-1-

 

 

Dogs. Deva liked dogs. Never had one, but always admired them. Unlike cats, they came in a surprising array of sizes, shapes and colors – not that she didn’t like cats, too. But they were, with a few bizarre exceptions, all the same size (not including, of course, lions and such). Their colors were pretty standard, too, being either grey, orange, black, white, or a mixture of all of the above. Oh, yes, and they could be striped or, like the Siamese, appear air-brushed. Sphinx cats, in her opinion, weren’t cats at all, but some alien species that came to visit during a past millennium, discovered catnip, and forgot where they parked the ship. But dogs. They were very, very cool.

Wolves, on the other hand, were a whole different story. Like the one glaring at her. It looked unfriendly, thought a distant chemical in her brain, as she glared back and tried to control her bladder. Not at all pettable. More…hungry, perhaps, than anything else. Undoubtedly on the verge of doing something painful to her, and no doubt fatal. What she wouldn’t give to have a stray London Broil in her purse (an item she had slung over her right shoulder – she was out for a walk, not a jog, after all), or a Taser. She gulped in an attempt to lubricate her dry throat while she still had one.

The wolf, which she thought was far larger than any wolf she’d seen on National Geographic or the Animal channel, didn’t look as if its ancestors had ever belonged to a Native American tribe; that, at least, would have been somewhat comforting. And it was taking a step closer, a low growl lubricating its own throat.

Don’t show fear. Deva stood a little straighter, and the wolf growled a little louder.

Don’t show aggression. Without sending her a warning memo, her knees stopped working, and she sat hard on the jogging path. “Ouch!” she whispered, wincing, then glanced up to see if the creature had come any closer.

It had, but wasn’t growling any more. Instead, it was giving her the same narrow-eyed stare she usually got from her boss when he thought she’d been playing games on the computer instead of working. She wanted to ask it what the hell its problem was, but the part of her brain in charge of survival told her not to be an idiot. One of the cells under I’m-In-Charge-Of-Survival’s orders whimpered something about running away, but was promptly smushed. So she continued to sit, terrified, unmoving, hoping that if the damn thing was going to eat her it would go for the quick kill first.

The wolf seemed to have a different idea, though, and after taking another step toward her, lashed out with one paw and made an almost gentle swipe across the upper part of her left arm. Tears of pain and fear sprang to her eyes, maybe one of which was shed for the brand new shirt that had just been ruined; blood began to pour from flesh as torn as the material, and she waited for the next swipe that would kill her.

It never came. In fact, the wolf turned, smirking…okay, it wasn’t smirking, but in the split second between the wolf hurting her and turning away, she thought she detected a smirking kind of attitude, and wasn’t sure if she was more outraged than relieved.

She watched, not moving so much as a skin cell, as the massive beast followed the path away from her for a few yards, then turned left and veered off into the woods (had it turned right, it would have veered off into a fence). She waited a few more minutes before getting to her feet and heading in the opposite direction, back toward her car. With any luck, she’d make it before she bled to death.

“Luck,” she muttered, stumbling a little. “If you had any luck at all, you wouldn’t have been attacked.” Glad that no one was around to see her talking to herself, and upset that no one was around to help her, she continued stagger-walking down the path until reaching the parking lot. To her relief, there was no wolf on its hind legs, leaning casually against the side of her car, tossing a coin in one paw, holding a cigarette in the other –

“Wow! Get a grip!” Deva shook her head, hard, took her keys from her purse, unlocked the door, got in after checking the back seat for random oversized animals, started the engine, and drove home.

 

**********

 

“Did you ever notice how women on television and in the movies always hold their coffee cups the same way? You know, never by the handle, but with both hands cupped around it like they’re too delicate to hold it like the rest of us?”

Deva gave her friend a crazy look. “What on earth are you babbling about?” She wasn’t in a very good mood, having gotten back a few minutes earlier from the doctor’s office where they’d checked her stitches. Two days had passed since her upper left arm had been torn open by that dastardly wolf, and the wounds, for some reason, didn’t seem to be healing.

“Just making an observation,” said her friend. “I was trying to distract you a little.”

“From what?”

The other girl waved in the general direction of Deva’s bandages.

“Look, Rochelle, I appreciate your concern – I really do. But right now, I’m kinda worried because my normally fast-healing self…isn’t. You can’t distract me from that, hon.” She shrugged her right shoulder and sat at the kitchen table with a weary sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Rochelle said, sitting across from her. “So did the doctor give you anything for the pain?”

“What pain? I mean, yeah, it hurt like hell right after it happened, but when I got up this morning, it didn’t hurt any more – at all.”

“That’s weird.” Rochelle thrummed her fingers on the green and turquois woven placemat in front of her.

“Not the word I’d have used, but I guess ‘weird’ works.”

“Mm. So now what? Do they have any idea why you aren’t healing properly? Or why it doesn’t hurt?”

“Not healing at all, they said, and no on both counts.”

Rochelle sat back and nodded, her lips compressed as she stared down at her hands.

“What are you thinking?” Deva asked. “You have that strange look in your eyes, like you’re trying to channel Sherlock Holmes or something.”

“How, er, you said this wolf was really, really big.”

“Yup. I said that.”

“Um, right.”

Deva was silent for a moment, her mind churning with apprehension at her friend’s sudden inscrutable behavior. Why was she being inscrutable in the first place? And if one wasn’t being inscrutable, was one being scrutable? She rolled her eyes at herself for asking herself such a groaner of a question. No point in speculating, now, was there…not about the inscrutable thing, but, well, yes, about that – “What’s going on in your head? Are you gonna go all Planet X on me here?”

Rochelle looked back up, surprised. “What does Planet X have to do with this?”

“I don’t know – Lizard People, then? What are you thinking, and don’t tell me you were going over your shopping list – ”

“Huh. That might not be a bad idea. I have no food in the house to speak of, and Carmine is going to be home in a little while looking for grub...”

“Rochelle! Focus! I know darn well you weren’t thinking about your husband’s gastro-intestinal demands.”

“True. Actually, I was thinking about something you might very well kill me in my sleep for thinking in the first place or at all.”

Deva frowned as she untangled her friend’s sentence, but when she got it, she leaned forward. “Friend. Girlfriend. Person I’ve known since the dawn of time. What were you thinking about?”

Rochelle offered a weak smile. “Nothing, really. Uh, not, um, I mean, it’s not, er, yeah, I – werewolves.”

At a second and a half past her slack-jawed reaction, Deva cleared her throat. “Werewolves.”

“Y-well, yes. But hey, at least I didn’t say ‘barracudas’ or something.”

“Why would you ever say barracudas?”

“I might, you know.”

“That’s frightening. A little creepy, too.”

Rochelle sighed. “No creepier than what happened to you, or saying ‘octopus’.”

“Are you saying I got scratched by an octopus?”

“No, octopi do not have claws.” She made a face. “What a nightmare that would be! A nasty, snarling octopus, all eight legs extended with long, sharp claws – ”

“Rochelle!”

“Sorry. I was saying you may have been scratched by a werewolf. Maybe. It would sure explain its size and crazy behavior.”

“Crazy is right. Werewolves, assuming they even exist, are supposed to, I don’t know, bite or maim you, not give you an almost playful scratch!”

“Maybe it was a werebitch.”

“You need help. And no, it was definitely male.” Her mind offered up the memory of the creature’s retreating hind area.

“How do you know? Did you turn it upside-down?”

Deva stared. She continued to stare until Rochelle turned bright pink.

“Right. I didn’t just ask that…sorry.” Rochelle stood, glancing at her watch. “Crap. I gotta go. Are you going to be all right?”

“I’m pretty sure I am. The doctor gave me some kind of coagulant or whatever that encourages scabbing.”

“Ah. Gross.”

“Not as gross as bleeding all over the place.”

“True.” Rochelle headed into the front hall where she retrieved her purse and keys. “Call me if you need help with anything,” she called over her shoulder.

“I will.” Not, thought Deva. Werewolves my butt. And if she’s right – what am I saying? How could she possibly be right?

A second later the front door closed as her friend went out, and Deva jumped up and went to the large calendar stuck to the refrigerator door with ladybug-shaped magnets. She found the date – the next full moon was in three days. “Am I seriously worried about this?” she asked one of the ladybugs, her index finger tapping the little moon icon. “She can’t be right!”

But what if she is?

“If she is, I’m SOL. I’ll probably go all snarly and eat the cop who gave me a speeding ticket last week, they’ll track me using dogs, and since they’ll never believe the werewolf thing, I’ll get thrown in jail, get wolfy at the next full moon, eat my cell mate, and…” She stopped, hearing herself, and took a slow, deep breath. The situation was making her insane. Well, more insane than usual, so she decided to go have a nice, long bath (the doctor told her she couldn’t take showers until the bandages were off), make herself some lunch, and go to the movies.

As she headed toward her room, her mind, being spiteful, showed a replay-recollection of the retreating wolf, and she shuddered, hoping that if Rochelle was right about the werewolf idea, the stupid thing didn’t turn out to be someone she knew. That elicited a loud, “Ew!” and a violent shiver.

She went into the bathroom where she turned on the taps in the tub. “Ew, ew, EW!” At this point, she began to doubt that even a movie would erase that image, so she concluded that a cool glass of wine…or vodka, maybe…would solve everything. Her smile manic, she got undressed and stared at her shoulder in the slowly-fogging mirror over the sink.

The bandages had begun staining red again. The medication didn’t seem to be working well or for too long, and she figured she should take another dose. But if she did, would the alcohol she intended to enjoy react badly with it?

Frowning, Deva turned off the water, tested it with her foot, then got in. Maybe she should check with the doctor first. Or maybe… she smiled, her mind drifting off as the relaxing heat of the bath overtook her. Maybe instead of wine, some lovely, warm, human flesh washed down with blood…

“Ack!” She jerked upright, horrified at what had crossed her mind. “No!”

