don't take this as rejection, but I've got a headache."
He laughed, a deep and knowledgeable sound that seemed a foreign thing coming from Alfred. It was the sort of laugh that says, “I know you want me."
"Don't worry,” he whispered as he kissed my lips more softly. “I'm not going to jump you."
"You're not?” I pulled back to see his reaction.
"No,” he smiled. “As long as I've waited, I'd prefer you to be up to the task."
"How long have you waited?” I asked, more seriously than I'd intended.
"Too long,” he said, as he pulled my body against him, running his other hand down my spine. I ached with the need to press myself against him, to touch as much of him as possible. However, my head felt like it had a death metal band beating around inside it.
I groaned with disappointment as I slid back down, placing my cheek against his chest. Alfred held me tightly against him, cradling me as if I would disappear should he let go.
"I've got to get my mind on something else,” I mumbled, my face still pressed against him.
"Well,” he sighed, “you never told me your opinion of the dream."
"My interpretation, you mean?"
"Mmhm."
I thought about the dream for a moment, my brain seemed to be inside a heavy fog, but I remembered the important parts.
"Water,” I began, “is always symbolic of emotions. Like, if it were rain, then emotions would be pouring down on you. But in this case, they were nearly concealed, beneath the surface, coming up through the floor."
I paused for a moment before continuing, “You were trying to find a light in the dark ... and these emotions, you were sinking in them, they overwhelmed you."
I pulled back enough to see his face when I asked, “Do you really see me that way?"
Alfred gave me a smile that warmed me in places the hot water could never reach.
"I think you're the only one who doesn't,” he said.
His response surprised me.
"But ... I'm scarred,” I said.
He placed his hand against the side of my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
"Your most devastating scars are not worn on the outside,” he said.
Not knowing what to say, I lowered my eyes. Alfred put his hand underneath my chin, and turned me back to face him. “You are not a ruined beauty,” he whispered kindly. “I see the way you hide your scars. From everyone else, that's fine ... but not from me ... you don't need to hide from me. Every time you let me catch a glimpse I think you're secretly trying to horrify me, to prove that you are a monster, because in your mind, you look like one."
Alfred was right. All this time, I thought he was oblivious to what was going on around him, but I was wrong. He may have seen more of me than I did. Just when I thought we had finally changed to a subject that didn't arouse me, he kissed me again.
"You meant to get my mind off sex, remember?"
He pressed his lips against my forehead in a gesture that made me feel pitiful and lost. “Don't take this as rejection,” he teased, “but, maybe you should put some clothes on."
I laughed. “You're the only man who's ever asked me to put clothes on."
"Well,” he said, “you're the only woman I've ever made that suggestion to."
I splashed away from him to prop on the tub again as I said sarcastically, “Oh, I feel so special."
"You should,” he said sternly, “I would have just molested anyone else."
I giggled. “Don't make me laugh, it hurts."
"If I didn't care so much about you, that's not the only thing that would be hurting by now."
That made me laugh before I could stop myself. “Alfred!” I scolded, cradling my aching head in my hands, “Are you trying to kill me?"
He laughed again, echoing that deep and seductive rumble that I'd noticed before as I propped my head against the tub again. He started to get out of the tub, smiled at me and said, “No peeking."
"You're kidding right? If I don't get to touch, the least I can do is look."
"You should have looked when you had the chance,” he teased.
"That's not fair. I couldn't see through the bubbles,” I protested.
He looked at me and crossed his arms with an expression that said it didn't matter how much I argued the matter, he wasn't putting on a show for me.
"Fine,” I sighed, closing my eyes.
I heard Alfred climbing out of the tub and after a few moments, couldn't control my urge to look. I opened my eyes just in time to see him take his dark chocolate colored bathrobe and swing it around his shoulders. The view from the back was so good, I wished I'd opened my eyes in time to see the front. The lovely caramel of his skin glowed with moisture, causing the light to reflect off the perfectly formed muscles of his back. Alfred was in better shape than I had suspected. It was a shame what his clothes concealed. His legs were as nicely toned as his back, but it was his ass that I couldn't keep my eyes off. Alfred had a beautiful ass. I smiled to myself as I observed the lovely muscular dimples flex near his hip as he half turned to tie his robe.
"What are you smiling at?” he asked, turning back to me.
"Nice ass,” I said, feeling some satisfaction when he blushed. “Any chance I could see the rest?"
"Not tonight,” he winked, as he retrieved a towel from the linen closet built into the wall. “You're injured, remember?"
Making a conscious decision to be wicked, I reached out, trying to find the switch in my mind I had flipped when dealing with Bade earlier that evening. I felt the same warm rush through my body I'd felt before as I replied, “Give me till morning."
He took a shaky breath before asking, “What the hell was that?"
"I'm not sure yet. Did you like it?"
Alfred smiled, looking unsure of how to proceed with the conversation. “Are you trying to seduce me?"
I smiled provocatively, relishing the opportunity to throw his own smartass remark back in his face. “If I were trying to seduce you, you wouldn't have to ask."
"Fair enough,” he said, placing a large black towel on the edge of the tub.
A rush of energy seemed to flow out of me as I let go of the seductive power I had tapped into. I felt weaker than before. Apparently it took effort to be a sexual deviant. Alfred helped me to stand while he wrapped the towel around my body. I felt cold without either Alfred or the hot water to keep me warm.
I shivered slightly as I stepped onto the fuzzy rug beside the tub.
"Would you like me to dry you?” Alfred asked.
"And have you get a cheap thrill from running your hands all over me? I don't think so."
"It wouldn't be cheap,” he insisted. “Come on then,” he said, smiling, “I've got another solution."
Alfred carried me back into the bedroom, removed my towel and spread it across the foot of his king size bed.
"This is your solution?” I asked skeptically. “Get me naked again?"
He laughed. “Just lie across the towel and shut up."
"Ooo, I like it when you're forceful,” I teased.
I crawled slowly onto the bed, my head still spinning, but improving slowly. I stretched out face down across the towel, resting my cheek against my hands. I heard Alfred rummaging around under the bathroom sink.
"What are you doing?” I asked, without turning to look.
"Ssh,” he said.
Well, I didn't know where to put being told to shut up twice in under five minutes. So, I shut up. He came back a few minutes later with a blow dryer.
"You leave me no choice,” he said grimly as he looked for an outlet close by.
"Are you gonna blow me?” I giggled.
He gave me a look that said in no uncertain terms I should stop while I was ahead.
"Sorry,” I said, still giggling. “I couldn't help myself."
"Try,” he replied, attempting to sound stern, but failing miserably due in part to the grin he couldn't wipe off his face.
"How's your head?” he asked as he turned on the dryer.
"Better, I think."
I'm not sure if it was the warm air across my skin, or the soothing low hum of the dryer that relaxed me so drastically, but I was nearly asleep when Alfred said, “Want me to dry your hair?"
"Sure,” I stretched, catlike and rolled over.
Alfred sat cross legged on the bed, placing my head in his lap. I pulled the towel over me, more to hold in the warmth than to cover up. As he rubbed over the sore spot on the back of my skull I asked, “Did I get him?"
"The guy who hit you?"
"Yeah."
"If you mean the guy lying beside you on the ground, whose face looked like hamburger, yeah, you got him."
"Good,” I said nastily. “Bastard hit me twice in the same damn spot."
"What happened to Bade's nipple, by the way?” he asked.
I looked up at him without lifting my head. “You saw him?"
"Only briefly. He turned and ran just as I came into the clearing.” He added disappointedly, “Couldn't get a clear shot."
Alfred ran his fingers through my hair as he dried it, causing it to stand on end.
"So, what happened?” he pressed.
"I bit it off,” I said mater-of-factly.
"Hmm, I shouldn't have asked,” he said.
"Why? Does it bother you? It was life and death, for crying out loud, I had to do something."
"Oh, it's not that,” he assured me.
"Then what is it?"
"Um, exactly how close to my nipples were you when we were in the tub?"
My laugh sounded soft and seductively throaty as I replied, “Honey, I was close to a lot of things. If I were you, nipples would be the least of my concern."
"Planning to permanently injure me, were you?” he smiled.
"Give me till morning,” I repeated darkly.
He settled back against the pillows and reached for me. As I cuddled up against him I couldn't resist provoking him. “I thought you weren't a teddy bear."
"Don't spread it around,” he said with a charming half smile.
"Alfred?"
"Yes.” He reached for the remote to the flat screen television mounted above the mantle over the fireplace.
"What if I die in my sleep?"
He looked at me like that was out of the question. “Well, aren't you just a little ray of sunshine?” He smiled compassionately. “Don't look so pitiful. I'm going to stay up for a while.” He kissed my forehead, holding his lips against me only a few seconds longer than was necessary. "Io volonta guardare sopra tu," he whispered. (I will watch over you.)
"Mmmm,” I purred. “Keep talking."
He smiled as I ran my hand inside his robe. “Do you think that's wise?” he asked.
"Allow me something,” I half heartedly complained as I began to rub over the hair on his chest. I ran my bare foot along his leg, appreciating how the soft hair felt against the smoothness of my skin.
"Do you always snuggle this good?” he asked playfully.
"Always,” I sighed as I drifted off to sleep, still rubbing his chest.

Chapter Eight 
If I had dreams, I don't recall, but I do remember feeling safe. I awoke the next morning, not wanting to open my eyes, afraid that the man wrapped around me might be just a dream. My eyes fluttered reluctantly open and I surveyed the comfortable décor of Alfred's room. We had switched places somehow in the night, and I was now facing the bay window that overlooked the garden out back. There were inviting suede seats built into the wall underneath the window, covered with a variety of cream and chocolate colored pillows. The cabinet drawers built underneath the seats must have held something special. There was a tiny gold lock attached to one drawer. As lovely and inviting as the bay window was, it let in entirely too much light. This, I reasoned must be why Alfred had preferred thick bed curtains instead of the sheer fabric like I had upstairs.
As I looked up to find the rope to pull the bed curtains shut, I noticed how well the deep mahogany of his four poster bed blended with the room. Alfred had decorated the room all by himself, and the more I looked at it, the more I liked his choices. Of course, I couldn't mention this to Kat. In her opinion, only gay men knew how to decorate properly. The rope was located on the left side of the bed, just out of my reach. As I stretched up to pull the cord, I noticed that not only was my towel long gone, but I was pressed against Alfred's naked thigh.
His arm tightened around my ribs. I couldn't reach the rope without waking him. Settling back against his warm body, I realized that I didn't want to wake him just yet. I reached behind me and ran my hand up his bare thigh. My pulse raced, but my head didn't throb. That was always a good sign. His robe must have fallen open in the night, but he was still wearing it. As I lay there, I was suddenly very aware of how big Alfred was. My small body fit completely in the curve of his. I could feel his chin propped against the top of my head, and my feet where he was spooned against me, only reached to his shin. I felt so small and helpless as I understood he could have taken advantage of me any time he wanted to the night before, but he didn't. He really was a gentleman. Bearing that in mind, I decided he deserved a reward. I lifted his arm from around my waist and rolled toward him. His robe still managed to carefully conceal the part I was most interested in. Placing my leg over his, I began to run my hand up his inner thigh.
"Your hands are cold,” he said, with his eyes still closed.
I jumped all over, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
Alfred laughed as he moved my hand from his thigh and held it against his chest.
"I know you weren't thinking of molesting me in my sleep.” He smiled.
"Of course not,” I lied, trying to look innocent.
"How's your head?"
"Better, it's stopped throbbing."
He rolled me quickly onto my back as he said, “Well, that's the only thing that has."
"Alfred?” I said, grabbing a handful of his beautiful behind.
"Hmm?” he said, as he kissed along the side of my neck.
"What about Elijah?"
He snorted with laughter as he replied, “Little peckerwood's lucky I didn't throw him in the dungeon."
"You're horrible,” I teased, but my heart wasn't in it.
"Don't be so quick to judge,” he whispered against my ear, his voice filled with so many lustful promises.
When I would have expected unbridled desire, Alfred kissed me so softly that it took my breath away. Never have I been kissed in such a way. There is no delicate way of saying that every muscle between my thighs jumped in response to that soft kiss. I have never been so instantly aroused in my life. As I tried to deepen the kiss, Alfred whispered, "lento giu." (Slow down.) But, I didn't want to slow down. I wanted it fast, and I wanted it now. I moaned as Alfred pressed against me, our bodies only separated by his robe.
Then we heard what was unmistakably a knock at the front door. The cathedral ceiling in the foyer caused it to echo down the hall. As Alfred moved to kiss me again, I knew he was planning to ignore it. But the next knock was louder and Alfred rolled off of me as he growled, "Vaffanculo." (Screw it.)
He pounced back over me with a malicious grin as he said, “Brace yourself."
"For what?” I laughed.
"I'm going to kill Kathryn.” And with that he dashed out of the room toward the front door.
"Alfred, wait,” I yelled as I grabbed his spare honey colored robe from the bathroom.
By the time I caught up with him, he was already standing with the door open, staring menacingly at Kathryn. I tried to skid to a halt, but I was running too fast. Alfred barely moved when I slammed into his very solid back.
"Good morning, Kathryn, how good of you to stop by,” he said in a tone that clearly contradicted his genteel greeting.
I slapped his ass and whispered, “Behave yourself."
He smiled at me over his shoulder and strutted angrily off to the kitchen with a muttered, “I was hungry anyway."
As I watched him walk away, barefoot and naked except for the chocolate colored robe, I knew exactly what I wanted for breakfast. But, I would have to settle for French toast. Kat gave an appreciative whistle as I turned back to greet her.
"Why didn't you ever tell me he looked that good in a bathrobe?” Her tone said she'd been royally gypped.
"I didn't know,” I answered honestly.
She noticed the faint bruise across my cheek where Bade had hit me.
"Anything kinky?"
"Unfortunately, no,” I smirked.
Kat looked at me more closely and said, “Shit, I did it again, didn't I?"
"It's alright, Kat,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulder and leading her to the kitchen. “I forgot to leave you a message."
Alfred had already begun to fix French toast when we sat down at the table.
"Smells good in here,” Kat commented.
"Yeah, well the only thing good about the French is their toast,” Alfred replied irritably.
Just then, Elijah came staggering in wearing my black velvet robe with the red silk trim. He had a cut above one eyebrow, a black eye, a cut lip, and a bruise in the middle of his forehead. He walked over and turned my face from side to side. The bruise that Bade had left looked more like a bit of dirt smeared across my cheek. There was another faint bruise just below the hairline on my forehead where I'd gotten kicked in the face. Everything else was nearly healed.
"You look like shit,” I said to Elijah.
"And you don't,” he said, like it wasn't fair.
"Gees, what happened to you people?” Kat asked.
"A whole goddamned pack of werewolves,” Elijah said wearily.
I was pleased to see that Elijah, thus far wasn't treating me any differently, but when he noticed Alfred, he went pale.
"I'll be right back,” he said and left the room.
Kat gave me a questioning look. I shrugged in response, but decided to follow him.
"Elijah,” I put my hand on his shoulder and he winched. “Sorry."
"It's alright,” he said, turning around.
"Look, I know you saw me ... do some things last night that...."
"It's not you,” he cut in.
"Then what's wrong?"
"What you did was ... necessary. Life or death, you know?"
"Yeah,” I agreed hesitantly.
"But him,” he motioned toward the kitchen, “he enjoyed it."
"What do you mean?"
"When he got to you and saw the condition you were in, he went berserk,” Elijah looked horrified with the memory. “They were already running away. He shot them in the back,” his voice shook, “he shot their legs out from under them and shot them in the head."
I didn't know what to say. I honestly hadn't expected Alfred to be the one he thought of as a monster.
"He killed them all,” he breathed, “All except the blond and another that was in wolf form. They ran away before he got within range."
I still couldn't speak. No one but my father had ever reacted so violently to me being injured. I reached out to try and comfort Elijah, but he stopped me.
"That's not all,” he said. “Within thirty minutes, he'd piled the bodies up and doused them in gasoline."
My eyes grew wider. “So what, he lit a match and torched thirty werewolves?"
"No, he lit a cigar, took a few puffs and tossed it on them."
Wow, I was impressed. I'd never known Alfred could be so ruthless. It was a turn on to know the hands that had gently washed my hair the night before could have just as easily torn me apart. I can't explain it, but knowing that Alfred would go to such lengths to protect me, just flat did it for me.
One look at Elijah said he didn't share my appreciation for Alfred's brutality.
"We can talk about it later.” I took Elijah by the hand, suddenly realizing I'd left Kat alone with Alfred.
Upon entering the kitchen it appeared, to my relief, that all they'd done was make coffee. No one had been injured. Elijah looked calmer now, but he sat beside me, avoiding the chair closest to Alfred.
Alfred handed me some coffee in my favorite mug, made just the way I liked it, Kalua coffee with vanilla cream. I used to take it bitter and strong, but over the years my taste in coffee, like my taste in men, had changed. Now I wanted it with a little more sugar.
Kat got up and began pouring her own coffee as she said, “So, you guys got the shit beat out of you,” she indicated Elijah and me, before sitting back down. “What about you, Alfred?"
"Sono allupato," he replied. (I'm horny.)
I giggled and nearly choked on my coffee. Kat looked at me, but I wasn't about to interpret what he'd just said.
"I know sarcasm when I hear it, even if I don't understand the language.” She chucked a piece of toast at Alfred. He ducked it with a laugh, but Elijah, who was now standing near the fridge, wasn't as fortunate. Elijah reached up and peeled the toast from his forehead as Kat began to laugh so hard she could no longer breathe, and Alfred propped on the counter for support. I tried to maintain my composure for Elijah's sake, but it was difficult. Kat and Alfred sounded like a pack of hyenas.
"How's your toast?” I snickered.
"Would you like fries with that?” Alfred asked, gasping for breath.
Elijah laughed as he wiped his forehead. “You know, I don't know what is wrong with you guys, but I'm sure it's hard to pronounce."
"Nothing serious, I'm afraid we're just assholes,” Alfred answered as he put some fruit on the table.
Kat, who had laughed until her neatly applied mascara was running, picked this opportunity to snort.
"Would you like some coffee?” I asked, my eyes watering with the effort it took to not burst out laughing.
"No thanks,” he said with a smile, “I'm afraid to know where that might end up."
I laughed then until I couldn't breathe. After the events of the night before, I think it did us all good, even Elijah seemed less on edge. We all sat down and had breakfast together like civilized people. That is if you ignored the occasional giggle when someone took a bite of toast.
After a few minutes Alfred no longer had a murderous gleam in his eye when he looked at Kathryn, and Elijah didn't seem to notice that I was wearing Alfred's robe. Everything was going fairly well until Elijah asked, “How did you know where to find us?"
Alfred looked at me and asked, “You remember a tall fellow with rusty colored hair?"
"Yes.” It was the tall man at the door, the one I'd kneed in the crotch.
Alfred went on, “Well, apparently he'd forgotten something. By the time he returned, I was here."
Well, that eased my mind about where Alfred had spent the night.
"He just told you where we were?” Elijah asked skeptically.
"No,” Alfred said, pouring more coffee, “took me till the next day to get it out of him."
"And where could I find this individual to question him further?” Elijah inquired.
"You couldn't."
With these words, Kat nearly choked on a strawberry and Elijah turned a sickly shade of green.
"Did he say why they took us?” I seemed the only one capable of speech.
"All he knew was they needed a sample of your blood."
"Are you sure?” Elijah asked. “He could have been lying."
"Oh, I'm sure.” Alfred smiled darkly, clearly enjoying Elijah's squeamish reaction.
"Damn. That's all that we know, too,” I said.
"I imagine it's got something to do with what Marco mentioned, about trying to recreate your DNA,” Alfred said to me.
"Well, we'll never know now will we? Especially if you keep killing off all the witnesses.” Elijah stood and walked to the door.
Alfred went on as if he hadn't spoken, “I'm afraid they'll be sorely disappointed. You were exposed to the disease, but your body managed to fight it. Not everyone exposed will contract the disease, but you absorbed it, mutated it to make you stronger. The odds of that ever happening again are slim to none."
"Gee, I feel so special,” I sneered.
"I'd best be going,” Elijah said from the door.
I looked to Kat and Alfred, “Will you two behave while I see Elijah out?"
They both gave me blank expressions that I'm sure were an attempt at innocence.
"I'll be right back.” It sounded like a threat, even to my own ears.
I put my hand on Elijah's elbow, careful not to touch his shoulder and walked with him upstairs.
"Will you be alright?” I asked as we reached my bedroom.
"I think so,” he said, offering me a feeble attempt at his usual smile.
When the smile didn't reach his eyes, I thought I would cry. The sparkle in Elijah's blue eyes was gone, and it was my fault. I had corrupted him.
"Don't look at me like that,” he said gently. “It's not that bad."
But, as he slid my robe from his surprisingly well muscled shoulders, I gasped to see how bad it was. He handed me the robe and walked to the bed where his shirt had been discarded. He'd worn his jeans underneath the robe, but I got a clear view of his torso. His back was covered in cuts and bruises, many a deep heinous looking purple. The shoulder that I'd touched earlier looked as if someone had tried to tear it from the socket.
I walked toward Elijah and turned him to face me before he could button his deep blue shirt. I noticed with a trace of regret, how well it matched his eyes.
"I'm sorry,” I said softly as I touched his left cheek, the one spot on his face that wasn't bruised.
"It's not your fault,” he said, placing his hand over mine.
"Have you been...?"
"Contaminated?"
I nodded.
"No. Alfred was sure to check for that."
I ran my hands inside his shirt and gently placed them around his waist, careful to not touch any of the terrible bruises.
"I'm sorry,” I repeated, laying my head against the shoulder that hadn't been abused so cruelly. I didn't know what else to do. I suppose it has something to do with being empathic. When I see someone hurting, I want to help. I always had. That sometimes made my job very difficult. As long as I could justify my actions in my mind, I'd be alright. Like Elijah had said earlier, if it was life and death. But this conflicted strongly with the animal in me that seemed to enjoy the violence. Fortunately, the beast was only aroused by sex or violence, and standing there with Elijah, there was cause for neither.
All I wanted to do was to take him in my arms and make it go away. With all that was in me, I wanted to comfort Elijah. He rested his unbruised cheek against my face and sighed. With that sigh, I felt the tension begin to leave his body, and where my hands touched his bare waist, began to flow into me. I couldn't take his memories, but I could take some of his pain, his shock, things that I was used to dealing with. I held Elijah to me and did my best to ease his burden.
"I feel better,” he breathed. “How did you do that?"
I pulled back slightly. “I don't know. That's only the second time it's ever happened."
The first time had been when I'd rescued Kat's now ex-boyfriend from werewolves. Kat had not been injured, but she'd seen the whole thing. I did not leave one of them alive. Her boyfriend was unconscious, but as I turned around, the blood of the last werewolf dripping from my sword, I saw Kathryn. She was huddled up, rocking back and forth, her eyes wide with shock and terror. As I looked down at my blood covered hands, I had never been so ashamed of what I was. I approached Kat, her bloody avenger, and dropped to my knees before her.
She gasped and leapt back when I extended my bloody hand to her. She told me later that when she looked in my eyes, she knew I wouldn't hurt her. Kat fell into my arms, and nearly knocked me to the ground, crying hysterically. My only thought was that if I could ease this woman's suffering, I would. I wanted to chase away the haunted look in her eyes and return her to whatever she was before. As I sat there, rocking her back and forth, I felt a peace flow from my body into hers. Gradually, she stopped shaking and looked at me with the eyes of the Kathryn I know today.
"Thank you,” Elijah said as he kissed me gently, so as not to further injure his busted lip.
It was a show of gratitude, not a sexual overture, and I accepted it with a smile. I walked Elijah to the front door, said goodbye, and returned to the kitchen.
To my surprise, I found Kat and Alfred deeply engrossed in a conversation about decorating. Somewhere during this discussion, Alfred had retrieved his communicator that he then pointed at me without warning and said, “Smile."
I was blinded by the flash.
"What the hell?"
"I've got a report to make, and Jacob will want to know that you're alright."
"Couldn't you just tell him?"
Alfred gave me a look that clearly said how stupid my question was. “You know he'll want proof."
"You're right.” I sighed. “But how are you going to explain this?” I indicated the robe. “He's seen you in this robe before."
Alfred winked as he left the room. “That's why I only got a head shot."
"Damn, that man is sexy,” Kat said after Alfred was out of ear shot. “Well?” she asked expectantly.
"I still don't know, Kat."
She pretended to pout.
"Oh, I almost forgot, Ms. Wilson came by the shop yesterday."
I had known Ms. Wilson all of my life. She was a little gray haired old lady who lived in town and made it her business to know everyone else's business.
Kat passed me an envelope while doing a fair impression of Ms. Wilson. “I'm having my annual spring tea party, and I would mail this, but that Italian she's living with probably wouldn't give it to her. So, would you be so kind as to pass along this invitation? I know what that man thinks of me, but in the south, we do still have manners."
I snickered at Kat's impression as I read the invitation. There was a lovely watercolor picture on the front of the card of an antique looking teapot with cute little lumps of sugar in a dish beside it.
"You know, I have to agree with Ms. Wilson on this one, Alfred really wouldn't give it to me. That's the problem,” I said provocatively, “he never has a chance to give it to me."
Kat laughed as she continued, “She said to be sure and invite a friend, and you're my friend. So, will you come?"
I laid the card back on the table. “I never miss it, but Alfred would rather be shot."
Kat giggled. “You'll just have to bring someone else."
"I know just the person."
"Your buddy at the University?"
"Yep."
Dr. Richard Stacey had been my friend longer than Kathryn. I'd stopped one of his colleagues from killing him when the other guy wolfed out at a club one night. I have a knack for meeting people that way. Dr. Stacey was about five foot nine with gentle blue gray eyes and prematurely gray hair. He was one of the most genuinely nice people I had ever known, and he was a sucker for stuff like this. If the poor guy couldn't come up with an honest reason not to go, he wouldn't try to lie. Oh yes, I knew the friend I would be bringing.
"What exactly does he do again?” Kat asked.
"He's got a degree in chemistry, physics, and a number of other things that make my head hurt."
She laughed at my response.
"But, he teaches science and geology,” I finished.
"Sounds fascinating,” Kat rolled her eyes. “Be sure to wear something nice, I'm going to take pictures."
"Ok, but why?"
"Alfred thought it would add a bit of ‘southern charm’ to my shop if I had some nice big pictures of the tea party to display."
"Alfred thought?” I couldn't keep the surprise from my voice.
"Yes, Alfred thought."
I gave her a questioning look.
"I had to find a subject that didn't piss him off.” She laughed. “You know, he's actually got good taste for a straight guy."
* * * *
After Kat left, I decided to see what was taking Alfred so long with the report. As I walked into his room, he was just signing off on his communicator and I ducked quickly back out of the room.
"It's alright,” he called. “Jacob had already logged off."
I walked over to where Alfred sat at a larger version of my writing desk, flung the robe dramatically back from my thighs, and straddled his lap.
"It's not that I'm ashamed of you honey,” I purred sweetly, “I just wouldn't want to give my father the wrong impression."
"Like us sleeping together?” he smiled. “Yeah, that would be totally misleading."
"So, did Kathryn give you the invitation to the tea party?"
"Yes, she did.” I ran my fingers playfully through his already tousled hair.
"And who are you taking?” He asked, smiling. “You know I can't stand that old woman."
"Yeah, I know how you feel about Ms. Wilson. I was thinking of asking Richard Stacey."
Alfred, for reasons beyond my comprehension, rarely missed an opportunity to either make fun of, or generally harass Richard Stacey. Needless to say, there was no love lost between these guys. They didn't exactly hate each other, but they weren't friends either.
"So, you're taking Dick Stacey with you, eh?” he teased.
"Must you call him that?” I tried to pretend it wasn't funny.
"Yeah,” Alfred's voice took on a more wicked tone as he added, “He looks like a dick to me."
I sighed as I leaned in to rub my cheek against his. “Yes, and Elijah's a peckerwood."
"Don't make me sound so terrible."
"Oh, you don't need my help,” I said as I bit gently along his bottom lip. “Richard's thought you were an asshole for years, and now poor Elijah thinks you're a complete sociopath."
He laughed, but the smile faded quickly from his face.
"What?"
"I've got something to tell you that ... well, you're not going to want to hear."
"You hate my guts and you're leaving me for Marcy?"
Alfred laughed so hard he nearly dislodged me from my perch on his lap.
"God, no,” he gasped. “Please, get your mind on something else, this is serious."
"Ok, fine. What has my father cooked up now?"
"How did you know?"
"You know better than to ask me that question. How many years have I known this man?"
I watched as the smile faded from Alfred's eyes and knew it was something serious, even before he spoke. “The council has granted Marco Barak a hearing."
"What?"
"That's not all,” he cut in. “Jacob thinks we should stage a protest. Not that it will do any good, but he's got about a hundred Hunters who are willing to show up outside the Council Tower."
"I wondered how he was planning on getting close enough to get that damn bug of his in the building."
"He told you about that, too, huh?"
"Of course, daddy's little girl, don't you know."
Alfred smiled weakly. “And he wants me to be there,” he finished.
I felt my heart leap unpleasantly. “When's the hearing?"
"In three months."
"That's not so bad...."
"He wants me to leave now,” Alfred interrupted. “Apparently, there's a lot of planning to be done, and he wants me to be there."
I sighed disappointedly as I rested my forehead against Alfred's shoulder. There was no refusing my father once he had his mind made up. I also knew Alfred well enough to know he wouldn't love me and leave me so quickly, so sex was out of the question. That didn't make sense to me, but it's the way things were. No use wasting the time we had together arguing over it.
"Does the transporter in the lab still work? It hasn't been used in a while,” I said.
"Yeah, it works, unfortunately."
"So, when will you leave?"
Alfred looked into my eyes as he answered quietly, “Tomorrow."
I spent the night with Alfred again, but this time we moved to my room. I wanted his scent on my sheets. Perhaps the smell of his cologne on my pillow would help to ease the empty feeling I had at the thoughts of being without him. Neither of us spoke much that night. We seemed to share a mutual need to just be close. It wasn't as if I was expecting to never see him again. I knew Alfred would come back ... I just didn't want him to leave. Not then, not when I'd begun to attach myself to him so completely.
I held him to me as if there would be no tomorrow. Part of me was angry with my father for asking him to go. But, I reasoned that since they used to be partners, he trusted Alfred. People in power don't always have someone to trust. It was a compliment to be asked, really. As I lay there, pressed as tightly against Alfred's side as I could get, I felt him brush the hair back from my forehead and place his lips against me so gently that I knew he thought I was asleep. It took everything I had not to cry.
* * * *
The morning came too soon. I followed Alfred quietly down the stairs to the lab. The transporter in the far corner looked like nothing more than a circle of white tiles set into the floor. However, each tile represented other transporters and their locations, both on Earth and Terra.
Alfred pressed the tile that would take him directly to my father's office as I watched forlornly. He stepped forward, pulled me against him, and kissed me softly. I closed my eyes and savored the way his lips felt against mine. There were many nights ahead when I would have only that memory to keep me warm.
"I'll see you soon,” he whispered against my lips.
Alfred stepped back into the circle, and in an instant, he was gone.
By the time I got back upstairs, Kat was at the door. As I opened the door, I felt tears beginning to burn the backs of my eyes, but I fought it. The only problem was a real friend knows when something's wrong, just by looking at you.
"What's wrong?” Kat asked, stepping toward me.
The compassion on her face was too much. I tried unsuccessfully to cover up the trail of involuntary tears with the sleeve of my robe.
"Do you realize that I've cried more in the past five months than I have in the past five years?” I sniffled.
"Where's Alfred?” she asked, looking around.
"Come in, I'll explain,” I said, still attempting to dry my eyes.
Kat made coffee while I went over what had happened.
"I don't understand something,” Kat began, “If there's a president, then what purpose does the council serve?"
"The wizards on the council are advisors to the president. He's voted on every twenty years, and represents the entire population. A being of any race can be elected president."
"What about the wizards? How long do they stay on the council?"
"They serve on the council for life."
"Wow. Ever have them fight over it?"
"The council seats?"
"Yeah,” she said, looking for some cream. “I mean, those guys live for forever, that's got to be a big deal, right?"
"Oh yeah. That's what the last wizard war was about."
"But I thought you guys had only had one war,” Kat looked confused.
"No, one world war, there have been many wizard wars...."
"But only one war that managed to piss off everybody,” she finished for me.
"Pretty much."
"So, what happened last time?"
I got up to look for some fruit. With my metabolism, if I didn't eat soon, I'd get sick, even if I didn't feel like eating at the moment. “You really want to hear all this crap?"
"Sure,” Kat said, looking genuinely interested. “It's not every day you get to hear stuff like this. I mean, normally, you have to buy a good sci-fi or fantasy book to get this level of bullshit."
I laughed. “It's not bullshit."
"So, what happened?” she prompted.
"Well, this dark wizard, Tavarius Maeryn, wanted the recently vacated seat on the council. He never really had a chance. I mean, everyone knew he was evil. They had someone else in mind to recommend for the position, but it was never said who."
"If they decided on someone, do they just automatically get in?” Kat interrupted.
"No, it's put to a vote. If the president or the people have an objection to the opinion of the council, then majority rules. At least two of the three have to agree. Like if the council wanted somebody that the president was against, the vote of the people would decide."
"What happened then?"
"So, Maeryn goes out and conjures himself an army of goblins,” I said offhandedly while I looked for some cream to go with my strawberries.
"He conjured goblins?"
"Cursed a bunch of elves, actually. The point is, this entire army was defeated by a young wizard named Alek Ambrose. He was only twenty years old at the time. Everyone was really impressed."
"They offered him the seat, right?"
"Oh sure, but he turned it down. Said he hadn't fought Maeryn for the seat, that he'd simply done the right thing."
"Sounds very noble and all, but is he for real?"
"I guess so. He sort of dropped out of sight after that. No one's heard anything from him in the last forty years."
Kat took a sip of coffee with trembling hands before asking, “So, you've got wizards, elves, and goblins running around and you never thought to mention it?"
I laughed a little as I answered, “Sorry, Kat. I just didn't think it was that big of a deal. Besides, you knew about the wizards."
She looked at me like that was the dumbest thing I'd ever said.
"Are these creatures on Earth?"
"Not anymore. There were some different races years ago that lived here, but most have died out long ago. Once in a while, you get the stray monster, sent out by some dark wizard, or two bit conjuror. But the last wizard war was forty years ago, and there hasn't been a goblin seen since."
"Well, that's a comfort,” Kat said sarcastically. “You know, after seeing real live werewolves, I shouldn't be surprised at anything."
"After I was nearly eaten by one, neither was I,” I said darkly.

