Even Emma, her neighbor, began to take pity on him. “He’s in excellent shape to be able to run that fast, duckie.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I don’t have the heart to call the cops.”
“I’ve noticed you checking outside before bringing Esme out. Thanks for doing that.”
“I don’t want to corrupt my daughter’s growing mind,” Emma told her, sighing. “So. Do you like him?”
“As crazy as it sounds, Emma… I’ve gotta admit, I really do.”
“He’s not one for subtlety, is he?”
“No.”
“What does he do for work?”
“We haven’t gotten that far yet, but he’s single. I asked him if he has anyone home who misses him at night-”
Ororo paused, suddenly struck by an idea.
“And?” Emma asked impatiently when Ororo’s eyes took on a dazed, faraway look.
“At night,” she muttered. “Hey, Em? I’ve gotta go.”
“Perhaps he would spend less time on your lawn if you let him inside the house?” Emma called after her as Ororo dashed back to her own house. Emma sighed, chuckling and shaking her head.
“Talk to you later, Emma!”
“Bye, now.”
Ororo hurried inside and slammed her door shut, then went to her laptop. She grabbed her barely warm cup of tea and swigged down half of it before she opened her browser. She Googled “werewolves” and hit ‘Enter.’
“Some believe lycanthropy is an ancient curse, and it is part of popular folklore…” she read aloud. She clicked through a few links that read like science fiction and found some hilarious images on an additional search.
But then, she found chat rooms. On “Living as a Lycan.” And “Surviving Your Lunar Shifts: A Handy Guide.” Or, “Managing Carnivorous Cravings and Hunting Safely During Your Change.” There were instructions and recommendations for locking yourself up in your dwelling during full moon cycles, or driving out of city limits to run free. There were pros and cons for both. Ororo read chat topic strings from people whose marriages had broken up because they found out their mate was a “shifter” after they walked down the aisle. She read about tales of changing that sounded an awful lot like discovering that your spouse was cheating.
“Good grief,” she murmured as she continued to read.
There were graphic photos of scars healed over from gruesome injuries. Some lycans reported faster healing and stronger immune systems. One of the oldest men in the world was a reported lycan, and he was still spry and active. Ororo laughed at a YouTube video of him dancing a polka. “Wow.”
There were signs for “norms” to help them realize that their mate might be a werewolf. Nocturnal habits and insomnia. Irritability in the mornings, whether they worked during the day or not. An insensitivity to cold. Stronger and faster than the average human. Carnivorous. An aversion to heavy clothing, and in some cases, any clothing. Night wandering, sometimes confused with sleepwalking.
Ororo set down her tea, feeling numb and chilled.
“Oh, my God…”
*
It explained so much. Ororo spent most of her weekend researching werewolves at her local library. On elderly woman at the work station beside hers hovered over her shoulder, smirking. “Aren’t you getting ready for Halloween a little early, dear?”
“It’s never too early for Halloween,” Ororo told her. “I’m a big fan of it.”
“That fellow looks like he could use a shave,” the woman suggested as she nodded to the image of a werewolf on Ororo’s computer screen.
“He’s a bit of an alpha male,” Ororo agreed, making the woman cackle as she hobbled off.
Ororo read about famous celebrities and literary figures who likely had lycan blood. People who claimed that their parents, or their grandparents were werewolves. Lists of occupations best for lycans, most of them night jobs or work-from-home opportunities. She found a site listing spells the novice witch could cast to discourage lycan shifts, but she dismissed it. There were drawbacks to lycanthropy, but there were advantages, too. The “wolf” usually chose people from strong mental and emotional stock. Much like canines, one journal said, lycans recognized humans with “positive vibes” that radiated pheromones and pulses that told them that the human was not a physical threat. By that same token, infected humans were drawn to those people-
“- as mates,” Ororo read aloud.” “Holy SHIT.”
The librarian shushed her as she walked by with her returned book cart. Ororo cringed and mouthed a silent apology.
Oh. This explained so much.
Ororo returned the journal to the shelf, shut down the desktop and headed home. Wondering.
If she were a sane woman, Ororo reasoned, this would worry her. Instead, the discovery spawned dozens more questions. And it even answered some important ones.
“Okay,” Ororo decided as she got ready for bed that night. “Okay.” She showered and washed her hair, rubbed on some of her favorite scented lotion, and set her alarm for four AM. She hoped the end result was worth the loss of beauty sleep. Honestly.
*
She slept fitfully, overly aware of every sound outside, unable to ignore her neighbor’s annoying Pomeranian or the sounds of birds on her roof. Curiosity burned in her chest. She might have dozed for a while; her vision was blurry in the dark every time she glanced at the alarm clock. Twelve-thirty. One-fifteen. Two twenty-three. Three forty-five.