Her cell phone began making electronic music sounds.

“Shut up!” She wanted to slide all the way under the water, but couldn’t because of the bandages.

Bap-bapbap-bapity-baahhh!

Someone really needed to talk to whoever had come up with some of those stupid ring-tones, an irrelevant brain sector noted.

“What the hell.” She rose from the water, shaking, trying not to cry, and grabbed the towel she’d tossed on the toilet seat – at least she’d remembered to close the lid. Wrapped but still dripping, she sprinted into the bedroom and grabbed the phone from her purse at the same time it stopped making its annoying alert.

“Of course!” She checked the screen – the caller had been her old, dear friend Anonymous Caller. “I hate you,” she grated at the device.

Finishing her bath seemed futile at this point; by now the water would have gone from lovely-warm to tepid-yuk, so she dried off and got dressed again, choosing a loose-fitting shift dress instead of more confining jeans and a tee shirt.

The doorbell rang. She jumped, startled for some reason she couldn’t explain, and went out to the front hall.

“Who is it?” The landlord had promised to install one of those peep-hole things, but then, he’d also promised to fix the leak in the kitchen sink, the rattle in the air-conditioning unit, her dishwasher, the cracked window in the living room…

“Hey, Deva, it’s me.”

Me. Everyone was “me.” This “me” didn’t sound like a “me” she knew, didn’t have a “me” voice she recognized. “Right. Me Who?”

Silence.

Since she was still holding her phone, she raised it, planning to call 9-1-1.

But then – “I can’t believe you asked that! I mean, it’s only been three days since we talked and you’ve already forgotten me? Hell, sweetheart, we’ve been dating for almost two months now!”

Vector. Yeah, not Victor, Vector. He should have been an engineer or pilot with a name like that. Maybe a rocket scientist. Instead, he was a musician – a bass player – in a local rock band. If he hadn’t been so talented and so – so – sexy, she would have snorted derisively in his face when he’d asked her out. Never mind that she had been in the front row at their concert that night, waving her arms and woo-wooing with everyone else. She knew he’d seen her almost as soon as they’d come out on stage, and had directed his attention at her exclusively throughout the entire performance. When the show ended, he’d come to the edge of the stage, crouched down and beckoned to her with one hand. When she was close enough, he’d said, “Have dinner with me, please?” She’d liked the fact that he hadn’t asked her if she came there often, or if she knew how beautiful she was, or used one of the zillions of other clichés from “Pick-Up Lines For Cute Broads,” that unwritten pamphlet that most guys had somehow memorized. So she’d agreed, met him backstage, and that had been the start. So far, their relationship had been odd but not unpleasant.

“Hey, sorry.” She unlocked the door and opened it, her look not as apologetic as her words had implied.

“May I come in?”

He even had decent grammar. “Of course.”

She stepped back, registering his scent as he passed her. Not, she realized with a horrified start a moment later, his cologne (he didn’t wear any) or soap or deodorant. His scent. That freshly-brewed testosterone aroma that was suddenly making her tingle. How come she’d never noticed it before?

“Something wrong?”

She gave herself a mental shake as she realized she’d been staring, open-mouthed, at him. “Er, no. No, nothing. You, er, I was about to make myself some lunch. Hungry?”

A tiny crease appeared between his dark brows. “What happened to your shoulder? Did you know it was bleeding?”

“What?! Aw, hell, I forgot the medicine.” She rushed into the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets, removing a glass that she filled at the dripping sink. “I hate this.” Ignoring Vector’s large presence behind her, she sprinted for the bathroom to get her pills, gulped one down followed by a long swig of water, and turned.

He was standing in her personal space, arms crossed, giving her a questioning look.

“Oh. My shoulder.” She bit her lip. “Yeah, well, I got attacked by a wolf the other evening.”

“A wolf.” He nodded and took a step back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What could you have done?”

“I don’t know – driven you to the hospital, maybe? Comforted you?”

“Com- what? I didn’t need comfort, Vec, I needed stitches. Stitches and a strong drink.”

“Okay, so I could have driven you to the hospital, then taken you to a bar.”

“How romantic.” She stepped around him and went back out to the living room.

“Hey.”

He was right behind her again. She flounced down onto the sofa, feeling a major snit coming on. “Hey, what.”

He sat next to her. “How come, if this happened a few days ago, it’s still bleeding?”

“Because it is.” The last thing she wanted was a discussion that might lead to one of them mentioning werewolves. Too bad barracudas or octopi weren’t involved. That, at least, would have made sense. Sort of. Except for the snarling-clawed-clad cephalopod part.

“Well, gee, aren’t you perky today!”

“Um, ‘perky’? How about a perky jab in the eye? I’m freaked out, Vector, okay? No one knows why it won’t heal, and I’m so not happy about any of this!”

“I can see that.” He touched her face with one finger, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry. Does it hurt a whole lot?”

“No. In fact, it doesn’t hurt at all, which is just as bizarre as everything else about it.”

“What do you mean, bizarre?”

Uh-oh. “Yeah, um, well, like the fact that the wolf didn’t freakin’ kill me – that’s pretty bizarre, wouldn’t you say?”

“So, what, it just bit you and left?”

“Scratched, not bit.”

“You sure it was a wolf and not some kind of cat?”

“Not a cat, Vec. Not a Jerry Springer guest, or a random roll of barbed wire flying through the park, either. I was there, remember? It was a wolf. A really huge, growly, in-your-face wolf!” She was almost yelling by the end of the sentence, causing Vector to slide back a few inches toward the other end of the sofa. “And the bastard scratched me!!”

“Ah,” he said quietly. “A wolf. Bizarre. Got it.”

“And if you say anything about werewolves, I’ll hurt you.”

“Of course I won’t. Why would – woah! You think it was a werewolf?!”

“No!”

“That would explain it.”

“No, no, no!”

“The not healing and all. Hmm.”

“Vector Smythe, it – ” (yeah, his last name wasn’t very normal, either) “ – wasn’t a bleeping werewolf!” She picked up a convenient sofa cushion and bapped him over the head with it.

“Hey! You’re the one who brought it up!”

“So of course, you had to run with it!” She hit him again.

“Stop that! I’m just – ow!” He stood up, clearly tired of being shock-and-awed by furniture accessories. “You need help, Deva, and I don’t mean – ow!”

She stood, too, pillow cocked and ready. “You have no idea,” she grated. Then, without warning or any semblance of sanity, she whacked herself in the face with the pillow, sat down again, and burst into tears.

Vector pried the pillow out of her grasp, tossing it across the room, and put an arm around her. “Aw, hon, it’s okay.” He kissed the top of her head. “We’ll figure it out together, all right?”

She turned toward him, burying her face in his shirt, and cried harder. He held her a little tighter. “Looks like you might be suffering from a delayed reaction to the attack,” he murmured, and said nothing more until she stopped sobbing, had taken a deep, shaky breath, and relaxed a little. But then he moved away from her again and gave her a weird look. “Did you just lick me?”

“Huh?” She lifted her face, confused.

Vector pointed at his front with his free hand. She had unbuttoned his shirt somehow and his smooth chest gleamed with moisture. “You licked me.”

“Oh.” She brought her gaze to where he pointed, and giggled. “Sorry. You taste good.”

“Hmm. I’m thinking this might be the beginning of something more stimulating than a discussion of fantasy creatures.” He smiled and kissed her again – not on the head.

Which would have been quite lovely, and under normal circumstances could have ended with a highly satisfying afternoon of intimacy, had she not suddenly bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Aaahhh! What the – ” He jumped up, putting a hand to his mouth. “I’m bleeding! And why are you smiling at me like that? Deva, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

She stood slowly, her movements almost sinuous; in a deep, husky voice she said, “You look good enough to eat, Vec,” and licked his blood off her own lips with the tip of her tongue.

“E – excuse me a mo-moment…” Before she could react, he was out the door, slamming it shut behind him, the thunder of his panicked run fading as he did an Elvis.

“Damn,” said Deva, feeling detached and a bit floaty. “Now I’ll have to make a stupid sandwich instead.”

The words, “Save a human – eat a vampire” glided through her mind, and she burst out laughing. “As if there were any such things as vampires! Ha!” She pulled a raw steak from the refrigerator, sliced it, put the slices between two pieces of rye bread, took a bite, threw the bread away, and tore into the red, uncooked, juicy meat with her teeth.

When she was done, she sat back, satisfied, telling herself it didn’t get any better than that. At least, not until she could enjoy a fresh kill……

-2-

 

 

Mack had been staring at his e-calendar for so long he was no longer seeing it. He’d been checking for full-moon info, but his mind had drifted and now, ten minutes later, he still hadn’t moved, had hardly blinked.

What had happened to that luscious chick his band-mate was seeing? Would the scratch thing have worked by now? Would it work at all? He really should have bitten her instead. Ah, so many questions, so few answers, so little sanity.

His full name was Matthew McCoy, but when he’d signed on as drummer for The Empty Wallets, they’d given him a stupid nickname – Mackie-Mack. He’d told them that if anyone ever called him that to his face, there would be bloodshed. So they’d settled on “Mack,” and left the nickname usage up to their promoter-slash-manager. No one cared too much if he experienced drumstick wrath, especially since the gigs he’d been finding them lately had been lame.

Of course, Mack wasn’t the only victim of this cruel habit of assigning idiotic stage names – the current object of his intense jealousy already had laughable one, but was that enough in this business? Oh, no, they had actually needed to make it even worse – accordingly, poor Vector Smythe had been reduced to Vecto Vicious. Murder had narrowly been averted that day.