Chapter Nine 
As I sat on the balcony that evening, I looked out across the woods toward the sunset, and found comfort in its beauty. Dusk had always been my favorite time of day. The stress of the day was behind, with the promise of a warm summer's night ahead. The breeze flowed over my skin like a caress and I sighed, remembering the way Alfred's fingers had brushed the hair back from my face just as gently.
I breathed deeply as I thought to myself there was poetry somewhere in that memory. I took out my pin and paper and wrote:
Fingers in My Hair 
The wind brushes softly past my face and I am reminded of your touch. The 
soft caress of gentle hands that I've come to love so much. Your fingers 
run through my hair, chasing away my worries, brushing past my cares. 
The wagging tongues of the world grow still when you touch me. So, I stand here in the wind and let it blow the hair back from my face, quietly remembering a touch that my mind cannot erase. 
I let it brush away my worries and blow away my cares, just as your fingers used to do, when you ran them through my hair. 
Putting down my pin, I looked up at the moon. It was half full, peeking from the clouds like a large, silvery eye. I had always heard that ‘the crazies’ come out on a full moon. The truth was, they were always out, some of them were just more dangerous on a full moon.
I walked to the edge of the balcony and nearly fell backward when I looked over the roses. Marco was standing under the balcony, looking up expectantly.
"Little pig, little pig,” he began.
I couldn't help but laugh. “That won't get you anywhere. Besides, I waxed my chin."
He laughed then, too, and the sound sent shivers up my spine.
"What are you doing here, Marco?"
"I wanted to talk to you."
"Why?"
"Can't I come in?” he asked. The deep and sexy rumble of his voice did things to me that I couldn't describe.
"No, you can't."
"Don't you trust me, Red?” he asked, pretending to be offended.
"No, I don't,” I answered, but I couldn't stop the smile.
"But you like me.” It wasn't a question.
"I could have you killed for standing here."
"But you won't."
Marco knew I wouldn't kill him, not that night, not for just standing there. He stepped back slightly, and I got a better look at one of the sexiest men I'd ever seen. I've never seen anyone look so good in a pair of jeans. They weren't tight, but they fit well enough that you knew what you were looking at, and I felt guilty for looking. Alfred hadn't been gone a day, and there I was ogling Marco, again.
"No,” I said after a long pause. “I won't have you killed, but I don't feel like conversation tonight either."
"Well, I didn't feel like conversation when you cuffed me to the chair."
A smile curved my lips as I purred silkily, “Well, I don't feel like sex either."
The smile he gave me was nothing short of charming, as he responded, “You know where to find me."
"Yes.” Unfortunately, I did, which made it more tempting to seek him out, I thought with a smile as I watched Marco disappear into the woods.
After closing the balcony doors and pulling the sheer red curtains, I found my bed to look more inviting than it had earlier. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally spent. I let the robe that I'd worn all day, fall to the floor as I crawled between the sheets, still wearing my black lace bra and panties. Taking hold of the pillow Alfred had slept on the night before, I snuggled it against me, breathed deeply, and fell asleep.
* * * *
I awoke the next morning to a beautiful day and it pissed me off. Whatever happened to good old rainy days? I rolled over and noticed the blue light flashing on my communicator. Alfred had been gone one whole day and I had a message. This could be good, or this could be bad. I held my breath and pressed the button. The images of Alfred and my father appeared as they began to sing happy birthday to me. I had actually forgotten my own birthday. About the time that I was thinking how stupid I was, Alfred smiled and said, “We know you probably forgot it. Don't feel bad, just do something fun."
My dad waved at me and said, “Happy Birthday, baby."
The message was over, the hologram faded, but I was left with a smile. I knew Kat would want to do something and I had a plan. But first, I needed to ask Richard about the tea party, it was only two days away.
I put on a pair of comfortable old jeans, tan flip flops, and a soft, brown t-shirt that complemented my hazel eyes. Taking my keys from the table, I opened the door to find a package waiting for me. It was a golden showers rose with a card from my mother. I sat it just inside the door with a smile. It would make a nice addition to my garden.
The University was about an hour away. When I arrived, I was halfway to Richard's office before I realized I had no idea how to approach the topic. I didn't want him to know he was being suckered. I knocked on the door and watched through the small window as Richard jumped, sending rock samples flying. He looked up and smiled. When Richard opened the door, I had no trouble returning the smile as I hugged him affectionately.
I liked Richard. He was one of those people that you never had to wonder where you stood with. If he liked you, you knew it, likewise if he didn't. There was no guesswork with Richard. Not to simplify him, he was just genuine. Richard was also the only straight man that I could spend the day with without being propositioned.
"Need help with your rocks?” I asked sarcastically.
"Yeah.” He laughed.
I crouched down and began replacing the rocks on the chart, pausing to run my thumb over a piece of polished obsidian. It reminded me of the way Alfred's hair looked in the early morning sun.
"You ok?” Richard asked.
"Yeah,” I answered, snapping out of my daydream. “I'm fine."
"So, what brings you to this God forsaken place?” Obviously Richard was not the happiest of employees. But, he loved teaching, so he stayed, despite tremendous piles of bullshit. Sometimes I thought I should get him a shovel for Christmas instead of a card.
"Actually I need a favor,” I mentioned tentatively.
"Don't think I'll do any old thing just because it's your birthday,” he teased.
"You remembered.” I beamed. “Good, then will you come to Ms. Wilson's tea party with me?” I blurted out.
"Ms. Wilson? That nosy old woman who asked me my life's history last year? You're kidding right?"
I pretended to pout and Richard thumped me in the head.
"Stop it,” he said, but he was smiling.
"Pleeease?"
"What's the matter, Alfred doesn't do tea parties?” he asked bitterly.
"Alfred's out of town,” I said, not making eye contact. When Richard actually paid attention, he was pretty perceptive. I didn't want him to get a good look at my disappointment when I mentioned Alfred's whereabouts.
"Oh,” he said, as if that changed things. “Then I guess I'm your only choice,” he said, the bitterness returning to his voice.
"No, Richard,” I looked back up as I asked, “What's wrong with you?” He was never like this. Richard Stacey was absolutely the most mild-mannered person that I knew. Of course, in the years we'd known each other, I think I'd begun to wear off on him a little.
He sighed resignedly. “It's nothing. I'll go with you. When is it anyway?"
I passed him the invitation, but I wasn't dropping the other subject. “What's going on?” I persisted.
"Just more political bullshit. Your buddy's come up with another reason to berate and embarrass me.” Richard referred to anyone he hated as my buddy. The truth of the matter was I didn't like any of the people he worked with either, but I didn't have to live with them, so to speak. I didn't even ask which ‘buddy’ he was referring to. It was no secret that the dean of the science department hated Richard. For reasons that went beyond my comprehension, he was constantly trying to find excuses to have Richard dismissed.
Of course these reasons were always completely ludicrous. The last I heard he was trying to have him fired for not checking his mail ‘in a timely fashion'. Apparently leaving Science and Society magazines in your mailbox was a violation. I believe he had worded it as, ‘not performing your academic duty'.
"Any chance we could turn them all into werewolves so you could kill them off for me?” he asked jokingly.
"No.” I laughed. “Besides, that may all change soon."
"Really?"
I proceeded to catch Richard up on recent events. Since he was a scientist, as well as an attack victim, he had an interest in the subject. He was very fortunate to have not been scratched. The werewolf in question had flung a chair at him. It broke his nose, but at least he hadn't been attacked with claws and teeth. His colleague, Dr. David Kane was a newly turned werewolf and wasn't aware that losing his temper could bring on the change. Fortunately, no one was hurt and only the bartender and Richard saw what had happened. Dr. Kane had since learned to control his temper as well as the change.
"So, things could change then for David, too?” Richard asked about the possibility of werewolves being legally recognized.
"It could, but there's bound to be a lot of prejudice. I doubt he would want anyone knowing what he is."
"That's true. Wouldn't want werewolves teaching the next generation, now would we?” he asked sarcastically.
"Even if he wasn't a werewolf, I wouldn't want Kane teaching the next generation.” I laughed.
David Kane was a freak even without being a werewolf. He'd been infected with lycanthropy through a rough sexual encounter with a stripper. The problem was, he was really good looking and the animal magnetism that seemed to emanate from most lycanthropes only made him more difficult to resist. Kane was around six foot two, with sandy brown hair, clear blue eyes, and an ass like muffin tins. Besides that, he was a really nice guy. If anything, being a werewolf had made him sexier. Oh yeah, I looked, but I knew too much about Kane to ever seriously want to touch. When it came to sex, this guy didn't have issues, he had a subscription.
"That's true,” Richard laughed. “He's a nice guy, though."
"Yes,” I had to agree.
With Richard caught up on the latest news in my life, I listened while he vented about his ridiculous working conditions, and we continued to pick up his rock samples.
"You actually know where all of these belong on the chart,” he said in amazement.
"I'm not a dumbass, you know,” I joked. “Just because I hunt werewolves doesn't mean I don't use my brain."
"I know that,” he said, not liking to be chastised, even jokingly sometimes. “How's the poetry coming? Had anything else published?"
I told him about my latest publication, but left out the poem that I'd written about Alfred the night before. Richard and I were close, but I wasn't ready for him to know about Alfred and me yet, not until I was sure there was an ‘Alfred and I'. Richard was the mutual friend that had told me about Bradley's plan to disappear from my life. After being able to trust Richard with that, it felt strange to keep this from him, but I just didn't want to get into it.
"There's a lot of fucked up stuff going on around here,” he said finally.
I knew he had to be really upset. Richard wasn't a saint or anything, but normally, he did not use the f-word.
"Like what?” I had to know.
"Like Mallory."
Dr. Mallory Monroe was a bitch if ever there was one. She taught biology and seemed to have a fetish for anything unwholesome. Seeing as how Richard was a nice guy, she despised him. Mallory was about six feet tall, with short hair, and a strong chin. If it weren't for her breasts, she could easily be mistaken for a man. She hated most men with a passion, though she didn't have a preference for women, she just seemed to hate them slightly less.
"Why, what's she done?"
"Nothing in particular. She's just been more of a cunt than usual, even for her,” he said bitterly.
"Richard,” I scolded with a laugh. “Such language."
"Well, she is."
"So, she hasn't actually done anything to you, she's just more of...."
"A cunt,” he interrupted.
"Yeah, I got that part.” I laughed. “Could we choose another word please?"
"Dickhead, now there's a word,” he said darkly, placing the last rock on the chart.
"Who's the dickhead?” I tried not to laugh, Richard was really upset.
"Who isn't?"
"Would you like to get a drink?” I asked, trying to be sympathetic.
Richard looked at the clock on his cell phone. The man never wore a watch. “It's noon,” he said flatly.
"So?"
He looked at me for a minute, considering. “You're right. To hell with it. I don't have to teach today. Let's go have a drink."
Since I didn't have the ability to get drunk and stay that way and Richard did, I decided to drive. Besides, I think he needed to drink more than I did. We made our way over to a little bar on the other side of town and after two white Russians, he began to mellow.
"Thanks,” he said.
"You're welcome."
"Not just for the drink, for listening. Things have been driving me crazy lately,” he said, running his fingers through his prematurely gray hair and causing it to stand on end. I stifled a giggle as he continued, “I'm so tired. I hadn't realized until I got still for a few minutes."
"Come on.” I stood up. “I'll take you home."
I dropped Richard off with a note that said what time to be at my house on Friday. I knew if I told him then he'd never remember. He was absent minded enough without figuring in the alcohol.
* * * *
As I made my way down the long winding gravel driveway, I could see something bright red on my doorstep. Even before I got out of the car, I could clearly see a dozen red roses. I heard another car coming up the drive and looked over my shoulder to see Elijah Jasper's patrol car. Hurriedly, I picked up the card. I wanted to at least know who they were from before he got there.
The smile was completely involuntary as I read:
Don't get the wrong idea, 
this doesn't count as conversation. 
Happy birthday, Red. 
The card wasn't signed, but I knew Marco had sent them. What I wanted to know was how the hell did he know it was my birthday. Before I had time to really ponder the question, I heard Elijah's door close.
As I turned around I saw that his bruises had turned to a lovely shade of yellow, and his lip was beginning to heal.
"Hi.” He smiled.
"What are you up to?” I asked.
"Well, I was going to wish you a happy birthday, but it looks as if someone beat me to it.” He motioned toward the flowers.
"How did you...?” I began.
"I overheard your friend Kat talking about it. I was at her shop earlier today,” he confessed.
"Oh.” I smiled. “That was nice of you, Elijah."
"Call me Eli,” he reminded me, and the smile reached his eyes.
Even covered in bruises, Elijah managed to be charming.
"Come in,” I offered.
"Thanks, but I can't stay,” he said. “Actually, I was wondering if, after my bruises heal ... maybe we could try again on the whole date thing."
"After our first date was such a success,” I replied sarcastically.
"Yeah.” He laughed.
I felt that I should explain something to Elijah. It wasn't fair to lead him on. “You know Alfred...."
"Is not here,” he interrupted. “But I am."
I had to admit that caught me by surprise. There was no doubt whatsoever that he had managed to charm this information out of Kat.
"Don't look so serious,” he said gently. “I'm not asking for forever and always, but let's spend some time together."
"After our first date?” I repeated the question, just in case he missed the sarcasm the first time.
"I'm willing to take my chances.” His smile made me want to return the favor. Even the busted lip couldn't distract from the heavenly deep blue of his eyes. They were the sort of eyes you could drown in if you let yourself.
"Alright.” I didn't have the heart to refuse him. “Just as long as you understand that...."
"Not forever and always,” he interrupted again. There was a note to his voice that I couldn't quite read. It wasn't exactly sadness. It was closer to disappointment.
"What did you have in mind?"
"Well, not Chinese.” He smiled.
"Do you like Italian?” I asked.
He seemed surprised.
"I'm not a bad cook when I try.” I smiled. “Why don't you come by next weekend? I'll cook for you. You do realize, this is a rare offer?” I added with a wink, making it question.
"That sounds great,” he answered, glancing back at the patrol car reluctantly. “I've got to be going. Will you be at Ms. Wilson's on Friday?” he asked.
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “She got you, too, huh?"
"She stopped by to ask Kat about your invitation while I was there.” He added with a grin, “I was trapped."
I wanted to say something to make him stay, but nothing came to mind, so I waved politely as Elijah drove away. There was something about him that just made me feel better. He wasn't comforting in the sense that Alfred was. With Alfred, I knew I was safe from anyone who might try to hurt me. But, when I was near Elijah, I forgot there were such people. It wasn't just the smile, or his eyes. I had been wrong in thinking that Elijah was completely innocent. He'd seen enough to know the world wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. There was something else in his smile. It wasn't innocence, or naivety. It was hope, and it made me feel better.
As I sat Marco's roses on the kitchen table, I thought about what Elijah had said, ‘not forever and always'. If he knew that, then why was he wasting his time? But then again, wasn't it me who had said, it didn't have to be anything serious? Yeah, I think that was me. I enjoyed being with Elijah, and it didn't have to be any more complicated than that. Part of me was relieved to have someone to spend time with in Alfred's absence that wasn't looking to complicate my life any further. But another part wouldn't stop saying, ‘don't get too close'.
Maybe I was the one being naïve to think that I could spend the next three months with an attractive man and not become involved. However, I reminded myself as I read Marco's card again, I'm not a complete animal ... just half.
* * * *
Friday came more quickly than I had expected and when Richard arrived, I still couldn't decide on what to wear. I answered the door in my pajamas and a pair of flip flops that just happened to be conveniently located outside my bedroom door. He laughed when he saw me, and as I took in his appearance, I remembered why I hadn't bothered to tell him to dress nicely. Richard never dressed down. The man didn't even own a pair of jeans. The pity was, the one time I'd ever seen him wear them, he looked good.
"Is that a fashion statement, or are you just not ready yet?"
"Very funny,” I wasn't really amused, but I couldn't help the smirk. “Are you gonna help me decide on something, or just stand there?"
He took a deep breath as he replied, “Well, there is a nice breeze here...."
I snatched him through the door before he could finish his next smartass remark.
After looking through about half the things in my closet, we both finally decided on a mid length, flowing brown dress. It was sleeveless, with gracefully layered ruffles that reached just below my knees. I accessorized with a sun hat to which I attached a sheer brown scarf as a band, and a strappy pair of heels that neatly covered my tattoo.
I walked out of the bathroom and found Richard looking through some of my latest sketches.
"What do you think?” I posed dramatically.
"That I'm in the wrong line of work,” he said, still looking at my drawings.
I walked over to see which pictures had caught his attention and found Marco kneeling like a slave on the page before me. As is often the case with Marco, the smile was involuntary.
"Do you like it?” I asked.
"I'm afraid to say,” he said seriously.
"Why?"
"Well,” he said, looking up at me, “if I like it, what does that say about me?"
"That you need a dominatrix.” I laughed. “Now, what about this dress?"
He smiled approvingly as he said in his best back woods hick voice, “You clean up reel nice, missy."
We arrived fashionably late, while everyone else was still introducing themselves. Most people were already acquainted. However, there were always a few new faces each year. I saw one face in particular that I wanted to avoid, but she was already making her way toward us.
"Shit,” I breathed, turning my back on Marcy as she advanced through the crowd.
"What?” Richard asked.
"I hate that woman,” I growled.
"I don't like her either,” Elijah's voice said from behind me.
I wasn't sure how I'd managed to overlook him, but as I turned around, I saw that I was clearly blind to have done so. Elijah was wearing the kind of dress shirt that is meant to be worn untucked, in a deep shade of brown with a matching jacket, dark dress shoes, and a pair of jeans that fit well enough to have given Marco a run for his money.
"Not bad,” I said approvingly.
"Yeah, I clean up nice.” He returned my greeting with a smile that made his blue eyes sparkle and I noticed how much the brown complemented his hair. Standing in the sunlight that afternoon, I appreciated for the first time how his hair reflected like a honeyed gold in the sun. It seemed a grave injustice to have categorized it as dark blond or light brown. His hair was brown, but with natural golden highlights that most women would have killed for.
After a moment, I realized I was staring. “Yes, you do,” I said, not bothering to be polite enough to stop looking. This caused Elijah's smile to broaden appreciatively and Richard leaned around to give me a funny look. It was at this moment that Marcy finally made her way to where we stood on Ms. Wilson's front lawn.
"Lilith, so nice to see you.” She beamed artificially.
Every word that woman spoke in an attempt at polite conversation seemed an insult to my ears. I forced myself to smile as I replied coolly, “Hi.” I couldn't bring myself to say it was nice to see her, too, because it wasn't. I'd have much rather eaten dirt for lunch than be forced to speak to Marcy Johnson. Leave it to Ms. Wilson to extend a greeting to everybody. Marcy looked from Richard to Elijah and back to me as I realized with a hint of amusement that we all matched. It hadn't been on purpose, but Richard's tan suit and brown tie most definitely went with what Elijah and I were wearing.
"Oh, how cute, you all match.” She grinned. “And who are your friends? Have I missed something?"
Nosy bitch. Without Alfred to keep me in line, I decided to respond like I wanted to for once. I indicated Richard to my left as I said, “This is my doctor, Richard Stacey."
Catching on to what I was trying to do, he extended his hand in greeting has he replied, “Yes, her gynecologist."
Marcy's bug eyes nearly popped from her head, but she attempted to maintain her composure. “And you are?” She turned to Elijah, who was clearly having a difficult time opening his mouth and containing his laughter at the same time.
"This is Elijah Jasper.” I smiled sweetly, finding it easier to smile at her if I could be nasty at the same time.
"And what do you do?” she asked, clearly having difficulty taking her eyes from Richard and the smug look he was giving her.
"Oh, it's not important, I'm just using him for sex,” I interrupted.
Elijah's eyes widened, as he and Richard visibly fought to control their amusement.
"Oh, I see,” Marcy said, beginning to wave profusely with the ugly fan she was carrying. It matched the awful pink sundress and hat that completed her atrocious ensemble. “Well, if you'll excuse me.... “With that, Marcy awkwardly dismissed herself.
She had barely turned her back before Richard and Elijah both doubled over laughing.
"My gynecologist,” I rounded on Richard with a giggle.
"Sorry,” he said with a pant, “I couldn't help myself."
Elijah placed his hand on my shoulder as he said with a wink, “I guess this means we have to sit together now."
I took them both by the arm and walked toward the porch, ready to face the crowd. Ms. Wilson lived in a large old plantation style house on the opposite end of town from me. Of course, I was out in the middle of nowhere past the other side of town, and she was still inside the city limits. We were greeted more warmly than I had expected by Ms. Wilson as we entered the house among a throng of other guests.
She leaned in conspiratorially as she whispered, “Honey, I don't know what you said to that Marcy woman, but she looks pink enough to match that awful dress."
"Why, I was only introducing her to my doctor,” I said in my best Scarlet O'Hara voice.
Elijah chuckled and said, “And her sex slave."
Ms. Wilson may have been old, but uptight she was not. She knew exactly who the men with me were and our comments to Marcy seemed to make her day.
"Oh, I can't stand her,” she said, cackling. “But, one must strive to be polite,” she said, regaining her composure.
"And where is that Italian of yours?” she asked shrewdly. “Still turning up his nose at my tea party, I assume."
"No.” I smiled sadly. “Alfred is out of town on business, and he's not my Italian."
She raised one eyebrow at my last comment, but left it at that as she began to greet other guests.
As everyone exited the house and crossed the back porch, I admired how much effort the tea party must take to arrange every spring. Small white tables were sprinkled about the large back yard with matching wicker chairs and soft yellow tablecloths. There was a lovely tea set on each table, all with different expensive looking patterns and a small bouquet of fresh wildflowers. Of course, Ms. Wilson didn't do it all herself. She had servants, but she believed in putting forth some effort herself, which I had always admired. As we looked around for a seat, Richard whispered, “It must be nice to be filthy rich."
The next few hours passed more quickly than I had expected as Kat flitted around taking pictures of unsuspecting people in the middle of eating cream filled pastries or taking a sip of tea. She was wearing a breezy looking white sundress with a matching hat. The three of us managed to get a table underneath a large oak tree, and thanks to the shade, we stayed relatively cool. Halfway through our conversation, I was temporarily blinded by the flash of Kat's camera.
"You could warn me, you know,” I said, blinking far too fast.
"If I warned you, I might not have gotten such a good picture of you flirting,” she teased nastily.
A flush began to creep up my cheeks as I realized she was right. I'd been sitting there in front of Richard and everybody else obviously flirting with Elijah. The situation would not have been so bad had there not been something between Alfred and me. Though nothing was set in stone, we definitely had feelings for one another. Add that to the fact that I lived in the nosiest town I'd ever even heard of and, as you can see, I was screwed. Most of the town already thought Alfred was my live-in boyfriend. Admittedly, they weren't far off, but that had not always been the case.
Showing up at local events with Richard was acceptable and no one cared because most of them thought he was gay. It did no good to explain that just because the man kept to himself and happened to color coordinate did not mean he was gay. Although, the color coordinating thing was a little bizarre, it was just Richard. Elijah on the other hand, had only been in town for a few years, was known to be single, and happened to be considered prime real estate. When he blinked those blue eyes, or flashed one of his megawatt smiles, the girls around town flung it so hard you could get whiplash just watching. Rumors were no doubt already in flight.
I was brought back to reality as Ms. Wilson climbed to the top step on the back porch and rang the dinner bell. She had spent the last few hours going from table to table speaking to each person, and most likely asking their life's history.
"I would like to thank you all for coming and taking this opportunity to have some sun, some tea, and some conversation.” She smiled brightly. “Please continue to visit at your leisure and if you need me for anything, I'll be at that table over there, adding some whiskey to my tea."
She walked to her table amongst clapping and laughter from the crowd as I turned to Richard and Elijah. “Well gentlemen, we've stayed through the ‘thank you’ speech, I think we can safely leave now."
On our way out, I spotted Kat in the kitchen.
"I'll be right out,” I said to Richard and he and Elijah continued out the front.
She turned as I came in. “Happy late birthday,” she said. “Did you get my present?” Her smile was positively evil.
"What present?"
"The one you seemed to be enjoying so well this afternoon.” I must have still looked confused, because she then explained, “I sent Mr. Jasper your way."
My jaw dropped. “You did wh...?"
"Oh, you didn't like it?” she pouted.
"What about Alfred?” I was actually a little bit angry. “It was your stupid suggestion that got me to thinking differently about him, and now you're throwing local cops at me?"
Kat looked at me as if I'd missed the point. “I'm not asking you to marry him,” she said gently. “Look, the guy's adorable and he's so obviously got a thing for you. Just spend some time with him. Have some fun."
"People's feelings aren't things that you have fun with,” I said, more sadly than I'd meant to.
"I know that,” Kat said, looking depressed then also. “I only meant that...."
"I know, Kat. It's just that ... I see the way Elijah looks at me. I just don't want to hurt him."
"I understand,” Kat said, putting her arm around me, “But, I've seen the way you look at him, too, when you think no one's looking. You may not feel for him what you feel for Alfred, but you feel something."
She was right.
"I just want you to be happy, you know? Be able to recognize what's right."
"Which brings me back to what I wanted to ask you in the first place,” I said. “I believe the best way to know what is right is by spending some time with what's wrong."
I proceeded to make plans with Kat to go to club Red the following night. Since it was a few hours away, Kat offered to make hotel reservations for the night on her, in honor of my birthday. When I walked outside, I found Richard and Elijah still talking by the car. As I approached, Elijah smiled and Richard seemed to pay closer attention to our interaction. Elijah excused himself with a hug and a promise to call me later. Which doesn't sound so bad, except when he pressed against me, I took a deep breath.
He was wearing one of those great colognes that just smells like a man ought to smell. And with my sense of smell being so much more than it should be, I was aroused. I became suddenly very aware of how close he was and felt my nipples begin to harden against the thin fabric of my dress. Elijah didn't seem to notice, but the dress was thin, and as I turned back to Richard, he obviously did.
"So, what's up with you and the cop?” he asked as he opened my door.
"Nothing.” I sat down and watched him give me ‘the look’ as he walked around to his side.
"Well, it looked like something from where I was standing,” he said, as he pulled out of the driveway.

Chapter Ten 
After a few minutes of awkward silence, he turned to me with a kind smile and patted my hand. “It's none of my business. All I know is it's been years since I saw you smile like you did today. It looked good on you."
The rest of the ride home was spent in silence. I wasn't angry. I just didn't know what to say. When we arrived at my house, I waited for Richard to open the door. Since he was nice enough to be a gentleman, I wasn't going to ruin it for him. I considered myself as liberated as the next woman, but if a man still finds it in his heart to practice some form of chivalry, I'm not going to kill it with more women's lib. I am flattered to be treated like a lady. Though I'm definitely no angel, I appreciate the gesture.
As he turned to leave, I stopped him, placing my hand on his shoulder.
"Richard?” I made his name a question.
"Yes?” He turned back to face me.
"Has it really been that long since I smiled?"
He hugged me to him with an affectionate squeeze around my shoulders. “You've smiled,” he answered. “But today ... it reached your eyes."
"Thanks, Richard,” I said, pulling back.
"For braving an old woman's tea party?"
"For being honest."
"Any time.” His smile reached his kind blue gray eyes.
Over the years, and through many sleepless nights of conversation, sharing philosophies about why people are the way that they are, I had come to trust Richard. If he said my smile hadn't been reaching my eyes, then it hadn't.
After watching him drive out of sight, I went in the kitchen and made myself a drink. The effects might not last, but a fifteen minute buzz was better than nothing. As I sat there with only Marco's roses to keep me company, I wondered, not for the first time, what was wrong with me. I had managed to find a nice man, and still I wanted to spend time with Elijah. I didn't love Marco, but I couldn't seem to stay away from him either. With another shot of rum, I remembered thinking that if Peter had only loved me, that would have been enough. The memory was very vivid, and I was sure at the time that his love would have been all I needed. Perhaps it was the naivety of youth that had made me think so, but it seemed that way to me.
It was the same with Bradley. I was willing to ‘forsake all others’ just to be with him. I knew he was no good, but since when has that ever stopped a woman in love? It's stupid and cliché, but true. If you love someone, it doesn't matter how much of a loser they are, you will always look for the good in them. Then one day you come to a point like me, when you can no longer lie to yourself. I try not to lie to people I like, and I like me. I may not like what I am, but that's something I cannot change. Ever since my attack years ago, I've had a sort of love/hate relationship with myself. Who knows, maybe I just love to hate me? But the truth is, I don't have the balls to cause myself harm, and even if I could, I wouldn't. I'm too full of myself. Or, maybe that was just the philosophy that half a bottle of rum provided.
However you care to look at the matter, seeing myself through Alfred's eyes had changed me. Until that point, I had truly seen myself as a monster, not just because of the change in DNA, but the scars, as well. To me, I was damaged goods. But, Alfred didn't see it that way. When he looked at me, the scars were just another part of who I am ... and he loved me. That was the emotion I had felt in him during the dream, but I had only just realized it.
I'm not sure if it was the alcohol, or remembering what I'd felt for Peter, but I suddenly recognized the feeling. Granted, this could have been any type of love, for it has many forms. But I thought I knew which kind it was. Looking at the nearly empty bottle, I decided I had mixed enough philosophy with alcohol for one afternoon. However, I no longer had the ability to shut off my mind. I laughed to myself, wondering if it were possible to dam up your stream of consciousness.
So, there I sat, taking time to smell the roses Marco had sent two days ago and wondering exactly what it was that I was looking for. Still pondering the question, I went upstairs and packed my bag for the next night. By the time I was finished packing, I had analyzed myself until my head hurt, but I'd developed a theory. A story came to mind of a guy who picked up a snake. He came upon a snake lying beside the road on a cold winter's day. The snake, nearly frozen, asked if the man would be willing to place him inside his jacket until he was warm again.
"Do you promise not to bite me?” the man asked.
The snake promised. However, a short way down the road, he bit the man anyway. The man dropped the snake and yelled, “You promised not to bite me!"
"Yes,” said the snake. “But, you knew what I was when you picked me up."
I brought Marco's roses upstairs and sat them on the writing desk as the thought occurred to me: I knew what they were when I picked them up, the men in my past. All I could figure was I was trying to become a snake charmer. After being hurt badly, more than once, I didn't believe it was naivety that let me still trust people. It was courage, and the hope that there was some good left in man.
As I collected my sketches from the desk, I flipped to the picture of my hands against Marco's bare chest. Oh yes, I knew what he was, but this was one snake that I had no intention of picking up.
* * * *
Kat arrived early the next morning and without Alfred to remind me she was coming, I overslept. So, about thirty minutes later than we had planned, I placed my single black leather bag in the backseat beside Kat's four pink ones, and we were off.
"So, why don't you tell me the real reason you want to go out?"
"I don't know what you're talking about,” I lied. “It's for my birthday. I just want to party."
"Sure, and you might casually end up at club Red,” Kat said.
"Well, I did say I wanted to go back there."
Kat turned in the seat and attempted to give me an intimidating look, but had to put her eyes back on the road.
"Ok, fine. There's something that I didn't tell you about the weekend when Elijah and I got kidnapped."
I went on to tell her how the red headed woman I had killed was Marco's girlfriend.
"Holy shit.” For a few minutes, that was her only response until, “Why the hell are you going to see him?!"
"Who says I'm going to see him?"
"Don't play dumb with me Lilith. You're not that good of an actress."
I told her about Marco showing up beneath my balcony and the flowers he'd sent, and Kat nearly drove into a ditch.
"Whoa, hold up. You kill his girlfriend, brutally I might add, and he shows up to talk to you, and then sends you flowers. I'm sorry, but what the fuck?"
"That's what I was hoping to find out."
"Well, obviously, he doesn't want to kill you or he wouldn't have sent you flowers,” she said sounding bewildered.
"Oh no. The look he gave me the other night had nothing to do with murder. But, I admit, I was expecting some sort of retaliation."
I licked my lips just remembering how good he looked in those damned jeans.
"Maybe since she was with Bade's group, her and Marco broke up?” Kat suggested.
"Maybe,” I said, thinking out loud. “Or, maybe, he just didn't care enough about her to retaliate in any way. Maybe she wasn't worth the effort,” I said nastily.
"My, my, aren't we bitchy."
"Sorry, it just comes out some times."
Kat laughed. “You may be right. I mean, he was dating someone who looked like you, which is creepy by the way."
"Oh yeah, it's creepy."
"But, strangely flattering,” Kat added.
"Yeah ... it is."
At that moment, I remembered what Marco had said at the club that night when I'd asked if he was attached to someone, “Yes, but I'm beginning to regret my choices.” I shared this with Kat.
"Ouch,” she said, pulling in at a fast food restaurant.
"Yeah, talk about being kicked to the curb."
"Well, one thing's for sure, Marco's definitely hung up on you,” she said.
"I think you're right. I was really surprised about the club...."
"What do you want?” Kat interrupted.
"Huh?"
"You know, coffee, breakfast. What are you in the mood for?"
After we finally decided what to eat for breakfast, Kat prompted me, “What were you saying about the club?"
I thought for a moment before continuing, “Oh, I was saying that I figured he owned the club, but I had no idea he'd named it after me. Obviously they were dating at the time. What makes a woman put up with something like that?"
Almost as soon as the question was out of my mouth, I knew the answer. How much shit had I taken from Bradley because I loved him?
"She must have loved him,” Kat said what I was thinking.
That explained the look on her face. I'd have hated me, too.
* * * *
As I got dressed that evening, I noticed Kat watching me.
"What?"
"Don't you ever dress like a normal person?"
I decided not to point out the obvious, that I was not a normal person, and instead took a good look in the mirror. Smiling to myself, I thought it looked as if I'd taken a page out of Bade's book that night. Tight black vinyl pants hugged my thighs like a silken embrace. I wore a form fitting top, so sheer it was nearly transparent, and so deeply red, it was nearly black. The sleeves were short and split over the shoulder, and my red bra was clearly visible underneath.
Just below the shirt, you could see the belt that rode low on my hips, glinting in the light. The buckle was solid silver, carved into the shape of a running wolf. My makeup was tasteful, but I'd gone heavier with the eyeliner than usual, giving my hazel eyes a dark, smoky look. I never wore more than powder as a foundation. I was blessed with an even complexion, but I'm fond of earthy brown lipstick and black eyeliner.
Finally, I answered Kat's question as I slipped into my black vinyl boots. “I've got a vendetta against the fashion police. Remember?"
Kat was still giving me that questioning look when I clipped the silver thumb cuffs to the belt loop at my hip.
"Thumb cuffs?"
I let my smile reveal some of my wicked thoughts as I replied, “It goes with the outfit."