The alarm jerked her out of a shallow doze, and she grunted in irritation until she remembered her purpose. Ororo threw the covers aside and went to her window, using the small rod to open the blinds. She waited breathlessly, watching the sky, which was still a deep indigo. Minutes passed. Ororo filed her nails as she waited, but she left the lights off, not wanting to draw his attention yet if he showed. Her heart pounded; she wondered dimly if he would be able to hear it from here, if he came.
She felt herself nodding off sitting up, until her neighbor’s flood lights came on. Ororo woke with a start and suddenly heard some low growling and grunts. That didn’t sound like her neighbor’s dog…
She leaned down toward the windowpane, watching her own breath steam the glass. Out of her periphery, she saw large, bare feet. They looked strange… furry. “Oh, wow…” A mixture of excitement and fear mingled in her gut. He stalked into view, and she recognized the sinuous lines of his body and generous muscle, his compact stature and disheveled hair. He was nude again, no sign of the briefs she bought him, and she worried about him. The night air was cold and damp, an already exceptionally bitter autumn so far. But he was out there. She saw his breath coming out in small puffs and watched him sniff the air. He crept slowly around her yard, starting every time he heard small sounds, much like she had.
She watched him go still at the sound of rustling in the tree, and he darted off after a squirrel. “Shit!” she yelped, before she laughed at her own reaction. It was almost cute. But then, the growling changed direction. Came closer. Ororo’s heart skipped.
She went silent, and she saw his feet come back into view, then watched his thick, sturdy legs emerge from the shadows. Oh. He was just as naked as before, all right… Fur didn’t quite obscure that. But, he was impressive. An alpha male, as she had joked with the woman at the library. He was loose and wild; his nudity seemed natural to him, like he couldn’t be comfortably any other way, walking among sedate groups and carrying out mundane tasks. This wasn’t a man who wanted to be the life of the party or argue the benefits of an Apple watch versus a FitBit. It hit Ororo how lonely he had to be, and how misunderstood he had to feel. Out of touch.
Curiosity prodded her again, moving her feet toward the bedroom door. She crept slowly down the stairs, edging along the wall. She listened to him outside, still grunting and sniffing, and she wondered if he would be satisfied with staying outside on her lawn, this time. Ororo crept down the hall, staying close to the furniture so the floor wouldn’t creak; the floor boards felt cool beneath her bare feet. She lingered by the picture window in her living room and peeked through the slats.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when he stalked past, his shadow floating over her skin. Her heart pounded faster and louder than before, and she stopped breathing for several seconds. Up close, she saw his fur - fur! - thick and dark, and noticed he had talons for fingernails. He was fearsome to behold, and listening to his breathing, his low, hunkering growls, gave her goosebumps and sent thrilling little frissons down her spine.
He paused. Went completely still. Ororo’s eyes widened. He slowly turned, so that instead of his craggy, imposing profile, she was staring directly into his eerie, yellow-gold eyes.
Slowly, she backed away, cold fear coursing through her as she released the slat of the blind, cutting off her view. He made a strangled yelp, then whined low in his throat at her retreat. “Shit!” Ororo rushed from her living room and ran up the stairs. She darted into her room and locked the door, then cleared all of her toiletries from the top of it. Ororo took down her large mirror, setting it down on the bed, and she grabbed the dresser, tugging on it, dragging it until it blocked the doorway completely.
She expected more growling. She listened, afraid that he would break her window and turn her front door into splinters. But instead, all she heard was low whining. Whimpering and more sniffing. And a low scratching. Insistent and rough. “What?” she huffed. She was cold and sweating with fear, but… that didn’t sound like a savage beast. She went back to her bedroom window. She couldn’t see him from there, now, because she had a covered front porch, but she knew he was still outside her door. Whimpering.
Like a dog who wanted inside.
“Geez.”
She braced herself for trouble, wondering if he would remain like this. It still didn’t feel like the right thing to call the authorities. No. She feared for him, out at night like this and completely vulnerable. “Poor thing,” she mused.
Ororo went to her closet and grabbed a souvenir bat that she picked up at a Giants game when she went out west with Anna to San Francisco to freeze their butts off in the cheap seats and gorge themselves on overpriced garlic fries. She moved the dresser back from the door and eased her way through, back down the stairs. His whining was louder as she reached the ground floor, almost pitiful. She was still afraid, but sympathy invaded her consciousness, confusing her. She was about to go back to the door, but then a lightbulb went on in her head. Okay. Let’s give him a good reason to behave. An incentive.
Ororo returned to the living room moments later, holding the cold, dripping petite sirloin in her tight, shaking grip. She heard him scratching and whining more insistently the closer she came. She knew he had to hear her footsteps. Her breathing.
“It’s okay,” she said softly, feeling her voice quiver. “Okay? Nice… Logan. Good boy.” He made a rough sound, almost like a low bark at the sound of his name. “I know it’s you,” she told him. “Okay, Logan? I know it’s you. And, it’s late. Or early, depending on how you look at it.”
He whined plaintively, as though he agreed with her.