Then there was the lead guitarist, Mike Standish. For reasons only the promoter and an obscure god or two understood, he was renamed “Lovefingers” Mike. Lucky for the promoter, Mike had been out of town at the time, and didn’t find out until the band was announced a week later at their first major gig. He had subsequently smashed his guitar into wires and splinters on stage that night, something he’d never done before, and the promoter was stupid enough to ask why. Mike had glared, shoved the instrument’s remains into the older man’s chest, and murmured words that sounded suspiciously like an evil incantation.

The keyboard player seemed to be the only one happy with a name change. His real name was Dicken Butticks (just say that out loud and you’ll understand), and he was downright gleeful when the promoter suggested The Keyster. Sadly, that was pretty much along the same lines as his real moniker, but for some reason, he missed the connection. He was only eighteen, and had probably never heard the nickname’s homonym. Perversely, no one told him about it, either.

So ran the thoughts of Mack, computer repairman by day, rock-n-roll drummer by night, once-a-month werewolf. At some point, these ruminations returned to the reason he’d been staring at the calendar in the first place: Deva Stone. He had to wonder what the promoter would have done with that name.

His mind, which in all honesty hadn’t been right since the night he’d been bitten by some random werewolf while camping in his own back yard, did a television-style flashback-dissolve to the night he’d first seen Deva. They’d been playing at one of the local clubs for about a month, and while from his position at the back of the group he could see very little of the audience past the glaring spotlights, he could always make out the first row or two. Populated by familiar faces for the most part, on that night someone new and flat-out gorgeous was standing there, totally into the music, swaying, waving her arms, pumping her fists when the lyrics demanded it, and looking delicious on a number of levels. He was planning to find her after the show and see if she was available, but was that to be? Oh, no, not Mack’s fate. Nope.

Because he could only see the back of Vec’s head during most of the performance, he hadn’t realized at the time that the bass player had also discovered this edible-looking gem in the front row and had already determined to get her attention the second the show was over. Mack recalled cursing his drum set for being in his way – he might have gotten to the edge of the stage first if it hadn’t been for the huge, noisy things. Well, fine, he’d thought. I have options Vec doesn’t, and I’m going to use them, by god!

He did, too. He began shamelessly stalking Deva, first following Vec to see where she lived, then following her to work, back home, and eventually, had the Big Aha! discovery – her evening strolls in the park along one of the jogging trails. That had been the easy part. One of the few advantages of being a werewolf was the ability to move fast and silent, his movements rarely detected by anything less eagle-eyed than…than an eagle.

His difficulty, he knew, would lie in having to control himself in wolf form. The natural tendency was to eat one’s prey. That was it. Nothing more Machiavellian. Jump out at them, scare them stupid, pounce, chomp, kill, and eat. Ta-da. But since he wanted her for more than an evening’s repast, the menu option wasn’t viable. So he had worked on controlling his mind when the next full moon had worked its dark magic on him, and by the second one, he’d been ready.

Being infatuated beyond all hope had also helped his determination when he’d jumped out onto the moonlit path. He’d been able to calm his feral instincts, doing the wolf equivalent of taking long, deep breaths, and made himself stare at her. To his amazement, she’d stared back without screaming. He had whimpered and nearly rolled over for her when he saw that, but his whimper had come out more like a quiet growl, and she’d backed down. That had made him try and tell her it was okay, but again came the growl, even louder this time.

And then she’d sat hard on the path, as if her knees had given out, her look one of pain and deep fear. What to do, what to do? His great idea from the very first had been to turn her so she’d be like him, and they could trot off into the moonlight together. But he was a tad unsure how that worked. Wasn’t he supposed to bite her? Only she looked so frail, her slender yet nicely curved form somewhat on the petite side, and he was afraid that a bite would lead to immediate death, and then he’d have to make her his happy meal for the night after all.

Thus he’d done only other thing he could think of – he’d raked his long, razor-sharp nails across one arm, up by her shoulder, and hoped that would do it. What it did was make her cry, but only a little, which for some crazy reason assured him that she’d be okay. He’d thought briefly about Vec, about how the handsome son-of-a-bitch wasn’t going to win this one, and without knowing wolves could smirk, had smirked. It had thus been one fully self-assured werewolf that had turned away and walked with hauteur into the woods, the little bit of his brain that was still functioning on a human level going, “YESSSSS!” Had he seen his back end the way Deva had, that reaction might have been somewhat less enthusiastic.

Thinking of her now, his vision refocused and he realized he was staring, unseeing, at the calendar glowing at him from the screen of his laptop. Ah. Right. Full moon again in three days. He had to come up with a way to see Deva before then in order to confirm that his scratches had been effective. If they had, he’d want to try and help her with the transition, assuming she didn’t toss him out on his ass for what he’d done. In his human form, he was far from formidable, and...uh-oh. What if she told Vec? He was formidable at six-foot-four, about two hundred and twenty pounds, and all of it muscle. Crap.

Yeah, but she was a freaking werewolf now! Would Vec even want her anymore? Not that she’d be displaying any wolfish behavior until the moon started messing with her DNA, so he probably wouldn’t believe she’d been…what? Wolfed? Wered? Whatever.

“I have to see her,” he told Nobody, his most frequent visitor of late. Nobody answered. He got up and stretched, considered asking Vec for her number, realized how flat-out dumb that idea was, and headed for the door. He knew by now what stores she went to, what her food-shopping days were, where she hung out when she wasn’t either home or at work, and that she liked going to the movies.

She apparently had gone nowhere. His searches were futile, empty, and he concluded (after four hours of shop-hopping) that she must be at home. Since it was Saturday, and early evening by the time he was done looking, there was a better than even chance she was either there or at the movies, the one place he hadn’t checked.

“Will our intrepid heroine’s need for popcorn drive her to the movie theater?” he intoned at the steering wheel.

“No!” he answered himself in a tiny, nasal voice. “Her car will! Ha-ha!”

As has been previously noted, Mack’s mind wasn’t quite right anymore.

A quick drive by her apartment building showed her car parked out front, confirming his suspicions. He could just go up and ring her bell, but how would he explain how he knew where she lived? No, that might go beyond wrong. He pulled out his cell.

“Hey, Vec, it’s Mac. Listen, any chance I could get Deva’s address? I bought too many bottles of Merlot for this recipe I was messing with, and I know you guys like the stuff to drink, so I figured I’d let her have a couple for your next date.”

“Gee, thanks, man. Sure. She lives on Corona, in that Spanish-looking apartment building, uh, unit 1C.”

“Okay. Appreciate it.”

He waited a few seconds, took a deep breath, and dialed Vec’s number for real. The bass player picked up on the third ring.

“What.”

“Uh, hey, Vec, it’s Mac – ”

“No shit. What do you want?”

“Oh. Um, I was wondering if I could get Deva’s address? I bought too m—”

“No! Seriously, dude, leave her alone. I don’t know what the hell happened, but she got some kind of animal scratch and now she’s acting all psycho. I’m gonna wait a few days and see if she gets any better, but right now, I wouldn’t advise going anywhere near her.” He sounded terrified, shaken.

“What do you mean by ‘psycho’? What did she do?”

“She freakin’ bit me, man! Almost bit my lip right off! I needed stitches!”

Mack nearly lost control of the car as he fought to keep his eyeballs from popping out. “W-when did this happen?”

“About three hours or so ago? I don’t know. “

“You, er, sound okay, no speech impediment or anything.”

“That’s because I don’t talk only with my bottom lip, dweeb. Look, I gotta go – oh, yeah, why did you want to see her?”

“Never mind. It’s not important.” He hung up, his mind grappling with several things at once. It seemed she was already exhibiting symptoms of her werewolf nature, which…really? Oh, God. That wasn’t supposed to happen at all! In fact, stuff like that never happened! She wasn’t supposed to want to bite people until after the transformation! And if she’d bitten Vec, did that mean he was going to be a werewolf, too? He suddenly felt like pulling a Thelma and Louise, even without a partner. Yup, driving off a cliff might just solve everything, he told himself in despair.

Well, he’d have to wait, that was all. Not to drive off the cliff - wait until the full moon, and then pay Deva a visit. Once she was in wolf form, all would be well. Maybe. Or not. Worse? Expletive.

“Ya know what? To hell with all that! I’m going to go see her, and the consequences be damned! If that bastard is going to be one of us, then what difference will it make, huh? Yeah. And Deva needs me. She needs me to explain what’s going on, and, and, right.” He sighed, turned the car around, drove half a block further, and stopped in front of her building.

Muttering about things best not repeated, he flung open his door. A long car-horn blast warned him that said door was about to get sheared off and he yanked it shut, narrowly escaping higher insurance premiums. Expletive yet again.

He opened the door a moment later, this time checking for traffic first, and got out. The light of his life was right on the other side of that apartment door, and he was going to find her, explain everything, and capture her heart in the process. Oh, yeah. Good times.

-3-

 

 

 

After finishing her meal, Deva cleaned the kitchen and got undressed. Halfway through the clean-up, something in her had decided that wearing clothing was simply wrong. After all, no one was born wearing clothes, were they? And if the whole Adam and Eve thing had really happened, they hadn’t require outfits until they’d messed up and decided it wouldn’t be polite to have a serious talk with the Almighty while they were naked. Besides, animals wore fur the way she wore skin – not that they didn’t have skin, too, but that wasn’t the point. The only animals with clothes of their own were rich-lady lapdogs, pets owned by people who preferred them to actual children, and the occasional chimpanzee. So why did humans insist on burdening the mortal frame with expensive bits of cloth?

Okay, there were some people whose bare bodies would probably send everyone else screaming off into the streets, so maybe there should be exceptions. But still.

Since there was nothing wrong with her own body, other than those whacky scratches on her arm, she stripped, tossed her dress and underwear into the hamper in her bedroom, and sat down on the sofa to watch some television. She’d have gone to the movies as originally planned, but since at least one or two cells in her brain were still functioning properly, she admitted that the guy at the ticket window might get fixated on her breasts or something and sell her too many tickets.