Kat wore another sensible but chic black dress, and I noticed as we got in the car that she could easily fit in anywhere. On the other hand, I would stand out in most crowds, but that wasn't exactly anything new. As usual, we didn't stay anywhere long, and Kat got as drunk as she had the time before. I suppose having a friend along who is half werewolf and practically immune to alcohol would make most people let their guard down. Who needs a bouncer or a bodyguard when they've got me?
As we approached club Red, I felt my pulse begin to quicken. Before we entered, I pulled Kat aside and handed her a small silver phial with a spray nozzle attached to the top.
"If I leave and someone tries anything, don't hesitate to use this."
She squinted at the bottle. “Werewolf mace?"
"Close enough,” I shrugged.
"What is it?"
"Silver nitrate."
Kat smiled and swerved slightly as she said, a bit too loudly, “So, you gonna talk to The Big Bad Wolf about that whole killing his girlfriend thing?"
"Ssh,” I said, pulling her past some people who were now staring and pointing in our direction.
"Oh, I get it,” she replied, still not exactly whispering, “You want me to turn a blind eye so you can bump and grind with the bad guy."
As I led Kat closer to the door, I felt a familiar prickle along my skin. It was the unmistakable feel of power that radiated from the very alpha.
"Hello, Red,” Marco's rough sexy voice said from behind me.
Kat smiled from ear to ear as I turned toward where Marco stood, draped casually against the doorway. I took my time, letting my hungry eyes take in the sight of him. Marco was definitely eye candy, and I'd always liked sweets. He wore dark red leather pants, so dark they were nearly black, but closer to a deep cherry, with a matching shirt that looked to be satin. The shirt hung open to reveal his natural golden tan as well as the trail of dark hair that spread across his chest, down the ridged curves of his abs to disappear below his belt. I felt him watching me as I traced that trail of hair with my eyes.
"I knew you'd come,” he said.
Kat staggered forward and giggled, “So, do you like to huff and puff, or just blow things down?"
To my surprise, Marco laughed. He flashed her a smile of nice even white teeth as he replied, “I don't see anything wrong with a little huffing and puffing now and then.” He put his arms around us both as he added, “Please, come in."
When he stepped close, I breathed in his scent and felt my eyes roll to the back of my head. If someone could bottle Marco's scent they could sell it as a form of Ecstasy.
Marco led us past the dance floor and up a flight of stairs. There were several booths and tables there that were separated from the rest by wrought iron railing, but had an excellent and elevated view of the dance floor. The air was so thick with the scent of sex and werewolves that even I wanted to howl. Perhaps visiting Marco so close to the full moon had been a mistake. The music thumped in my chest like a second heartbeat as I felt Marco press himself against my back. He wrapped his arm around my waist, carefully avoiding the silver belt buckle.
"Would you like to dance first, or get straight to business?"
As I considered the question, I turned to face him. “Are you planning to kill me?” I asked.
"Why, are you planning to kill me?"
I reached out and found whatever it was I'd found that night with Bade. A fever warm and sinuous flowed through my veins as I responded silkily, “Not tonight."
I watched as the pulse in his throat beat faster at the sound of my voice. He was fighting to control his reaction, but he felt it. Whatever it was, he felt it. Kat took a few shaky steps forward and rested her head against Marco's arm.
"He smells really good.” She spoke to me as if he wasn't standing there.
Marco put his arm around her shoulders to prevent her from toppling over the railing in front of us. I had been sadly mistaken on how much alcohol she'd managed to keep down. I had never seen Kat that drunk before.
"I think you may be wrong,” she continued directing her comments to me, as she leaned on Marco for support. When I noticed she wasn't taking the opportunity to cop a feel, I decided it was time to take Kat home, she wasn't herself anymore.
"About what?"
"Bad guys don't smell this good,” she half whispered to me as if she were revealing some secret of the universe.
The grin on Marco's face could not have been more devilish if he'd had horns. “It's werewolf pheromones, Kat. Don't be fooled.” I glanced back at Marco as I added, “He may smell good enough to eat, but trust me when I say, you don't want hair in your food."
"Maybe we could get him to wax,” she suggested, running her hand up the front of his bare chest.
This succeeded not only in making me laugh, but I felt some of the sexy power drain from my voice. However, when Marco looked as if that didn't sound like a bad idea, I pulled her hand, roaming ever lower, from Marco's body. Kat looked like it was Christmas, and I'd just stolen her present, but Marco laughed and suggested, “Perhaps your friend would like to retire to one of the VIP rooms upstairs, alone,” he added the last part in response to the look I gave him. “She could sleep it off a bit."
"I don't need to sleep anything off,” Kat insisted with as much dignity as she could muster. “Can't a woman make a pass at someone without being considered sloshed?"
"Well, then perhaps I could find someone to accompany her,” he directed the suggestion to me.
"You want me to leave my friend alone with one of your wolves? I don't think so."
"Would it matter if I said that I trusted him?"
"No, it wouldn't."
"Is he good looking?” Kat asked hopefully.
Marco smiled. “I think so,” he teased.
Kat leaned forward and whispered, “What do you think? I've still got the mace."
I just shook my head. Marco was listening to our every word. It does no good to whisper in front of a werewolf.
She smiled up at him and replied with more discernment than I thought her capable of at the time, “Why don't you have him join me at that table over there?"
Marco looked to me before responding. “Alright.” He snapped his fingers at a waiter as he said, “Send me Luther."
Without hesitation, the young man turned and went back past the tables to disappear behind a red door. A moment later a tall man with long white blond hair emerged, looking like he'd stepped off the pages of a dirty magazine. He wore an outfit similar to Marco's except that it was completely black, making his hair look all the more white, and his skin was more a darker shade of pale than tan. As he approached, I saw that his eyes were a nice clear blue and despite his, at first, creepy impression, he had a pleasant smile.
There was something about him that was very familiar to me, though I couldn't quite place it until he spoke. “Lilith,” he said. “Don't you remember me?"
"Oh my God, Luther.” I stepped forward and embraced one of my childhood friends whom I'd not seen in nearly ten years. We had been in drama together. I couldn't believe how much he'd changed. His voice and his smile were the only remnants of the boy I had once known. Luther had never been this sexy in high school. I was certain of it.
"How've you been?” he asked, looking down at me. Luther was about six foot two, but to me, even in heels, that required looking up to answer him.
I motioned around at our surroundings as I said, “About as good as you've been, it seems."
"Does this mean that you'll leave him alone with your friend?” Marco asked. Truthfully, I'd forgotten he was still standing there. I was so shocked, not only to see Luther again, but to know that he was a werewolf. We had never been intimate, but we were relatively close in school, and for a minute, I didn't feel quite so alone. But I remembered he was a werewolf and I was something in between so, technically, I was still alone.
"Yes,” I said, still looking at Luther. “I trust him. Now, it's her I'm worried about.” I smiled at Kat. “Don't attack the man in public, alright?"
Kat pretended to pout but couldn't stop smiling as she replied, “Don't worry, I'll behave myself.” I watched as she and Luther took a seat at a booth in the corner and appeared to start telling dirty jokes. Maybe he hadn't changed as much as I'd thought.
"Well?” Marco asked, turning my attention back to him. “What will it be, business, or pleasure?"
I looked him up and down once more, lingering longer than was polite across the front of his tight leather pants. Looking at Marco was like reading a really good book. You just wanted to take your time. As I stepped closer to him again, I breathed in his scent and could no longer keep my hands to myself.
Pulling his shirt open, I placed both my hands against his chest, just as they had been in my drawing. For many sleepless nights, I had longed to run my hands over Marco's body. His skin was hot, feverish to the touch and I felt the hot sexual power flow over me again as I touched him. My voice became sex as I leaned in to whisper, “You're hot."
He gasped in response. Apparently touching his bare skin made it harder to resist the power in my voice.
"Full moon,” he said, his voice growing deeper with desire.
"What about it?” I leaned close enough to breathe in the scent along his collar bone.
"It's in three days,” he said, swallowing hard.
"Mmm, do you always run a fever so close to transformation?” I pressed my lips to his throat.
"Always,” he breathed.
People at the tables around us were staring, Kat included. Marco and I were beginning to draw our own crowd.
"Maybe dancing isn't such a good idea,” I said, pulling back from him slightly. It took all I could do not to rip off his clothes and throw him on a table top as it was. If I had danced with him, the audience might have gotten more than a display of my dancing skills.
"Would you like a drink?” he offered, trying to regain his composure. “We could take it in my office."
"You have an office?"
"Of course.” He smiled, some of his natural wickedness returning as he took me by the arm. “Right this way."
He led me beyond the red door that Luther had entered through earlier. There was a long corridor with many different rooms off to the side. We went straight down and took a right. All the way at the end of the hall there was another red door that led to Marco's office. Not only was I surprised at the how well the size of the building was concealed from the outside, but I was impressed with his office, as well. I'm not exactly sure what I had expected, but it certainly wasn't what I saw. A large mahogany desk stood near the back of the room. Behind the desk and along one wall were rows upon rows of law books from both planets and history books detailing different wars.
To my left, sat a large tan leather sofa, with dark suede pillows nearly covering it from view. Against the opposite wall was a matching chair and ottoman with a deep crimson blanket flung across it that reflected in the highly polished wood of the floor. The chair was pulled along side a black marble fireplace that, due to the heat, was not blazing at the moment, but it definitely added to the atmosphere of the place.
"Nice,” I said, as my heels made clicking sounds across the shiny floor.
"I'm glad you like it."
He motioned for me to sit and I chose the straight backed red chair in front of his desk. It was tall and Victorian in style, with ornately clawed golden feet. Yes, the sofa looked much more inviting, but I didn't want to get too comfortable.
Marco propped against the desk in front of me and I watched in fascination as the muscles along his torso rippled beneath the skin.
"What would you like to drink?"
I got the impression that he was deliberately wasting time. “Is there something you're avoiding?"
"Is there something that you're rushing, Red?” There was sex in his voice. Even if he didn't possess the same power that I had, it was unmistakable. Marco had one of those voices that are normally afforded to hard drinking, chain smoking, blues singers. But, he didn't drink enough, or smoke enough to have damaged his vocal cords that much. It was just the way he sounded. I wished that I had spoken to him more.
"Too much foreplay will lose my attention,” I warned silkily as I stretched my legs forward to prop my boots beside where he rested against the desk.
He raised an eyebrow at my boots, but didn't comment. “Would you like a cigar?"
"Now you're just stalling.” I smiled.
As I rose to step near him, he offered me a box of Cuban cigars, vanilla flavored to be exact. I loved a good cigar, but like a good man, they're difficult to find.
"You do realize that these are completely illegal?"
"Of course.” He flashed me those lovely white teeth as he smiled.
"In that case, I'll have some pineapple/orange juice and rum,” I said, selecting a cigar from the box.
He gave me that questioning raised eyebrow look again and I explained, “It goes with the vanilla flavor."
Marco pressed a button on his phone and ordered our drinks, making his the same as mine. He smiled and said, “I'll take your word."
"Surely you don't mean to smoke these in here?” I motioned around the office. “The smell will never come out of the leather."
"No,” he said, “I thought we'd go out on the fire escape."
"You've already got me alone. Is the fire escape really necessary, or is that just to keep out the smoke?"
The look he gave me was very serious as he replied, “What I have to say to you is private."
Since I was unsure of how I should respond, I remained quiet until our drinks arrived a few minutes later. Marco opened the window and motioned for me to go first. The breeze felt nice as I climbed out onto the fire escape. I was surprised to find a small chair in the corner. Obviously this was where Marco went to be alone.
He stood, looking out over the city, but I decided to sit down. I watched as he lit his cigar, took a few puffs, and offered it to me. He hadn't spoken for several minutes now, and I was becoming anxious, but I took the cigar and gave him the one I was carrying. This one he kept for himself, but still he didn't speak.
"You've heard about the hearing?” he said at last, making it a question.
"Yes."
"And after your encounter with Bade, I'm sure you know what he's up to."
"I have an idea."
"I need the loyalty of the pack again,” he said, turning to me.
"I thought you said it was Bade's idea to form packs, like animals, you'd said."
He smiled slightly, but not like he was amused. “That's not exactly what I meant."
"But, it's what you said."
"Give me a break, Red. You were straddling my lap for God's sake."
"Fine, what did you mean?"
"What do you know of the pack?” he asked.
"I know that its exact workings are kept secret and normally only shared within the pack itself."
"That's right. But, what do you know about the leader of the pack?"
"He's the alpha,” I said simply.
"Yes, the alpha. However in some instances, there is more than one alpha male. In such cases, they must fight to determine which will lead the pack. To a certain extent, we are animals. But what I meant was, Bade doesn't want us to be recognized as being even partially human. He wants us to form packs, apart from the normal structure. His methods are brutal. Where my pack has Omega wolves, the lowest ranking within the pack, his would allow for the alpha and beta wolves to have slaves."
"He was once your beta wolf?"
"Yes, my second in command. But now, he's split off, formed his own pack and challenged my power."
"This is all fascinating, but what has it got to do with me?” I asked.
"You killed my alpha female,” he answered, but there was no anger in his voice, he was merely stating a fact.
"She was with Bade,” I interrupted.
"Yes, but only because she was blinded by her hatred for you. She would have gone along with any plan as long as hurting you was involved."
"I see."
"No, you don't."
He stepped closer to me. The smoke from the cigar curled around him like a misplaced halo as he towered above me, but I refused to stand. I'm sure it was a sign of disrespect, but I didn't care. Just hearing about that woman was making me angry.
"Many of my pack are calling for your death,” he said, “but I won't allow it. I am still alpha and it is my place to avenge my mate if I choose to, or to order it to be done."
"So, she was your mate?” More anger than I had intended crept into my voice.
"Not any more. We were a true mated pair once. Though we were no longer a couple, she still served as alpha female to the pack."
Blowing smoke in his direction, I said, “Well, if you call that an alpha female, no wonder your pack's in trouble."
"Do not mock me,” he growled.
I rose slowly, staring him down as much as possible with our height difference. “It is not you that I mock, but your poor choice in women,” I snarled sarcastically.
Truthfully, I should have been afraid. I may be tough, but I wasn't a match for an alpha male, not in a fair fight. Marco could have torn me apart if he'd wanted to, but my anger clouded my good judgment. Just the thought of another woman touching Marco made me see red. He wasn't mine, but I didn't like the thoughts of him belonging to anyone else.
"You're jealous,” he said, still looking fierce, but the anger had gone from his voice.
"No, Marco, I'm just a bitch and I'll be damned if I let myself be threatened by someone like her."
"Which brings me to the point of this conversation, please sit down,” he said, taking a step back and a sip of his drink.
"That is exactly the reason I cannot allow you to be killed."
"What, because they couldn't take me?"
"No. Because they need you."
"What?"
"At a time like this, when so much is at stake, they need a strong alpha female to help lead them."
"Marco, I'm not a true werewolf ... I'm something else."
"That may be true, but you're more dominant than they are. They will listen to you."
"And I'm supposed to listen to you, is that it?"
"You would help to enforce my will, yes."
"What makes you think that I would even consider such an offer?"
Marco placed his cigar beside his drink on the railing as he came close to me once more. His leather pants creaked slightly as he knelt before me, placing his hands between my knees. He spread my legs and slid me toward him. Eye contact was now unavoidable, and I sat down my drink and cigar, as well.
"I hunt werewolves, Marco. It's what I do. I could never be what you need, even if the hearing goes in your favor and you're treated as humans again ... I'm sure my role as a Hunter would change, but I'd still be a werewolf hunter. The discussion has come up before and if such were to be the case, we would still hunt rogue werewolves."
"That's what you do now. I could use such an enforcer to my advantage."
"Yes, but that's not what other Hunters have been doing. It's a crime punishable by death to even be a werewolf. I've been sent to carry out that sentence, Marco. I am death to you."
"But you've only been killing those who threaten the safety of others. I know about the woman you left alive because she defended herself."
"Just because I wouldn't kill a defenseless woman doesn't mean that I wouldn't kill you if I had to.” I tried to make the threat believable but found that I couldn't say it with as much conviction as I'd hoped.
"I'm not asking you to marry me,” he said.
"Then what exactly are you asking?"
"I'm asking that you be my alpha female, my rufus kulin, my red queen."
Shock was not a sufficient word for what I felt.
"Are all alpha females given this title?"
"No. Most have to fight for the right to be mated to the alpha male, and even then, their title would be kulin. But, you're special.” He smiled.
"How do the other females in the pack feel about this?"
"They're not happy,” he said simply, but not like he cared. “Some are demanding their right to fight for the position."
"Sounds like you're very popular.” The anger was creeping into my voice again.
"And you don't like that.” This seemed to please him, but I'd had enough of the conversation.
"Let me go, Marco. I'm not going to be your bitch."
His evil smile widened as he replied, “Then, I'll be yours, just don't tell anybody.” He winked.
"Marco,” I said, trying to push him away, but he didn't move.
"Say you will at least consider my offer."
I opened my mouth, but no sound came. I didn't want to lie to him. Sure, I wanted Marco, but to become his alpha female would be out of the question. It was something that I simply couldn't do.
"I can't."
"But you will,” he said gently.
He was right, but I wasn't going to tell him so.
"You'd still be left with the matter of Bade. What will you do, kill him?"
He stood up again and walked back to the railing before answering. “Not if I don't have to. I keep hoping he'll realize that he's wrong. I believe he's already given up on the idea of being able to replicate your DNA, but he still thinks that he can lead the pack better than I can."
He sighed deeply and took another sip of his drink. “The longer I let him go, the more he undermines my authority."
I had honestly never thought much before about the complexities of the wolf pack, but apparently it was more political in structure than I had suspected. The fact that he would even divulge such information to me spoke volumes about how serious Marco's offer was and how much he trusted me.
I stepped closer, wanting to comfort him somehow, but not entirely sure it was appropriate for me to do so. I didn't love Marco, but I couldn't deny my attraction to him. Placing my hand on his back, I said, “I'm not going to lie to you. I don't know the answer."
He turned to me and placed my hand over his heart. The feel of his bare skin against my palm felt more intimate than it should.
"What you feel for me is not just lust,” he breathed. “It's the attraction that one alpha feels for another. You are drawn to me. I can feel it."
"How?"
"Because I feel the same way when I'm near you. No one else has ever had this effect on me. This is how it's supposed to be. How you manage to resist it is beyond me."
"Me, too."

Chapter Eleven 
After a long pause Marco said at last, “When you get tired of fighting it, let me know."
Once again, I didn't know how to respond, but if what he said about alphas being attracted to one another was true, then that explained why I couldn't get him out of my head. I felt better knowing that I wasn't losing my mind. However, it wasn't exactly a comfort to know I could be affected by him that way.
We finished our drinks in silence. Finally, I moved beside him and watched as we both blew smoke rings into the dark alley below.
"Don't think too hard, Red.” His sexy rough voice so close to my ear made me shiver.
"Why's that? You wanted me to think didn't you?"
"If you think too much, you'll talk yourself out of whatever it is that you want to do."
"It's not possible for you to know me this well. Until a few months ago, we'd only spoken once."
"That's true, but it doesn't mean that I didn't pay attention,” he said, leaning in enough that his chest brushed against my shoulder. “I was still in training when you came along, the commanders wounded daughter, the one no one was supposed to know had been ... changed, but I knew. I paid attention. I watched as you changed daily, saw your skills improve, and I saw the way the men looked at you."
He tucked a stray hair behind my ear as he continued. “I saw the effect that you had, but I wasn't aware of its source until after I was changed. Once in a great while, someone is born with your kind of power."
He had my attention now. “What do you mean?"
"The sex that radiates from you is no accident, but few can put it into their voice the way that you do ... Actually, no one can do it the way that you do."
Marco must have been able to tell from my expression that I didn't understand, so he went on, “Extremely powerful werewolves sometimes have special powers, like that of wizards, an area of expertise. Particularly those who are descended from wizards themselves."
"But I'm not...."
"How old was your great grandmother when she died?"
"But, what has that got to do with...?"
"I'll tell you, because I was there when your father received the call telling him that she had been killed. She was five hundred years old. Now that's a stretch, even for the purest of Terran blood, wouldn't you say?"
"How the hell...?"
"Do I know all of this?” he finished for me. “I believe in knowing your enemy, and you and I have been enemies, have we not?"
I nodded.
"So, I made it my business to know how it was that you seemed to have powers that were unexplainable from what I knew of you at the time. You see, your great grandmother's father ... that would be your great, great, grandfather, was a wizard. The last to die of natural causes while in office at the ripe old age of one thousand, two hundred years. Quite the over achiever if you ask me."
My knees suddenly felt weak. I leaned into Marco slightly, unable to stop myself.
"You mean that...."
"Mathias Alexander was your great, great, grandfather."
"But, Joshua Mercury...."
"Was cheated on,” Marco said simply.
Mathias Alexander had been known as The Seducer. It was the power that he had. He could manipulate the senses in ways others could only dream about. Of course, a wizard has other basic talents, but his power was in his voice, and it was his strongest ability. His death and consequently vacated council seat had been the cause of the last wizard war forty years ago.
Marco helped me back down into the chair as he patted my shoulder. “Don't feel too badly. No one could blame your great, great, grandmother. He was The Seducer, after all."
It was simply too much to take in. Finally, I asked, “How?"
Marco knelt before me again, resting on the balls of his feet as he answered. “The old man kept a journal, and I, being the lover of history that I am ... happened upon it."
"You happened upon it?"
"Yes."
"Bullshit."
He laughed and the sudden noise startled me. “You don't trust easily, do you?"
"You stalked my family tree,” I accused.
"I got to know my enemy,” he corrected. “However, the part about your wizard ancestry only became clear to me about a year ago. That's when I happened upon Mathias’ journal."
I raised my eyebrows slightly and Marco elaborated further. “I found it in an old bookstore in London. The shopkeeper had no idea what he had. He thought it was some sort of unpublished work of fiction."
Sliding forward in my seat, I motioned for Marco to come closer. “I want to know something,” I said.
"And you can read emotions the way he could, as well?” He made it a question.
"Yes.” But, if the emotion was strong enough, I could get images from the feeling.
He placed his knees firmly in front of the chair and opened his shirt wide. It was hard to believe that he would willingly subject himself to this sort of personal invasion, but I didn't question it. I wanted to know if Marco was telling the truth. I wanted to see what he'd seen, to know what it was that he knew. I felt my own thoughts being shut away, like slipping behind a wall in my mind. Yes, I wanted to know, but not at the cost of revealing my own secrets. My palms hovered inches above him and I could already feel the fever that radiated from his flesh. Such a display of trust was unexpected after my reaction to his offer. I decided to accept it as a gift.
His skin was like fire beneath my touch. I opened the part of my mind that senses the feelings of others. It felt as if something tugged at my heart, pulling me down into Marco's emotions. “Not everything,” I told myself, “Only what I need to know."
Then I saw it, the old leather bound journal lying on a dusty shelf in a bookstore. I watched through Marco's eyes as he turned the pages, stopping at last on an unmistakable diagram of an elaborate family tree, hidden in the back of the book. His fingers traced down the page until they stopped at my name. He was telling the truth.
There was no need to look further, but before I could move my hands, another image appeared before my eyes. It was me, walking down the hall from my father's office. It was the first time I'd ever worn my black leather cat-suit and my hair was longer than it is now. He stopped, I spoke, and I felt him harden with desire. His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he was frightened ... but he liked it. He needed to touch me. It was a desire beyond my description. My hair, he made a comment about my hair and ruffled it gently with his hand.
Then we were in a bar gazing intently at the barely exposed flesh of a woman's back. It was my back, the first time I'd seen Marco at club Red. How long had he watched me? I remembered feeling his eyes on me. Through his memory, I felt such a pull toward me that it was almost a force of nature. To say that he was drawn to me was an understatement.
We danced and it was relief to touch me ... a compulsion indulged, a desire fulfilled. To touch my skin was a need, the same as food and water. He had never felt this for her—Julie was her name. The anger that surged through me at having a name to put with the face that I now despised gave me the strength I needed to let him go.
At last, I was able to break the contact and Marco collapsed forward, laying his face against my thigh.
"You see,” he panted. “I was telling the truth."
I stroked his hair as one would comfort a dog, and wondered vaguely if it was taboo to pet a werewolf.
"May I see it?” I asked, referring to the journal.
"You can borrow it if you like.” His face was still pressed against my thigh.
"Why would you help me?"
"Make no mistake, Red, I'm helping myself, too. I wouldn't want you to get the impression that The Big Bad Wolf is noble."
It felt good to laugh as I continued to toy with his hair. He seemed at ease with his head in my lap, as if it were perfectly natural. After he had allowed me to see inside his memories so intimately, I felt that I owed him some amount of honesty.
"Marco?"
"Yes?” He nuzzled against my thigh like a contented cat.
"I'm not exactly single."
His laugh was a deep and sensual rumble. “You say that like it matters.” He looked up at me then and his eyes had bled to amber. “You will not find an ordinary man who can satisfy you."
Alfred was hardly ordinary, but I didn't think that was any of Marco's business. “That may be so, but he deserves a chance."
"And I don't?"
My fingers roamed down to clasp the hair at the nape of his neck as I purred, “You're on my list, Marco. You're just not at the top."
He smiled and I tightened my grip on his hair. “Things change,” he said. “It may take some time, but you'll see that I'm right."
"You're just jealous that you're not on top,” I teased.
Releasing his hair was difficult, but I managed.
"Come on, I'll show you the journal.” He got to his feet and extended his hand to me.
After stepping back into his office, I watched as Marco removed a very old, very thick leather book from his shelf. The book was a faded red and bound by leather straps. Marco held the book out to me, and I was almost afraid to touch it.
"I still can't believe that you would...” I began, but he cut me off.
"What, a monster is not allowed some measure of civility?” His tone was only slightly bitter.
"No, it's just that ... well, I was always told you were crazy."
"What a coincidence,” he snarled, his voice dripping with irony.
I took the book then, but when I went to untie the leather cords, he stopped me.
"Wait,” he said, placing his hand over mine. “You'll want some privacy for what's between those pages."
That only made me want to open it more, but I nodded my agreement.
"I assume you took a cab here?"
"I drove.” My voice sounded distant, even to me.
"Are you alright to drive?” The compassion in his voice surprised me. Marco was the last person I expected sympathy from.
There I was, holding within my hands a piece of history that might explain to me a great deal about myself. No, I wasn't alright to drive. I was in shock.
"I'll take you back to your hotel,” he said.
My knees felt wobbly, so I decided not to argue. It should have felt strange, handing Kat's keys over to Marco, but it didn't. It somehow seemed perfectly natural to let him take care of me. That in itself was cause enough for concern, but I was too caught up in my own thoughts to pay much attention.
After the shock had worn off a bit, I would later wonder how it was that I put not only my life, but my friend's life in his hands. Marco was right. We had been enemies for so many years that they all seemed to run together, and though we'd spoken only once until recently, I felt that I knew him. By reputation at least, I did. In our own way, we were a comfort to each other in that our battle had always been constant. Most people need something constant in their lives, and however strange it may have been, Marco was that constant for me, that one thing that I could always count on. If nothing more, he was dependable to always be the devil's advocate. It had never mattered before, whether or not I liked him. He was the enemy, and that was that. The problem was, as I got to know Marco, I did like him.
We made our way back to Kat's table where she and Luther were still cracking jokes. When she saw me, the laughter drained from her face.
"What did you do to her?” She turned accusingly to Marco.
I answered for him. “Kat, it's alright. He didn't do anything."
"I shared some news with her that a was a little...."
"Shocking,” I finished.
"What's that?” She pointed to the large journal that I was clutching to my chest like it was a life raft and I was drowning.
"My great, great, grandfather's journal,” I mumbled.
Apparently, Kat was beginning to sober up a bit. She took in the shocked look on my face once more before asking, “He wasn't a werewolf, was he?"
"He was a wizard,” I answered.
Marco and Luther helped to escort us from the building. To the casual observer, Kat and I must have looked like a couple of stone drunks. Marco held me tight against his side since my knees no longer seemed steady, and Luther practically had to carry Kat across the parking lot.
Once I was safely in the passenger seat, Marco leaned across my lap to fasten the seat belt. I got another whiff of his wonderful scent and managed to form a slightly coherent thought, “Why are you fastening me in?"
"If you die, Red, who would I have to play with?"
"You've been playing with him?” Kat asked as Luther helped her into the backseat.
Marco laughed as I answered, “No, Kat."
"But he just said that...."
"Unfortunately, I've been instructed to play with myself,” Marco teased.
"Well, that's a damn shame,” Kat said, leering at him as he fastened her seat belt, as well.
Marco climbed in behind the wheel and gave instructions to Luther to follow us in his car. The drive back to the hotel was quiet, except for Kat humming to herself in the backseat. The darkness of the tinted windows made the small space between Marco and me seem more intimate. He reached over and removed my hand from the straps on the book that I'd been absently toying with.
"Isn't anyone going to speak?” Kat finally asked.
But, I didn't know what to say. I was fascinated by wizards and their strange powers. But I'd always thought of them as being so far beyond my reach. Since only seven were born every century, I'd never even met a wizard before. All I knew of them was what I'd heard or read in history books, and now I had the journal of one in my hands. Not just any wizard, but my own flesh and blood. He was one of the great wizards of legend, and believe me, they weren't all nice. Many a jilted husband blamed The Seducer for their wife's betrayal.
Part of me was very afraid of what I might find in that journal. I didn't want to read about the calculated manipulations of innocent women, especially not when one of them was related to me.
Marco made sure we were alright before he left. “Red.” He turned back to me.
"Yes?"
"Wait till you get home to read it."
"Alright.” I sighed.
I didn't want to wait that long, but seeing as how Marco knew what was on those pages and I didn't, I was inclined to take his word. Kat was about to collapse, so after Marco left, I helped her get to bed, but I didn't sleep. Only a few hours separated us from dawn, and I spent them staring at the journal where it rested near the foot of the bed. My world might suddenly make more sense, or become even more confusing, depending on the words in that book. The more I thought of it, the more I didn't want to know.
I drove the next morning, not just because Kat had a headache, but to resist the temptation of opening the journal. As much as I didn't want to know, I was still too curious to let it be. I recounted the story to Kat, telling her as much as I knew. There were things I could share with her that I could never tell Richard, even though he had been like a brother to me, and what had happened last night with Marco was one of them. Of course I trusted Richard, but his views of the world were very black and white. According to him, ‘you don't toast marshmallows over the fire that will most likely consume you'. He was right really, but I knew that Kat would understand where I was coming from. We might have been very different in some ways, but she was a woman, too, and we both understood that the prospect of having a relationship of any kind with Marco was not completely unappealing.
"How could you ever live with a werewolf though? I mean, you'd have your time of the month, and he'd have his.” Kat laughed. “You might end up killing each other."
That was true, but the conversation shortly turned to a much more pressing matter.
"What will you do with the journal?” she asked.
"Read it."
And that's exactly what I did. After Kat left, I unpacked my bags and spent the day cleaning the entire house. I could always think better if everything was in order, and I wanted no distractions once I got started. When at last I could find nothing more to occupy my time, I sat the book on a blanket in front of the fireplace downstairs. Since it was summer, a large collection of candles sat across the hearth in place of a fire, and I lit them all. Finally, I sat down with a bottle of wine, an empty glass, and my great, great, grandfather's journal. The place was dark except for the candlelight, lending a ceremonial feel to the room. A fine tremor ran through my body as I began to untie the leather straps that bound the book.
I took a deep breath and opened the journal. Nothing could have prepared me for the image that was hidden just inside its cover. Staring back at me was a picture of the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. He was tall, with broad shoulders and hair the color of a captive flame. His hair was just long enough to touch the fabric of the stunning emerald robes that he wore, and for several minutes I just stared in awe of his beauty.
Without reading further, I forgave my great, great, grandmother Aurora, for whatever she might have done. No mortal woman could have resisted this man. Hazel eyes so much like my own seemed to smile up at me as I stretched forth trembling fingers to touch a masculine version of my own face.
I couldn't say how long I sat there with my heart in my throat before I looked at the opposite page. I dropped the book and scrambled backward across the floor, not daring to take my eyes from it. The first page was a letter addressed to me. Slowly, I crawled forward, sat the book back in my lap, and began to read:
My dearest Lilith,
I have longed to know you, and though that may not be possible, through these pages, I give you an opportunity to know me. By now, my reputation will have no doubt preceded me. I will not deny that some of it is true. However, no one will ever understand me as you will, for through you, my power is reborn.
I have seen you in my dreams, and through many visions, I have known you. You are, of course, wondering who else may have read these words, and I tell you none will ever read what I have to say to you. These pages show what I wish for them to show, and I reveal my secrets to no one.
I know how it is that you have learned of me, and I apologize for the shock. Please understand that I saw no other way. This journal had to find its way into your hands. 
As far as anyone knows, though I loved many, I had no descendants. There are those who would seek to use you for their own evil purposes, and this I cannot allow. I have watched over our family all these long years, searching for the one who would inherit my power. 
From the moment I first saw Aurora, I had visions of you. Though this is the first you have seen of me, please believe me when I say that I have loved you all of my life. 
I know your loneliness and your pain, but do not mourn over much for an old man who has lived too long. Another will watch over you in my absence, though he does not yet know it. 
Everything will not become clear at once, and there are some of my gifts that you may never receive. However, if you will let me teach you what I know, I can show you how to be so much more than what you have become. 
So, shed a tear for me my child, but do not mourn for the arms that cannot hold you, for you will not always be alone. 
With all my love,
Mathias Alexander 
I hadn't realized I was crying until I'd finished the letter. I held the book to my chest and cried for a man that had been dead for over forty years. There was more understanding in his words than I could have hoped for and as I read on, I loved him, too. Through his words, I saw myself. I also found that the journal was enchanted. It somehow held his life's story. Every time I turned a page, a new one would appear, though the book never got any thicker.
I did not find the cold and calculating Seducer of legend, but a compassionate individual who felt so deeply the pain of others. As I read his description of ‘how to ease the troubled mind', I understood what had happened with Kat, and more recently with Elijah. His touch had been like a balm to the aching soul. How I wished I could have heard his voice.
There is truth in the term ‘sexual healing’ and this my child, is what we offer. It may not always be in the technical sense of the word, but there is much comfort in the compassionate touch. It is a beautiful and terrible power that you possess and can easily be used to take advantage. 
I do not have all the answers, merely explanations that may offer you some comfort. 
And they did. The next week passed by unnoticed. I took breaks only to eat, sleep, and use the bathroom, and even then I sometimes took the journal with me. It felt as if I'd finally found someone to understand me. So much was made clear by his words. He gave me meditations to practice in order to more fully control what he referred to as ‘the voice of seduction'.