“You’re kinda in the altogether again, buddy. The neighbors aren’t gonna like it if you’re still like that by sun-up.”
He whined again, making an odd growl, but this one had form. A shape.
“Rrrrrr-ro.”
Shit.
“I have something for you. Okay?”
She unlocked the door and slowly turned the knob. She watched him through the crack of the door, startling slightly at the motion and sound of the hinge. He stopped growling and whining, and she caught his gaze. Held it.
“Hi. Hey, big guy. Hungry?”
He cocked his head to the side, whining and noticing what she held in her hand. She held the bat out of view and slowly opened the door just wide enough to hand out the steak.
He leaned forward, sniffing at the meat, and at her fingers. His whiskers - whiskers! tickled her skin, and she choked back a laugh. But then he snatched the meat from her grip, startling her, and she jumped back, letting him take it. He scrabbled backwards, doubled around and scrambled off her porch and onto the lawn. She watched him hunch over the steak, devouring it messily. “Ew,” she muttered. Wow. Wow.
He was like a great big German shepherd. She watched, fascinated, as he ate, completely nonplussed. Ororo set the bat in the corner, just behind the coat stand, and she left the door cracked open. She glanced at the wall clock. It was four forty-five. The sky looked a bit lighter, the stars less brilliant, and the moon was lower, blurrier.
“Logan?” she murmured. “Are you going to behave?”
He looked up at the sound of his name. At her quiet, calm tone. He crept up slowly, padding quietly up her front steps. He whined again, unsure of what to do. Like he always was every morning, except… this time, he didn’t seem desperate to escape. He was rapt, just staring at her in the low moonlight. At her soft, gleaming hair. Her smooth skin and long, bare legs and feet. At eyes blue as tourmalines. Breasts unfettered by a bra beneath her pale gray sleep shirt.
Deep beneath the haze of lycan thoughts, senses and emotions, Logan thought, She’s so damned beautiful. Perfect.
And she presented no threat. She was safe. Kind. Not afraid of him.
Worthy.
More importantly, she thought he was worthy.
“Look… if I let you in, you-you have to promise me, you have to promise me that you won’t try anything funny. Okay? It’s almost daylight. See?” She nodded up at the sky, and he followed her gaze. “No more streaking. No more upsetting the neighbors.”
She opened the door the rest of the way, beckoning to him.
“Rrrr.”
“C’mon in, you big goof.”
“Rrrrr. Rrr-ro.”
“And wash your hands.” She reached for him and gave his brawny arm a light tug. He followed her over the threshold, looking confused, but not displeased with this new development. Ororo closed the door and led her guest into the kitchen. She decided it wasn’t worth freaking out over the fact that he was still naked.
She smelled sweet, like sandalwood again, and he caught a whiff of her shampoo, making him wish he could bury his face in her hair. Or in the hollow of her slender throat. He heard her heartbeat, quick but gradually slowing. He felt her vibrations, comforting and warm. Steady. She blotted his hands with a dishtowel and led him back into the house. Upstairs. It felt awkward climbing them, moving in his hunched gait. But they made it up to the landing, and Ororo eased into her bedroom, mindful of the narrow opening and the dresser impeding her entry. She moved it back with a grunt, struggling, until Logan moved past her, bumping into her. His body felt warm despite the chilly air outside. She shivered at the contact of his fur against her bare arm. Logan shoved the dresser back with hardly any effort, toward the empty space where it stood before. Ororo huffed a laugh.
“Okay. Just… Go. Hop in. Time for night-night, buddy.” She nodded to the bed. “Climb in. Behave.”
He made a whining sound again, but he didn’t argue.
He was inside, safe and sound. It was still dark, even though Ororo could see the shapes in her dark room more clearly. He lay there, uncovered, unsure of his welcome. Ororo sighed and climbed in next to him, and she drew up the blankets, covering them both, tucking them around so he wouldn’t get a draft. He still looked confused, thick, craggy brows drawn together, but the golden cast began to fade from his eyes. She let her head settle into the pillows as she watched him. “It’s all right. Just rest.”
She reached out, hesitating, then lightly stroked his cheek. His fur felt coarse but soft. He made a low whining sound and leaned into her touch. She smoothed back his disheveled hair, combing her fingers through it, and his body relaxed. She watched his eyes droop from exhaustion as she continued to stroke his hair.
She was tired, too, from her fitful night and vigilance. Ororo yawned, and he echoed it a moment later. She felt him reach up and take her hand, stilling it, and he held it against his cheek, nuzzling it, a silent request to stop, to tell her he’d had enough for the moment. But he let her hand slip down and held it against his chest. His heartbeat was slow and steady.
Ororo sighed and drifted off. She didn’t notice the slowly pinkening sky and sun-kissed clouds outside, nor the chirping birds. She felt the form beside her shift, bringing its warmth closer. Enveloping her.
Logan’s inner wolf crept back into its den, leaving the man to his dreams, more peaceful than they’d ever been.