Fine. That part of her brain wasn’t functioning properly, either.

A loud knock on the door several moments later caused her to throw the remote down on the sofa in disgust – she hated unannounced visitors.

“Hold on,” she called, going to the door; irate to the max, she flung it open and found herself being gaped at by Mack, the band’s drummer. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, completely oblivious to what her naked body was doing to him.

“Y-y-you’re, uh, y-y…” He stammered to a halt and swallowed hard.

Deva was about to slam the door in his face when she noticed – as she had earlier when Vec was there – his male scent. Interesting. She took a step closer and sniffed. Then closer, drawing in a deeper whiff. “Huh. Nice.”

“Meeeh…” he quavered.

“Was that a goat imitation?”

He put a hand to his mouth and bit hard on the knuckle of his index finger.

“Oh, for god’s sake, come in, Mack. I mean, really!” She stepped back and he slid in, his gait that of someone who for one reason or another was incapable of walking in a normal way. “Can I get you anything?”

She turned away after shutting the door, her unclad backside swaying away from him toward the kitchen.

“Eh, hem! Ahem! Heh! No!”

Deva shrugged and turned back, this time leading him into the living room. Sitting on the sofa, one leg bent, her foot on the cushion in front of her, the other foot on the floor, she was exposing everything Mack didn’t have. He turned away.

“Take your coat off, why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I? No, Deva, I c-cant. Not if you were freezing to death and needed to borrow it or die.”

“Whatever. What are you doing here, and how did you get my address?” Then, tilting her head, she added, “I wish you’d take off those stupid clothes, too! You look so uncomfortable.”

“Ah, Vec, why didn’t I listen to you?” He shook his head, his next words uttered in a way that made it sound to Deva as if he’d become unhinged and was holding a conversation with himself. “Under other circumstances,” he murmured, “this would be a guy’s dream situation, but I know damn well she isn’t thinking straight, and her invitation to get naked has nothing to do with a desire for sex. Then again, that inexplicable yet appreciative sniffing at the door…Nah.” He turned back, averting his eyes from her crotch to her face, and said, “Deva, we have to talk.”

She gave him a smile. “Okay. Now I’m curious. Why don’t you sit down.”

“Er, no. Just listen to me. I know what happened to your arm.”

“Did Vec tell you?”

“No, Vec didn’t tell me. I know because, um, because, oh, Lord. I know because I – I did it.”

“You did what?” The curious smile began to degrade into something almost lethal-looking. She knew this, and didn’t care.

“Scratched you. I’m, um, I’m a werewolf, Deva.”

She frowned, her expression angry now, and began to stand up. He cringed as she stepped closer, but an instant later, her face contorted and she yelled, “Oh, gross! That was you?! Yuk! Ew! Oh god, no!” She shuddered, a motion that made certain things quiver, and he steadied himself by grabbing the edge of a nearby table.

“W-what do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” It was practically a shriek. “Have you any idea what you look like from the back when you’re a wolf? Especially one that big? Graaah! Shit, Mack, you – you dangle! Badly! Oh, help…I need to – what the hell were you thinking?”

“Hey! Don’t disparage my manhood, Deva!”

“Is that what you call it? Wouldn’t ‘wolfhood’ be more appropriate?”

He nodded. “Look. I know I should be insulted. I do. But how do I do that when facing a girl who not only has the potential to be my partner for life, but who is also wearing less, and looking more beautiful, than a centerfold? I don’t, Deva. Instead, I do this!” Mack took one of his business cards from his wallet, tossed it onto the nearest surface, and bolted. He was out the door, out of the building, and in his car in less time than it took her to pick up the card, puzzled, and use a mildly bad word.

“This is nuts,” she grumbled, her eyes bulging a split second later at the phrase she’d used. Giggling, Deva said “ew” a few more times, and read the business card.

 

Matthew McCoy, Associate

Mainframe Medics, Inc.

8596 Trevor Plaza, Suite 18-A

- - - - - - -

(800)555-8596

 

She turned it over and saw a number scribbled across the back, assumed it was his cell, and wondered aloud how he could possibly believe she’d call him. She followed this with a sarcastic “ha!” and went into her room. She had no idea why. In fact, she had no idea about anything much at that point, only that it felt nice to be wearing nothing…

Some brave part of her human brain that had been working feverishly at making a comeback chose this moment to get serious about it. Thoughts burst through to the forefront of her afflicted mind, thoughts that made her remember everything Mack had told her; thoughts that showed her what she’d done to Vec; thoughts that said, “Hey, stupid, you’re naked!” She went all bug-eyed again, looked down at herself, and screamed.

Nothing about her body was worth screaming over, and she wasn’t in any sudden physical pain; no, the cause of this was the jarring awareness that she’d just held an entire conversation with the drummer of The Empty Wallets without a stitch of clothing on.

Looking reminiscent of Bette Davis during a tragic movie scene, she clutched at the side of her head with one hand, pulling her hair, and began pacing in a circle in front of her bedroom window. Then came the realization that she lived on the ground floor, was still undressed, and that the landscape guy was staring at her from behind a hedge. Wailing in mindless embarrassment, she threw herself to the floor, rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling.

“I died and went to hell. That’s what happened. The wolf didn’t scratch me, it tore my throat out and I died. And went to hell. The this-is-where-you-dream-you’re-walking-along-and-suddenly-realize- you’re-naked hell, so you can’t wake up. You just keep going along, naked, holding conversations with drummers and flashing apartment employees. Yup. I’m dead.” Her expression morphed into something a little more resigned, conversational, maybe, as she got comfortable, folding her hands across her stomach.

“I mean,” she continued, “since this isn’t real life, I suppose it doesn’t matter that Mack was here talking to me while I was naked. ‘Course, he did say he was a werewolf and was the one who scratched me, but wouldn’t a dream-werewolf guy say that, too? Or one that lived in hell? Sheesh. Would that make him my neighbor? Ha! The neighbor from hell! Hahahaha!” She laughed hysterically, closing her eyes and rolling over onto her stomach, until she couldn’t laugh any more.

Swiping the tears away with one hand, she propped herself up on her elbows, chin in cupped hands, thinking now about Rochelle. “Look!” she said, softly. “My head is coffee cup!”

“Miss? What are you doing?”

She raised her eyes and found she was no longer alone. A policeman stood in her bedroom doorway, a puzzled look on his face.

“Talking to myself. And being naked. In hell. Why?”

“Uh…” He didn’t seem to know what to say to that at first; finally, though, after several unsuccessful attempts at speech, he said, “Some of your neighbors said they heard you scream, and when one of them tried knocking, you didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t hear a damned thing. Like that? ‘Damned’ thing? Ha!”

“Ma’am?”

Oh, so it was ma’am now, not “miss.” Had she experienced rapid aging during the past few seconds? “Look, officer, or whatever you are,” she said, climbing to her feet (much to the man’s obvious alarm), “I didn’t invite you in here, I don’t believe anyone knocked at the door, I do think I have some really nosy neighbors, and you, sir, are violating my Constitutional rights!” She crossed her arms over her, well…she crossed her arms, leaned her weight on one hip, and gave him an arch stare.

“S-sorry…” He turned and let himself out of the apartment.

“Ha! I like the Hell Police!” she exclaimed, impressed at how obedient he’d been.

With an inaudible Tarzan yell, her sanity muscled its way back in and told her to shut up and get dressed, to stop behaving like a demented Lady Godiva, and to try getting some sleep. Crazy wolf-lady then asked herself what chocolate had to do with any of this, and was treated to a few moments of well-earned sarcasm involving naked women on horseback.

In the end, Deva went into the kitchen, downed the entire half-bottle of Vodka, went to bed, and slept like the dead until the day of the night of the full moon.

 

*******

 

She looked almost normal. The sunlight dancing along shafts made by the plantation shutters at her window played with the highlights in her hair, her slumber undeterred by its attention. Vec stared, perplexed by Deva, by what had happened the other day, by what was happening now...

In sleep, her face was rather child-like, he thought, a sharp contrast to her not child-like and very unclad figure. She’d thrown the covers off, and was on her side, her mouth partly open in a silent snore. The only thing that was disturbing about this – aside from the fact that Vector was sitting on the side of the bed next to her and staring like a wannabe incubus – were the fangs. He knew damn well they hadn’t been there three days ago, even when she’d bitten him. Furthermore, they weren’t the straight, pointy little things associated with vampires (ha! As if there were such things!); nope, these were the longer, somewhat curved fangs of a wolf. Yup, like his.

He shifted his gaze to his hands where his normally short-nailed fingers were sporting what appeared to be talons. These, like Deva’s canines, were also curved. He didn’t bother checking his own teeth. The nasty cut on his tongue from running it across them had told him everything he needed to know about those teeth. His hair, too, had that morning begun to appear bushier, more Beethoven than Steven Tyler. But why?

Okay, yeah, without question Deva had been attacked by a freaking werewolf, yet it had scratched instead of bitten her. Maybe that was why she looked less wolfy than he did. And then she’d bitten him, a more direct attack, so now he was a werewolf, but in the conventional sense. So why was he getting all hairy and stuff now, when it was only morning? He thought about this for a while, absently stroking one finger along Deva’s side. After a few minutes of this it occurred to him that while the full moon wasn’t visible during daylight, it was still there. The brighter light it displayed at night was probably what would bring out his lycanthropy symptoms in full. Or not.

He heard a hiss and pulled his hand away in time to save it from being bitten off.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Deva demanded, sitting up without bothering to cover herself despite his presence. “And how did you get in?” She frowned. “Did I forget to lock the door?”

“I seem to have grown my own set of lock-picks.” He raised his hands in front of her face. “What did you do to me, Deva?”