On Friday morning I was surprised to reach what looked like the final page as I read:
Do not be wounded when others do not understand you, or grieve too long when your heart is broken, for no ordinary man will ever understand you. 
For a minute I paused. It startled me to read the almost exact words that Marco had spoken to me last weekend, and made me wonder what the journal had said to him. It went on to say that only one other wizard had ever come close to being able to manipulate his voice in the same way, and if our paths should ever cross, I would ‘know him'.
I had no idea what that meant, but I was brought back to reality by his next words:
You will turn to me many times, and find wisdom that was not here before. 
But for now, hurry and lift the back cover and get a shower, you are going to be late for your date. 
I had forgotten all about my promise to cook dinner for Elijah that night, but I'd learned enough not to question how Mathias could have reminded me after being dead for forty years. It's best not to question a wizard who could see the future.
I lifted the back cover and found hidden in a small chamber within it, a necklace with a large pink stone encased with silver, and a lock of brilliantly red hair. I knew without being told that it was Mathias’ hair. I turned back to the last page, hoping for more of an explanation but found only these words:
I will explain later. 
Realizing that I would get no further explanation until it was time for me to know, I replaced the strange necklace in the hidden compartment, but the hair I examined more closely. As I ran my fingers over the silken red lock I closed my eyes and felt the presence of a man I had never known, though he was as familiar to me as my own face.
"The hair is enchanted," I heard him whisper. "It was the only way a part of me could ever survive long enough to touch you."
In my mind, my eyes opened, though my physical eyes remained shut. I saw before me a vision, a balm to soothe my wounds, and strength to ease my weakness. He stretched out his arms toward me and I fell against him.
A peace like I had never known enveloped me as I heard him whisper, "Much of our power is in our touch. Through this, my final touch, I give to you all that I am."
I looked up into the face of Mathias Alexander, but he could not see me.
"I know that you now look upon what I once was." His voice broke and tears began to streak his beautiful face. "But I cannot see you. I did not know if you would be my daughter or granddaughter. I only knew that your name would be Lilith, and I would know you when I saw you. Only recently have I seen Jacob, and I knew you would be his child."
He cradled me against him as he said, "Please accept what I have to give, for it is the only way that I can ever embrace you ... my daughter."
Immediately, I was flooded with a feeling of such love, peace, and completeness that I was overwhelmed. Never had I felt such understanding. Nothing mattered, there was no world outside his embrace, and even if there was a world beyond those arms, I didn't want to know. I wanted to live and breathe, and die in his embrace.
But just as suddenly as he had appeared, Mathias was gone and I collapsed to the floor with only the lock of his hair to cling to. I held his hair over my heart as I cried. Instinctively, I knew what it had cost him to appear to me. He had taken his last bit of life, his last breath ... his final touch and put it into that lock of hair. His last moments had been spent reaching out to me with a message that it had taken forty years for me to receive.
The only thing I could do was cry. Never in my life had I felt so loved. Despite Mathias’ advice I mourned him. I grieved deeply for the one person who ever fully understood me, and I would never see him again.
But, after several minutes, when I finally picked myself up from the floor, I realized how very fortunate I was to have had that one moment with him. The more I remembered his lovely face, it gave me hope and I smiled to myself as I got in the shower, knowing that that was what he had intended. I let the warm water wash away the last of my tears, and realized I felt better than I had in months. There was something cleansing in his touch. I certainly hadn't forgotten about Bradley, or Peter, but it made their memories easier to deal with. Mathias’ touch had helped to settle the emotional storm that had been raging within me ever since I had seen Marco that first night at club Red.
I still didn't know what the answer was, or what would end up happening to me. I did not have visions of the future on command as he had, but I now knew that whatever happened, somehow everything would be alright. That certainty wouldn't always last. I'm too much of a worrier for that, but it helped tremendously and was what I needed at the time. The man had used his last breath to give me that message. The least I could do was listen. I took a deep breath and allowed myself to be comforted.
As I looked for something to wear, I made the decision to wait a while before reading Mathias’ journal again. He said that I would turn to him many times and 'find wisdom that was not here before'. Since I had reached the end of the book for now, I took that to mean I had read all that I was meant to know at the time. Besides, there's only so much information one can digest at a time and, in all honesty, my mind was still spinning. I wasn't sure if I should be shocked, thrilled, or concerned to learn of my mysterious heritage. Just to be sure I hadn't missed the appropriate emotion, I was all of the above.
Finally, I decided on jeans and a light green t-shirt. The shirt was short, coming just below the waist of my jeans, with a v-neck. I hated long sloppy t-shirts with rounded necks, and I never wore them. I also hated baggy jeans, but after the weight I'd lost recently, my jeans were no longer the perfect fit that they had been. After a while, I reminded myself that this wasn't a date. We were just going to spend some time together. So, I stopped obsessing over my clothes, fixed my short spiky hair, and applied a minimal amount of makeup.
When I finally made my way downstairs, I passed the answering machine on the kitchen counter and noticed I had twelve messages. I had been so engrossed in the journal that I hadn't heard the phone ring all week. Ten of the messages were from Elijah, who was worried after the first four calls, because I wasn't answering the phone. His last message said he would be there Friday as we had planned, and if I didn't want him to come that I should call.
One message was from Kat, just checking on me. I was going about my business looking for something to cook for dinner when the last message began to play. “Hello, Red,” Marco's rough and sexy voice stopped me in my tracks. “I waited as long as I could to call....“ There was a pause. “I'm not sure what made me think that you would answer the phone, or what the hell I was going to say if you did.” The machine then announced that the call had been received thirty minutes earlier, when I was in the shower.
There wasn't time to ponder exactly why Marco had been calling me. I had twenty minutes to get something going before Elijah would be at the door. But, I couldn't shake what Marco's voice had made me feel. Maybe I had gone too long without sex, or maybe it was just him. Either way, Marco's voice did things to me that went beyond arousal. Not because of any magic or particular power in his voice, but because of the man behind it. No matter how much I tried to fight it, Marco just did it for me.
Thanks to Alfred, there was never a shortage of food in the house, so I quickly began to collect the ingredients for a dish I knew by heart, Chicken Marsala. Naturally, the only porcini mushrooms I had on hand were dehydrated, so I quickly tossed them into a cup of warm water to let them soak. I had just started to brown the chicken when I heard a knock at the door. We had a doorbell, but no one ever used it. The door knocker was just too much fun. It was an antique lion's head with a ring hanging from its mouth, which happened to be made of solid silver. This also succeeded in letting me know whether or not it was relatively safe to answer the door. Whatever was out there, if it knocked, it wasn't a werewolf. The knocker may have been a bit gaudy, but it went well with the large oak door I had managed to salvage when the old house was renovated most recently by Alfred and myself. The Hunters who were in charge of the first renovation years ago felt that a Victorian style would be more pleasing to the eyes. The original structure had a much different, more medieval look.
I had been attracted to that particular spot, not only because of its lack of neighbors, or because it was in my home town, but because it had belonged to another Hunter.
After the death of the previous owner, The Hunters had retained the rights to the property. However, the Hunter who'd had the place built, leaned a bit to the macabre, and no one was thrilled with the idea of living in a house with a fully equipped dungeon. But the novelty was too much for me to resist.
There's good money in werewolf hunting, but I got the house and surrounding property at a steal because of its ‘undesirable amenities'. The space that is now Alfred's laboratory, used to be a large storage room. Rumor has it, the place was completely filled with bizarre weapons, some of which my father confiscated for his own private collection.
When my training was complete and my father was looking for a place to have me permanently stationed, he knew that I would love it here. Medieval history has always fascinated me, particularly torture devices, which coincidentally, were the only pieces of ‘furniture’ that went with the house.
The house had been empty for over three hundred years before I moved in. I had a suspicion that the man who built it was of wizard descent himself since he died at the ripe old age of seven hundred years. The average Terran life span is around two hundred. Even then, he hadn't died of natural causes. He was visiting Terra and was killed by a dwarf in a bar fight. Aside from that, all I knew was his name, Vincent Cole. Apparently he was quite the character. It was a shame that I never met him, but I felt very comfortable in his house, which said good things about him. I have been in many places where I was far from comfortable. However eccentric Vincent might have been, I could say with certainty that he was not evil.

Chapter Twelve 
I opened the door expecting to be berated for not returning any of his calls but found Elijah to be in his usual good mood. My heart leapt when he smiled at me, and I couldn't help but return the favor.
"Are you alright?” he asked, stepping through the door.
"I'm fine. I've just been ... busy.” I smiled.
"So, what are we having?"
"Oh shit,” I ran back toward the kitchen just in time to save the chicken from burning.
Elijah entered the kitchen with a laugh and replied, “I've never had ‘oh, shit’ before. What's it like?"
"Mess with me and you'll end up with this chicken in places the French toast couldn't reach,” I punctuated my words with the jab of a fork and a sarcastic smirk.
"Such hostility.” He laughed. “Can I help?"
"Sure."
Elijah pitched in and within the hour, dinner was served, but not like a volley ball the way the toast had been. Cooking with him was fun and as usual when I was around Elijah, I forgot to worry when I saw his smile. Most likely, I enjoyed displaying the food more than I enjoyed cooking. Leave it to an artist to think the plates needed to be decorated. But I believe that food is a lot like people. It's all in the presentation. You can make a perfectly good dish unappetizing with a bad presentation.
Speaking of perfectly good dishes, Elijah looked great. He managed to wear dress shirts with jeans and make it look good.
"Why don't we take this in the sitting room?” I suggested.
"I'm agreeable to that.” He smiled.
We moved to the small coffee table in front of the fire and I asked Elijah to light the candles while I retrieved a bottle of wine from the dungeon.
"You mean wine cellar, right?"
"No, we keep wine in the dungeon.” I fought to keep a straight face.
"This I've got to see."
"Wouldn't you rather wait until after dinner for the grand tour?"
"If I let the chicken get cold, will you make me wear it?” he teased.
"Quite possibly."
"In that case, I'll wait until after dinner.” He smiled.
The dungeon was an excellent place to store wine as it was the coolest location in the entire house. It had a rather large closet which was used for nothing but wine storage. We'd had several tall racks built into the closet walls so the room was lined with wine bottles. After a moment's thought, I selected a bottle of Vigorello San Felice 1998. It's a wonderful Tuscan wine that smells of chocolate and berries with a touch of vanilla. I've found that it goes very well with chicken.
When I returned with the wine a few minutes later Elijah asked, “You really have a dungeon?"
"Let it go, Elijah."
The wine was good, but the company was better, as I once again managed to lose myself in his eyes. Until then, I didn't know much about Elijah personally, so I enjoyed hearing where he was from, about his younger sister, and his love of animals. He had moved here from a small community just outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma. His sister, Mary, was two years younger than him and was working toward her degree in interior design.
He said that had been the reason he wanted to talk to Kat. “I'm trying to talk her into moving here after she finishes school,” he said. “It would be good experience for Mary if Kat would be willing to give her a job."
"Good experience for her, huh?"
"Well that and I could keep a closer eye on her.” He smiled.
Before I could stop myself I asked, “And does she also have her father's eyes?"
He leaned back slightly, and I saw a trace of surprise on his face, but not fear.
"How did you know that?"
"It would take too long to explain, but just now, as I looked at you, I saw your father."
"Does that happen to you often?"
"No, this is the first time."
He looked at me intently for a few minutes before answering. “No, she has my mother's eyes. They're green."
I reached out to touch Elijah's face as I gazed more deeply into his eyes, almost as if I were in a trance. He was gorgeous, but it wasn't him that I saw. It was the feeling behind his eyes, the thoughts running through his mind. I didn't know them all, but I could sense them.
"They say that the eyes are the windows of the soul.” I used the hypnotic quality in my voice, but without the overtones of sex, like when I spoke to Marco.
Elijah leaned into my touch as he asked, “And what do you see?"
"Hope."
"Is that all?"
As I brushed my thumb underneath his eye I answered, “Your smile hides many worries, but you do not hide behind it. You are genuinely happy."
He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, leaning further into my touch and I couldn't help asking, “Don't you have other things to do besides spend time with me?"
Elijah opened his eyes, but his lids were heavy, as if he were intoxicated. “There are other things I could be doing, yes. But nothing I'd rather do."
"That's sweet,” I whispered softly, “but you should be careful whose company you keep."
"Why? Are you dangerous?"
"To you ... I'm afraid that I am."
He slid closer. “Is this something that you see, or something that you feel?"
"Something that I'm afraid of,” I whispered as his lips came dangerously close to mine.
"Would you ever hurt me?” he asked.
"Of course not."
"Then why are we having this conversation?"
With that question he closed the distance between us. For one stunned moment, I didn't respond, but then I wrapped my arms around him. He felt firm and warm beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and I breathed deeply of his wonderful cologne.
His lips tasted of sweet red wine and I drank him in. I held him more tightly, running my hands through the softness of his hair. But the feel of Elijah's soft hair between my fingers brought back the memory of someone else whose hair shined like polished obsidian in the morning sun, and I pulled back.
"I'm sorry.” His breath was a warm promise against my lips.
"No, you're not."
"No, I'm not.” He sighed as our lips met once more.
"I can't,” I whispered, pulling back again.
"It's Alfred, isn't it?” he questioned with a frustrated sigh.
"Yes."
"Is it just the Italian thing?” he asked.
"No.” I smiled. “But that doesn't hurt."
I was relieved to see his smile return, lacking none of its usual charm.
"I took Spanish in high school,” he said, doing a fairly decent imitation of a Spanish accent.
When I laughed he said, “Don't worry, I won't push the issue."
"Is it really an issue?"
"No, not really. I enjoy being around you."
"Me, too,” I confessed. I meant I enjoyed being around Elijah, but the comment sounded like I was full of myself. Fortunately, he seemed to get my meaning.
"So.” He got to his feet. “Let's not screw with that."
It was nice to know that he didn't plan to stop coming by. I really did like spending time with Elijah and the thought of not seeing him depressed me. Going without his smile would be like never being able to watch another sunrise.
"But, if you ever want to screw, I did give you my cell number, didn't I?"
"Come on.” I laughed. “I'll show you my dungeon."
Elijah followed me through the foyer into the kitchen, where I collected the key to the dungeon before entering the door that led down to Alfred's lab. The staircase was narrow and dark, barely wide enough for two people, and made completely of stone. It looked as if someone had carved the steps out of a natural rock formation long ago. The years and many footsteps had worn them until the edges were smooth.
"How do you see down here?” he asked.
"I have excellent night vision,” I replied taking his hand. “And Alfred knows the way by heart."
"What did he do before then?"
"He used a flashlight. There are sconces along the wall with torches, but in the time it would take to light them all, I could just show you the way."
I led him down for a ways before turning to an ornately carved door to the left.
"What's that way?” he pointed down the stairs.
"That way goes to Alfred's laboratory."
I took the lighter from my pocket and lit the torch beside the door in order to give Elijah a better view of the etchings. An elegant archway was carved into the surface, amongst a tangle of vines and leaves so real that you almost expected them to part in order to pass. Elijah reached out his hand and traced the delicate pattern with his fingertips.
"What's it made of?"
"Silver."
"It's beautiful."
"Yes, but I believe its purpose was to keep werewolves from escaping the dungeon."
He continued to stare in fascination at the carvings until I opened the door with the silver key I'd picked up in the kitchen. Stone steps similar to the ones that had led us thus far, continued down into the dungeon. This was not the dank and frightening dungeons in history books, but a magnificent display of architectural talent. The ceiling that arched upward, reminiscent of a castle, was carved from the same gray stone as the steps. The arches were carved just as expertly as the pattern on the silver door, making them look smooth to the touch. However, as they met the wall, the stone had been only roughly chipped away except for the pillars sculpted to meet the arches of the ceiling.
"Wow.” Elijah stared in awe at the ceiling while I lit the torches along the wall.
"That was my first impression, too.” I smiled.
I explained to him that the dungeon had been what attracted me most to the house.
"I can understand why,” he said, running his hands over the magnificent pillars.
Just then, Elijah began to notice the many unusual devices around the room.
"Holy crap,” he said, eyes wide. “Did it come with all this?” He motioned around the room.
"Yep. Would you like the grand tour?"
"Can you tell me how it all works?” he teased.
"Of course."
"In that case, let ‘er rip.” He smiled.
"Ok.” I decided to start with the table along the wall, which was an antique itself. “This,” I indicated the first device which resembled a double headed fork attached to a leather collar, “was known as The Heretic's Fork. The sharp points on each end are placed deep into the flesh under the chin and into the sternum. It completely prevented all movement of the head, allowing the victim to only whisper a confession."
"And this,” I moved on to an object which resembled a pair of brass knuckles with long curving claws, “is The Cat's Paw, also known as the Spanish Tickler. It was used to rip the victim's flesh from their bones."
To my amazement, Elijah seemed to be enjoying the tour.
"What about this one?” He picked up an elongated pear shaped object with a golden handle.
"That's The Pear. Are you sure you want to know what this one was used for?” I teased.
"Sure, how much worse could it get?"
I laughed as I replied, “The Pear was inserted orally, anally, or vaginally, and then,” I pressed the golden handle and watched Elijah jump as it opened, “it was expanded."
He replaced the object to the table, careful to touch only the handle.
"Now, this one I recognize. It's a chain whip, right?"
"Right, except with this one, the chains are pure silver."
"And that's a Rack.” He pointed to the object that resembled a long table with a crank along the opposite wall.
"Impressive.” I smiled. “But can you tell me what that is?” I pointed to an apparatus in the far corner that could only be described as bizarre. It looked like a stool, except there was a large silver triangle in place of the seat. Above this was a belt suspended in mid air by three chains, one attached to the ceiling, and one to each wall in the corner.
"Tell me it wasn't used to treat hemorrhoids,” he pleaded.
"Close, but no cigar. It was known as The Judas Cradle. The victim was hoisted up with the belt and chains and lowered onto the point of the pyramid in such a way that their weight would rest on the point positioned in the anus, the vagina, under the scrotum, or underneath the last two or three vertebrae."
"Goddamn,” he exclaimed.
"My thoughts exactly. But have you seen the one over there?” I pointed to the contraption in the other corner, down from the Rack.
"It's familiar, but I can't think of its name,” he answered as he walked over to get a closer look. It was a tall sarcophagus looking device that sat upright with many large spikes inside the back, and along its two doors.
"That's The Iron Maiden. It was used more for execution than torture, since practically no one ever survived its use. The victim was placed inside and the doors were shut, impaling them on all these lovely spikes,” I added the last in response to the horrified expression on his face.
"Lovely?"
"I'm just teasing.” I snickered. “You look pale. Do you want to see the rest?"
"How many more are there?” He looked around the big room nervously.
"Just one."
I walked over to a small highly polished wooden platform. Along the back of this was an upright plank with a narrow seat attached. Above the seat, slightly more than shoulder height on most people was a leather strap. This strap was attached to a crank on the back of the board.
As I sat down on the device I explained its use. “This is my favorite piece of equipment,” I shared. “It's called the Garrote. With the turn of this crank, the strap would tighten, asphyxiating the victim."
"And why was this your favorite?"
A wicked smile spread across my lips as I answered, “You don't want to know."
"Ah, but it's past our first date. Does the rule about restraints still apply?"
"I'm afraid so.” I walked to the large oak door at the back of the room. “Would you like to see the rest?"
"There's more?"
"Oh yeah, this is the best part.” I placed the same silver key into a door and, with a good bit of effort, slid it open.
With its thick dark wood and reinforced silver bolts, it looked like someone had ordered the door from ‘Dungeons ‘R’ Us'.
"Won't you come in?” I offered with a melodramatic flourish of my wrist.
"I'm scared.” He laughed, but he walked through the door.
To say that the dungeon was large would have been an understatement. It covered at least two thousand square feet, making it slightly larger than Alfred's lab. The first room beyond the door had shelves along the wall, but was otherwise bare, except for the continuation of the beautifully arched ceiling with its columns, and torches.
Elijah followed while I lit the torches in this room, also.
"Was this a library?” he asked.
"I'm really not sure, but I think so. That would explain the shelves anyway."
"What is this exactly? It looks like a whole apartment built under here."
"It is,” I said, leading him into the next more spacious area that must have been a bedroom.
"But why would anyone...?” He seemed at a lost for words.
"I have no idea, but wait till you see the bathroom.” I smirked.
One last door, which was a smaller version of the heavy oak, separated us from the bathroom, and I opened it with the same silver key.
"Holy shit,” Elijah laughed as we stepped inside.
"This is the only room with anything even remotely resembling modern conveniences,” I said, indicating the black marble toilet in the corner.
"Wow,” he said for the second time.
"I love this.” I walked over to the large round tub. It was set deep into the floor with what was the most beautiful collection of smooth colored rocks that I had ever seen, many of which I recognized from Richard's rock chart. There were all varieties of quartz, amethyst, citrine, rose, tourmaline, and tiger's eye. The range of color was amazing. It was also the only color in the room.
The entire bathroom was carved from a darker, almost black, smoky looking rock, but it was beautiful. Past the tub, which sat in the middle of the room, was what could be described best as an open shower. There was a drain in the floor and a shower head in the wall. That was pretty much it.
"I guess you don't need a shower curtain when everything around you is rock,” Elijah speculated as he examined the shower head.
"I guess not, but how would you explain these?"
Elijah had yet to notice the silver shackles I had indicated with my last words.
"Oh my, God.” He laughed.
I wasn't sure how to respond other than to laugh with him. Directly beside the shower, firmly affixed to the wall were two long silver shackles that, judging by their height, had been meant to restrain the wrists.
"S & M anyone?” I offered with a laugh.
"Hey, it's better than that Pear thing,” he pointed out.
"That's true, but they might chain you up in here and then use The Pear,” I suggested nastily.
Elijah shuddered. “Let's get out of here."
Once we were safely back upstairs, he said, “It's getting late, I guess I should be going."
Again, I wasn't sure what to say. I had enjoyed the evening, but Elijah had to go. The fact that I was lonely without Alfred in the house gave me no right to want him to stay.
So, I smiled and said, “I'm glad you came, I had fun."
As we walked to the front door, he asked, “What are you doing next weekend?"
"I'm seeing you."
"Really? Is that a prediction of the future?"
"No, I just figured you had something in mind or you wouldn't have asked."
The smile he gave me made his eyes sparkle and I almost giggled. You know the giggle I'm talking about. That silly, girlish giggle we all have in high school. It's the one that comes out involuntarily when the guy you think is gorgeous smiles at you. I hated it when a man could make me unleash that terrible giggle, but I managed to fight it this time.
"When's the last time you played a board game?” he asked.
Well, I wasn't expecting that.
"Why, are you board with me?” I responded.
"Wow, that was a really bad joke.” He snickered.
"Yeah, it was. But, to answer your question, it's been a long time since I played any type of game."
"Why don't we get together next Friday night? You can invite Kat, too, if you're afraid to be alone with me."
"Afraid? Of what?” I teased.
"You know, not being able to resist me and all.” He laughed.
I laughed as I replied, “Actually, I think Kat would enjoy it, but don't take my inviting her the wrong way."
"How's that?"
"I can prevent myself from molesting you if I choose to."
"Unfortunately."
After hugging Elijah goodnight, I watched as he drove away. A storm was brewing and I could smell rain in the air. Lightening flashed in the distance as the wind began to pick up, blowing stray leaves past me into the house. Somehow the prospect of going to bed alone didn't appeal to me at the moment. So, I decided to clean the kitchen instead. After all the dishes were put away, and the remaining wine placed in the fridge, I resigned myself to going to bed.
Normally, I love to sleep and getting me to go to bed has never been a problem. I had not grown accustomed to sleeping with Alfred, but I had gotten used to the idea of having him in the house. I liked knowing that he was around, even if I didn't see him. I felt safe just knowing he was there.
I hadn't expected to miss him so much. The past week hadn't been too bad, because I'd had Mathias to keep me company. But with the journal not speaking to me at the time, I had no one else to talk to. It wasn't that I had so much to say or that Alfred and I even talked that much before. I just missed having a companion. We could have breakfast together and never speak without the silence being awkward. Not because we were angry, but we could spend time together, even when we didn't have anything to say.
I had just reached the foot of the stairs when someone rang my doorbell. I froze in mid step with my hand on the banister. No one that I knew rang the doorbell, which meant that whatever was at the door might not be completely human. Why else would they avoid the door knocker? Stepping closer, I strained my ears to hear above the rumble of the thunder, listening for any clue of what was on the other side of the door.
"I know you're there. Open the door.” It was Marco's voice, but it lacked his usual smooth appeal. Something was bothering him.
I opened the door. The rain hadn't started yet, but the promise of moisture hung like a wet kiss on the wind. It seemed appropriate for him to be standing there on my front porch in his faded jeans and tight black t-shirt, his dark hair tousled by the fierce wind.
"Hello, Red.” His voice no longer lacked appeal of any kind, and neither did the rest of him.
"What are you doing here?"
"Don't believe in foreplay, do you?"
I crossed my arms in frustration as he said, “Fine, but can I at least come in?"
"I don't think that's a good idea, Marco."
"You still don't trust me.” He sighed.
"If it makes you feel any better, I don't trust myself either."
"Not really, but it does wonders for my ego.” His smile was wicked. “Are you just going to leave me out here in this weather?” He gestured at the leaves blowing past him.
"Why don't you have a seat and tell me what you're doing on my front porch.” I indicated the two white wicker chairs at the corner of the porch that were separated by a small matching table.
The ferns hanging between the columns were taking a real beating so I decided to take them down while motioning Marco in the direction of the chairs.
"Careful, Red. You're going to hurt my feelings."
"It's not your feelings that give me cause for concern,” I said, moving the ferns close to the door so they wouldn't blow away.
His laugh was a sensual, masculine sound that caused me to shiver in response.
"And what do I have that concerns you?” he asked.
Making my way back to where he sat, I replied, “Let's not go there."
"So, what did you think of the journal? Fascinating read, wasn't it?"
"Yes, but ... I have to ask, what did it say to you?"
"Well, first it told me in no uncertain terms that the journal was to come to you."
"I take that to mean you don't expect me to return it?"
"No.” He smiled. “Borrow was the wrong choice of words. He meant for it to be yours."
"What else did he say?” I prompted.
Marco grew more serious as he responded. “He said that what he would eventually share with you would never be seen by another living soul, no matter how many times they read his journal. So, I read his life's story, his day to day activities, without hint or detail of how he accomplished ... anything. But, I got to know him and you through what he said. Mathias was a good person. He was kind, but he didn't want everyone to know it.” He paused, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
"The more I get to know you, the more I realize how alike you and Mathias are. And thanks to his journal, I know him very well. I would say that he has unknowingly given me an insight into you, but I don't believe that man did anything unknowingly."
"I agree.” I turned in my chair so I could face him. “Are you saying that's how you seem to know me so well, from reading Mathias’ journal?"
"Yes. I don't think you appreciate how similar you are."
"And I think the only thing you appreciate is how powerful he was."
"What are you suggesting, Red?"
"I'm suggesting that the only reason you offered me the position of kulin is because you want to use the power that has been given to me to dominate the wolves."
He laughed, but it was a bitter and wicked sound.
"Is that what you think of me?” His voice became a growl as he continued, “I already dominate the wolves. I do not need the power of The Seducer to control my people."
"Then why?"
Marco rose from his chair and began to pace. The storm blowing around us seemed to match his mood as he stalked up and down the porch like a tiger in a cage.
"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I just like you?"
"Not really. I don't believe you like anyone enough to share your power."
"And I believe that you are overconfident in yours.” His voice rumbled like the coming thunder as his eyes faded to amber.
"Don't threaten me, Marco.” My voice was a deadly whisper that carried on the wind.
He snarled, baring his teeth slightly as a wolfish growl escaped his human throat. Somehow, I was not frightened by his threat. If anything I was irritated by it because I knew that Marco had no intention of hurting me. Everything about him promised violence, his stance, the way his muscles tensed in response to my voice, and his wild eyes. I should have been afraid of the sheer size of him compared to me, but I wasn't. Something in the way he had touched me during our last encounter let me know he wouldn't harm me. I couldn't explain it. I just knew that it was not the norm for the alpha male to nuzzle against someone's thigh.
Slowly, I rose from my chair, moving toward him, intent on making my moves as graceful as a cat as I felt that door in my mind open. That sensual switch had been flipped, and I intended to use it.
"You may huff and puff, Marco, but this storm is more likely to blow me down.” I placed my hand on his chest and he growled at me again.
His skin was not feverish beneath his thin shirt like before. The full moon had passed earlier in the week, but he was still warm and his muscles were firm beneath my touch.
"Careful, Red, you go too far."
The wind blew over us, sending Marco's scent across me like a wave.
"I don't think so.” I sighed.
His eyes slowly faded back into a chocolate brown as he responded disappointedly, “I never should have submitted to you, now I can't even manage a decent threat."
"Submitted to me?"
"Don't pretend not to know the significance of my actions.” His tone was no longer threatening, but his tense posture hadn't changed.
"I really don't,” I answered, letting the power fade from my voice. No need to pull out the big guns if no one was opening fire.
"How can you hunt something for so many years and not understand it?"
"I'm not a member of the pack, remember? I understand as best I can not being allowed on the inside."
Marco sighed as he reached for me. After the way he had just threatened me, I shouldn't have let him touch me, but I did. He placed his hands gently above my elbows, massaging the muscles of my biceps. I watched as the tension drained out of him, like pouring water from a glass.
"When I laid my head in your lap ... that was not a gesture an alpha normally makes.” He didn't make eye contact when he admitted this, which was a gesture that I knew alphas didn't normally make. You could always tell if a werewolf was dominant, based on whether or not they would meet your eyes.
"I figured as much,” I said.
He looked in my eyes as he continued, “I submitted myself to you and by the way you touched me, you accepted my submission."
I'm sure he could tell by the look on my face that I needed some clarification of the term ‘accepted'.
"That doesn't mean that you have accepted my offer to be kulin. It means that you accepted the gesture as a sign of respect."
At the time, I had been moved by Marco nuzzling against my thigh. That was why I'd stroked his hair. I felt that some response was necessary on my part, and I'd wanted to comfort him. His hands against my bare skin seemed more intimate than it should and where my palm rested against his chest, I felt his heart beat faster.
He could have torn me apart any time he wanted to and somehow that uncertainty excited me. Marco wasn't the only one attracted to power. The thought of someone submitting to me when they could just as easily have killed me was a rush. It was erotic to me in a way that I could not describe. His hands massaged when they could have destroyed and with that simple touch sent a fire through my veins.
"Don't reject me now, Red. Not when I've come to warn you."
"I wasn't planning on taking back my actions,” I said softly as I brushed my hand absently across his chest. Without realizing what I was doing, I traced the contours of his muscles beneath the thin cotton.
"A little to the left,” he whispered as he leaned in to brush against my face.
"What is?” I asked, unable to control the urge to rub my cheek against his.
I was enjoying the way his late evening stubble felt against the smoothness of my skin when he replied, “My nipple."
I pulled back to see his face and he was smiling.
"I heard about Bade,” he explained. “Bastard had it coming."
"You liked that, did you? Now, what did you say about a warning?"
Marco looked serious again as he explained. “Remember when I told you that there were members of my pack that were upset about my actions?"
"You mean your offer to me?"
"Yes.” He paused as if unsure of how to proceed. “Some of the female members are threatening to attack you in retaliation for not being allowed to compete openly for the position."
This surprised me. “But, I haven't accepted anything."
"Maybe not, but you killed the alpha female, which makes the position of kulin ... and me, yours for the taking.” Something about the way he said those last few words made the muscles low in my stomach clench in response.
"Are you telling me that you have no say in the matter?"
"Of course not, but if a female were to fight her way to the top, I'd have to have an awfully good reason to refuse her."
"How about because you don't want her?” Anger blazed in my voice.
"You are jealous of me, aren't you, Red?” he smiled.
"I'm serious, Marco. You can't honestly tell me that the wolf king has no say in who he mates with. That's ridiculous! You're the king. That should count for something."
"It does. If I'm truly opposed to the idea of mating for whatever reason, she can serve as alpha female until she is challenged and defeated. But she will not truly be kulin unless she is my mate."
"I see. Did you make up that rule to prevent ugly women from becoming queen?"
He laughed, but there was an underlying threat in his voice. “You have no idea how much you get away with, do you?"
"Apparently not."
"It's the reason many of them hate you. Even the former alpha, though she was at one time my mate, was not allowed to treat me the way that you do."
"How would any of them know how I treat you?” I sounded paranoid, even to myself.
"People are always watching, Red.” He smiled. “No one has ever been allowed to touch me.” He tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Or to put my desires on hold the way that you do."
"It's not healthy to get everything you want,” I retaliated.
He laughed softly. “I agree, but there are some things worthy of persistence."
"That's sweet, but I don't cave under pressure."
"I'm not here to pressure you, Red. I want to protect you.” There was a tenderness in his voice that I hadn't expected.
Marco wrapped his arms around me, cradling my head against his chest. I was at a loss for words. The man that I had been taught for so long was my enemy wanted to protect me. Confusion was too mild a term for what I felt. Part of me wanted nothing more than to accept his offer, even though I wasn't sure what I was being protected from. I kept thinking that there must be a reason behind his offer other than any personal feelings he might have for me, but I couldn't think of any.
Honestly, with Marco that close I couldn't think of anything. So, I let him hold me for a while as the storm raged around us. The first few drops of rain began to hit the trees with a soft hissing sound. It was almost like the wind was whispering, “Ssssshhhhh."
My voice was barely audible when I finally spoke with my face still pressed against him, “I can't accept your protection, Marco."
"Why?” He sounded hurt.
I pulled back enough to look at him.
"Because I'm not yours to protect."

Chapter Thirteen 
"Damn it,” he said hotly. “I knew you'd say that."
He pulled back, running his fingers through his dark hair in frustration. This movement only succeeded in flexing his bicep enough to distract me. I had difficulty thinking clearly when I was that close to Marco, so I took a step back.
"Is it because of who I am, or what I am, or just because you're too stubborn to admit you might need help?"
His last comment chapped my ass enough to inspire a nasty reaction.
"Did anyone tell you how I killed Julie?” My voice had a deadly edge to it, like a snake about to strike.
"No,” he answered, and wasn't able to meet my eyes.
As I continued I knew that I should stop, that I was being deliberately cruel, but I couldn't seem to help myself. “Well, I'll tell you. I flung her like a rag doll, until her bones cracked and her hair fell out in chunks.” I cracked my knuckles to emphasize my last words. “And then, when she was so broken that she couldn't move, I broke her neck."