She squinted up at him, trying with one of her own hands to block a ray of sunlight smacking her in the face. “I didn’t do anything. Why? And why is your hair bushy like that? Did you get a weave or something?”

He spluttered. He tried to respond, but too many words and phrases attempted to get out at the same time and tripped all over themselves, falling into a soundless jumble of eloquent, wordless outrage.

She nodded. “I see. You think I’m responsible for all that hair and teeth, right? Well, that’s s…ouch! Ow, ow, ow!” Deva had found her fangs, he noted, or more precisely, her tongue had.

“Ha!” exclaimed Vec, his expression smug. “Now you know how it feels!”

Deva glared, pushed past him to get off the bed, and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Fortunately, he had his back to her during the stomping part.

“Look,” he called, “I’m not saying any of this…” He stopped, hearing the water running. She wouldn’t hear a thing he said now. Sighing, Vec stood and went out into the living room, where he wandered in sad, confused circles for a few minutes. On his fifth go-round, the small white business card on the coffee table that he’d been ignoring made a sudden connection with his brain; he stopped and picked it up. A few seconds later, his brows, which were already closer together than they should have been, met with a silent crash over the bridge of his nose, and he snarled. A real snarl that was so throaty and animalistic, it startled him, distracting him for a moment from the cause of said snarl.

“What did…weird.” He shook his head quickly, trying to clear his brain but only succeeded in rattling it further. Blinking a few times against the headache that had appeared on his cranial horizon, he refocused on the card, and snarled yet again. A really teensy chemical hanging out by the coffee machine in his logic center put its hands on its hips, and told him in no uncertain terms that all this snarling had to stop. He ignored it. More important things were afoot, by god!

“What the hell was Mack doing here?” he asked the room. Then he remembered the phone call, and saw his fellow band member’s request for Deva’s address for what it was – an attempt to hit on her at close range. He must have finally figured out that flirting with someone from behind a drum set on the other side of the room while that person was looking in the opposite direction, was a pretty impractical way to make your feelings known. To be fair, though, he really hadn’t given the drummer a chance to say exactly why he’d wanted the address. But why else? The guy had done an abysmal job of hiding (from the band, anyway) the fact that he was attracted to Deva. On the other hand, maybe he wasn’t trying to hide it –

“Evolution chart.”

He dropped the card, startled. No one had ever said, “evolution chart” at him before, and Deva had just growled it. He stared at her the way one stares at the insane, and asked her if there was a point to her words, a meaning, some kind of –

“Stop burbling!” She stomped one foot, arms crossed (to his semi-relief, she had put some clothes on). “Look at us, Vec! We look like a stupid evolution chart, or we would if Mack were here in his gross wolf body.”

“I’m not sure I get your meaning,” he said with care, not wishing to cut his tongue again. "What does Mack have to do with this, and why was he here in the first place?"

She rolled her eyes. “Pay attention, please. I’m probably as wolf-like as I’m going to get because the King of Stupid only scratched me, so I still look human except for the fang thing. Okay? So put me on the timeline chart of evolution at phase three. Next, there’s you. Because I wasn’t made a full-blown…let me rephrase that. Because I wasn’t made a proper werewolf, my bite didn’t turn you completely, but because it was a bite, you’re more, uh, I don’t know, Lon Chaney, maybe. That’s phase two. Finally, we have our friend Mack, who by moonrise is going to look like the biggest, nastiest real-life wolf there is. Phase three. And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go shoot myself.”

“With what?” asked Vec, waxing sarcastic. Her little rant had been, to say the least, disturbing. Mack was a werewolf? What? More specifically, Mack was THE werewolf, the one that had scratched her? What, what?

“Something silver, I should imagine.” She seemed to have figured out the whole fang thing, having gotten through all those words without shredding her tongue.

Vector had the unreasonable urge to call her a word that – considering their present state of being – would have been more appropriate than he’d have liked. “Save some for me!” he called as she went back to her bedroom; he instantly regretted the sibilants. “Oucth! Damn it! Sthupid fangth!” Great – now he was lisping. He went to the kitchen, planning to put some ice in his mouth to soothe it. Well that didn’t happen – someone began a frantic knocking on the front door right as he was passing it, startling the hell out of him. With a fierce growl he undid the lock and flung it open, the word “bloodshed” jumping out in front of his mind and making ugly gestures.

Mack, who by this time was probably getting used to having doors flung open in his face, nonetheless leaped backward, eyes wide.

“YOU!” Vector bellowed, a word he could yell quite easily without damaging himself.

“Er, yeah. Me. Oh, lord, I was right.” He looked down, appearing sheepish in an amazing display of irony, if anyone had been paying attention.

“You were right? About what?”

“Deva bit you, you said, and I kinda knew what would happen. Did she – ”

“You knew, all right, you…you…” he searched for a word both adequately withering and minus the letter “s”; he failed, and tried something else. “Get in here!”

“Well, yeah, that’s why I came by.” Mack shrugged and entered. “Look, Vec – ”

“Quiet! I’m…not happy at all about…about being a, uh, yeah! A NEARwolf! Got that? You didn’t bite Deva, and her biting me ended…in (trying to talk without using any kind of “s” sound whatsoever was really hard) me not really, fully turning into what you are, while…Deva…aw, crap.” They were in the living room by this time and he threw himself onto the sofa in disgust.

“Hey, man, I’m really sorry, okay?

“Is that the best you can do?” asked Deva from the arched entrance to the room from the hallway.

Mack turned toward her, saw her fangs, did a massive double-take, and groaned. “Oh, man, this is nuts!”

“Don’t say that word around me, please,” she begged, squeezing her eyes shut. “Ew,” she added in a small voice.

Mack scowled. “You know, I’m feeling a bit ganged-up on here, guys.” He took a deep breath, lifting his chin. “Okay, guys, pay attention.” He glared from Vec to Deva and back again. “Some bastard werewolf bit me while I was minding my own business. It was painful and didn’t heal for days, and then the night of the full moon came and I turned into, well, what Deva saw; I had no real control over my mind after that and I think I remember eating raw things with fur and enjoying it. When I woke up the next day, I might have convinced myself it had been a bizarre dream, had I not found myself lying naked on my front lawn with neighbors staring at me and...and laughing, and...right. So anyhow, I had to admit that it had been real and went on-line to look up lycanthropy. I didn’t like what I saw, especially what I didn’t see, which was a cure for it.” He looked up at Vec. “I don’t suppose you can imagine how hard it was to have to tell you guys that I had other commitments on those full-moon nights when Mr. Let-Me-Give-You- A-Dumber-Name-Than-You-Already-Have booked us somewhere. In fact, all of you almost fired me the third time it happened, remember?” He turned back to Deva. “As for you, I admit it. I am totally besotted with you, in case you hadn’t noticed – and I think you hadn’t noticed at all, really. But the point here is that in my desperation, I figured if I could make you like me, we’d be together after that, only when I saw you in the park, you looked so delicate, I was afraid to bite you. I mean, I wasn’t trying to kill you, Deva, and did what I figured was the next best thing – I scratched you. So yeah, I’m freakin’ sorry, all right? I made a huge mess of everything, and now the three of us are infected, only a little differently, it appears.” He crossed his arms and sat down.

“What would happen if I bit you?” Deva asked.

“I’d bleed.”

“Yes, of course, but would it change you in any way?”

“And would it hurt?” Vec added, hopeful.

“No, I sorta don’t think it would – change me, that is, but it would hurt, certainly.”

Vec smiled, showing his own alarming new set of teeth. “Good. Deva, bite him.”

“Don’t think I’m not tempted.” She came further into the room. “Trouble is, I’m getting hungry, and might not stop. You see, Mack, ever since like three days after the scratch attack, I’ve been craving raw meat. That’s why I bit Vec – I was about to make a meal of him. Nice, huh?” She gave him a sour look. “At this point, I honestly wouldn’t mind munching on an arm or something, which I hope is a craving that goes away when the full moon does. I also think, as I mentioned to Vec, that this is as wolf-like as I’m going to get. What does that make me, Mack? A cannibal?”

“You could eat squirrels,” he offered.

“Squirrels.”

“Well, yeah. Then you wouldn’t be a cannibal.”

“Uh-huh. How about cute little bunny rabbits while I’m at it? Maybe a hamster or two for dessert?” She was growing unmistakably irate.

Mack shrank back deeper into the chair cushions.

“Come to think of it,” Vec put in, “I don’t think I’m going to change a whole lot more, either. Looks like I’m stuck being Hugh Jackman for a few days, while you get to be Jacob with a vampire up his ass.”

Mack gave him a blank stare.

“Great,” Deva muttered. “What the hell am I now? Dog Woman? Wolferella? Bitch on a Stick?”

“Only when you have sex,” Mack blurted out, giggling.

Deva and Vector glared at him in outraged disbelief, and Mack gulped. Cramming himself deeper into the chair as if trying to become a part of it, he made a small mewling sound and closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” asked Vec, enjoying his band-mates terror.

“I’m waiting for the feel of teeth clamping onto some tender part of my anatomy and wondering how long it would take you guys to chew me to death.” He was almost weeping.

“Sounds painful.”

Mack threw his head back as far as it would go without becoming one with the fibers of the upholstery. “Ack! My whole life should be flashing before me, but I’m too terrified to remember any of it! Goodbye, Vec and Deva! Goodbye life! Please don’t be too harsh when you remember me…”

“Remember you? Who wants to do that? Hey, Deva, are you hungry?” Vector, his tone turning matter-of-fact, nodded toward the front door as he ignored the quivering mass of Mack in the chair.

“Well, yeah. Thirsty, too.”

Vec looked at his watch. “Coffee and something raw sound good to you?”

She grinned…wolflishly….at him and nodded.

Without another glance at Mack, they headed out the door, chatting quietly about what might happen later on when the moon was shining.

-4-

 

 

Mack opened one eye in time to see their departure. He frowned, not sure if he could trust that they were really leaving, but then he heard Deva laugh, and opened the other eye. Relief fought briefly with outrage, and outrage would have won had not despair bitch-slapped it and told it to take off. Despair, however, was shortly kicked in the head by fury, which swaggered around for a few minutes before settling down and becoming a slow boil.

“Ha! They think they’re so cool!” He got to his feet and went into the kitchen. “Think they can terrorize me like that, then take off like nothing happened! Ha!” He went to the refrigerator where he found (to his delight) a bottle of beer. Grabbing it angrily, he said “ha” a few more times before plopping down at the table, determined to drink the hell out of that beer, by god. Oh, yes. That’s what he was going to do, all right. Make a mountebank out of him, would they? As he struggled with the cap, it occurred to him that “mountebank” was probably not the right word. Cuckold? No, that would only be appropriate if he and Deva been dating or were married.

The cap clung with determination to the bottle as he continued trying to twist it off. Well, for Pete’s sake, what was the word he was looking for? Something that was synonymous with “fool” or “butt of the joke.” Sucker? Boob? Woah, not a good place to go, especially in light of Deva’s unexpected tendency to get naked and stay that way.

The cap finally quit being obstinate and came away with a tiny “pop!” followed by what Mack considered an unreasonable amount of foam. By the time he’d gotten himself, the table and the floor dried off, very little beer was left in the bottle, and what there was, tasted luke-warm and flat. And now that her apartment smelled like a brewery, maybe it would be an excellent idea to be elsewhere when she and Vec got back.

He dumped the rest of the beer down the sink, wondered if she knew the faucet was leaking, and headed for the door. If the way things were going this early in the day was any indicator, the night was probably going to be intolerable. He shook his head and opened the door.

He shrieked and shut the door. A second later, he realized that the person standing on the other side was neither Deva nor Vec; he swallowed a few times, composed himself, and opened it again.

“Hello.” Mack gave the young woman a polite smile. “May I help you?”

“What the hell are you? The butler? Where’s Deva?”

“Out with Vector.”

“I see. And why does it smell like brewery in there?”

“That’s me, I think. I spilled beer foam on my coat.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It wasn’t on purpose. Look, Deva’s not here, like I said, so if you want to leave a message or something, I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Who are you?” She was clearly as exasperated as he by now, but like the Sneeches, neither was giving way to the other.

“A friend of Vector’s.”

“And what – you live here, now?”

He looked horrified for almost a second. “No!”

“Then why are you answering her door and taking messages for her? And why are you drinking her beer and hanging out here when she’s not home? Come to think of it, why did you scream like a little girl when you opened the door the first time? May I come in, please?”

What the hell. “Sure.” He stepped back, and she swept past him into the living room where she tossed herself onto the sofa, which seemed to be getting more action lately than Mack.

“Okay, I give up,” she told him, defeated. “What’s going on?”

Sitting across from her, he decided a little dry wit would be just the thing. “Er, which of those questions would you like me to answer first?”

She gave him a blank stare.

“I mean, you asked…never mind.” So much for the dry wit. A dry martini would have been better. “Okay, listen – I’m the drummer for The Empty Wallets, the same band Vector’s in, and I came over the other day because something happened to Deva that I…” Damn! How was he going to explain any of this without telling this young lady that he was a werewolf?

“Shit! Are you a werewolf?” She’d sat bolt upright with alarm.

Mack heh-hehed a few times, waved a dismissive hand, shook his head “no,” and sat back with exaggerated nonchalance. “Ah….hahah! Yes.”

“Oh, crap.”

“No, please, it’s all right. I’m not going to change until the full moon is up.”

She gulped. “Is that supposed to make me feel safe?”

“Yes, actually. How did you know? About the werewolf thing, I mean.”

“Maybe it’s the hair on the back of your hands,” she replied, pointing a finger that was none too steady. “Besides, Deva never mentioned you before - ”

“She didn’t?” That hurt.

“No. Yet all of a sudden you know something happened to her, and now you’re hanging out in her apartment like you guys are all cozy and stuff – it made sense.”

Cozy. And stuff, too. He could only wish… “Uh, right. About the hands, you’re right. It’s the first symptom to show up on the day of the full moon, and I’ve gotten so used to it, I forgot all about it!” He uttered a silly, high-pitched laugh that made him sound more like a giddy chipmunk than a wolf. Chagrined, he nearly slapped himself in the face. “The, uh, really bad changes don’t occur until much later. At night. In the dark.”

“When the moon is out,” she added, snatching dry wit from the jaws of stupidity. The conversation was eroding quickly. “So tell me, why did you scratch her? You ruined her brand new shirt, by the way.”

“I’ll buy her a new one – really. As for the scratches, well, I was afraid that a bite would kill her, and I didn’t want that.”

She gave him an odd look. “What did you want, er, what’s your name?”

“Mack. I wanted to…” He stopped, realizing how desperate he would sound if he told her his real reasons. “But hey! What’s your name? I gave you mine.”

“Rochelle, and don’t change the subject.”

He groaned and stood up. This made her flinch back into the sofa cushions, but only for a moment; he began to pace, making it obvious he wasn’t going to attack her or anything. Still, she watched him warily, one hand going slowly to the silver smiley face pendant at her throat.

From the corner of his eye Mack observed this and wondered if it was real silver. She had little chance of kill him with the tiny disc (death by smiley face…nope), but she must have thought it was possible since she maintained her grip on the pendant.

He sighed. This was bad, he told himself. This was really bad. Another attractive young lady he would have the opportunity to cheese off…that’s two in one day. Then again, he normally couldn’t find two girls in one day, never mind talk to them and – ha! He’d even dealt with unabashed nudity from one of them! Now that was a record for anyone, never mind him.

“Are you going to pace me to death, or is this just your way of stalling until you get wolfed out?”

“What?” Mack stopped as her words registered. “Oh. Sorry. No, I was trying to come up with a way to answer your question without sounding pathetic,” he said, his own honesty shocking him.

Rochelle nodded, smiling. “You like her, don’t you.”

He reddened and lowered his gaze to the floor. “Yeah. Guess I do.” Hey, did Deva know she could get that stain out with –

“Well, gee, why not just tell her instead of jumping out at her in parks and scratching her?”

“I wasn’t exactly human at the time,” he pointed out, meeting her eyes. To his relief, she wasn’t giving him that poor-baby-but-what-a-loser look. “I mean, that’s not something I would ever do under normal circumstances.”

“I would hope not! Still, you’d have at least avoided all this…hold it. You said she was out with Vector, right?”

He nodded, wondering where she was going with this. He found out with her next sentence.

“That means he knows you’re here, soooo…..he might know about the scratch…”she was speaking slowly, drawing out her words as she seemed to put two and three together and come up with pi. “And you seem to be pretty nonchalant about all this, but you were…drinking beer, yes? Which means you were upset….huh. Okay. Vec knows….Vec and Deva know you’re a werewolf, right?”

He almost applauded, would have, in fact, if her lengthy ruminations hadn’t almost put him to sleep. “Uh, yeah. They know.”

“And they’re okay about it?”

“Not exactly. You see – mind if I sit?” He waved at the chair behind him. “I – okay? Yes?” He sat. “See, because I didn’t bite her, she won’t be turning into a werewolf like me.”

Rochelle nodded. “Ah. I sense something traumatic is about to be revealed, and for Deva’s sake, I think I need to know what it is. Well?”

“Okay. See, because I scratched her, there’s still some kind of oh, effect, I guess you could say.”

“What kind of effect?”

“She says she has a craving for raw meat.” Then he told her the rest. Everything. About Deva’s sudden revulsion toward clothing, about her biting Vec, about what that was doing to him, about the fangs they were both sporting -

“Wait! Wait!” She got to her feet, frantic as she interrupted him. “You said they went out?! With fangs?! And for god’s sake, was she dressed? Oh my – ”

“No! I mean, yes! I – look, I was in fear for my life when they took off, so – and don’t look at me like that! I thought they were going to eat me, okay? I had my eyes closed and I wasn’t exactly thinking about their teeth, except for the fact that they weren’t using them to chew on me. And yes, Deva was totally dressed.”

“This is insane! You’re a nut job, you know that?”

“What? I didn’t ask to be a werewolf, you know!”

“How sweet, but did you have to scratch Deva? I mean, look at how this whole thing has spiraled out of control, and all because you had to be such a, such a, a guy!”

He nodded. “Yup, I sure did.” He was getting angry now. “I could have tried being a girl, or maybe an earthworm – those little buggers don’t even have a gender! No wonder you never hear about earthworm wars or earthworm Divorce Court, or –”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“About the fact that you’re being such a chick! And don’t tell me your fellow females never get mad crushes on anyone and…and sort of…stalk…look. I didn’t start this – some nasty-ass werewolf bit me one night and that’s how it all began, okay? So get the hell off my case!”

Rochelle glared. She removed her coat and thumped back down on the sofa, arms crossed, and glared. “That’s it. I’m staying right here until my friend comes home, and if you try anything crazy, I swear I’ll bite you!”

“Ha. If you did, you’d become a werewolf yourself.”

She frowned. “Gross. Never mind, then. I’ll just stab you with a silver fork or something.”

Mack groaned and sat down again, too, feeling drained. Already things were going wonky, and Deva wasn’t even back yet with Vec. The spirit of Bette Davis made another brief appearance as he found himself thinking it was going to be a bumpy night.

 

*******

 

“Hey, you guys going to a costume party?” asked the waitress.

Deva and Vec stared at each other, momentarily confused, then back at the young woman; she’d interrupted herself in the middle of taking their order, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“I mean, those are some incredibly realistic-looking fangs. Where did you get them?”

Ah! The fangs! “An acquaintence gave them to us,” said Deva, sparing Vec further tongue lacerations. “So, do you have steak tartare?”