For a moment Marco looked like he was going to be sick and I asked a question that I had no right to ask, “Did you love her?"
I could scarcely believe I had said the words out loud. It was none of my business, and it would have served me right if he'd said so. Instead, Marco met my eyes without hesitation and replied, “No, but I knew her for a long time. It's just difficult to hear."
I felt like an asshole, but saw no point in stopping there. “If you don't want to hear more stories like that, tell your bitches to back off ... or they'll be just as dead as Julie."
"If you fight them, whether you mean to or not, you are competing for me,” he pointed out.
"That's not my problem."
"Yes, it is. There are some females moving up quickly in the pack, challenging the higher ranking wolves. They will not fight fair."
"If they're fool enough to attack me, neither will I,” I growled.
"Damn it, Red, if you'd just let me help you,” he began.
"If I accept your offer, then you could protect me, is that right?"
"Yes."
I sighed, “So, that's why you came by."
"That's not the only reason.” A touch of growl was creeping back into his voice.
"I'm sorry, Marco, but that's not going to happen."
He snarled and snapped at me in a quick gesture that, though not human, its meaning was clear.
"Fuck you, too,” I said as he retreated down the front steps into the rain.
"Any time you're ready,” he growled over his shoulder.
"Wait, where's your car?” I yelled above the storm.
"At the end of the drive,” he answered without turning around.
Through flashes of lightning I watched as Marco walked down the drive, the lines of his body ridged with anger. The rain had soaked him through before he'd even reached the arch of white roses across the yard. I put my hands in my pockets to prevent reaching out to him and bit my lip to keep from calling him back. Would I have been using Marco if I'd called him back? Was it just his animal magnetism that made me take an involuntary step forward? Or was it something else? I ended up sitting on the top step, just out of the rain. If I took another step, even to try to go back in the house, I knew my feet would end up taking me to him. As he moved further down the drive, I thought of the long night ahead of me and slid to the next step.
The rain was a cold shock, like icy needles against my skin. His hips swayed as he walked and thoughts came to my mind so sexual and raw in nature, that I doubled over and crawled down the next two steps. I wanted Marco so much that it physically hurt to resist him. My clothes were soaked through by the cold rain, but I could not be cooled. A fever burned in me that had nothing to do with my power and everything to do with my desire to rip those wet jeans from his body and possess the warm flesh of the man beneath.
Steam began to rise from my body where the rain touched me, and I would not have been surprised if it sizzled. I crawled down the last few steps, gasping for breath around the longing that I felt. At last cool wet grass touched my hands and I lay face down in front of the steps. I could not allow myself to stand up. He was nearly past the curve in the driveway that would put him out of my sight. If I stood up, I would run to him.
My body seemed to have a mind of its own. I felt myself begin to crawl on my stomach across the grass. The rain hit the ground with such a violence that it splashed into my eyes, but still I moved toward him. When I reached the archway across the yard, I had a clear view of Marco as he reached the curve in the drive. He paused and for a minute I thought he would turn around. He must have been fighting the same feeling that I was. If he turned and saw me, I knew he would come back. I watched him for any sign that he was fighting as hard as I was to control himself, and for the longest time, he didn't move. If he saw me there in the grass there would be no going back. Marco wouldn't be leaving that night or maybe ever. He took a deep breath, and I watched his shoulders rise and fall before he moved those last few paces around the corner.
I rolled to my back and let the rain hit me in the face, blocked only slightly by the arch of roses. As I fought to regain control Marco's words haunted me, "You will not find an ordinary man who can satisfy you."
I'm not sure how long I lay there, trying to decide if I was disappointed or relieved that he hadn't looked back, before I began to wonder what I was going to do. The desire I had felt only moments before had been powerful. Nothing I had ever experienced compared. This was not common lust. If it were, I was not without resources. I could take care of things on my own, but I needed something that batteries could not provide. Alfred needed to hurry before I did something stupid.
* * * *
After making my way back onto the porch, I stripped and wrung out my clothes before padding barefoot back into the house. The laundry room was located at the end of the hall, past Alfred's room and the guest room. I slapped my wet clothes into the machine and found a towel to dry off with. As I traced my steps back through the house, mopping up my wet footprints, I felt like an idiot. At least Marco hadn't seen me. No damage had been done except to my own pride. No one had ever made me even remotely want to crawl before, but I couldn't stop myself from moving toward Marco. Even if someone had tied me up, I think I would have rolled to him.
Once I made my way upstairs and out of the shower for the second time, I was more than ready to sleep. When I replaced the lock of Mathias’ hair in the back of the journal, I realized that the pink stone hanging from the necklace was a rose quartz surrounded by a border of silver. If I had paid closer attention, I would have recognized the stone the first time. But, that was not important at the moment. At this point, I went to close the book, but the page that lay open had a new message:
Be careful who you love. We have the ability, through our most intimate of touches, to take on the characteristics of others. It could be some aspect of their personality, or just liking their favorite food. But you must choose wisely, for there are worse things than craving onions instead of candy. 
Often times these effects do not last. It depends upon the power of the sorcerer or sorceress, and how close they were to the individual. 
As I closed the book, I had the strong impression Mathias was trying to tell me that I could not causally take werewolves to my bed. After placing the journal on my bedside table, I turned out the light, slid between the sheets, and found sleep only a breath away.
* * * *
When I woke up the next morning, I looked at the clock to find it was only seven thirty. It chapped my ass how I could never sleep late when I had the opportunity. So, I crawled out of bed, slipped on a pair of green boxer shorts that clashed horribly with my purple t-shirt and went downstairs to make breakfast.
Mathias’ words from the night before played again through my head and I wondered exactly what he had meant by them. I was surprised that my dreams were not haunted by more perverse images, but if I'd had dreams, they were forgotten.
I had barely started the coffee when I heard a knock at the door.
"Good morning, Kat,” I yawned as I opened the door.
"Are you ok?” she took in my appearance with a glance and cringed at the neon green boxer shorts.
"It's Saturday morning and I'm awake before nine o'clock. What do you think?"
She laughed. “I think you let the Joker pick out your clothes."
"Up yours.” I started to walk away, and then turned back. “You want some breakfast?"
"Such manners.” She scolded. “I liked you better when Alfred was around."
I glared at her and she quickly added, “Ok, I won't go there."
After rummaging around briefly, I decided I was in the mood for waffles and began gathering my ingredients.
"So, how did it go with the journal? What did you find out?"
It took me a minute to answer the question. I didn't want to deliberately leave Kat out of the loop, but it seemed wrong to share with someone the information that Mathias had taken such great pains to make sure was for my eyes only.
She seemed to pick up on my hesitation. “It's alright if you can't tell me. I understand."
"It's not that I don't want to, some of it was just ... personal, about him and his life. But, I can tell you some things."
"Ok."
"Well, for one, the journal is enchanted. It says different things to different people."
"Really? I wonder what it said to Marco?"
"That's what I asked him."
"Wait, you asked him? When did you talk to him?"
"He was here last night,” I said quickly, trying to get back to the subject, but Kat would not be deterred.
"Whoa. What are you not telling me?"
"I'm getting there, just hold on.” I turned back to the fridge to look for an egg.
"Alright then, what were you saying?"
"The journal told Marco in no uncertain terms that he was supposed to give it to me. See, it was meant for me all along. So, Marco was only able to read it like a diary, telling Mathias’ day to day activities. It didn't tell about how to control his power or anything like that."
"I take it that's what he told you?"
"Yes."
"Well, I can understand you not wanting to share that. I wouldn't understand it anyway. I've never even met a wizard. So, your great, great, grandfather's name was Mathias?"
"Yeah,” I answered, pouring batter into the waffle press. “Mathias Alexander, to be exact."
"Are you going to tell the rest of your family?"
"I don't think so. At least not until I straighten things out in my own mind. From the way he talked, I think it's best if no one else knows."
"Why, are you in some kind of danger?"
"If the wrong person were to find out, possibly."
Kat told me about some new ideas for revamping her shop while I put a big golden brown waffle onto her plate.
"You know, I just come by here for the food.” She smiled.
"Yeah, I figured as much."
"Well, that and the off chance I might get to see Alfred in a bath robe again.” She laughed.
"You're sick.” I snickered, passing her the syrup.
"Most likely."
I told her how the date with Elijah had gone the night before. She listened with bated breath when I got to the part where Marco rang my doorbell.
"He just showed up on your front porch?"
"Mmhm, looking better than he had a right to, as usual."
"I know the history between you two, and I swear if it were me, I'd do things to him that would make whatever went on in your dungeon look mild in comparison."
"Don't think it hasn't occurred to me,” I drawled sarcastically.
I finished telling her about my conversation with Marco the night before, only I left out the fact that I'd crawled across the yard after him.
"I love Alfred,” she began, “I really do, but have you lost your damn mind?"
Her reaction made me laugh. “Wait till you hear what Mathias had to say about the matter."
Once I'd told Kat about Mathias’ last warning, she got up to get some more coffee with an exclaimed, “Damn."
"I know. What really sucks is he's probably right."
"How can you know for sure what he meant though? I mean, he could see the future, right? He might have been warning you about somebody that you haven't even met yet."
"That's true. You realize of course, that I've tumbled this around in my head in every way possible? I can only assume that it will become clear when it was meant to. Or maybe it's just a general warning. Either way, it certainly explains some weirdness that went on when I was dating Bradley."
Kat cringed at the sound of his name. “Ugh, not him again. What did it explain, that he's a jerk-off?"
"No, I didn't need an explanation for that. But, when I was dating him, I started to like things that he liked, things I previously didn't have an interest in. Nothing severe, I just started eating his favorite foods and reading books that he enjoyed. But it all wore off once I didn't have any more contact with him."
"Creepy,” she mumbled around her second waffle.
"You know what's sad? I didn't get anything from Peter."
"Except a broken heart,” Kat pointed out.
"Yeah, except that."
Before Kat left, she made plans to come over Friday night and spend some time with Elijah and me. She was excited to get back to her shop and put up the pictures she'd had framed since Ms. Wilson's tea party.
The remainder of my week was spent in meditation and when I wasn't meditating, I was training. My dreams, which were seemingly absent for a few nights, had returned with a vengeance. My mind had been once again filled with images of a man whose presence I knew by heart, though I'd never seen his face. I'd had a few reoccurring dreams in my life, and he was one of them. He was tall, dark, and I had no doubt that he was handsome. By dark, I don't mean his skin tone, but rather something about him. Darkness hung about his image like a cloak. Pictures of him were fleeting, as they always had been.
Aside from the tall, dark stranger, my dreams were visited by someone else. The more I closed my eyes, the clearer the face in my sketchbook became of the man with the kind eyes and blond hair. It was the opposite with him. I knew his face by heart, every line, every nuance of expression, but I had never felt his presence. I saw him speaking, but I did not hear his voice. In my dreams, I saw the rest of him, but when I awoke, only his face was clear.
Truthfully, it was his eyes that stuck with me the most. They were no ordinary brown, but the soft color of a pale honeyed tea without cream. His hair that I'd known the color of instinctively looked soft and dusty in my mind. It wasn't quite a medium shade of blond, but a silvery almost gray version of the color.
These dreams might seem strange to someone else, but to me they were a comfort. I'd had dreams about the dark stranger since I was sixteen, so having him show up was almost like a visit from an old friend. I'd told Kat about him before and she said he was just a fantasy based on my ideal. As far as the reoccurring part, we'd both speculated that my mind produced images of him when I needed comfort. It made sense. What's more comforting than a vision of some tall, dark, and handsome man?
The only problem with that theory was if it were my fantasy, there'd be more sex. What's the point of having a tall, dark stranger around if you keep him at arms length? Besides, as often as I'd dreamed of him, we weren't exactly strangers anymore. I had no doubt that should we ever meet, it wouldn't matter that I'd never seen his face. I would know him.
As for the man in my sketchbook, I hadn't told anyone about him. Looking into his eyes felt more intimate than most of the sex I'd had. I still felt like he would mean something more to me one day. But at the time, he meant a good night's sleep.
* * * *
Friday came and I'd never been so excited about playing a board game. It bothered me to admit it, but without Alfred around, I was lonely. It had never occurred to me before how isolated I was, not just by physical location, but emotionally. I spoke to Kat a few times during the week, and Elijah had called once to confirm our plans. But pretty much, if people didn't call me, I didn't call them. I didn't feel like writing. I was out of paint, and the werewolf community was keeping very quiet at the moment.
My father called early Friday morning and discussed with me briefly how my job might change in the event that the hearing went in favor of the wolves. There was a possibility that a special task force might be formed on Earth to help police the werewolf community. This would be a branch off The Hunters, and I would most likely head up the unit in my area.
I was glad to see his face and glad to have a reason to talk to someone. Once my dad had briefed me on the latest news, Alfred appeared. I truly didn't know how much I had wanted to see his face until he smiled.
For a moment, I considered telling him to come home and forget about The Hunters and my dad's spy games. I needed him. But then I came to my senses, and instead said, “Hello."
We chatted politely for a few minutes, after all, only so much could be said in front of my father. Finally, he said, “I've got something for you."
"Really? What is it?"
"Give me about an hour and check the transporter."
"Alright."
I saw my dad in the background become distracted with checking his other messages. Alfred's hologram leaned in and whispered, “How are you?"
"I'm fine,” I lied.
"No, you're not. You're giving me that face again. What's wrong?"
He kept looking over his shoulder.
"It's nothing."
My father cleared his throat and Alfred jumped.
"Come on, Lilith,” he whispered urgently, “don't screw with me, I don't have time."
"I'm lonely."
With that confession I let some of what I felt show in my eyes and Alfred whispered, "Mi manchi molto." (I miss you very much.)
"What's that?"
Alfred jumped again at the sound of my father's voice, though less forcefully. He clearly did not know what to say, so I took over.
"Alfred's been teaching me Italian,” I answered.
"Oh, that's nice. You learning how to cuss people in a new language doesn't surprise me."
I couldn't help laughing. That really was the first thing I'd learned.
"I hate to cut this short, but we've got work to do.” My dad smiled as he continued, “Relax, Lilith. In all the time we've known each other, I've never learned Italian."
And with a sarcastic smile, my dad's communication ended.
It was unclear exactly what he'd meant by that last comment, but my father was no fool. If he suspected something was going on between Alfred and me and he didn't like it, we'd have known about it by then. I felt better after hearing from them and went to make breakfast while I awaited Alfred's ‘surprise'.
After making some coffee, I decided to take a cup in the sitting room where I could watch the gathering storm through the window. I love a good storm and hurricane season was rapidly approaching. I stretched out across the couch facing the fireplace. Here I had a good view through the bay windows on either side of the large hearth. As I watched the steam rising from my coffee where it sat on the table, I felt myself drifting toward sleep again.
Sighing, I thought to myself that I might as well sleep. It was the weekend. I reached for an oblong shaped pillow and hugged it tight underneath my chin. My mind wondered in and out of consciousness as I noticed how well my golden silk pajamas matched the sofa with its startling crimson upholstery. The pillow I hugged so tightly was an off white, almost a cream. That reminded me I'd forgotten to put cream in my coffee. My thoughts continued to drift aimlessly until I heard the first drops of rain begin to fall. The wind roared, the thunder rumbled, and I got a really good nap.
* * * *
Lightning cracked like a whip in the sky. This was my wake up call several hours and a cold cup of coffee later. I stretched out catlike down the length of the sofa, pointing my toes at the height of my stretch.
I got to my feet, stumbled over to the window and took a good look around. Judging by the way the yard looked, I'd slept through a flashflood. For a second I wondered if Elijah and Kat would cancel their plans with me because of the weather. However, before I had time to pursue this thought any further, I remembered that Alfred was sending me something.
I went back upstairs to get my bedroom shoes before going down to the lab. The cold stone steps felt like ice against bare feet. I'd been stupid enough to walk on them barefoot before and I had no intention of doing so again.
On my way to get the key from its hook in the kitchen, I put my coffee cup in the sink. Maybe when I came back up, I'd try again with breakfast. The same key that opened the dungeon also unlocked Alfred's laboratory. Two copies of the key had come with the house and Alfred kept the other one. It probably wasn't the brightest idea to keep my key in the kitchen, but it wasn't as if a werewolf could pick up a solid silver key. Not without waking everyone in the house.
Alfred's lab had the same arches and pillars as the dungeon, except it was lit by large lamps which hung from the ceiling. Sometime before I had purchased the house, someone had run electricity to the lab. Entering this part of the house always felt like stepping into a bizarre science fiction novel. There were gadgets in nearly every corner that made no sense to me whatsoever, but they were interesting to look at. Three long stainless steel tables sat in the middle of the room. Along the tops of these tables were various pieces of machinery, among them microscopes, slides, and a variety of unsavory looking specimens in jars.
Alfred's desk sat at the back of the room, looking like it belonged in a mad scientist's lair. It was stainless steel like the table tops, with another strange array of contraptions which nearly covered its surface. His chair was silver with large clawed feet that gripped the stone beneath, and was upholstered in black leather. Behind the desk, there was a door which led to his private library.
There was an open shower in the far upper left corner of the room in case anyone was splashed with a dangerous chemical. In the corner opposite the shower was the transporter. Sitting in the middle of the circle of small white tiles was a black box. The box was light and I almost shook it do see what was inside, but thought better of it. Knowing Alfred, there was no telling what he had sent. It might very well be alive.
So, I carried the box over to his desk and cleared a spot among the scattered apparatus to set it down. I noticed with a smile that he still had the letter opener I'd gotten him a few years ago. It was a large silver dragon wrapped around a mountain. The actual letter opener was a sword whose hilt stuck up from the mountainside.
When I turned my attention back to the black box, I noticed a card on top and decided to read it first.
Lilith, 
I saw these and thought of you. The blades are solid silver, and they're SHARP. I really hope you read this letter before trying them on. The sheaths are leather, and should fit well to your forearms. There is a molded rubber grip that should fit across the palm of your hand. In the middle of this grip is a small indention. When pressed, this will cause the blade along the top of the sheath to extend. BE SURE TO HAVE YOUR WRISTS FLEXED DOWN WHEN YOU PRESS THIS BUTTON. I really don't want to test your regenerative qualities to see if you can re-grow a hand. I hope you enjoy your new toy. Be careful, Lil.
Yours truly, 
Alfred 
p.s. Your other blades are in the top left drawer on my desk. I hope you haven't needed them before now. I meant to tell you earlier, but there wasn't time. Sorry about that. 
To hear his warning, you'd think I was a either a total moron, or he worried about me. Since I knew my IQ to be well over one hundred and fifty, I assumed he was worried. When I slid the cover off of the box, I smiled my approval at Alfred's gift. The leather sheaths were black, sleek, and soft. They would fit easily underneath clothing if I needed to conceal them. I slipped my right hand through the straps and was impressed to find that the sheath was the exact length of my forearm from wrist to elbow. The rubber grip he had mentioned fit perfectly in the palm of my hand, and I could feel the indention with the tip of my middle finger. Careful to flex my wrist downward, I pressed the button and jumped as the thin blade extended from the sheath with an intimidating slicing noise.
"Wow,” I breathed, as I turned the blade to the light.
I could see myself reflected in its perfect shiny surface. A second press to the palm caused the blade to retract. I slipped the sheath back off, placed it beside its twin in the box and scribbled a hasty note to Alfred thanking him for his thoughtfulness. Of course, I was careful not to say more than that in case my father picked up the note first.
After sending the letter to my father's office, I quickly climbed the stairs and dashed to my bedroom. I was eager to see how the blades would work with one of my cat-suits, so I went to the wardrobe in search of them. I have a large walk-in closet that connects to the upstairs bathroom. This was where all of my normal clothes were stored. However, I special ordered my leather cat-suits from a seamstress on Terra, and I stored them in a large antique wardrobe that sits in my bedroom. At the bottom of the wardrobe are two drawers where I normally stored all of my blades.
Alfred was forever trying to get me to carry more guns, but I preferred to be up close personal with a blade. The way I saw it, if someone was attacking me, it was damn sure personal. I wanted to see the faces of my enemies when they realized that they'd made a mistake. I also ordered the bodysuits in vinyl and spandex, though it was leather that I wore to hunt. Leather offered more protection, but I liked the way I looked in the vinyl.
After fishing around in the wardrobe for a few minutes, I retrieved a black spandex cat-suit. I normally wore spandex for training purposes only, since it was a cooler fabric, but I wouldn't dare wear it out in public. Anyone wearing spandex and hunting werewolves is just asking for superhero jokes to be made. Some of the suits had a slightly different style, and I liked the zipper on that one. The zipper ran up my left side over my breast, and up the side of my throat, finishing in a mock collar.
I rolled back the sleeves and placed the sheaths over my forearms. After adjusting the blades for a more comfortable fit, I decided against wearing boots, opting instead to practice barefoot.
As I walked into the training room, I passed the full length mirror near the door, paused and looked again. My first thought had been that maybe I should reconsider wearing spandex in public. I extended the blades simultaneously and found I looked deadly. The blades let you know that this was no petting zoo, and you'd better keep your distance.
Having the blades attached to my arms left me free to do a wider range of movements. I found that I could slice, stab, and chop almost simultaneously. I had gotten used to the feel of the large machete I normally carried. These would take some getting used to, but I liked them. Being able to retract the blades at a moments notice also allowed me to move more quickly, without having to worry about replacing them to a holster.
What I lacked in finesse at the time, I made up for in ferocity. It would take some practice to develop my skill with the new blades, but I was no stranger to an edged weapon.
Several hours passed. The rain was still coming down outside, and I'd sweated until I looked as if I'd been caught in it. I deliberately didn't keep a clock in the training room. If I had a clock I'd only talk myself out of working harder, thinking that I had somewhere else to be. However, without Alfred to come and get me at a particular time, I could easily waste hours in that room.
What I used as a training room had once been a large formal dining room. But, it was perfect for my purposes. It had a cathedral ceiling, and like the room beside it, three floor to ceiling windows that faced the rainy afternoon outside. The windows, like the one in my bedroom, arched gracefully near the top, except in this room, they were draped in a sheer white fabric.
The windows were separated only by a narrow strip of wall in this room, but in the next, there was a door between the second and third window. This door led onto a small balcony which nearly touched the ground, but gave a beautiful view of the woods.
The room next door was another reason I'd wanted the house. It was a ball room, with a large grand piano that sat off in one corner. Sadly, it was never used. It remained bare of furniture and I kept the beautifully polished wood floor dusted, but no one ever danced in it, even me. I'd thought about dancing in that room, but Alfred didn't dance and it seemed a tragedy to dance alone in such a room. So, I kept it clean and let it be.
My exhaustion helped me to realize how much time had passed. I retracted the blades one final time, and made my way back through the house to the kitchen. According to the clock, it was three thirty, and I still hadn't eaten. After opening the box, I'd forgotten all about breakfast, but my stomach reminded me that it hadn't.
Nausea nearly overpowered me and I cursed myself for not remembering the last time this had happened to me. I sat at the table for a few minutes, still breathing hard from my workout and tried to focus on something besides the flips my stomach was doing.
That's one thing werewolves and I have in common, we both have to eat. Their extremely fast metabolism means that they have to consume food at least three times a day. It's a very rare thing to see an overweight werewolf. Only compulsive eaters could manage that feat.
Werewolves are also practically immune to aging due to the constant regeneration of their physical tissue, and are completely immune to physical disease. Lycanthropy actually lengthens the life spans of those infected. Marco, for example, who was already of Terran descent and then infected with lycanthropy could expect to live a very long time.
That was something else that had been bothering me lately. My life was already most likely extended as his had been, even though I had not contracted the disease. On top of that, to find out I had a wizard in my family meant I could possibly live to be a thousand years old ... or more.
I wasn't sure I liked the idea of living that long. In theory it sounded good, but I didn't want to end up like Mathias, watching everything I love fade before my eyes. People admired wizards, but their lives were often times a sad existence.
My line of thinking had only succeeded in making me feel worse. I rushed to the half bath underneath the stairs to throw up. After I spent several minutes ‘worshiping the porcelain god’ I decided to make my way back to the kitchen.
Normally, throwing up makes you feel better, but I think it had only made me worse. I rummaged around in the fridge until I found something carbonated then took a slice of bread down from the cupboard and forced myself to eat it. I needed something heavy enough to soak up the acidity of my empty stomach and bread normally did the trick. The soft drink was mostly just to help get the nasty taste out of my mouth.
About twenty minutes and three slices of bread later, I felt better. One glance at the clock told me Elijah and Kat should be there within the hour, and I was still sweaty and unwashed.
I went upstairs as quickly as possible, but careful not to move too fast just in case I got sick again. After peeling off the sweaty spandex and placing the new blades in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe, I padded gratefully to the shower.

Chapter Fourteen 
After a quick shower I walked, still damp and naked through the bathroom to the closet and quickly selected a pair of well fitted jeans and a soft lilac t-shirt. The jeans had been too tight only a month ago, and I noted with some satisfaction that they were now a perfect fit.
If I had wanted to I could have worn them before, but they pinched just a little at the top of my hips. I preferred to wear low rise jeans, and have been known to occasionally buy men's jeans to avoid the extra fabric some designers seem to think women need around the thighs. That only succeeded in making my butt look baggy. If I ever did gain a few pounds, I tended to carry them in my stomach and upper hips, not in my butt or thighs.
My backside wasn't flat by any means. I was just blessed with good genetics. My father had never worked out a day in his life and had the muscle tone of a much younger man who spent hours in the gym. On the other hand, since women naturally have more body fat, I did need to work out, at least in my opinion. However, I could go longer between periods of regular exercise without losing muscle tone.
Still, I stood in front of the mirror, twisting and turning this way and that to make sure I didn't have any unsightly bulges anywhere I shouldn't. Kat and Richard had both told me that I was way too self conscious. They were probably right, but it's better to be safe than sorry. I didn't want people to see me out in public and think that I didn't own a mirror.
Once I walked back into the bedroom the clock said I had exactly fifteen minutes to find a bra that looked good underneath the tight shirt and dry my hair. Deciding that damp hair was not a tragedy, and showing off my nipples to Kat and Elijah would be, I went for the bra first.
My breasts are too large to go braless. But, even if I were a B cup instead of a D, I think I'd still want to wear a bra. It was bad enough I didn't wear underwear most of the time, but there was no need to look slutty.
So, I rummaged quickly through the chest of drawers that held my lingerie and pajamas and soon came across a pale lilac bra made of silk and lace. I had a penchant for lingerie, but it had to fit well. No sense buying something that wasn't functional and if it happened to match, all the better.
I had just pulled my shirt up around my neck in order to slip on the bra when I heard a knock at the door downstairs. A quick glance out the window told me it was Kat, and she was early.
Pulling my shirt down as I went, I dashed down the stairs and let her in.
"You're early,” I panted.
"And you're not ready. Big surprise.” She smiled.
"Shut up, Kat."
"Well, you've got about ten minutes before Mr. Blue Eyes shows up with the game.” She yelled at my retreating backside, “I'd hurry if I were you."
In the middle of a frantic attempt to dry my hair, Kat made her way into my bedroom. She walked over and plopped down among my plethora of pillows and blurted, “Guess what?"
"What?” I turned slightly so I could see her face.
"I've met someone.” She smiled.
"Really?” That got my attention. “Do tell?"
"He's gorgeous,” she practically drooled.
"What's he like, and when did this happen?"
"He came in the shop a few days ago. As far as his personality, I have no idea, our first date is tomorrow. But, I can tell you about his ass.” She giggled.
"Got a good look at that did you? What's the rest of him look like?” I teased, turning my head every which way to get the roots of my hair dry.
"His name is Charles Xander. He's got short auburn hair, gorgeous green eyes, and an ass that could stop traffic."
I whistled. “That's a tall order for one man. Auburn hair, huh?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Admit it, you have lesbian fantasies about me,” I teased.
Kat rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, woman of my dreams. I've got a weakness for redheads.” She laughed.
"So, what was he looking for?"
"He came in just after I put up the pictures of the tea party, said he was looking for some nice picture frames. Why?"
"Oh, I was just wondering. Since you say that only gay men know how to decorate properly, I wanted to know if he asked for decorating advice, or just picked it all out himself."
"He asked for advice,” she said smugly. “That's how we struck up a conversation. Besides, I can tell if a man is gay or not."
"You're so full of crap.” I laughed as I put on my makeup.
"Maybe, but I've got a hot date tomorrow night.” She stuck out her tongue.
"Oh, that's nice. Real mature.” I smirked.
"It's not my fault you move too slow,” she taunted.
"I don't move slow.” I ran some putty through my hair. “I just think you should be sure he understands the baking directions before you give the cookie away."
"Bitch.” She tossed a pillow at me.
"Slut,” I threw it back.
Kat paused in mid throw. We had both heard a knock at the door.
As I started downstairs she said, “Why don't you just pick one?"
"It's not that easy, Kat."
"Sure it is. They're all hot. You put their names in a hat and just pick one."
I glared at her over my shoulder.
"Or,” she continued, “you could just have them line up and drop their drawers."
I laughed so hard I nearly fell down the last few steps. When I answered the door, my eyes were glazed with tears and at first Elijah mistook my expression.
"What's wrong?” he asked immediately.
"Nothing.” I wiped my eyes.
"We were just joking around,” Kat answered.
"Oh, I just thought you were that glad to see me.” He laughed.
We sat up the game around the coffee table in the sitting room and decided to order pizza. Of course, we couldn't find anyone who delivered to the middle of nowhere, so Kat offered to go and pick it up.
"I'll be right back. You two behave.” She winked at me on her way out the door.
Elijah laughed. “What was that all about?"
"She thinks I need to get laid,” I said simply.
"Well, I'd be glad to help you out with that.” He smiled.
As I looked into his deep blue eyes, I almost agreed. Elijah had the kind of eyes that you could lose yourself in and if I looked long enough, I'd be agreeable to most anything. I wasn't sure how to answer him. Fortunately, he spoke first.
"Before I forget to tell you, I'm going to be out of town for a few weeks, starting next weekend."
"Ok.” I wasn't sure what else to say. He wasn't my boyfriend so technically he didn't owe me an explanation if he wanted to leave town. But, it was sweet of him to mention it.
"My mom's birthday is coming up, and I thought I'd visit a few other relatives while I'm there."
"That sounds nice."
I smiled, but I was wondering what I would do on the weekends with Elijah out of town. Honestly, it wasn't fair of me to use him that way, but I liked having him around. Plus, he understood the way things were with Alfred and seemed to be alright with the idea of just hanging out. I shuddered to think what Marco might try if he knew I was alone. The problem was, it wasn't a bad kind of shudder.
While Kat was gone, we fished some plates down from the cabinets. Alfred refused to use paper plates, ever. So, that meant I'd be washing dishes again. I hated washing dishes, but I didn't want to give up any of the cabinet space to put in a dishwasher.
Kat got back quicker than I'd expected, but I wasn't complaining. It was difficult to be alone with Elijah and not flirt more than I should. Men should not be allowed to have such a charming smile. His smile made me want to get personal, to tell him all about myself. Confessing all of my sins up front just wasn't my style. But, I wanted to talk to him, to share things with him, every time he smiled.
The evening passed quickly, and before long it was eleven o'clock. Kat left first, saying that she needed her beauty rest for her date with Charles. When Elijah left a few minutes later, I walked him to the door.
What I wanted to do was hug him and say how much I was going to miss him. Even though that was true, I thought it would be cruel under the circumstances. Instead I said, “I hope you have a good trip,” which sounded cold, even to my own ears.
"I'll miss you,” he said.
The smile slipped from his face, but his eyes held a kindness that melted my heart. I put my arms around him as I sighed. “I'll miss you, too."
When he didn't try to kiss me goodnight, I was filled with a mixture of relief and disappointment. I didn't want Elijah the way I wanted Marco. What I felt was a different sort of attraction, but it was there. He looked back from where he stood at the bottom step and smiled at me. In that moment, I knew I wanted to please him. That smile was addictive and might well have been the undoing of many an innocent young girl.
I watched as his tail lights retreated down my driveway before going back inside.
* * * *
The next few weeks passed quickly and I tried desperately not to be lonely. But, with Elijah and Alfred out of town, and Kat completely infatuated with Charles Xander, I was left with few options. Occupying myself had never been a problem and I wasn't sure why it was then. I could always find something to do. Maybe I was avoiding my own thoughts. But I had been left with little to do except think. One can only train so much, and my roses didn't need any more pruning. Besides that, I couldn't think of anything that I wanted to paint at the moment and I still didn't want to write for the same reason I hadn't picked up my sketchbook in a while. I was afraid of what I might put on the paper.
* * * *
Another week, and lo and behold, hurricane season was upon us in full swing. Elijah was back in town, but he had to work for the next two weekends in order to make up for the time he'd taken off. Kat called and we talked often, but she hadn't stopped by since her ‘hot date’ with Charles. I hadn't gotten all of the details yet, but I intended to pry them out of her.
By this time, I was tired of staying at home. I'd already rented every movie that even remotely interested me, including a few chick flicks which was completely out of character. Me watching a romantic comedy was like getting most people to go to the dentist. Once a year was quite enough.
Against my better judgment, and probably Mathias’ if I'd bothered to see what he thought, I decided to go to club Red. It wasn't the brightest idea in the world to be on the road with a hurricane on the way, but I rationalized that I was at least driving away from the storm.
Hurricane Alistair had just made its way into the Gulf of Mexico and could take a turn for the coast of Texas, or the panhandle of Florida. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was just the thought of seeing Marco's reaction, but I decided to wear something particularly provocative. As Kat would say, I felt like letting my freak flag fly. I decided on a long, low fitting black skirt with nearly hip high slits. There were contoured silver PVC sections along the top which reflected the light. The matching top was just as wild. It was made of a stretchy material with detachable sleeves. These sleeves were held in place by reflective suspenders with metal garters. One wide silver PVC stripe across the top of each shoulder matched the skirt nicely.
There was a strip of flesh visible from the top of my shoulder to just above my elbow. The only material on that part of my arms was the suspenders. It looked as if I had attached a pair of long, old fashioned black gloves to my sleeves. To complete this ensemble, I added a pair of platform boots with five large buckles up the side. I laughed as I thought what Kat's reaction might have been. This went beyond vendetta. The last addition to my outfit was a pair of boy short style black lace underwear. If I did have to kick someone's ass that night, I saw no sense in flashing whoever might be around.
I left through the sunroom out back past the kitchen. Most people call those glass covered areas a Florida room. But, seeing as how the house was in Florida, technically they were all Florida rooms. Point being, the term just sounded stupid to me, so I called it a sunroom.
I'd finished taping up all the windows and closing the shutters earlier in the day. There was really nothing left for me to do except sit around, and that did not appeal to me. As I made my way to the detached garage behind the house I noticed the sky. It looked dark and sinister with the promise of violence. Although it was evening, you could still see the rolling clouds through flashes of lightning.
This was definitely one of the dumbest things I'd done in a long time. I couldn't really explain what had made me want to go to the club that night, even to myself. I was a disgrace to The Hunters, deliberately cavorting with werewolves. I could never let it be known that I'd had so many opportunities to kill Marco and I'd never even scratched him. Of course killing him at that point would have meant facing the wrath of the Wizard Council, which was something I didn't want to do. Still, I had no business in my line of work going to hang out at his club. As I got into the car I thought of how Alfred would react if he knew and felt guilty, but not enough to stay at home.
It was already evening and I didn't bring an overnight bag. I was planning to drive back in the wee hours of the morning. The drive there wasn't so bad. Eventually, I turned off the radio and took a CD down from my visor. Weather reports only reminded me how stupid I was for being on the road. Of course, I wasn't the only one. Hurricane Alistair was a category four storm and many low lying areas and beach fronts were being evacuated. And there I was like a crack addict off to get my fix.
Since our last conversation, I had given some thought to what Marco had said. I had been a little more cautious just in case someone tried to attack me, but there was no sign yet of jealous female werewolves.
As far as the rest of our conversation, I still couldn't go there. To say no outright would cut off our strange relationship. But to say yes would mean more consequences than I wanted to face. My father would most likely disown me. If it came down to that, Marco would have to understand. I wouldn't give up my father for any man.
* * * *
When I pulled into the parking lot a few hours later I noticed there were fewer cars than usual, and no waiting line out front. Don't get me wrong, there were still people out, just significantly less than usual.
As I approached the door I noticed Marco coming toward me. He was wearing the same black leather pants he'd worn the first time I'd seen him at the club. The matching shirt stretched revealingly over every line and curve of his impressive physique.
"I didn't expect to see you out tonight, Red."
"Admit it, you're glad to see me,” I teased.
"Always.” He flashed me that wolfish grin and my heart wasn't the only thing that fluttered.
Marco looked me up and down and I could have sworn I heard him growl. The sound was soft, barely audible, but it was there. The urge to tackle him in the parking lot nearly overpowered me. The magnitude of my stupidity really began to sink in. What did I think would happen when I saw him? The last time I'd been around Marco I'd crawled on my stomach through the rain just to watch him walk away.
His approving smile at my appearance was all I'd hoped for.
"I hate to disappoint you, Red, but we closed early tonight.” Lightning cracked over our heads as he finished. “Because of the weather."
"Then who are all these people?” I gestured at the cars in the parking lot.
"Part of the pack is having a hurricane party."
I looked at him skeptically. “If you wanted me to leave, all you had to do was say so."
"You're welcome to join us.” He reached for me, but I stepped back.
"No thanks. I don't belong here. I shouldn't have come."
As I turned to leave he stepped closer to me, stopping just short of physical contact.
"But still you're here."
"Not for long.” I kept walking.
"Wait,” he called.
When Marco caught up with me, I was already at my car.
"Look, I'm sorry if I was rude ... I don't deal well with rejection."
For some reason I was angry with him. I'm not sure what I expected, showing up like that with a hurricane on the way, but it wasn't this. I hadn't come to argue.
"I didn't come here to discuss your personal problems, Marco."
"Then why did you come?"
I wasn't sure what to say, so I told the truth, “I don't know."
"Damn it, Red. Can't you admit you just wanted to see me?"
Without a word, I reached for the car door and he stopped me, placing his hand on my wrist.
"I can't let you leave in this weather."
I just looked at him blankly.
"Haven't you heard? Alistair's just hit the coast of Florida. It will be here by morning."
No, I hadn't heard. Maybe I shouldn't have turned off the radio.
"So, what am I supposed to do, get a hotel room?"
"Why don't you stay with me?” It wasn't a question.
"You expect me to spend the night in a club full of drunken werewolves?"
"And most of tomorrow.” He smiled. “At least until the storm passes over."
"Shit,” I said with feeling.
"Come on, Red. I'm the only one who bites, and I'll be on my best behavior."
I couldn't help laughing at the wicked grin on his face at just the mention of biting me.
"You're a bastard."
Marco turned me to face him by the wrist that he still held.
"Come on,” he repeated. “The weather's getting worse."
He was right, but I dug my heels into the gravel, forcing him to drag me a few steps.
"Don't be like this.” He stopped and turned back to me.
"But you said that some of your pack hated me.” I gestured at my tight clothes. “There's obviously no concealed weapons here. I'm not prepared to take on,” I glanced around again, counting cars, “fifty or so angry werewolves."
"Not all of the pack is here,” he said reasonably. “Besides, the ones who don't like you don't often come to the club."
He tried to walk to the door again and I snatched my wrist loose.
"But, I don't belong at a small, intimate gathering with your pack."
Marco took a step closer to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. He was warm and his touch burned into me, but the full moon was still over a week away.
"You belong wherever I am,” he spoke softly and his rough sexy voice raised the fine hairs on my arms.
After a few moments he seemed to take my silence as an agreement to stay.
"Besides, Luther's here.” He smiled.
I had to admit it would be nice to have a chance to catch up with Luther. I wondered what he'd been doing for the last ten years. Besides being a werewolf, I wanted to know what else had changed about the boy I used to know.
Marco opened the door for me and I stepped inside. The music thumped as usual to a variety of songs with sexual overtones. In place of the normal flashes of strobe lights, the building was lit by large hurricane lanterns. I licked my lips as I watched the horde of werewolves gyrating on the dance floor. Though I'd never known any lycans on a personal level before, I'd begun to notice that they were a touchy feely group. They didn't grope people. They just seemed to like to brush against them.
Before I could join them, Luther danced over holding two large drinks. He was wearing solid white. The tight vinyl pants were flattering to his long legs. The matching shirt looked like a white version of the one that Marco wore. It hugged his every curve. Yes, Luther was hot, but when he smiled at me I still saw my childhood friend behind those icy blue eyes. His long white blond hair was braided neatly down his back, strongly resembling a whip.
"Would the lady care for a drink?” he asked.
I took the glass he offered with a smile.
"That's a hurricane,” he explained needlessly. “But, be careful, it's really just a lot of rum and a little food coloring.” He winked.
I pushed the pineapple and orange slices from the rim down into the glass and stirred them around before eating the pineapple. After I took a sip he asked, “Would you like to dance?"
Before I could accept, he turned to Marco, “With your permission,” he added.
Marco nodded with a smile, but I was confused. It must have shown because Marco then explained, “Since I've asked you to be my mate, a lesser wolf must ask permission to dance with you before I do."
I didn't like being treated like a piece of meat. But, to have pointed that out would have undermined Marco's authority. Since I was in a room filled with his loyal supporters, that wouldn't have been a good thing. Luther didn't seem to take offense at being called a lesser wolf, and since it looked as if I would have to stay the night I just wanted to keep the peace. I offered Luther my hand with a smile and he led me onto the floor.
Club Red's first floor is a huge open room with tables scattered around the walls. The dance floor is slightly lower than the rest. Two steps down and you were there. The wolves moved in close around us, but honestly didn't seem to care about me being there. The dance floor was just that full.
As we moved, nearly elbow to elbow with the rest of the wolf pack, there were moments when I started to think of Luther as more than just a friend. Every time I found myself watching the way his hips flexed when he moved, he would speak to me and ruin the illusion. He was gorgeous, but he was still just Luther.
Luther and I had worked up a good sweat by the time we made our way back to where we'd left our drinks.
"So, are you staying the night?” he asked.
"It looks that way.” I gulped down nearly half of my drink and was prepared for him to comment further on the prospect of me staying with Marco. However, he made no assumptions.
"Good, maybe we can catch up some."
Luther sat down at a table near the door and asked, “Where's your friend?"
"She didn't come.” I didn't feel like explaining that I had no idea where Kat was and felt slightly miffed about being abandoned for that Charles fellow.
During the next hour or so, I found out that Luther was divorced. Actually, his ex-wife was the one who'd attacked and turned him. He'd accidentally killed her in the struggle.
"That was when I met Marco. He took me under his wing, showed me the ropes."
"So, you think he's a nice guy?” I asked.
Luther looked very serious as he replied, “Lilith, that man kept me from killing myself.” Luther's expression said clearly that he would not tolerate me bad mouthing Marco.
"When I first met Marco, he was a Hunter,” I explained. “The next thing I know, he's the enemy. And now ... I don't know what he is."
His expression softened. “I understand."
Just then, the DJ had finally had too much to drink and began to play oldies. People began backing off the dance floor, some with a mumbled, “What the hell?” But, one of our favorite songs started to play, Luther and I both laughed and ran to the floor. We proceeded to pull off a combination of some really terrible disco moves and head banging. Ok, so maybe neither one of us had grown up completely. Who cared? It was fun.
As I saw Marco coming back downstairs the power went out. A collective howl rose from the crowd and someone yelled, “Party!” It was the drunk DJ who then stumbled and fell from behind the platform he was on. I didn't even want to know how much alcohol it took to get a werewolf that drunk and stupid.
"That's gonna leave a mark,” Marco said from behind me and I jumped.
The lights flickered back on and he smiled. “Why don't we go upstairs?"
Luther took that as his cue and quickly excused himself to help the drunken werewolf with a murmured, “Vodka is a many splendored thing."
"Aren't you supposed to go to the lowest level of a building during a storm like this?"
"This building is very well reinforced and has been through several hurricanes,” he said. “Besides, I want to get a bath before the power goes out completely."
"Where are you going to take a bath, standing on the fire escape in the rain?” I asked sarcastically.
"That sounds like fun,” he drawled. “But why don't we go to my apartment?” again, he didn't exactly ask a question.
"You have an apartment upstairs?"
"Right this way."
Marco led me up the stairs, placing his hand gently in the curve of my back. It was a subtle, but possessive gesture. The touch was intimate without being sexual, and that was what I liked about it.
I followed him through the same red door we'd gone through before and into the second red door that led to his office. He walked over to the bookshelves behind his desk and turned to the one along the left wall.
"You know, no one else knows how to get into my apartment."
"Then why are you showing me?"
He gave me that grin again that made me glad I wasn't a sheep.
"Just in case you ever want to come back."
I watched as he lifted a copy of Call of the Wild from the shelf and pressed an indention in the wood behind it. The bookcase slid to one side to reveal a staircase.
He motioned for me to go first, and I did so warily. When we reached the first step, I turned back. “But if no one knows how to get here.... “ I broke off.
"Exactly.” He pressed another indention near the staircase. The wall began to close as he let loose an evil laugh that would have made any super villain proud. Marco laughed again at the look on my face, “Relax, I'm not going to hurt you.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Besides, if I had any intention of abusing you, I wouldn't have taken you up here in front of everybody."
"But you're their alpha. Won't they go along with whatever you say?"
He sighed wearily. “I seriously doubt that Luther would stand by and let me harm you."
I held my ground and didn't move another step.
Marco sighed again as he said, “Would you prefer to stay downstairs?"
I thought it over for a minute before answering, “No."
"Then follow me."
The top of the staircase opened directly into Marco's living room. It was a large loft style apartment covering nearly the entire space with one expansive room. There was a half wall divider that separated the kitchen and a massive dungeon style door at the far end.
The walls had been torn away to display the faded reddish brown brick beneath. The floor was made of old wooden planks that looked well taken care of. I had only seen windows like his in pictures before. They were made of wrought iron and consisted of at least fifty small square panes each. The glass was double paned, but had been taped over because of the storm, just in case. The color scheme matched that of his office. The windows were adorned with lush red, expensive looking drapes, each with a large golden cord to pull them shut. Tall iron candle holders were scattered about including a few candelabras, all holding soft cream colored candles. A fireplace stood near the entrance along the same wall as the hearth in his office. This one was not marble, but was made of the same brick as the walls. In front of the fireplace was an empty patch of floor that needed a rug.
The room was divided by the placement of the furniture into three areas. The space near the fireplace had a long, dark leather sofa draped with a cream blanket that looked to be made of fur. Matching cream colored pillows were thrown at odd angles across the leather. In place of a matching chair, there was a massive scattering of faded red and gold pillows. This tied in with the piece along the mantle. There, a faded red peapod shaped basket with black iron accents held a collection of cream, brown, and gold décor balls. Beside this lay several boughs of crooked willow dyed a deep crimson, and layered with pussy willow.
In the far left corner stood a lamp that looked like an odd flower curving over a tan suede chair and ottoman. Like the one downstairs, this chair had a crimson blanket thrown over one arm and draping over part of the floor. With its back turned to the fireplace and the small reading area, sat a blood red love seat with faded gold, almost bronze colored pillows. This area in particular drew my attention, for on the wall in a large space between the windows hung an enormous painting of me.
I stood so that only my back and the left side of my face were visible. To my chest I clutched a long crimson piece of material which seemed to flow over the canvas. It draped around me so that my entire back could be seen, stopping just short of indecent exposure. My head was tilted slightly downward as if I were in the process of turning back to someone who stood behind me. The painting was so life like that I expected to see myself finish that turn at any moment. A tall ornately carved candle holder stood on either side and I was tempted to light them, just to see how the painting looked with the soft illumination.
"Do you like it?"
Marco's voice brought me from my reverie and I noticed that I was standing only a few feet from the painting. Glancing back, I thought it was a miracle I hadn't tripped over the coffee table. I turned back to the painting and reached out with trembling fingers to touch the massive gold frame that held it.
"It's beautiful,” I breathed.
Part of my hair was swept down and part upward, giving my image a slightly disheveled look. But the beauty in the painting was timeless. She had the same ethereal glow that I'd glimpsed through Alfred's eyes, and a presence that made you want to fall to your knees.
"This can't be me,” I whispered.
"Of course it is,” Marco answered gently from behind me.
"But, I don't look like this,” I said in awe.
"Don't you own a mirror?"
"Yes ... but this is not what I see."
"You should look more closely,” Marco whispered his rough voice close to my ear.
"I never knew you were an artist."
"I'm not,” he confided.
"But ... how?"
"Mathias. He told me where to find the canvas and what paints to buy. He said that if I would use this canvas, it would show me the deepest ... most intimate desires of my heart."
I turned to face Marco and found him only a breath away. He looked blurry and I realized that I'd been crying. I was moved beyond words.
"What did you expect?” he smiled gently. “A plan for world domination?"
I smiled weakly and tried to control my urge to embrace him. I didn't love Marco, but I was really beginning to like him.

Chapter Fifteen 
Lightning split the sky and I was suddenly aware of the viciously howling wind.
"We should hurry on that shower,” he pointed out.
"We?"
Marco laughed, “I didn't mean together. Although, I'm not opposed to the idea, if you prefer."
I glared at him.
"Or, maybe not,” he added.
I followed Marco to the dungeon looking door at the far end of the loft. He swung the door open to his bedroom. My attention was immediately drawn to the gigantic four poster bed in the middle of the room. It had to be larger than a king.
The floor around the bed was slightly raised, so that it took two steps up to reach the mattress. The comforter was a magnificent scarlet embroidered with thousands of delicate gold vines. The bed was filled with pillows of all shapes and sizes in a mixture of red and gold. The massive canopy that hung over the bed was the same beautiful scarlet trimmed in gold. The bed curtains had been pulled back and tied to each of the four corners of the bed by large golden ropes.
There was another bookshelf to the right of the bed and another door that I assumed led to his closet. When I looked to the left, I paused. Standing in the left hand corner of Marco's bedroom was a beautiful gilded cage. There was a swing inside that looked as if it were waiting for some massive bird to perch atop it.
"You have a cage in your bedroom?"
"It's just for looks,” he shrugged.
"I don't want to know,” I said quickly.
Hearing about Marco's sexual perversions was not the best choice of subject for me.
"Where's the bathroom?"
"This way.” He motioned to the open door on the wall, past the cage.
Marco's bathroom was beautiful.
"I'm impressed.” I smiled. “Most men don't appreciate a tub like this."
With my last words, I walked over to the large tub that sat in the middle of the room. Like the bed, it was elevated slightly. The tub looked to be made of black marble, which matched the counter top of the double vanity to the left. In place of one long mirror above the sinks, there were two mirrors, oval shaped and ornately framed in a dark, almost black wood. The cabinets underneath the sinks, as well as the linen closet along the wall were stained a deep mahogany.
Above the tub was a circular rod which held a beautiful red curtain. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was silk and embroidered with many leaves and vines. Against the back wall was a walk-in shower that matched the same honey colored ceramic tiles of the floor.
"It's not my business, but how do you afford all of this?"
"Well, I was a Hunter for about a year before my attack, which as you know is good money.” Marco leaned against the door frame as he continued, “I saved, invested and bought this building that has turned into a very successful club. Besides, all of this wasn't done at once. The bathroom was only just completed this past winter."
"When did you open the club?"
"About four years ago."
"How come I'd never heard of it?"
"You just didn't come to the right part of town.” He smiled.
I sat on the rim of the tub and began removing my boots.
"Are you gonna watch?"
The grin he gave me made me wish I hadn't asked.
"Never mind.” I sighed. “Forget I asked."
"Just inside the shower, there's a little space where you can get undressed before stepping under the water,” he informed me.
I looked in the shower and found what looked like a walk-in closet covered with tile. Beside the entrance there was a seat built into the wall. I started to slide my skirt down when a thought occurred to me.
"Are you going to stay in here?"
"If you'll hand me your clothes, I'll see that they're washed."
That got my attention. I leaned around to look at him and found the same wolfish grin as before.
"You expect me to hand over my clothes?"
"Yes.” He smiled and stretched out his hand.
I glared at him.
"And then I'm going to light the candles.” He sighed. “And I'll keep my distance, but I'm not leaving the room."
"What am I supposed to wear?"
"I'll find you something.” He grinned.
My glare grew more fierce.
"Something decent,” he added.
"Fine, but how will I know where you are?"
"I'll sit in a chair beside the door."
"Talk to me,” I said, handing him my skirt.
I retreated back around the corner, stripped as quickly as possible and flung my clothes out the door in Marco's general direction. As I moved quickly behind the half wall that separated the little seat from the shower, I heard him laugh softly.
"Don't use all the hot water, Red."
After a minute or so of adjusting the water I heard the distinct sound of a zipper and a belt being unbuckled.
"Marco,” I said, almost frantically.
"Yes?"
He did sound as if he was near the door and my heart slowed down just a little.
"You're not talking."
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know ... What did you do after you were a Hunter?"
"I was a shepherd."
"Alright smartass, you pick the subject. But keep talking. I want to know where you are."
He sighed. “Alright ... the tub."
"Yeah?"
"Well, you mentioned most guys not liking a tub that big. It's not that I'm a prima donna or anything. Shapeshifting can sometimes be a messy business."
"Gross."
"Hey, you said to pick a subject."
I opened a bottle of shampoo and breathed in Marco's scent. Normally it would have aroused me, but tonight it was a comfort.
"I've got a subject. You said before that once in a great while a wolf is born with powers like mine. When was the last time something like that happened?"
"I honestly don't know. It's so rare that it's only a legend really. For all I know, you may be the first. There's no proof otherwise."
After taking a few minutes to try to digest this information I heard Marco yell from the bedroom, “Silk or satin?"
"Silk,” I answered without thinking.
I heard the chair move slightly and assumed he'd sat back down before I thought to add, “Marco, leave the bra out, will you?"
"Sure, but why?"
"I rarely sleep without one. I don't want to wake up one morning with my breasts around my waist."
He laughed and it made me smile.
"Red?"
"Yes?"
"There's something I want to ask you. Now that you've seen the painting ... Are you afraid of me?"
"No,” I answered as I turned off the water.
Most people might have been frightened to know that their long time enemy had painted such an intimate portrait of them, but I wasn't. Marco didn't give off that obsessed lunatic vibe. Besides, after what I'd put of him in my sketchbook, I had no right to judge.
"I'm not a psycho or anything.” As he said this his bare muscular arm reached around the corner with a towel in hand.
"I know,” I said, snatching the towel and wrapping it around me quickly. “You're not naked out there are you?"
I heard a rustle of fabric before he answered, “Not anymore."
When I stepped out I was relieved to see him standing there in a black bathrobe that was securely tied in front. It was both a disappointment and a relief to be spared the naked sight of him. So far, I'd been on my best behavior, but there was only so much I could take.
"I've laid out something for you on the bed."
The lights flickered again.
"I'd better hurry,” he added.
Marco brushed past me and a moment later I was hit in the face by his bathrobe. He was laughing when he turned on the water.
"Hey, Red?"
"Hmm?"
"Before you go, run some water in the tub, just in case we're without power for a while."
I left the water running and went to get dressed. Marco had left a pair of red silk pajamas on his bed with my black lace bra laid across them. As I slipped into the pajamas I could tell by their size that they were his. I rolled the top of the pants down a few times and rolled the legs up so I wouldn't trip. I had just slid the top around my shoulders when I heard him turn off the shower. Hurriedly I buttoned the shirt, leaving the last few buttons open so that the unscarred part of my stomach just below the navel was revealed.
I heard his wet feet slapping across the tile and knew that he was walking naked across the bathroom. I excused myself to the large living room so he could get dressed. But when I left, he didn't close the door.
As I sat among the huge pillows on the leather sofa near the fire I asked, “Why did you take me to a hotel?"
"Huh?” I heard him stumble over something.
"When I picked you up that night, why not bring me here?"
"Because I wasn't sure I could trust you."
"And you're so certain now?"
"Not really."
Marco emerged from the bedroom looking like a wet dream. He was wearing pajama pants that matched mine, but in place of a regular top, he wore a matching robe which hung to mid calf. The robe was open, revealing just how well the honeyed bronze of his skin was complemented by the red. As he walked, I could see the beginnings of a tattoo that must have reached around his lower back, because it came to a downward point just above the muscular curve of his hips.
When Marco stopped beside the couch he ran a hand through his dark wet hair and I shivered.
"Matching pjs?” I asked.
"It's not like anybody's going to see.” He smiled. “Are you hungry?"
There was a clock on the table beside the couch, and I leaned over to look at it.
"It's twelve thirty,” I said dryly.
"Haven't you ever heard of a midnight snack?"
Since he mentioned it, my stomach did feel kind of empty. So, I followed him to the kitchen, which was a little bigger than mine, with deep mahogany cabinets and stainless steel appliances. Above the cabinets were a variety of odd shaped vases. A table sat near the back of the room that could seat eight people. It had an odd arrangement as a centerpiece, another faded red basket in the shape of a vase filled with a bizarre assortment of willow branches, palm leaves, and various wing dings.
He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled both doors open wide.
"You know,” he remarked thoughtfully, “I'm pretty sure it was me that picked you up."
"What would give you that impression?” I moved closer to look under his arm and into the fridge.
"Because it was my suggestion to leave,” he said smugly.
"I hate you,” I breathed, but my words lacked conviction.
"Yeah, I hate you, too,” he said, leaning in to reach something in the back of the refrigerator. “Have some fruit.” Marco handed me a large dish full of pineapple.
"How did you know I liked pineapple?"
"It's the first thing you did when you got your drink."
"What?"
"You ate the pineapple after stirring it around in the rum,” he said absently.
I looked at him in amazement as he continued to dig through the leftovers in his refrigerator. “Is there anything you don't notice?"
"Not much.” He smiled.
After a few minutes, he had removed some more fruit, grilled chicken, and a plate of what looked like raw strips of steak. He took all of this, placed it on a tray, and carried it toward the bedroom.
"Where are you going?” I asked.
"To bed."
"You expect me to get in the bed with you?"
"Look, there's a television in the bedroom and I want to see the weather report."
That sounded completely reasonable, but I didn't trust Marco as far as I could throw him, and I was no weightlifter. He had lit some of the candles earlier and as I walked past them I breathed in their soft vanilla fragrance.
"Will you close the curtains please?” he asked.
After pulling their cords and watching all three sets of curtains swish to a close, I walked back in the bedroom. Marco was reclined back against the pillows with his ankles crossed and the tray beside him. His attention was focused intently on the plasma screen TV that was attached to the wall at the foot of the bed.
I went around to the side of the bed near the bathroom and crawled up beside him. He looked very serious.
"What are they saying?"
"It'll be here in a few hours, and it's not losing much strength."
He got up and closed the curtain on the one window in his bedroom beside the closet door and said, “I'm going downstairs. I'll be right back."
Just then something smashed against the window. I quickly slid off the bed and took a step toward him. “You wanna come?” He smiled.
"Don't be an asshole, Marco."
"It's a bit late for that."
I agreed, but I kept it to myself. Normally by the time the weather ever got this bad I went to the dungeon. But, seeing as how I didn't have that option at the time I decided to go with Marco. After spending the last several hurricanes below ground, I had forgotten just how frightening they could sometimes be. Plus, I had found his presence strangely comforting ever since the night when he had nuzzled against my thigh.
As we entered the main room and began to walk down the stairs I noticed I was holding on to the back of his robe and immediately let go, but not before several people, including Luther, had seen. Luther raised his eyebrow at me, but didn't comment. Smart man. Marco made sure the front door was bolted and the windows were either taped or boarded up. I noticed several of the female werewolves in the crowd practically drooling over Marco as he made his way around the room checking everything.
One woman in particular gave me a nasty look then went back to leering at Marco, and it pissed me off. I felt something inside of me rise up in response to her challenge, because it was a challenge if I'd ever seen one.
When Marco walked back to where I stood halfway up the stairs, I leaned into him, reaching my hands inside his robe. He looked a question at me and I stood on tiptoe in order to whisper, “If that bitch looks at me like that again, I'll kill her."
He leaned back and looked into my eyes a moment before giving me a seductive smile. “You wouldn't be trying to mislead my pack, now would you? Because you haven't accepted my offer."
I took hold of his robe near the collar and pulled him toward me. “I'm just marking my territory,” I whispered as I kissed the delicate skin just behind his earlobe.
"Your territory, hmm?” he purred, his voice beginning to deepen with desire.
"As far as they're concerned it is."
He pulled back.
"You mean until you can make up your mind, they better walk the line.” It was a statement of fact.
"You're damn right."
He smiled at me, but his eyes held a touch of sadness. “Don't use me, Red."
I caressed the side of his face and from the view everyone else had, it must have looked fairly intimate.
"I would never deliberately hurt you,” I whispered.
"Good, you do enough damage accidentally."
While I wondered exactly how to take his last remark, Marco turned to Luther and asked, “Is everything under control down here?"
"Yes,” Luther answered. “Get some rest."
I turned sharply toward Luther at his last words, but he managed to keep a straight face. About that time the drunken DJ staggered to the foot of the stairs and howled, “Damn, it's good to be the king! That's what I'm talkin’ about. You know you're top wolf when you take Death to bed in matching pajamas."
Marco tried to play it cool, but I saw the beginnings of a smile as he told Luther, “Get him some coffee."
The inebriated werewolf then barked like a dog and did an awkward flip.
"Or a tranquilizer,” Marco suggested.
Once we were back in his apartment, I'd had time to think about what he'd said downstairs.
"Marco, I'm sorry if...."
"It's alright, Red,” he said softly. “I'm not going to try to steal you away from your scientist."
"I didn't mean to tease you."
"You didn't tease me, Red. You were serious. You just don't have the heart to follow through with the threat."
"Bastard."
"But I'm right. You'll soon find that your scientist buddy is not enough for you."
"And you're just going to wait around?"
"You'll find I'm very patient.” He smiled.
"You know, Mathias said the same thing,” I said irritably.
"That I'm patient?"
"No, that no ordinary man would ever understand me."
"Did he?” This seemed to please him.
"What do you two think I am, some sort of sex maniac?"
Marco looked frustrated. “Get your mind out of my pants, Red. It's not all about sex."
I would have argued, but I was tired and he was right.
"Then what's it about?"
"Come to bed with me and I'll show you. But first, I'm going to eat something."
That sounded like a come on if I'd ever heard one, but he didn't leave me much choice except to follow him. Once we were both situated back on the bed and Marco had a mouth full of raw steak he realized we didn't have anything to drink.
He stomped back toward the kitchen with a growl and after a minute or two yelled, “Water, wine, or beer?"
"Red wine?"
"Yeah,” there was still a touch of growl in his voice.
"What kind?"
"Does it matter?” He was definitely growling at me.
"Make it a beer then. Do you have any lime?"
He didn't answer, but when he returned in a minute, he brought two key limes and a knife and laid them in front of me. I sliced the lime small enough to stuff a few pieces into the bottle and swished them around. Marco still looked like his butt was thoroughly chapped, so I didn't offer him any.
We ate in silence, both of us watching the weather report. Finally I worked up the nerve to ask, “Can I get on that side?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because this side is closest to the door."
"So?"
"So, if anybody comes through that door, they'll have to go through me to get to you."
Well, that shut me up. I still hadn't gotten used to the idea of Marco wanting to protect me. For the next several minutes I ate pineapple and shut my mouth. According to the weather report, hurricane Alistair would reach us by around four in the morning.
My head was beginning to nod involuntarily when Marco got up and went into the bathroom. He left the door open and I could hear him brushing his teeth. When he came back, he took the tray to the kitchen without a word, came back and slid close to me across the satin sheets.
"Come here,” he said.
"I thought you weren't going to molest me,” I objected, but not like my heart was in it.
He sighed, “Just shut up and come here."
"My, grandma what a chapped ass you have."
Marco smiled, but he didn't want to.
"I don't know if I can just snuggle up to you like this,” I said.
"I won't bite."
"But—"
"Let me show you something."
I would have thought he was making a pass at me, but his expression said otherwise. As I slid closer to Marco the heat from his skin seemed to rise to meet me. He was warm and inviting, like a blanket in winter.
"The desire that you feel to touch me is not completely sexual,” he explained. As he said this, the warm and sexual feeling which usually emanated from Marco changed slightly. It was the comforting feeling I had been experiencing off and on that night.
"What is it?” I asked.
"Have you ever wondered why members of the pack like to stay so close to one another?"
"I've only recently noticed it. I didn't exactly hang out with werewolves before."
"It's because there is safety in the pack. There is a feeling of comfort and security that they get from being near each other, much like natural wolves."
"I had wondered, but why are you telling me this?"
"Because I believe that there is enough of the wolf in you to feel the same way."
The thought of me reacting to him like another werewolf frightened me. All of the memories of Peter calling me a monster, of people being afraid of me, they all began to surface. Marco must have read my expression.
"Do you think of me as a monster?” he asked gently.
"I used to,” my voice was nearly a whisper.
"And now?"
"Now ... I'm not so sure.” Marco reached out to me and I leaned into his embrace. I ran my hand over the ridged muscles of his stomach, gently caressing the fine hairs that ran down his torso. As if by instinct I snuggled closer to him, rubbing my face against his throat.
When I reached the hairline just behind his ear, I breathed deeply. I ran my nose further into his hair with every breath. Marco always smelled good, but there was something else underneath his scent. There was the smell of fresh air, of wide open fields and forest. But beneath all of that was the unmistakable scent of a wolf. As I breathed in that scent, I felt comfort in it and knew that Marco had been right about me.
"But, I've never felt this from being near another werewolf."
"I am alpha,” Marco answered simply. “I affect you more strongly. Besides, it's only natural for one alpha to find comfort in the embrace of another."
"So that means that I'm...” I couldn't finish the sentence.
"Werewolf enough to recognize the scent of the pack just now,” he finished for me.
I trembled slightly and Marco pulled me back against him.
"If anyone knew ... I had no idea that the transformation was so close to being complete. Some of the Hunters I know might kill me."
"Shh,” he whispered softly. “I won't tell anybody."
"Marco, I'm serious, if anyone knew...."
"Don't panic. You're still not a werewolf. Your body mutated the virus in a way I would have never thought possible. You're definitely something else, but you're at least half werewolf."
"Shit."
Marco stroked my hair and I felt my eyes beginning to shut of their own accord.
"Look at it this way,” he soothed, “you've been this way for years now. You just didn't know it."
"I'm scared,” I confessed.
"Of what?"
"Of everything."
Marco held me tighter as he repeated, “Whatever comes through that door has to get through me first."
"I don't think you can protect me from what I'm afraid of."
"Maybe not, but tonight I can keep you safe from the storm."
"What about tomorrow?” I mumbled against his throat.
He pulled me to rest nearly on top of him as he answered, “No use worrying about it now."
I rested my face against Marco's chest and listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The weather report droned on in the background as the storm raged like an angry beast outside. My small body rose and fell with his breathing where I lay atop him. Any other time, I would have torn Marco apart, but I needed comfort and that was what he had offered. I wasn't stupid. The way he looked at me was plain to see. But he was sincere in his desire to protect me and I needed a protector.
Of course I would never admit out loud that I wanted to be taken care of, but it was true. I liked being able to do things on my own, and when it came down to brass tacks, I didn't need anyone ... I just wanted someone. I was tough and strong willed, so not just any man would do. I needed someone man enough to put me in my place. By that, I don't mean someone harsh, but a man who knew how to take charge when it was necessary and had enough sense to know when it wasn't.
The longer I lay against Marco's body, the better I felt. His skin was hot to the touch, but not quite the fever that he ran before the full moon. I was beginning to realize that Marco always ran a slight temperature and I wondered if all werewolves did the same.
I kept brushing my face absently against the hair on his chest. He gave me the feeling of pressing a warm towel, straight out of the dryer against my cheek. I sighed deeply as I ran my left hand underneath his shoulder, pulling myself further up against his neck. He put his hand over me and began to rub my back.
* * * *
Thunder sounded like an explosion outside. I lifted my head from Marco's chest, my heart beating frantically as I looked around. The room was completely dark and my night vision would take a few seconds to kick in.
Marco must have sensed my panic, because he wrapped both arms around me and kissed the top of my head.
"What time is it?” I asked with a trace of panic still in my voice.
He pushed up to a sitting position against the pillows and I slid to his side while he checked the clock on the table. “It's ten minutes past four."
That explained the noise, Alistair was right on time. The wind howled like a demon, rattling the windows.
"I'll light some candles,” he said. His voice was rougher after having just awakened, and I liked it.
As my night vision started to kick in, the room gradually came into focus. My eyes needed less time to adjust than the average person's, but they still needed time. Marco retrieved one of those long lighters from the small chest of drawers he was using as a bedside table.
While he lit the candles around the room I began to appreciate how wonderful Marco looked in the candlelight. He sat a large candle on a glass plate in the middle of the floor and lit the four wicks across the top. As usual, I couldn't seem to take my eyes from him. I watched as the candlelight cast shadows over the curves and valleys of his muscular torso. He looked up at me just then and the way the light reflected in his eyes made them almost appear to glow. Yet again, I could hear Kat telling me that I was most likely out of my mind. Any other time I would have jumped him, but all I could think was if he would come back to bed I might possibly get some really good sleep.