“Certainly,” she replied. “Would you like that with a raw egg?”

“I would. And a salad, please, no dressing.” Roughage – always a good thing to have with raw meat.

The waitress scribbled this down, and turned to Vec. “And what might I get for you, tonight?”

He murmured, “Your throat will do,” but Deva kicked him in the ankle. “Same as the young lady, please, and a glass of water with lemon.”

If she’d heard his first remark, she gave no indication of it. “Also no dressing for the salad?”

“Exactly. Thank you.”

She smiled, took their menus, and left, still scribbling on her pad.

Vector leaned forward as soon as she was gone enough, and in a low voice asked Deva to tell him what had happened after she’d bitten him. She told him everything, or as much as she could remember – the vodka had wreaked some havoc that first evening – and was being very didactic about it, but when she mentioned her embarrassment about Mack’s visit, she hesitated.

“What is it? Why would you be embarrassed about Mack being there? I mean, other than the whole rear-end-of-the-werewolf part.”

“Probably because I was completely naked the whole time.” She shrugged, preparing to tell him about the policeman, too, but was interrupted by his taloned hand gripping hers on the table.

His smile became a rictus of horror; eyes bulging and a little too bright, he grated, “He held a conversation with you while you were naked?”

“Y-yes. I wasn’t even thinking about that, you see, and insisted he come in…”

“And how long did he stay?”

She shrugged. “A half hour or so, maybe?”

“And you were stark naked?!”

“As a jaybird. It seemed quite normal at the time.”

“What…what did he do?”

She gave him an odd look. “What do you mean? He didn’t do anything, except piss me off about being the bastard who bit me – and ruining a brand-new shirt in the process! I forgot to mention that to him, though. Anyhow, that was all.”

“That was enough!” he hissed fiercely, puncturing his lower lip on the final consonant.

“You’re bleeding, Vec.”

His glare still in high-wattage mode, he put his napkin against his mouth.

“Yikes!” The waitress had returned and was goggling.

Prior to the unintentional lip-piercing, Vec had kept his hands in his lap, but now his enhanced fingernails were on full display as he pressed linen to lip.

She put two glasses of water (one with a lemon slice) on the table. “So…did your friend give you those claws, too?”

“Sure did,” Deva told her with a hard smile. “It’s part of the costume.”

“They look…real. Really, really…real.”

Vec looked up at her from under his eyebrows.

“Oh.” She zoomed off.

Nothing more was said, mostly because Deva didn’t quite know what to say, and Vec wasn’t saying what he was thinking. They dug into their raw meat with a zeal never before seen at that restaurant, and at its conclusion, Vec shoved his bloody napkin into the meat juices on his plate, explaining that he was hoping to disguise the stain. They left a hefty tip for the waitress, who had sent someone else to their table with the check, and returned in silence to Deva’s apartment.

Once inside the building, Vec stomped toward her door, his expression murderous.

“What are you going to do?” Deva demanded.

He turned the knob on the off-chance the door was unlocked, and sure enough, it was. He went in.

Voices. Low, growly voices and one querulous female voice. A high-pitched scream. And before Deva could go in to see what was going on, Mack shot out of the apartment, still screaming, Vector right on his heels, and they clattered past her, managing by some kind of miracle not to fall over her.

“What - ” Deva began, then shook her head and followed. By the time she caught up, Mack was perched on one of the branches of the oak tree across the street, Vector snarling up at him.

“You had to stay, didn’t you!” the overwrought bass player yelled. “You couldn’t do the decent thing and leave, could you!”

“I had to warn her about what was going to happen!” Mack whined, clearly terrified, his glance going upward mid-sentence as he sought higher refuge. “I didn’t know what else to do! Besides, I left as soon as I could!”

“Sure you did! And why the hell did you come back today?! Were you hoping for another free show?” Vec was positively bellowing by this time, and several cars slowed down as they passed.

“People are staring,” Deva pointed out, coming to stand beside her agitated boyfriend.

“Let them!”

“You’re bleeding very badly, Vec. You look like a lunatic.”

“Ha! I’m not the one in a tree!”

Deva sighed. “No, you’re not, but it’s really hard to see Mack up there from where the cars are, so you look like you’re yelling at the tree. Or maybe at a squirrel.”

“Wow. Great.”

Unbidden, a newspaper headline hove into view on Deva’s mental television screen. It read, “Member Of Local Rock Group Screams At Oak Tree.” She remembered in time not to bite her lower lip to hold back the grin. “How long are you going to keep him up there?” she asked instead.

“Until he’s ready to have his head torn off.”

“Not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

“Fine, but if it’s starting to get late, and if you keep him up there for too long, it’ll get dark, the moon will come out, and he’ll turn into a werewolf while he’s still in the tree.” She tried to picture an over-sized wolf perched on a branch, and her mind nearly short-circuited.

“That’s right!” Mack called, having apparently heard her. “I’d like to see you explain a wolf in a tree!”

“Why would I have to explain anything, Mack? Besides, they’ll probably shoot you first and ask questions later.” Vec smiled, not even flinching as the gashes on his lip widened.

Another headline suggested itself to Deva: “Giant Wolf Gets Caught In Oak Tree”…. Then another, “Giant Wolf Dives Out of Tree Onto Unsuspecting Couple”…. Finally, one of her own, “Wolf In Tree Freaks Out, Loses Control of Bowels, Sends Animal Control Worker To Hospital.” She sat down on the grass and laughed herself nearly unconscious.

“Got it!” Rochelle, who had waited a few minutes before leaving the apartment in an effort to avoid witnessing vast quantities of bloodshed, had heard the shouting and come outside. When she saw the bizarre tableau at the tree, she took out her phone and started taking pictures. This last one was the best, though, having captured pretty much everything: Mack, white-faced as he clung to the branch like a manic spider monkey; Vec, the lower half of his face covered in blood like the creatures in “30 Days of Night,” jabbing a pointing finger upward and clearly showing his claws; and Deva sitting scrunched up on the grass by his feet, laughing hysterically. She figured she’d publish it on Youtube and ask people to provide a caption. Might even make her famous…

From the ground came the odd noise of a long, uncontrolled snort as Deva finally caught her breath. Vec, Mack and Rochelle turned startled stares on her, but she shook her head and started laughing again.

At that point, Rochelle might have given up trying to make sense of any of what was going on and returned home; Vec may have decided to make sure Deva was all right; and Mack could have chosen this opportunity to find another way out of the tree, but none of those things occurred for one very, simple, natural reason.

The full moon arose.

-5-

John Mahoney was a simple, well-adjusted, hard-working family man. He had a wife and four well-behaved children. He made enough money to keep up the mortgage payments on his house and afford nice family vacations. He had a used, late-model car he was proud to drive, and his wife thought he was the best man she’d ever known. His also had a second job of sorts – his actual one was in construction – that paid only a small monthly stipend. Four evenings a week, he helped out at the Animal Control Center in town, and after twelve years of service there, he believed he’d seen just about everything strange there was to see that was animal-related.

One night, he was called on to help get a giant otter off some woman’s front porch. No one could figure out where the thing had come from, and it wasn’t very cooperative, but John was a crack shot with a tranquilizer gun, and the problem had been solved. Another night, he’d had to extricate a howler monkey from a sewer pipe. The beast had escaped from a local petting zoo, and between fury and pure terror, was a frightening challenge, indeed. But once again, John’s deadeye aim had subdued the poor thing and all was well. So what with giant otters, monkeys, an occasional python and a bear or two, John Mahoney had felt sure he’d seen it all.

Until he found himself looking up into a large oak tree – on an otherwise average neighborhood street – at a gigantic wolf. That was pretty damned odd, but what was making it even more so was the wolf’s behavior. It was standing on its hind legs on a thick branch, its front legs wrapped tightly around the trunk, a look of pure horror and fear on its face. Its eyes were uncharacteristically round and bulging as it stared, open-jawed, at the ground far below, and it was emitting strange, mewling sounds.

“What the hell!” John raised the muzzle of his tranquilizer rifle, flummoxed.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Huh?” He lowered the rifle and looked at the young lady who had appeared by his side. He did a double-take. She’d seemed completely normal at first glance, but the second glance, encouraged by her rather pleasant curves, revealed long, furry ears and wolf-like fangs curving provocatively over her bottom lip. “Hey, what’s going on? Is this some kind of…what’s going on? Are you his mother or something?”

She gave him a don’t-be-an-idiot look and shook her head. “Do you really have to ask?” She sighed. “Some people. Look, this is exactly what you probably think it is – two people who were going to a costume party, and one of them got stuck in a tree. My friends will get him down; why don’t you go home and forget about it, okay?”

That hadn’t been what he’d been thinking at all. “Okay, then. How did your friend get stuck in that tree?”

“How does anyone get stuck in a tree, you silly man? He was trying to get my cat down.”

“Did he? Get the cat, I mean.”

“Yes. Now put your gun away, please. You’re scaring me.”

He didn’t think she looked very scared. In fact, he didn’t think she was telling him the truth, and he said so.

“You think I’m lying, do you?” One of her attractive, arched eyebrows arched a little higher. “Okay, fine. What’s the alternative? What do you think is really going on? That there’s a werewolf chilling in a tree, and I’m about to become one, too? How many werewolves do you know who hang out on tree branches? I mean, the last place someone would be who knows the full moon is about to transform him into a werewolf, is up a tree! Ha!”

“Yeah.” He slowly brought the barrel of the gun lower and aimed it at her, taking a quick step back. “Sure.”

“Something wrong?”

John spun around, saw the source of this question, and gave an involuntary, albeit well-controlled, shriek. A tall, shaggy-haired young man with similarly large, hairy ears and scary-looking fangs had come up behind him. He gave John a pleasant…well, in a monster kind of way…grin, the hands at the ends of his crossed arms displaying dark, razor-sharp-looking talons.