Marco stretched back out on the bed and reached for me. I suddenly had the urge to touch as much of his skin to mine as possible. The desire I had was strange to me, yet somehow seemed natural. I unbuttoned the pajama top I was wearing and let it fall open as I leaned over Marco. He smiled at me and seemed to understand that what I felt was not sexual. I supposed it was like he had explained to me earlier, just a natural desire to be close. As I lay back across him, Marco wrapped me in his arms and sighed. His stomach was so warm that it seemed to burn against mine. I pressed my face back into the curve of his throat and drifted off to sleep.
* * * *
Over the next few hours I got the most restful sleep of my life. I had never known such a deep sleep was possible. Sometime in the night I had rolled to my side. When I woke up I was topless with Marco pressed against my bare back. The storm could still be heard outside and although the windows rattled less fiercely, the power was still out. My bra was still on, but when I stretched I noticed that Marco's hand was cupped underneath my right breast. I decided not to complain. He had truly been on his best behavior. After all, you can't expect a wolf to wear sheep's clothing forever.
* * * *
My first conscious thought many hours later was that I was cold. The power was back on and the air conditioner was working overtime. I rolled over and found myself alone, but the covers were still warm where Marco had been. He hadn't been gone long. Just then, I heard the toilet flush and knew where he was. I slipped the pajama top back on and snuggled face down into the pillows. When I heard Marco step back into the room, I decided to pretend I was asleep.
My body moved slightly as he crawled up the bed. Marco leaned over me, so close that I felt the heat from his body, but without actually touching me. I tensed, waiting for him to make a move, but he just sort of hovered there.
The second I let my guard down, he pounced and bit my ear. I squealed, but not in pain. He rolled me over a few times laughing.
"I knew you weren't asleep,” he said.
"What time is it?"
"You keep asking that. Is there somewhere you need to be?"
"Not really, but I can't stay here."
He held me tighter, “Why?"
"Because I can't Marco. Don't be dense."
"Oh sure, I'm good enough to make a teddy bear out of last night, but once the storm passes you insult me."
"It's not like that."
"Isn't it?"
I didn't know what to say. The tone of his voice was teasing, but his eyes were serious. I didn't want to hurt Marco, but once the storm passed, I really did need to go. What if Alfred had been trying to contact me? Or what if Kat and Elijah had been calling me?
"What am I supposed to tell people if they've been trying to reach me?"
"Most likely anyone who would try to reach you is out of power. So, I really wouldn't worry about that."
"But what about Alfred?” I shouldn't have said that. As soon as the words had left my mouth, I regretted it.
"He's a big boy. He can take care of himself, right?” Marco asked. But then, an expression of dawning reality began to spread over his features. “Unless ... he's not there."
Marco growled and the hungry grin he gave me was only missing fangs. “Alfred's gone isn't he? It should have occurred to me before. With the hearing coming up next month he's probably off with Jacob, plotting something devious."
I did my best to slither out of his embrace, but he held me tight.
"I'm right aren't I?"
I sagged miserably against his chest. “Yes."
"Red, why didn't you tell me you were alone?"
"Have you ever looked in the mirror when you ask questions like that?"
He laughed. “Is it that bad?"
"Frightening."
"I'm sorry, but that does explain a lot."
"Like what?"
"Like how you weren't at all concerned about our conversation being interrupted on the porch the other day. I thought you wouldn't let me in because of Alfred.” He sighed. “Were you afraid that I would hurt you?"
"No, I was afraid of what I might do to you, given the chance."
The honesty in my response seemed to surprise him so much that he let me go.

Chapter Sixteen 
Marco informed me that according to the weather report storm conditions were still favorable to produce tornados so there was no point in getting dressed. I think he just liked the way I looked in his pajamas.
When Marco suggested cooking breakfast I decided to be nice and go collect the ingredients. It was a relief to see he wasn't going to push the issue of Alfred's disappearance further. Plus, I was grateful he seemed to respect the fact that I did not believe in casual sex. Don't misunderstand me, if other people want to do it that's fine. I'm not their judge. It's just not something I've ever been able to do. I don't think you have to wait for the love of your life or anything. I certainly hadn't. But I believe that sex should mean something other than physical attraction.
Unfortunately, I knew some of what sleeping with Marco would mean, or could potentially mean, and I wasn't ready for that. Of course, most of the pack thought we were sleeping together already, but that didn't matter to me. The people that mattered knew the truth. Rumors would always fly as long as idiots could give them wings.
I had also been mulling over what Mathias had said about being careful who I loved. At first I had thought his warning might have been against Marco, but now I wasn't so sure. Mathias could see the future. He must have known the desires of Marco's heart. He knew what that canvas would show. So, why then would he reveal such a thing to the man he was warning me against? It just didn't make sense. I was obviously overlooking something.
However, as I made my way to the kitchen downstairs, I no longer had the strength to think about it. Sleeping next to Marco had given me a sort of lethargy which carried over into the next day. I wasn't used to resting that way and couldn't seem to shake it. It had taken me until then to understand what a good night's sleep really felt like, and I liked it. I laughed to myself at the thought of inviting Marco over to spend the night if I ever had trouble sleeping. Of course, Alfred would never go along with that idea. It was purely a fantasy.
The first floor of the club was filled with snoring werewolves, most of them in sleeping bags scattered out across the floor at odd angles. A few were resting with their heads propped on a table and the DJ that had been so drunk the night before was asleep with his head hanging through the railing on the floor above.
As I made my way toward the door behind the bar that would lead me to the kitchen, I heard someone growl. I looked back around again at the sleeping werewolves and focused on the woman who had given me the dirty look the night before. She was a scrawny woman about my height, with long blond hair.
"Bitch,” she snarled, taking a step closer.
"Excuse me?” My heart beat faster in response. Adrenaline was definitely kicking in.
"You think you can just come in here and take him away from us?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Don't be stupid. His scent is all over you.” Her voice was rising, and a few of the other wolves were beginning to stir.
"Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I just came down here to get to the kitchen. Perhaps you should seek therapy,” I sneered nastily.
As I turned around she growled, “Come back here."
That was it. I had tried to be nice, but my patience was gone. No one ordered me around.
"I don't know who you think you are, bitch, but no one orders me around,” I growled.
She snapped at me in response to my last comment.
"You've got one chance to back down, and I'll leave you alive."
"HA! You think you're all that?"
"If you attack me, make sure that's what you meant to do, because if you take that step, there is no going back. Make no mistake, you will die."
"And what is a human werewolf hunter going to do to me? You don't have any weapons,” she spat.
More of the pack was awake by that time and they were beginning to gather around us.
"You've obviously been misinformed."
I took a deep breath and felt my heartbeat slow down. The world became crystal clear and I focused on the moment at hand. The woman in front of me had just made a very poor decision, but the choice had been hers to make.
Before I'd had a moment to decide my best defense, she lunged at me with a deafening howl. I grabbed a handful of the front of her shirt and shoved my foot into her chest. As I dropped to my back, I flung her over me, kicking at the height of my throw and slamming her so hard into the front doors that they creaked under the pressure.
The woman slid to the floor as I stalked toward her, extending the claws of my right hand. The rage I'd felt the previous night when she'd looked at Marco spilled over me and I slashed her across the face, causing sections of her smooth cheek to peel backward.
"I'll kill you,” she screamed.
But when she tried to stand up I bent my left arm back and slammed my elbow into the top of her skull, and something cracked. She never made it off the floor. About this time, Marco came to see what was taking me so long. He froze at the foot of the stairs.
The woman fell limp to one side and I turned my attention to Marco as I retracted my claws.
"I had no choice,” I explained.
Luther stepped forward. “She's right. Amy attacked Lilith on her way to the kitchen."
It was nice to have back up, but I hadn't asked for it. It made me wonder if Marco wouldn't have taken my word alone.
"I gave her a choice.” I motioned back to where she lay. “This is the choice she made."
"I see,” Marco finally responded.
About that time, the before motionless Amy rose to her feet and ran at me, her mutilated cheek hanging back horribly from the bones of her face.
"You goddamned bitch," she screamed, her voice deepening with the beginnings of the change.
I grabbed a nearby chair and hit her with all of my strength across the face. The chair splintered and her neck flopped nauseatingly to one side. She hit the floor with a loud smack.
You could have heard a pin drop as I turned back to Marco and said, “I'm sorry for killing one of your wolves, but she left me no choice."
"I agree,” he said grimly, looking down at Amy's body.
There was more I wanted to say to him, but it was not for the prying eyes that surrounded us to observe. I was truly sorry for what I'd been forced to do, but I wasn't about to let her kill me.
Luther reached over me and I felt a sharp pain in my back. He held up a large bloody piece of glass and asked me, “Didn't you feel that?"
"No,” I looked at the glass in amazement. “Thanks."
"Don't mention it,” he said absently.
My back felt warm and I knew that it was blood pouring from the wound. I looked around and saw I had fallen on a broken bottle. It must have been knocked from the table when she had lunged at me. Damn. It hurt, but I wasn't about to show weakness to that crowd.
"You still hungry?” I asked Marco.
He looked stunned, but nodded as he said, “I'll come with you."
Luther gestured toward the body on the floor at our feet, “I'll take care of this."
Marco and I walked through the door behind the bar and into the kitchen. What had become club Red had at one time been a small restaurant and still had a very nice kitchen, complete with a large freezer at the back. Without a word I walked all the way to the freezer before I let myself get upset.
"Son of a bitch,” I slammed my fist into the stainless steel door.
"Red, are you alright?” Marco snatched up my shirt and began to examine my back.
"You mean other than the gaping wound in my back? Yeah, I'm fine,” I snapped.
"There's more glass here,” he said.
"Great."
He went to a closet in the back of the room and took out a huge first aid kit.
"Wait. Can you do this upstairs?"
"Yes,” he paused looking confused.
"Then let's go upstairs. The longer we spend down here, the more they'll think I'm having to depend on you to patch me up."
He eyed me critically for a moment before putting the first aid kit back.
"Are you sure you've never been around a wolf pack before? You certainly seem to know what others would take as weakness."
"I'm just very self conscious. Now, let's get what we came for and walk back upstairs."
We hurried and got the breakfast supplies that we'd come for in the first place. Whether or not we were going to eat remained to be seen, but I'd be damned if I let them think that some crazy shewolf had interrupted my plans. So, I was losing blood. I'd live.
On our way back, I refused to let Marco support me at all, but didn't object when he said to at least let him carry the food. Once we were inside his office, my knees began to buckle. He dropped everything on the desk and nearly ran to me.
"Damn it, Red. What's wrong with you?"
"I landed on a broken bottle remember?"
"You know that's not what I'm talking about. You're losing a lot of blood.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing and carried me into his apartment.
"You know, it's not a sign of weakness to let the alpha male take care of you. It's an honor not many are ever afforded."
"I feel so special,” I smirked.
Marco gave me a nasty look, but I could see the concern behind his dark eyes.
A minute or so later, he put me down beside the tub and started striping the pajamas off of me.
"What the hell?"
"I've got to find all of the glass,” he said.
I stood there topless while Marco fished several more pieces of glass out of my back and tossed them onto the countertop. Next, he tried to lead me to the shower.
"Wait a minute, what are you doing?"
"I need to clean the wound. The easiest and least painful way to do that is to rinse your back in the shower. Then I can stitch you up."
"I need stitches?"
"A few.” He took off his robe and flung it into a chair in the corner.
"Marco, I am not getting in the shower naked with you."
"Fine, you want me to get in with my clothes on?"
"I can wash the wound myself. Just stand by the door."
He stared me down for a moment before agreeing. Once I stepped inside the shower and tried to bend over to slide the pants off, I found that it pulled the gash in my back and caused not only more bleeding, but intense pain.
"Marco?"
"Yes?"
"Could you take my pants off, please?” I was utterly humiliated.
"I'm sorry, did you actually ask for my help?"
"Don't be an asshole now. I think I just ripped something else loose trying to undress myself. You can gloat later."
Marco stepped inside the shower, reached around my back and removed my bra. He took hold of the pajamas at my waist and kneeled at my feet, sliding the silk pjs down with him. To my surprise, he didn't ogle me or make any obscene remarks, but he did watch while I turned on the water.
"Just stand where the water can hit you. I'll get a towel."
When he came back a few minutes later and stood on the other side of the half wall divider, I was beginning to feel dizzy. I didn't even care anymore that I was naked. I just wanted to lie back down.
I walked to where Marco held the towel out for me and stepped into his arms.
"It's just not right,” I griped.
"What's that?"
"You having to take care of me."
"Get over it."
He sat me on the side of the tub with the towel clasped to my chest, but my back exposed. In a minute he was back with an even bigger first aid kit than the one downstairs.
"Do you keep those everywhere?"
"You've obviously never spent time with a werewolf before."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Can you see me walking into an emergency room? First thing they'd want to do is blood work. Guess what? I've got a virus they've never heard of before. Holy shit, it's a werewolf,” he said.
"Not that they could identify it that quickly, but I see what you mean."
He pulled out a needle and thread.
"You want this straight, or would you like something for pain?"
"That depends. How many stitches do I need?"
He looked at my back again before answering. “Several."
"What have you got?"
He named off several things, all of which were strong enough to take down a horse, which was what most werewolves needed for it to be effective.
"Just pick one before I start to heal with these all crooked,” I said finally.
He handed me some pills and a glass of water. I took them unquestioningly. Within about ten minutes they were working. That's another good thing about having a fast metabolism. Pain medicine might not last as long, but it worked fast.
When Marco began to run the needle through my skin, I felt a slight tugging sensation, but no pain. He had obviously done this before.
"What did you land on exactly? This was way too much glass for a beer bottle."
"It looked like a giant mason jar."
"Shit,” I heard him clip the thread.
"Yeah, well at least it's not in your back."
"Do you scar?"
"Not since my attack,” I said.
"Good. I'd hate for something so stupid to ruin such beautiful skin.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss on my shoulder. “All done. You still hungry?"
My stomach growled before I could answer. “Actually, I am."
Marco led me into the bedroom where he helped me slip into one of his silk robes. This one was black and reached to my ankles. My back felt stiff when I moved and I dreaded trying to drive home. Of course, it was still storming outside, so that might be a while. Hurricane Alistair had moved further upstate and would shortly be downscaled to a tropical storm, but the weather was still awful.
I sat at one of the barstools in the kitchen and watched Marco cook breakfast. After setting a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of me he asked, “How quickly do you heal?"
"It depends on the injury. Light bruises and minor stuff is usually healed over night. Cuts, like the ones on my back may take up to a week. Why?"
"I may know of a faster way for you to heal. That is unless you want to drive home with stitches in your back?"
"Well, I'd prefer to avoid it,” I said around a mouthful of toast. “What's you're idea?"
"Sleep with me,” he said, while he got some juice out of the fridge.
I started to choke on my eggs and he added, “I mean literally, sleep.” He handed me a glass of juice and I gulped it down. “Still got your mind in my pants, Red?” he chuckled.
"I really hate you."
"So you keep saying, but you didn't hate me very much last night."
"I was cold.” It was a weak defense.
He laughed. “Sure, and we weren't lying on top of a thick comforter. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Red.” He winked.
After breakfast, he suggested that we lie down while the pain killers were still working and I would be able to fall asleep more easily. When we got back into the bedroom, he started to strip.
"Whoa! Wait a minute! What are you doing?"
"Can't you ever just trust me?"
"No, I want an explanation."
He sighed resignedly. “Injured wolves recover faster with rest. Their recovery is also speeded by the nearness of pack members."
"What's that got to do with you getting naked?"
"It only works if I can touch your injury with my bare skin.” The way he spoke those last few words did something for me. But then again, just looking at Marco did something for me. I had no idea how I could lay in a bed with him, naked. I wasn't entirely sure I could control myself. And through the fog of sedation, I wasn't sure I wanted to. The one thing I was sure of was that if I had sex with Marco, I would regret it in the morning.
"Marco, I don't know if I can lay here with you naked."
"I promise to hold back.” He seemed serious.
"Hold back?"
"You're not the only one with sexual powers you know. For some werewolves, it just comes with the territory."
"And you're one of those werewolves?"
He nodded with a sexy smile.
"I knew you were trying to seduce me.” I pointed a finger at him.
His laugh floated over my skin and gave me chills. “I'm not the one who's in denial,” he said.
I took a deep breath and decided that for both our sakes, I should be as completely honest as possible. “I'll be straight with you, Marco. Even if you do hold back, there's only so much I can take.” It griped my butt to admit how he affected me, but it was true.
His smile was everything you'd expect the devil to be as he responded smoothly, “You've got ten stitches in your back, Red."
"You've obviously underestimated the effect you have on me."
Marco's smile began to fade, and there was a tenderness in his eyes that made me want to trust him. “Can't you just let me comfort you?"
"I'm not sure,” I whispered.
"Didn't you find me comforting last night?"
"I certainly did, with all of your clothes on."
He laughed. “At least give me a chance. I can control how much of my power that you feel.” He opened his arms and reached for me. “You're not mine to protect ... you're really not mine at all, but you're here now, and I need to be near you."
I stepped into his embrace and wrapped my arms around him. Marco was bare from the waist up and I pressed my face against the soft hair on his chest. It hurt to move my arms because it flexed the skin over my back, but I didn't care. The soft warm skin of his back was too irresistible not to caress. As I ran my hands over his muscular arms, I rubbed my face against him like a cat. Marco had the most amazingly well built physique. He was muscular without being overdone. In every way that was observable to the naked eye, Marco was just right.
He reached into the front of the robe I was wearing and slid it down past my shoulders.
"Let me help you, Red."
He slid the robe down around my waist and I didn't stop him. As Marco ran his warm hands over the cuts on my back he looked at my face even though my breasts were exposed. I appreciated the eye contact. Marco's touch was like a drug to me and I felt weaker the more he touched me.
I placed my hands just over the sinuous curve of his hips and pressed myself against him. The way the hair on his chest felt pressed against my bare breasts was all I had imagined it would be. In my mind I was taken back to that first night when I'd seen him in the club and later handcuffed him to a chair for questioning. That evening in my hotel room I had dreamed about Marco and how good it would feel to touch him this way. But my dreams which were usually so vivid could not compare to the reality of having him hold me like that.
After a few minutes, my back felt less stiff and I told him so.
"Now do you believe me?” he asked lazily. Apparently I wasn't the only one that our contact was having a drugging effect on.
"I always believed you,” I said looking up at him. “I just kept hoping there was an alternative to being naked and alone with you."
He smiled down at me. “Why?"
"To keep me from doing this,” I whispered.
I allowed myself to do something that I had wanted to do for months. I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. His lips were warm, and full, and willing. The contact was soft and tender. I had kissed Marco before, but not like this. This kiss was without the same hunger or the passion of the night he'd been cuffed to the chair. I had wanted to crawl inside of him and roll around for a while.
What I felt now was a genuine desire to be a part of him. Marco's touch was absent of the supernatural powers of the wolf. He simply touched me like a man who cared. He didn't take the opportunity to grope me while I was vulnerable. Though I appreciated that, part of me wished he would. I could control my ability to read people's emotions to a certain extent. However, when my guard was compromised by drugs, injury, and contact with naked skin, there was only so much that I could block. The emotion I picked up from Marco was not the raw lust I would have expected, but a desire to know more of me. I had never felt such need. He wanted to be whatever he needed to be ... as long as he was mine.
Just that knowledge was enough to make me want him. Combine that with the fact that Marco was beyond desirable even without the emotions and anyone could see my dilemma. I ran my fingertips around the top of his pants as I desperately fought the urge the snatch them around his ankles.
He deepened the kiss and my knees would no longer support me. Marco held me gently, so as not to tear my stitches, but I was not as careful. In fact, by this time, I'd forgotten I even had stitches. When I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck, I was very forcefully reminded.
"Son of a bitch,” I said hotly.
Marco leaned back and said quickly, “I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself.” He seemed to come out of the fog we'd both been in as he said, “Wait a minute, you kissed me. Why am I a son of a bitch?"
I laughed, and it hurt. “Not you. I think I pulled my stitches."
He winced. “That's gotta hurt."
"Yeah, it does. I appreciate your compassion,” I said sarcastically.
He stepped forward and pulled the sash on the black robe. Without further effort, it fell to the floor. Marco walked around me and I could feel his eyes on my back.
"It's alright,” he said. “Nothing's bleeding. Besides, those pills should still be working."
"They are. It only hurts when I do something stupid."
"You must be in constant pain,” he drawled.
Marco hugged me against him and his body felt good against my back, almost like a balm. I was still fighting the urge to snatch those red pajamas around his ankles.
"Marco?"
"Yes,” he whispered against my ear.
"I've got a problem."
"Besides the obvious ones? What's that?"
"My mind is in your pants again."
He laughed, causing the hairs on his chest to tickle me with the movement.
"That's only a problem for one of us."
He tilted my head to the side and pressed his lips into the curve between my neck and shoulder. My knees went weak again. I was so aroused just from his touch that I was already near orgasm. Like I had mentioned before, Marco just flat did it for me.
"I can't do this,” I panted.
"Sure you can. It's like riding a bike.” His rough voice vibrated along the sensitive skin of my throat. It probably wasn't the brightest idea, allowing a werewolf such intimate access to my throat, but I took my chances.
"But, I can't,” I nearly cried with frustration.
"Why not?"
When Marco turned me to face him, I expected to see anger, but found concern instead.
"Because I can't do this without it meaning something ... and I'm not ready for what it might mean."
"I understand.” He sighed.
"Really?"
"Yes,” he breathed against my hair as he embraced me again.
"You're not angry?"
"Let me explain something to you,” he said patiently.
There was a long pause while I observed the contours of his handsome face before I asked, “What is there to explain?"
"I'm trying to think of a way to word this."
I snuggled against his chest again as he asked, “You have a lot of shoes in your closet, right?"
"Of course, I'm a woman."
"Well, you know that pair way in the back? You really like them, but you don't wear them that often. Some days, you may not even think about them. But you always know they're there, when you need something ... comfortable to fall back on."
He paused and took a deep breath before confessing, “I am content to be that comfortable pair of shoes at the back of your closet."
Tears stung the backs of my eyes and I fought them. It broke my heart to know he would allow me to treat him that way ... and at the moment I didn't have much choice.
"I understand that you have some things to sort out for yourself. But make no mistake, I am not the one that is confused about my feelings,” he said.
"I'm sorry,” I whispered against his bicep as I leaned into him and he wrapped me up more tightly.
"Don't be sorry, Red. Just think about it."
"But what are we going to do now?"
"Well, you can't drive home until your back is healed. And even if you did, the whole area around your house is out of power."
"What are you suggesting?"
"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm telling you to spend the night with me."
"But, it's just now afternoon. What are we going to do all that time?"
He smiled his wolfish smile and I was glad he didn't suggest something more explicit, because I could not have refused that smile.
"You'll learn not to ask me such questions, Red. I'm not always a nice guy."
"I know you're The Big Bad Wolf."
"So, your friend has nicknamed me. But, she's right."
"You're not that way with me,” I insisted.
"Only with you,” he nearly whispered. “You make me your toy, but to others I am a force to be reckoned with."
"So I've heard."
"Yes, but you've never seen. It's obvious in the way you look at me that you have no idea what I'm capable of."
"That goes both ways."
He growled at me, but it was done playfully.
"Look, if this is going to turn into a pissing contest could we hurry it up? I've got to pee."
He laughed as I started to walk toward the bathroom.
"I'll be waiting for you.” He smiled suggestively. "Naked."
I closed the door behind me and leaned my forehead against the wood. I couldn't remember ever being more aroused in my life. Something about the very nearness of Marco did things to me that took other men time. I didn't actually have to pee, but there was no delicate way to say that I was so worked up I needed a towel.
When I walked back out into the bedroom, Marco was reclined against the pillows with his arms crossed behind his head. The muscles of his torso looked like they had been sculpted by the hands of a master artist. He grinned from ear to ear and I remembered that I was stark naked. With my eyes I followed the trail of hair that formed a v-shaped pattern over his chest and trailed down his abs in a fine line. It didn't help that I knew the hair to be as soft as it looked. The comforter was pulled back and the silken red sheet draped over his lower body, gracefully covering the rest of him. I took the two steps up toward the bed and just stood there.
"Come here,” he said softly.
With those words he brushed the covers aside and I caught a glimpse of the curve of his hip as well as the top of his bare thigh. Carefully I crawled onto the bed to avoid pulling the skin around my stitches.
As I sat there and looked at Marco, I realized that I was waiting for him to tell me what to do. It was a strange feeling, but it came naturally.
"Lie on your side,” he whispered.
I turned to face the bathroom door and felt Marco slide into place behind me. He was firm and warm ... and comforting. As he pressed his upper body against my back I sighed. The touch of his skin soothed my injury. I pressed my hips back into the curve of his body and noticed that he'd tucked part of the sheet between us, preventing me from touching all of him.
"Relax,” he whispered as he slipped his arm around my waist.
I did. My body melted back against his, molding to the curve of his thighs. Only the thin fabric of the sheet separated all of his warm flesh from touching mine. My legs brushed against his, reaching only slightly further down his shins than Alfred's.
Marco pulled me more tightly against his chest and snuggled his face into the curve of my neck as he once again cupped my right breast in his hand.
"You're so warm,” I whispered.
"The better to snuggle with,” he purred near my ear and I giggled.
I breathed deeply and my stitches didn't pull. In fact, I couldn't even feel them. Sleep tried to claim me and I fought it.
"Let yourself relax, Red. I won't hurt you."
"It's not that,” I said sleepily.
I believed Marco would watch over me in my sleep and protect me, even from himself. The truth was I didn't want to miss one minute of the way his body felt against mine.
"Then what is it?” he whispered softly, as his voice grew deeper with the effort it took to control himself.
"I don't want to miss you."
"I'm not going anywhere, Red."
I sighed in frustration, trying to fight the drowsiness caused by drugs and the nearness of Marco's warm body. In my half conscious state I whispered, “I've dreamed of you. There's been hardly a moment when you're not in my mind."
Marco nuzzled the side of my neck as he said, “And when you wake up, I'll be in your bed."
"No, Marco, I'm in yours."
"My bed or my dreams?"
I touched the hand that cupped my breast and knew the answer.
"Both,” I whispered.
The rain began to fall again as Marco curled more tightly around me.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?” he asked.
"That I can't stay."
"Don't spend today thinking about tomorrow."
"Then what should I do?"
"Be here. Be with me now, not tomorrow in your dreams. Don't waste this moment worrying about a day that may never come."
I moved my arm over Marco's and pulled him closer to me. He reached his other arm underneath me and cradled my head against his bicep. As I breathed in his scent I realized that I'd lied to Alfred when I said that Marco wasn't a part of the picture. Compared to the arms that gently held me, my comments seemed cruel. Marco was much more than the ugly brown paper on the back of the frame. In fact, the more I was near him, the more he became a portrait all his own.
His body moved against my back with every breath. Part of me wanted to roll toward him and pull back the sheet. But the rest of me ached for sleep. The sleepy half won.

Chapter Seventeen 
I awoke to Marco's scent on my pillow and stretched out on my stomach across the silky sheets with a sigh. The next thing I was aware of was a clipping sound and something tugging at my back. Then I remembered where I was.
"Marco?"
"It's alright. I'm removing your stitches,” he answered from behind me.
For a moment I was so lost in the deep rumble of his sleepy voice that what he said didn't quite register.
"But they can't possibly be healed,” I said finally. “What time is it?"
"Monday."
That got my attention. My last memory was of Saturday afternoon. I sat up quickly, clutching the sheet to my chest. Surely Marco was kidding. It was still dark outside.
"I wasn't finished,” he said, moving around behind me again.
"Is it really Monday?"
"It's early, but yes, it's Monday."
I glanced over my shoulder at Marco who was still intently working on removing my stitches. He didn't look like he was kidding.
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"Because you needed the rest in order to heal. How long does it normally take you to recover from wounds like these?"
"A week, maybe."
"Well, it's been a day and a half.” He sighed. “In another day or so, there won't even be a scar. Told you I was good for something.” He winked.
Marco took the small scissors he'd been using as well as the thread he'd clipped from my back and went into the bathroom. To my disappointment, he was wearing pajama pants and a robe. I would rather have seen him naked, even it that wasn't such a good idea.
When he went back into the bathroom I followed, wanting to take a look at my back. Marco replaced the scissors to the first aid kit and threw away the stitches while I turned to the mirror and stared over my shoulder in amazement. Where I should have had angry red marks on my back, there were only thin faintly pink lines.
As I looked at the rest of my reflection more closely, I realized that I looked exactly like the picture Marco had painted of me. My head was turned slightly toward the mirror in order to see my back, and I still clutched the red sheet to my chest. My hair was tousled from sleep. Some was swept upward, some down. The only things out of place were the faint marks on my back. But in this picture, Marco could be seen clearly in the background. When I turned to him I could tell by his expression that he saw it, too.
"I should go,” I whispered.
"You can leave if you want, but you're still out of power,” Marco said as he took a seat on the edge of the tub.
"How do you know that?"
"I sent someone to check. I hope you don't mind."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I knew that leaving would be your first thought."
I suddenly felt sorry for Marco. I was being rude and ungrateful and it made me feel bad. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him, which should have been my first priority. Complicated was not an adequate word. He had been kind to me when he didn't have to be and all I had done was ask what time it was. It hit me then just how terrible that repeated question must have made him feel. It wasn't that I was so eager to leave him, but the longer I stayed the more I wanted to be there. I knew that I couldn't stay with Marco forever. The sooner I left the sooner my life could return to normal. But I felt I owed him an apology for the way I had acted.
"I'm sorry, Marco. I'm grateful for you letting me stay here and taking care of me, but I can't stay."
"What's so pressing that you have to get back to? No damage was done to your house. There's some cleaning to be done in your yards, according to Luther, but nothing major."
"What exactly are you getting at?"
"You're alone right now, and so am I. In a week I'll be leaving for the hearing."
"But, Marco I can't...."
"Let me finish. The hearing will take place two weeks from today."
He moved toward me and took my small hand in both of his. I could feel the strength in the hands that so tenderly caressed my knuckles, and I sensed how much effort it took for Marco to maintain his composure.
"Stay the week with me, Lilith. For all I know, I might not return."
He must have seen my hesitation, but before I could respond he continued, “I'm not asking to change your life ... just stay a little longer."
What Marco didn't realize was that the more I was near him, my life was changed. That was the first time I'd ever heard Marco use my real name. That gesture alone told me how very serious he was.
"But what will we do for a week?"
His wicked smile returned and I regretted my choice of words.
"You can get to know me with all of my clothes on."
"What if anyone tries to call me? What about Kat?"
"I sent her a note. Luther dropped it off yesterday. I let her know that you could be reached here if she needed you."
"You presumptuous bastard."
Marco held up his hands in a gesture meant to look innocent as he said, “I didn't say for how long."
I sighed. “So what now?"
"It's three o'clock in the morning, so now I'm going to bed."
He walked toward the door.
"Since you've had more sleep than I have, you're welcome to watch television."
"I think I'll have a shower first.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself, but can I have the sheet back?"
I started to refuse but then I thought what the hell? He'd seen it all before. Besides, the look he gave me was definitely a challenge. Marco didn't think I'd strip naked and hand him the sheet. I wanted to prove him wrong, but I didn't feel like putting on a show for him. I turned my back and began to walk over to where Marco's robe hung by the shower. With every step, I let the sheet slide further down my body. There was only the briefest pause before I snatched his robe around me. By the time I turned back to face him, I was completely covered. Marco collected the sheet from the floor with a smile and left the room.
After a minute or two I decided that I'd prefer a bath.
"Marco, are you asleep?"
"Yes, I have a terrible habit of talking in my sleep."
"Where do you keep the bubble bath?"
There was a pause before he answered with a growl, “What makes you think that a werewolf has bubble bath?"
I walked back into the bedroom and found Marco sprawled across the bed facing me. I crossed my arms underneath my breasts and just looked at him for a minute.
He sighed. “It's under the sink."
I took the two steps up to where he was spread-eagled on his stomach across the mattress and kissed his cheek.
"I won't tell anybody.” I smiled.
"Bitch,” he growled as he snatched a pillow from the foot of the bed.
I started filling the large marble tub and located the bubble bath. Not only did Marco have bubble bath, he had several different scents. I chose vanilla and poured some underneath the running water.
When I walked back through the bedroom Marco had rolled to his back. The even rhythm of his breathing told me he was asleep. I took the lighter from the bedside table and lit the vanilla candles which sat in various places around the bathroom. I turned off the light, slipped off the robe, and stepped into the bubbles. I had just closed the thin red curtain when Marco appeared in the doorway.
"Sorry, I meant to close the door."
He walked forward with a grace that only an animal of prey can possess and stopped just short of touching the tub.
"You didn't wake me,” he said softly.
He brushed his face across the silk curtain and breathed deeply.
"You've chosen my favorite scent."
"And that woke you?"
"No.” He looked back at me.
Images could be seen through the red curtain, though with a soft glow thanks to the candle light. Marco could see me, but not as clearly as he could if I had not closed the curtain. He looked more dangerous than I'd ever seen him. His hair was ruffled where he'd tossed and turned on the bed, and his robe hung open to reveal his magnificent body. Through the red curtain and his pajamas I could still see that he was aroused.
My heart felt like it was in my throat as I finally said, “Then what's wrong?"
"I can't sleep.” His voice had taken on an edge I'd never heard before.
"If I stay here...."
"I know. I'll keep my distance."
His words sounded like he was going back to bed, but he didn't move.
"I'd really like to get to know you,” I began. “But I can't do that if you keep giving me that come on look."
"This is my natural look."
He smiled slightly and his eyes bled to amber.
"Marco, you have to stop."
"Is that what you want? Be careful how you answer, Red, because I can smell a lie."
"You can smell a lie?"
"There are subtle changes to someone's body chemistry when they lie. Some people sweat, others make nervous gestures.” He knelt in front of the tub and leaned in to touch the curtain with his face. “And in some people like yourself, their heart beats faster ... and I can hear it."
"You can hear my heartbeat?"
"Yes,” he whispered. “I hear the way it hammers against your ribs every time I'm near you. It flutters now, like a small bird in a cage."
I took an involuntary move toward him.
"I'll ask you again, Red. Is that what you want?"
"No."
He growled and I nearly pulled him through the curtain.
"Marco, I can't. Please don't think that I'm rejecting you, I just can't. There are so many things that it would mean if I slept with you."
"Why would it have to mean those things? You know only three percent of our DNA separates us from what you see on the Discovery Channel."
"Because I mean something to you, and you're not just an animal."