“You, er, weren’t going to shoot my girlfriend, were you?” asked the young man, one of his extraordinary, bushy brows doing an exact imitation of the girl’s.

“What?!”

“I told him about the costume party and our friend getting stuck in the tree after shooing the cat down,” said the girl, her tone reasonable if somewhat exasperated.

“Did you. Good. ‘Kitty’ is in the kitchen, by the way, drinking her milk as if nothing unusual happened.”

The girl giggled. “How typical.”

Up in the tree, the wolf’s whimpering noises got louder.

“Okay, fine!” John lowered the rifle. “But I’m sorry – that is not normal!” He pointed dramatically at the wolf in the tree. “And it sure as hell doesn’t look like a costume!”

“How could you possibly tell from this distance, eh?” asked the young man in a pleasant growl.

John squinted upward, then shook his head. “No offense, but most animal costumes aren’t that, um, anatomically correct, if you know what I mean.”

“Ew!” The befanged girl turned away, shuddering.

The wolf uttered a howl, sounding affronted.

After dismissing the notion that briefly wafted through his brain to tranquilize himself with the darned rifle, John gave up. This whole situation had by now gone beyond the seen-it-all stage and was resting comfortably in the arms of you’re-either-insane-or-this-isn’t-happening. He took his finger off the trigger, slung the rifle up onto his shoulder, and went back to the animal rescue vehicle (which was really no more than a giant cat/dog/whatever carrier on wheels). He refused to be drawn back into any kind of conversation with these strange people, so he got into the driver’s seat, gently shut the door, and drove away.

Behind him, he heard a loud crack, a yelp, and in the rear-view mirror saw two large objects fall out of the tree, but chose to keep going. He turned on the radio and hummed along with a song he didn’t know, something within his badly ruffled psyche assuring him that he’d narrowly escaped a terrible situation.

The two-way radio on his dashboard crackled and he swerved, startled. Once the truck was back in its lane, he detached the handset. “Mahoney,” he managed, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse.

“Dispatch here. How’d it go?”

“How’d what go?”

“The call about the – ha, ha! – the dog in the tree?”

“False alarm. It was a cat and some guy in a wolf costume who climbed up to get it.”

Silence.

“Seriously. Going home now. I’ll drop the truck off in the morning. Mahoney out.” He reattached the handset, took a deep breath and made a left turn.

His house was to the right, but the way he was headed would take him somewhere he needed to be much worse at the moment – The Staggering Leprauchaun Pub and Grill.

Wolf costume, indeed...

-6-

 

 

 

Mack-the-Werewolf was snarling. Had the limb not preceded him to the ground, he might have landed on all four paws, but instead, two of those paws had struck the limb first, twisted, and he’d crashed to his side on the grass.

“Think he broke any legs?” asked Deva. She wasn’t worried, and in fact sounded as if she was hoping he had.

“Don’t know. Mack, shut up!” Crouched over the fallen werewolf, Vector gingerly poked at one of the legs that wasn’t flailing wildly in the air.

With a roar of pain, Mack snapped angrily at Vec’s hand, which the bass-player yanked back moments before the wolfy drummer could bite it off.

“Hey! Don’t do that, dude! I’m trying to help!”

The werewolf grunted and rolled onto its back, looking utterly defeated.

“Aw, crap, Vec, cover his…his junk with something will you?” Deva made a gagging noise and looked away.

“Where the hell did your friend go? She ought to be back by now.” Vec stood, shaking his head.

Rochelle had watched the weird transformation of all three of them, voicing her fascination with Mack’s reactions once his change was complete, then offered to go get her brother’s SUV. Because he owned a Great Dane, she'd explained, her brother had put up a metal grate between the back of the vehicle and the first row of back seats, lowering the last row to make a comfortable kennel of sorts for the dog. She suggested this would be a great place for Mack to hang out until morning, and her suggestion had been greeted with approval by both Deva and Vec. Mack had taken a moment off from sounding like a wounded kitten to glare down at her, but was of course incapable of voicing any objections. That had been nearly a half hour earlier, and Vec was growing tired of babysitting the drummer.

“She’ll be here.” Deva stretched and started sniffing the air. “Mmm. I smell something…rodent-ish, maybe? I really wanted to take a bite out of the animal control guy, but I’m not that hungry right now.”

“I think it might be a squirrel.” Vec kept an eye on the stricken werewolf, but had also noticed some of the aromas his wolf-like senses were taking in. Rather like a waiter reading off the night’s specials, he thought.

“I’ll go look. If it’s big enough, we can share.”

Mack whimpered.

“Fine, I’ll try and find two.” Deva stalked off.

By the time Rochelle drove up, Vec was sitting on the broken limb and scratching Mack’s tummy. He had bent himself over enough to hide the insane ears he was sporting, and looked for all the world like a typical dog-owner indulging his large pet. Okay, giganic pet. Deva was nowhere in sight.

“Hey, uh, can you – how did he get out of the tree?” She had opened the door but wasn’t sure it would be safe to join them.

Vec stood up. “He fell. Branch broke. I think he may have broken a leg or two.”

“Oh, awesome. Because dragging a wounded werewolf is going to be so much easier than coaxing him into the car!”

“Rochelle, please. Look, I’ll wrap my shirt around his muzzle so he can’t bite you, and between us we should be able to haul his hairy butt into the back, all right?”

Mack made a noise that for all intents and purposes sounded like, “Hey!”

“Sorry, but we can’t trust you,” Vec confessed. “Besides, Deva is pissed enough at you – the last thing you want to do is accidentally eat her friend.”

"Wow - the wolf rolled its eyes!" Rochelle, despite the dangerous situation, burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Deva had emerged from behind a nearby hedge, a dead squirrel dangling from one hand, the bloody remains of second one in the other like a chicken drumstick from which she tore a small bite. “And how’s Mack?”

“Oh, god!” Rochelle turned an unusual color that in the streetlamp beside her appeared to be somewhere between pea green and sunflower yellow. “What is that, Deva?”

“Squirrel. Want some?” She held out the gory mass of flesh.

Rochelle dove head first into the car and slammed the door.

Vec peered in through the driver's side window. "She's lying across the front seat. I think she's trying not to puke," he reported.

“Her loss.” Deva held out the lump to Vec.

“Nah, I’ll take the other one, if that’s okay. Give that to Mack.”

She shrugged and tossed it at the drummer’s head, who made an epic catch with flashing jaws, crunched gratefully for a few seconds, and swallowed with a sigh.

“You’re welcome. So. We putting him in the car?”

“That’s the plan. Hold on.” Vec had been doing something gross with the dead squirrel, but now, his own hairy face smeared with blood, gave the girl a frightening grin and offered her what remained.

When they were done, they got busy hauling Mack over to the back of the SUV, then retrieved his shredded clothing from the base of the tree. By this time, Rochelle had recovered enough to push the button that opened the rear door, and after a lot of growling, oofing, snarling and violent threats, Mack was safely tucked into the back and they shut the door.

Before getting in themselves, they playfully licked the blood off each other’s faces, thus eliciting another groan from Rochelle, who had managed to sit up and was watching them with a pained look. "You know what? I've about resigned myself to the inevitability of throwing up before the night is over. Now what?”

Deva and Vec were snuggling in the back seat by this time and didn't respond.

“Guys. Pay attention. Any suggestions?”

“I think you should take us back to Deva’s,” Vec suggested, pulling away from Deva. “I have a feeling it won’t be very safe for you to be around either of us for the rest of the night.”

Without a word, Rochelle started the car, put it in gear, and did a three-point turn that placed the vehicle directly in front of Deva’s apartment building. She looked into the rear-view mirror and gave her friend a “really?” stare – they could have simply walked across the street, after all.

Deva chuckled and opened the door. “Forgot we were so close!”

Vec got out, too, and they started up the walkway to the building.

“Hey, hold it, you two!”

They turned to stare back at her in surprise.

“You’re kidding, right? What the hell do I do with dog-boy back here?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

The couple shared a startled look. “Oh, wow,” said Vec. “So sorry! You’re going to have to bring him to the hospital in the morning, I’m afraid. Hang on. Deva, you have anything that would fit Mack once he’s himself again?”

“Not really, unless he feels like wearing a dress.”

Mac howled.

“Nope, probably not. How about you?”

Vec frowned. “Well, he’s shorter than me, but…aw, what the heck. Why do we wear clothes anyway, right?”

“You won’t get an argument from me!” said Deva, grinning madly.

As she said this, Vec began removing his clothes. A moment later, he was handing them to Rochelle.

She gaped as she took the offered items, cleared her throat and gave Deva a crooked smile. "He certainly is put together nicely, I have to admit. Go Deva!"

"Yup." Deva began removing her own clothing, and before Rochelle could say a word, the two semi-werewolves, arms around each other, sashayed off into the building.

 

*******

 

Rochelle, gulping down the last molecules of bile and deciding she was going to survive the night without heaving after all, glanced in the rear-view mirror to make sure her unwanted passenger was secure, and put the car in gear. “Damn.”

Whine.

“Shut up, Mack.”

Impressum

Texte: The content of this book is the exclusive property of the author and may not be copied or used, in whole or in part, by any party other than the author without said author's express, written permission. This work is protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America.
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 03.06.2011

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Widmung:
NOTICE OF COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT The contents of this book is protected by United States Copyright laws and may not, in whole or in part, be reproduced by anyone other than the author. Further, no portion of this work, nor the book in its entirety, may be offered by any third party(ies) in any form, either electronic (such as a PDF document or an ebook) or physical (such as a paperback or included in a hard-copy publication) without the express, written permission by, or contractual agreement with, the author. Its availability on BookRix is an example of the latter availability and may be read, in situ, but not downloaded by any foreign entities nor copied by same.