My response seemed to melt something inside of him. Marco's eyes faded back to chocolate brown and he rested his face dejectedly against his hands.
After a minute, I began to worry.
"Marco, are you crying?"
"No. I'm having an allergic reaction to compassion,” he growled sarcastically.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You're the first person in years to see me as anything more than an animal."
"I think you're a lot more, but if you don't tone down the hormones, I'll never be able to know for sure."
He laughed, but not like he was really amused.
"I'm sorry. I usually have much more control than this, but the full moon is only a week away.” He looked back to me. “And I'm horny."
"My, you have a way with words."
This time the laugh sounded genuine.
"Are you always like this before a full moon?” I asked.
"Aren't you?"
I thought it over for a moment and realized that my sex drive did seem to increase just before the full moon.
"Yes. How do you expect me to stay here with you the week before the full moon?"
"I could sleep on the couch,” he offered, sounding defeated.
"No, don't do that."
He turned back to me expectantly and I wished I'd chosen my words more carefully.
"Part of the reason that I agreed to stay is my bizarre desire to be close to you. If you sleep on the couch, that would defeat the purpose. Besides, touching you seems to calm me down."
"I could touch you now,” he growled.
"Damn it,” I whispered with feeling.
"Yes,” he agreed.
"I want you so much it hurts,” I breathed.
He leaned into the curtain and his eyes turned amber once more. “Let me ease your pain, Red."
"But, I...."
"Please. It's killing me to not touch you,” he begged as his ears began to grow to a point and his voice deepened.
Marco's partial transformation should have frightened me, but it had the opposite effect.
"I'll keep my pants on,” he gasped. “But God knows, Red, we both need some kind of relief."
"What did you have in mind?"
"I'll preserve your dignity,” he panted. “Nothing will have changed in the morning, just let me touch you."
"But, I'm afraid."
"Don't be, just give me the word,” he growled.
"What word is that?"
"Whatever you'd like it to be, take your pick."
"Would you like to join me?"
That was all it took. Before I could blink twice the curtain was parted and Marco was in the tub with me. He crawled forward on all fours through the bubbles and I realized that I had backed as far away from him as possible. He looked wild. Marco was a fierce and untamed creature, but he didn't belong in a cage. He was beautiful and terrifying all at once and I was torn between ripping away his pajamas and screaming.
He knelt before me and placed his hands on my shoulders. I was trembling, but not with fear.
"I won't hurt you, Red.” His rough voice whispered against my ear. “Don't be afraid of me."
I touched his face and through that touch I knew the amount of control it took to resist tearing me apart. My heartbeat grew more frantic and it excited him.
"Let me touch you, Red. The faster your heartbeat becomes, the more you look like lunch to me."
"You want to eat me?"
"You have no idea."
He leaned in close. His breath was hot against my lips as he said, “I'll be gentle."
I wrapped my arms around his neck and Marco pressed himself against me with a growl. He kissed me softly and I moaned. I wanted more. I pulled the wet robe back from his shoulders and he slid it the rest of the way down, never taking his lips from mine. The kiss was hungry and desperate, but not quite the violence that I knew he was capable of. His tongue twirled around mine in a dance that made my toes curl.
Marco pulled back enough to look into my eyes. “Do you trust me?” he gasped.
I looked into his amber wolf eyes and whispered, “Yes."
Without further hesitation he parted my thighs and slid between them. I cried out as he made contact with my skin.
"Shh,” he whispered softly as he licked the pulse in my throat.
Marco was hot beneath the thin wet silk of his pants and so hard he could have broken pavement. He bit gently on my lower lip as he began to move against me. I growled and wrapped my legs around him, sending water splashing over the sides of the tub. He braced one hand on the tub and one hand underneath me as he began to grind his hips against mine. As he moved against me with only the thin silk between us, Marco found the right spot and applied pressure.
When the right spot gets hit, I am anything but quiet. I growled and tried to claw my way through his back as he fought to hold me. The rotation of his hips grew faster and I clung to him.
Orgasm rocked my body and I screamed. I tore his shoulders with my nails and I tore the curtain down. But Marco didn't stop. He eased up, making the contact more gentle, but still moving slowly, caressing all the right places.
As I kissed him deeply I could feel him growing fangs.
"Don't stop,” I whispered urgently.
I bit the delicate skin of his throat and he growled.
"Easy, Red. Don't finish me yet."
When I looked into his eyes, I saw a genuine desire to please me. I brushed my fingers lightly across his nipple and I knew that my eyes had bled to amber. He growled his desire in response to my touch and pressed himself more firmly against me. At any moment I expected him to rip through the front of those wet pants and I wouldn't have objected. My desire was blind and for a moment so was I. My body bucked and swayed as Marco held onto me, rotating his hips ever faster. I screamed his name and that was all it took. Marco had reached his limit. I cried out as he howled his release.
For several minutes I couldn't move and would have most likely drowned if Marco had not held me. My breathing was so fast that I thought my heart would explode through my chest. Marco pressed a trembling kiss against my throat and sat back, sliding me gently onto his lap. I rested my head against his collarbone, but didn't have the strength to hold him. My body still shook slightly and I was starting to see spots.
"Are you alright, Red?"
I breathed deeply but found I couldn't speak for several moments.
"Red?” he asked again a bit more urgently.
"Yes,” I gasped. That one word was all I could manage.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes."
He cradled the back of my neck in his hand and tilted my head back enough to look at me. The smile that spread across his handsome features was one of the sexiest things I'd ever seen. It was a smile that was purely male and completely sexual. That smile said in no uncertain terms that he rang my bell, and he knew it.
"Was it good for you?” he drawled.
I smiled and it took more effort than it should have.
"I had no idea,” I breathed.
"You still don't."
He was right. If just that contact had left me this weak, what would actual penetration have done? I wanted to know, but I was afraid I couldn't handle it.
"Can you sit up?” he asked.
I shook my head.
He smiled again and his deep rumbling laugh raised the hairs on my arm.
"You're welcome,” he smiled as he rose to his feet with me still in his arms.
Water cascaded down our bodies as Marco took a step out of the tub. He sat down on the edge with me in his lap and picked up the robe from the floor with his toes. I wished that I could have offered some help, but I felt like I'd been given a tranquilizer. He wrapped me in the soft dark robe and attempted to stand me up. I propped against Marco for support as he slipped out of the wet pajama pants. I could hear the damp fabric sliding down his legs, but I didn't have the energy to open my eyes.
Marco scooped me up once more and carried me to the bed.
He leaned over me and whispered, “I'm going to take a quick shower."
I thought then that perhaps spending the week with Marco wasn't such a bad idea after all. I sighed deeply and felt like I had never taken such deep breaths before. My mind drifted in and out of consciousness as I heard Marco turn on the shower.
The next thing I knew he was curled up behind me and it felt as if my heart had finally decided on a normal rhythm.
"I feel ... strange,” I mumbled.
"Come here,” he said, rolling me to face him. He was still between me and the door.
"Tell me how you feel.” Marco positioned me so that my head rested against his shoulder.
"Weak, drugged. Alive, but nearly dead.” I sighed again. “I can't move, but I don't really want to. I've never felt like this before."
"It's called satisfaction,” he said and I could hear the same feeling in his voice.
"Are you satisfied?” I asked.
"Oh, yes."
"Then why can you walk and I can't?"
"Because I didn't have two orgasms."
"Three."
He laughed that sexy, evil laugh again as he responded, “Never underestimate what a good pair of shoes can do for you."
"I don't have any shoes that can do that.” I yawned.
When I thought about it, I realized I'd never even had any boyfriends that could do that. I laughed to myself at the thoughts of telling Bradley that he had never satisfied me. I was no stranger to multiple orgasms, but nothing I had ever experienced compared to what had just happened with Marco.
"What's so funny?"
"I was just thinking about this jerk I dated a while back. I'd love to tell that stupid son of a bitch that he never satisfied me."
Marco laughed, “Really? I almost feel sorry for the guy."
"Don't. Miserable assholes like him don't deserve your pity."
"Ouch. You vicious thing,” he teased.
"I'm not that bad. I just think he ought to know he's not half as good as he thinks he is."
"Red?"
"Hmm?"
"You're rambling. Go to sleep."
Marco kissed the top of my head and as if by command, that's exactly what I did.
* * * *
When I woke up several hours later, Marco was sprawled flat of his back and I was stretched out on top of him. This was my first opportunity to watch Marco sleep and I took advantage of it. His long, dark lashes fluttered slightly as if he were dreaming. My body rose and fell with his breathing as I traced every contour of his face with my eyes. I didn't know what tomorrow might bring, but he was right. I shouldn't spend today worrying about it.
Part of my brain kept trying to remind me of Alfred, but Alfred had no place here. Yes, I loved him, but I couldn't bring myself to feel guilty for what had happened with Marco the night before. Nothing was set in stone between Alfred and me and I had wanted Marco since the first moment I'd laid eyes on him. There was so much I wanted to do to him that I had not done. So many roads that I could have taken last night. I think we both knew that we'd chosen the lesser of an abundance of evils. I was still unsure of my feelings for Marco, but I knew then that I definitely had them.
I rubbed my face across the soft hair on his chest and sighed contentedly. In that moment, there was nothing else. As Marco had suggested, I simply let myself be with him. My mind stopped wandering and my restless heart found a steady rhythm.
"Good morning, Red."
Marco's voice was rougher than usual when he first woke up and I found it even sexier than before.
"Good morning,” I purred, sliding further up his body so that I could reach his neck.
My favorite spot was just beneath his earlobe and I snuggled there for a minute. I took a deep breath and started to drift off again.
"What's the matter, don't you want to know what time it is?"
"Shh."
"Well.” He laughed. “The nerve."
I wrapped my right arm around his neck as I snuggled my face against his throat.
"Shut up, Marco. Don't ruin a perfectly good moment."
He laughed and rolled me over so that I was underneath him.
"You little bitch.” He laid his head against my shoulder, nearly covering me with his body as he put one arm across me. “I guess that's how it goes. You satisfy a woman once and she thinks she can order you around. No wait ... you treated me that way before."
"Get over yourself."
"I get the distinct impression that you're trying to shut me up.” I could hear the laughter in his voice.
"You're very perceptive."
He lifted up and made a pitiful face. “Why don't you want to talk to me, Red?"
I shoved his head playfully back down as I answered, “Because the more you talk to me the more I have to think and the more I think, the closer I am to being awake."
"What are you doing now? Sleep talking?"
I growled and snatched a few of his chest hairs.
He yelped. “Hey, that's going below the belt."
"Marco, don't make me think about what's below your belt."
"Too late. I know that expression, Red. You've got your mind in my pants again."
"Damn you."
"You want to take a shower with me?"
I just looked at him.
"I'm kidding. I won't attack you. I know you didn't agree to stay just to get your hands on me. You said you wanted to know me and I was serious when I invited you to stay to do that."
As he slid to a sitting position, I noticed the wicked nail marks down both of his shoulders.
"Oh my, God.” I reached out to touch one of the vicious marks.
"It's not as bad as it looks.” He smiled. “Besides, I enjoyed it."
"You enjoyed being torn up like this?"
He just laughed as I continued to stare at the marks.
"I can't believe I did this. I've never clawed anyone up like this before. Marco, I'm sorry."
"Don't be.” He winked at me as he said, “You're an animal, Red. You just needed someone to bring it out of you."
"Does it hurt?"
"I've had worse.” He smiled as he slid off the bed.
I waited until I heard him get in the shower before going in the bathroom.
"What am I going to wear?” I asked.
"What's the matter? You don't like my pjs?"
I laughed as I remembered I had a spare outfit in the trunk. I carried a pair of old torn jeans and a black baby doll style t-shirt with me just in case.
"I don't have a problem with your pjs, Marco. But if anyone else is going to see me, I've got some jeans in the trunk of my car."
"Would you mind getting me a towel?"
I walked over to the built in linen cabinet and selected a fluffy black towel. Marco turned off the water and asked, “Well, aren't you going to hand it to me?"
I stepped in the door and stretched my hand in one direction and my head in another.
He laughed. “What's the matter, Red? You act like you haven't seen it before."
"I haven't."
"Come again?"
"Don't say things like that to me, Marco."
"I would have thought you got a good look last night,” he teased.
"Well, I didn't. By the time you took your pants off I was too exhausted to open my eyes."
"Well, you can look now, I'm decent."
The long black towel that would have covered me completely hung to just below Marco's knees. One muscular thigh peeked from beneath the towel when he moved toward me. He had secured the cloth just below the chiseled curve of his hip that I had developed a fascination with.
"You're covered anyway,” I said with a sarcastic smile.
Marco stepped toward me and wrapped one arm around my waist, resting his hand in the small of my back. He was warm and wet from the shower and I wanted to lick the beads of water from his skin. He kissed me softly. His lips were warm and soft, and wet. I sucked the moisture from his lower lip and shuddered when a low growl escaped his throat. I deepened the kiss and pulled him down to me.
Marco placed his hands underneath my butt and lifted me. I wrapped my legs around him and he pressed me against the tile. I was still wearing Marco's robe and it parted along with my thighs.
Only the soft black towel stood between us, and that was slipping.
"We've got to stop meeting like this,” I panted as I ran my fingers through his wet hair.
"Don't worry. I'll be busy most of the week."
"Good, because I can't keep my hands off you."
I squeezed him more tightly between my thighs and ran one hand down the hot wet skin of his back. I was on the verge of snatching the towel loose when the phone rang. Until then, I hadn't even been aware that Marco had a phone.
"That's probably Luther,” he said, nuzzling against my throat.
"What's he want?"
Marco lowered me to the floor slowly with one hand carefully holding the towel in place.
"Breakfast, I expect."
"He's coming for breakfast?"
"He's already here.” Marco was on his way to the phone even though it had stopped ringing.
"What do you mean he's already here?"
"He lives on the second floor."
Marco walked to the bedside table nearest the bathroom, picked up the phone and called Luther. After a brief conversation that I couldn't hear all of, he glanced back over his shoulder at me and told Luther, “Give us ten minutes."
We got dressed in silence. I put on another pair of Marco's pajamas. This time they were black. Like before, I had to roll the top of the pants down and the legs up to keep from tripping and the shirt fit me more like a robe. I left most of the bottom buttons open to once again reveal the unscarred portion of my lower abdomen. It was then that I realized that I'd never been self conscious about my scars around Marco. I guess I just didn't see the point in being afraid of looking monstrous to a man that until recently I'd thought was a monster. If anyone would understand what it felt like to be afraid of looking different, it was Marco.
He put on a white sleeveless undershirt that stretched nicely over his curves. I watched as he turned his back to me and dropped the towel. Unfortunately from where I stood, my view was blocked by the bed. I didn't want to run to see his naked ass, so by the time I walked around the bed, he was zipping his jeans and looking for a belt. Oh well, the more I saw, the more I'd want to touch. Some of my disappointment must have shown on my face.
"What's wrong, Red?"
"Huh?"
Marco's knowing smile made me blush so hard it burned.
"You should have looked when you had the chance."
My gaze traveled up and down his body. I didn't bother to be polite. I let myself take in with my eyes all the places that my hands didn't need to go. Even in faded jeans and an undershirt Marco was still one of the sexiest men I'd ever seen. The shirt left his muscular arms bare, revealing not only what great shape he was in, but the claw marks I'd left down his arms. Where the shirt dipped in the front around the neck I could see his collar bone as well as a distinctive bite mark.
I stepped forward to admire my handiwork and began to ruffle his hair. Marco leaned forward and let me have my way with his shaggy mane. He normally kept his dark hair cut close and neat, but he'd been busy lately and a werewolf's hair grows fast. It wasn't long or to the point of being unkempt, just enough to get a nice handful.
I scratched behind his ear and he growled.
"Did I hit the spot?” I laughed.
He growled again before snapping at my hand playfully and saying, “Luther will be here any minute."
I watched as he opened the door and began to pad barefoot across the open loft to the kitchen. Those faded jeans clung to every curve of his long muscular legs like a second skin. The situation seemed more intimate somehow with his feet being bare. To go without shoes in someone else's presence suggested a level of comfort that normally took a while to develop, at least for me.

Chapter Eighteen 
When I saw the top of Luther's blond head emerging from the staircase I said, “I thought no one knew how to get up here."
Luther smiled. “He just told me this morning."
Marco motioned for us to have a seat at the large table near the back of the kitchen.
"What do you feel like?” Marco asked as he opened the refrigerator.
"Bacon,” Luther said instantly.
Marco looked to me and I answered, “Fruit."
They both gave me a questioning look.
"I don't often feel like meat this early in the day,” I explained.
Marco bit his lip to keep from laughing and Luther seemed to have just noticed the many claw marks on Marco's body. Truthfully, I hadn't realized what damage I'd done until I saw him standing there in the early morning sun. The marks would likely be healed by the next day, but until then he would wear them. As I looked at Marco standing there in the kitchen, I couldn't help but admire what a piece of work he was.
His natural tan seemed to stand out even more against the white of the undershirt he wore. The way his hair was tossed about so carelessly made him look wild. I reminded myself that morning that I was looking at a gentle version of what could potentially become a beast. But what I saw that day was definitely the beauty. It turned me on to see the marks I'd left on his skin, but it also made me sad to have marred his perfection. Part of me wanted to finish the job, but the other part just wanted breakfast.
Before I had much time to elaborate on the fantasy Luther couldn't hold his peace any longer.
"Did you guys hear anything last night?” He winked at me and I could have strangled him.
"No,” Marco answered, careful to keep his back turned.
"Well, from downstairs it sounded like there was a wild animal up here."
Marco sat a pitcher of juice on the table as he responded with a smile, “Well, I didn't hear anything."
Luther couldn't seem to control himself any longer, “Then what happened to you?"
Marco absently rubbed the bite mark near his throat as he responded, “I cut myself shaving.” He raised one eyebrow as if challenging Luther to say otherwise.
Luther poured himself some juice with a muffled laugh, but he didn't comment further.
As I went back to watching Marco cook breakfast, I knew what I was hungry for and it wasn't fruit. Luther got down some plates from the cabinets. The way he kept looking at me let me know he had something else to say.
After breakfast was on the table Marco said, “Will you two excuse me for a minute? I need to make a phone call."
He left in the direction of the bedroom and had barely closed the door before Luther turned to me. “Damn, Mercury."
"What Luther? I know you want to say something, so let's have it before I wake up enough to get pissed off."
"If I'd had any idea what a wildcat you were, I'd have asked you out in high school."
"And what makes you think I'd have said yes?” I sneered.
Luther ran his fingers through his long hair dramatically and said, “Because I'm so sexy."
I laughed so hard I nearly snorted juice up my nose. “It's not like that, Luther."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, really. It's not as bad as it looks."
"Well, if you can resist Marco, you'd be the first, which I doubt."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He leaned in conspiratorially. “In case you haven't noticed, he's got ‘em lining up.” At my shocked expression he added, “Not that he'd take advantage, of course."
Before I could comment Marco returned. “Sam will be here tomorrow."
"Who's Sam?” I asked.
"You'll see. I think you'll really like him."
After breakfast Marco went downstairs with Luther. When I asked where they were going he informed me, “It's business.” I'm sure he would have elaborated if I'd asked, but I didn't. I had no idea what it took to run a club or a pack of werewolves and honestly didn't want to know. I busied myself with yoga and playing video games in Marco's bedroom.
Sometime in the wee hours of the morning I felt Marco crawl into bed beside me. Instinctively, I snuggled back against his warmth.
"I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I didn't mean to wake you."
"It's alright."
He started telling me how he'd spent the day ordering supplies for the club and handling disputes within the pack.
"You don't owe me an explanation,” I mumbled sleepily as I rolled toward him.
"I know."
Marco pulled me on top of him and I fell asleep.
* * * *
It wasn't as difficult to keep my hands off Marco for the rest of the week as I'd expected. In fact I had very little opportunity to touch him at all. When he'd said he would be busy, he wasn't kidding.
I decided that if he was expecting company, I should put on some shoes. Since the platform boots I'd worn to the club didn't exactly go with my torn jeans and tight black t-shirt, I decided to go rummage in the trunk of my car for something more suitable and slipped on Marco's shoes to go downstairs.
I was on the way to my car Tuesday morning to look for shoes when I heard the unmistakable rumble of a Harley Davidson motorcycle behind me. A man dressed all in black pulled up and parked right beside where I'd been clunking along in Marco's slippers. As he stood up and swung one long leg over the bike I could see that he was tall. The man was well built and lean, slender, but not quite thin. When he took off his helmet I saw that he was also handsome.
He was older, possibly in his fifties, with chin length salt and pepper hair that looked wild even though he attempted to smooth it with his hands. He had a bushy mustache, a kind smile, and dark eyes.
I was glad that I'd changed into my jeans and t-shirt instead of Marco's pajamas.
"Good morning.” His voice was deep, pleasant, and warm as whiskey.
I liked him instantly.
"You must be Lilith.” He extended his hand.
"And you must be Sam.” I smiled as I took his hand.
He had a nice firm handshake, not like some men who seem to be afraid of hurting a woman's hand. I hated wimpy handshakes. They were just another way of saying that a man didn't think of you as an equal. But Sam's firm grip said he had no such hang-ups.
"Well no wonder Marco's all worked up. I don't reckon I blame him.” He smiled.
It surprised me to hear that Marco had discussed me with anyone. The fact that he would have mentioned me at all was flattering, but it also let me know how much he trusted Sam.
"He mentioned me?"
"More than once.” He winked.
The motorcycle matched Sam well, but he almost looked like he should have ridden in on a horse. After I got some flip-flops out of my car, we went inside where Marco met us.
They embraced each other like brothers.
"You've met?” Marco asked.
Sam smiled. “Yes, I've had the pleasure."
They spoke briefly about it having been a long time since they'd last seen each other before Sam asked, “Is there some place I could wash up? I look like I've been rode hard and put up wet."
"No,” I said, “but maybe you need to be."
I had no idea what made me say that, but it was true. That rough and dusty motif looked good on Sam. The comment went over fairly well with him, but did not have the same effect on Marco.
"I like her.” Sam smiled at Marco.
"Which is why you'll be staying with Luther,” Marco said as he put an arm around Sam and raised an eyebrow at me. “Let me show you to your room."
Later that day I found out that Samuel James was a visiting alpha werewolf from Texas. He was the leader of the second largest wolf pack in the country, and Marco's mentor.
"Who has the largest?” I asked about the pack.
Marco smiled wickedly. “Red, you should know that mine's bigger."
Sam laughed. “In this case at least, that's right."
"What does that mean exactly?” I asked.
"Darlin’ that means that if they're not with us, they're just strays.” Sam smiled.
The club was closed during the week, so we were sitting at a table downstairs near the bar. Other than the three of us, there were a few pack members there including the DJ that had gotten wasted at the hurricane party.
Sam looked in his direction. “Hey John, play somethin’ I like."
Before long we were listening to country music. Not the new crap that sounds like it was written by a boy band, but the good stuff. I have always liked a variety of music, but you couldn't grow up in the south and not be exposed to country. Even people who weren't fans of the genre, like myself, still had their favorites. I couldn't resist classic country.
"Do you dance darlin'?” Sam asked.
He winked at Marco and I assumed that was as close as he would come to asking permission.
"Stranger, you don't know who you're talking to,” I teased as I imitated his accent.
To my surprise he did a really nice two step and his waltz wasn't bad either. Sam reminded me of a cowboy from an old western novel. He was polite and charismatic, but there was a bit of the devil behind his smile.
As we danced he asked, “So, what are your intentions with him?” he nodded toward Marco.
"Why do you care?"
"Because he's been like a son to me, and I don't wanna see him hurt."
I was truly touched by what Sam had said. “That's sweet, but I honestly can't tell you my intentions, because I don't know."
He pulled back to look me in the eye. “Are you telling me you don't have feelings for him? Darlin’ I've seen the way you look at him. That ain't just a friendly smile."
I was quiet for a few minutes as Sam spun me around and then pulled me close again.
"There's someone else?” He made it a question.
"Yes."
Sam glanced at Marco again. “Does he know?"
"Yes."
He sighed. “Well, I don't have the answers, sugar. But if you need to talk, you can trust me. There ain't too many tricks this old dog ain't seen.” He winked.
"Thanks, Sam."
I kissed his cheek.
* * * *
The purpose behind Sam's visit had been to listen to Marco's ideas and help him prepare for the hearing. They spent most of Tuesday and Wednesday pouring over the many law books in Marco's office.
Even with the full moon approaching the sex that Marco normally radiated diminished as his anxiety increased. He was still his usual flirtatious self, but he didn't actually make any more moves on me. I spent most of my time with Luther. We worked out, went shopping together, and reminisced about old times. My week wasn't bad, but Tuesday and Wednesday I went to sleep alone and woke up in the early morning with Marco curled around me.
Thursday would be our last night together. Friday night was the full moon, and I was going home before then. He had invited me to the full moon gathering along with the pack, but I decided to pass. This was where he would say his farewell to the pack and leave Luther in charge until his return. I just didn't think that I belonged there.
He looked so worried late Thursday afternoon as he was going over his notes that I had to intervene.
"Put these away,” I said, taking Marco's notes from him.
"I'm sorry, Red. I didn't invite you to stay just to be ignored. I forgot how much I had left to do."
"Then why did you want me to stay?"
I got on my knees in front of him on the bed. Marco wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his face against my stomach.
"Thanks for staying, Red. You have no idea how much your presence has soothed me.” He sighed. “This was supposed to be where I showed you that I'm not such a bad guy, but you can't get to know a man who's never around."
I ran my fingers through his thick dark hair as I said, “But I have. I've seen a responsible man who cares about other people.” I leaned down so that I could see his face. “You make the pack's problems your problems and that's very commendable. You're far from the ravaging beast I expected.” I smiled.
"Sorry to disappoint.” He sighed.
"That's the problem, Marco. You've been anything but disappointing. You know that once Alfred comes back...."
"I know,” he interrupted as he flopped back onto the pillows. “I'm not asking to change your life remember? I just wanted you to have an opportunity to see the real me, not just judge me from what you've heard."
"So what happens now?"
He sighed and scratched the stubble on his chin.
"Now you'll go on with your life, and I'll go on with mine ... and we'll see where that takes us."
His response eased my mind somewhat, but something still bothered me.
"Marco, I don't want you to think that spending this time with you hasn't meant something, because it has."
He sighed. “Red, I'm not asking you to make a choice now. Go back to your scientist. And if you're happy, I'll leave you alone."
"But...."
"Don't complicate things that need not be complicated."
He was right and I decided to listen, at least for the time being. I helped Marco put away his notes and started to gather up my things for when I would leave the next day. He picked up some silver nail polish that had fallen out of my purse.
"Can I paint your toe nails?” He smiled seductively.
"Do you have a foot fetish, Marco?"
"Only for your feet.” He winked.
That's right, The Big Bad Wolf very carefully and very skillfully painted my toenails. While I lay back with my feet in his lap I remembered something Luther had said.
"Marco, I want to ask you something."
"Hmm?” He didn't look up.
"Is it true you've got women lining up for a chance to sleep with you?"
He nearly spilled the polish.
"What? Red, who've you been talking to?"
"Luther."
"Hmm, Luther exaggerates."
He hadn't answered my question. “Is it true?"
"Technically, yes. But if you're trying to ask if I nail my pack members, the answer's no."
I sat back and crossed my arms.
"That was what you were asking, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, it was."
He bent back over my feet.
"Do you date?” I asked.
"Don't you?"
"Are you seeing anyone now?"
"No, why?"
"Were you sleeping with Amy, the woman who attacked me?"
"No.” He looked up in frustration. “I am not, nor was I previously fucking any members of my pack. Happy?"
He had hardly touched the polish to my next toe nail when I asked, “What about Sam's pack?"
"Damn it, Red I am not going to spend the night like this."
"I'm sorry I just...."
"I'm saving myself for you, Red. Is that what you wanted to hear?” he growled.
"What?” I was stunned. Surely he was being sarcastic.
"That's right. My own pack mocks me. They say that I've been neutered."
"But I thought they all thought that you and I were...."
"They do,” he growled.
Marco slid to the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair.
"The last pack leader kept a harem ... Bade keeps a harem."
He took a deep steadying breath before continuing in a much calmer tone of voice. “Natural wolves mate for life. I think it's a disgrace to act like more of an animal than they do."
I slid closer to Marco's back, but was careful not to touch him.
"Does my touch soothe you?” I almost whispered.
"Yes."
It hurt me to see him like that. He was a bundle of nerves and I couldn't blame him.
"Then let your mind be still,” I said softly as I lifted up and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
Marco leaned back against me and closed his eyes. As if by instinct I suddenly knew how to calm him. I placed my hands over his chest. With every breath I felt his nervous tension flow into me, and I breathed it out. Several minutes passed and the raging beast from before lay completely gentle in my arms.
"Thank you,” he said softly. “If you hadn't been here this week, I don't think I could have made it."
"You'll be fine."
"I'm scared, Red."
That was something I'd never expected to hear from Marco. I wasn't used to seeing him so real ... so human.
"What time do you leave for the hearing?"
"I've been given permission to use the transporter of a Hunter in Louisiana. Since this probably isn't the best time to let them know that I built one in the basement of the club, I'll be there first thing Saturday."
"You know how to build a transporter?"
"I helped construct the one in your father's office.” He smiled.
"So, you are capable of paying attention."
"Once in a while."
"Try to relax, Marco. Like you told me, worrying about tomorrow won't change anything."
"You're right.” He sighed.
I had an idea, “Why don't you tell me about what you're going to say. I am part wizard. Try out your speech on me."
"You know, that's not a bad idea."
Marco reached for his notes and I stopped him. “Without the notes."
He looked worried for a second, but soon got his bearings. Over the next couple of hours I finally got to hear Marco's point of view. No matter how I chose to look at things, either from the perspective of a Hunter, or the woman sitting on his bed, it made sense.
Marco was going to propose the enactment of what he called the werewolf code. It would be a very involved process, but the gist of it was that contracting lycanthropy would no longer carry an automatic death sentence. People who were contaminated accidentally through an attack, for example would not be punished for something that they had no control over. However, knowingly infecting another person with the disease would still mean death, so the Hunters would still be involved.
If Marco's proposal was accepted everyone would be doing what I'd done all along, only hunting rogue werewolves.
"It would mean so much to be able to go out in public and openly be who I am without being killed for it.” He paced the room as he spoke.
"Marco, there are so many other things that this could set into motion,” I warned.
As he turned back to me the passion in his words could not be denied, “I know. But it would be a start to be able to walk down the street without wondering if people knew what was underneath this skin ... if they would kill me for it."
"They might still kill you for it."
"Yes, but they have to see the reasoning behind what I'm saying."
I sighed as I hugged a pillow to my chest.
"I'm surprised it's taken someone this long to suggest something like this."
"It hasn't,” he said. “Others have suggested something similar in the past."
"Why was I never told?"
"Because it was stricken from the history books."
"But how could they! That's misleading entire generations of people!"
"That's wizards,” he said as he flopped down beside me.
"What happened to the other people, the ones with similar ideas?"
"They were most likely killed."
My heart was suddenly in my throat. I couldn't speak. The danger that Marco faced became very clear to me then and I better understood his anxiety. Yet again I was painfully reminded that the handsome man in front of me was not mine, but I didn't know what I'd do if Marco didn't come back.
"It's alright, Red,” Marco whispered as he reached for me. “Too many people know what's going on this time. I really don't think they'll kill me.” He brushed his fingers across my cheek gently. “But it's nice to know that you care."
"I never said I cared."
"You didn't have to.” He kissed me slowly and I tasted what I'd be missing.
"Besides it's not the wizards that concern me most."
"What then?"
"It's Jacob Mercury."
"What do you mean? My father's not trying to kill you."
He grinned. “Jacob would kill me for the thoughts that I have about his daughter."
I watched as Marco turned out the light and crawled back into bed. He pulled me on top of him and I snuggled my face across the hair on his chest.
"Red?"
"Hmm?"
"When I make it back, can I hunt the rabbits in your woods?"
"What?” I laughed.
"You know the little fuzzy, bouncy things in the woods around your house. They're everywhere."
"Marco, I don't care,” I snickered.
"Just so we're clear, I'm not talking about using a shot gun."
"I know."
"I like to hunt on the full moon, after the gathering. Some of the pack members do the same, but I like to hunt alone."
He looked down where I rested against his chest and his eyes glowed in the dark. “You sure you don't mind me growing paws and running through your woods?"
"I'm sure."
He took a deep breath and dislodged my resting place slightly. “What about Alfred?"
I looked up at him, “They're my woods. I'll handle Alfred."
Within a few minutes Marco's breathing grew steady and I knew he was asleep.
* * * *
Friday morning found us all in a very solemn mood. Marco and I got up early and had breakfast before he walked me downstairs and out to my car. Once I'd put my purse in the passenger seat I turned back to Marco, hugged him tightly, and breathed in the scent of the man I knew I'd be missing.
The sound of boots crunching on the gravel of the parking lot caught my attention and I turned to see Sam coming our way.
"I hope you don't mind,” Marco said. “I've asked Sam to keep an eye on you while I'm gone. With me out of the way for a week or so and Luther busy, I'm afraid there are those that might try something stupid."
The look in his eyes let me know that now was not the time to remind him that I could take care of myself. And truthfully, I didn't mind. I decided instead to tell Marco the truth. If I never saw him again, I didn't want him to think that that was alright with me.
"I'm gonna miss you.” I smiled.
"You know where to find me."
"Get back to work, boy. I've got this.” Sam winked at me as he walked past my car to his bike.
I watched Marco in the rearview mirror while I drove away. He stood there till I was out of sight.

Chapter Nineteen 
Even with the prospect of Sam to keep me company, leaving Marco had been difficult. If Marco's proposal for the enactment of the werewolf code was accepted, it had the potential to do three things. It could either promote peace among the human and lycanthrope communities. It could start an out right war. Or, it could trigger a combination of the two. Personally, I wasn't sure what I wanted. Of course, I didn't want a war. But, there was already a war raging inside of me. This particular battle had nothing to do with politics.
The man that I loved was far away, and not due to return for several more weeks. However, the man that I found myself drawn to would be back shortly. And as he'd pointed out, I knew where to find him. But, was Marco what I needed to find? That's the question I kept asking myself. For so long it seemed, I'd been finding the wrong sort of man.
As my dreams continued to be filled with images of men I knew, there was one that I did not. A tall dark stranger, whose face was still a mystery. But, I am still a werewolf Hunter and until I hear differently, Marco is supposed to be my enemy. That leaves little room for thoughts of anything else. Someday, I might have to kill him, but my mind keeps taking me back to the night we danced.
THE END.