A howl at night episode 24

??A Howl In The Night ??
?She’s Mine?
?From Novel r0m@nç£?

?Chapter 24?
?Admirers Can Be More Frightening Than Your Worst Nightmare?

~ Mona ~

The gras-s tickles my toes as I shift slightly, sleep re-leasing its strong hold on me. The sun’s warm light washes over my ba-re skin, my hair as it is sprawled over the gras-s. I stagger to my feet, wondering why I am here in the garden.

My gaze shifts towards the fountain, and then everything comes back to me in a flash. I blus-h as I think of my time with Ray earlier, with the fountain and statue. Ray’s h0t embr@ce felt very comforting, for sure, but at the same time, it was terrifying. What if Xavier had seen us? What would he have thought?

I hate to admit it, but I miss him. I want him to laugh and joke with me like he used to. He has really grown on me, so much that I am almost longing for a t©uçh, a brush of his f!ngers. However, he is really impatient. It hasn’t even been a month yet, and I have shed my old skin, healed people of their sickness, and had guys actually flir-ting with me. Even now, my br@in is about to go into overload. Why can’t he un-derstand?

Many times, though, it feels as if I am lying to myself. As if that feeling is alre-ady pres£nt inside of me, but shoved into the corner. As if I am denying the truth. My heart beats like a drum whenever he comes close, my s-en-ses awakened and arou-sedin his pres£nce. The attra-ction is so strong between us… even I have a ha-rd time. I can ba-rely imagine what he has been feeling ever since he met me.

Possibly he is angry because I repress my emotions; especially the one he de-sires the most.

I walk to the garden door, resolute. This can’t go on anymore. I have to fix this.

The door swings shut behind me as I pound throu-gh the halls, racing towards his door. The world spins as my vision almost becomes blurry, I quic-kly realizing that I can’t really last long un-der his anger. For some strange reason… his feelings actually matter to me.

His room is so close, a step away. I can s-en-se the anger, the pain boiling just beyond the wooden door. Sadness surges in my heart.

I raise my knuckles and tap the door, my heart’s beats escalating as I s-en-se him suddenly freeze in his movement. There is a moment of complete and utter silence, then footsteps as he shuffles towards the door.

A hand slowly turns the knob, and swings the door open to reveal himself. His tanned face and b©dy is be-draggled with worry and fury, his hair limp and not shining like it normally does. He stares into my eyes, and I study him also. However, I soon find that there is nothing to examine. His emerald eyes are blank like the surface of a crystal pool.

“What do you want?” His words sound more like a statement than a question, short and abrupt. Chills enter me, racing throu-gh my entire being.

“I wanted to say…” I have a ha-rd time choking out the word, for I have never truly said it before. But now that it means so much, I feel that I have to say it just right. That the word has to sl!pperfectly throu-gh my slightly chappedl-ips.

He surveys me coldly, and ha-rd ness enters his features. “plea-se go away,” he gro-an s, as if I am only an annoyance, “I don’t feel like talking to you right now.” He vanishes behind the door, closing it as quic-kly as he can.

I catch it with my foot, wincing in pain as his incredible strength works against me. “St©p, Xavier!” I yell, “You are going to break my foot! plea-se talk to me!”

“You don’t nee-d me,” a fierce accusation breaks throu-gh my defenses, ma-king me freeze. My foot is pushed away from the door, and it is r0ûghly closed in front of me. “Go talk to… Ray or something! Who it is doesn’t really matter to you, does it?” His anger is seeping throu-gh the doors, ma-king me sink into a puddle on the floor.

Why would he say that? I am shocked into silence, edging away from the room now as if it is a ticking time bomb. I… wasn’t even given the chance to say sorry.

Maybe I will follow his bitter advice.

I knock on the door that is a couple of feet farther along the hallway, leaning against it after the sound is made. My breaths come short and ragged, and saddled with each one is nearly suffocating disappointment. When it finally swings open, I lose my balance and fall towards the ground. A strong form st©ps me in my tumble, a laugh echoing throu-gh the air. “Clumsy Mona,” he chuckles, “what’s up?”

“Why is Xavier saying that I don’t nee-d him?” I ask angrily. A small smile appears at the corner of his features.

“Oh, Xavier is just being overdramatic,” he waves his hand in the air, “He will cool off soon-”

“Cool off from what?!” My voice rises as I interrupt him, anger surging throu-gh my blood. Ray looks so calm and collected, though a little surprised at my bur-st of words.

“You can figure that out, Mona…” his s£dûçt!vevoice drops to a whisper, and I find myself leaning in closer. “You’re very smart.”

I think over Xavier’s previous words, feeling unsettled at the way Ray’s eyes stare piercingly at me. Suddenly un-derstanding comes to me… what if Xavier saw us and misun-derstood?

I shake my head in annoyance, wondering why all this stuff has to happen to me. “He’s too angry to talk to me right now,” I sigh, “so I’ll have to clear it up later. But Ray… did you say anything to him to make it seem even worse than it looked?”

“Of course.” He shoots me one of those dizzying smiles.

I glare at him. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” Leave it to Ray to willingly make the situation ten times ha-rder for me to fix. “What did you say exactly?”

“Oh, just that we were having a great time splashing around in the pool! That’s not a lie, right?” he sm-irks.

I punch him in the arm. “You always make a mess out of things, don’t you?” I say half-jokingly. It seems okay to laugh now, when it becomes obvious that all actions will just be futile towards solving the problem.

“A h0t mess,” he wi-nks, then steps away from the door. “You want to come in?” he invites, motioning for me to enter the room. Realizing that I have truly nothing else to do, I follow his movement.

It is not a luxurious room, with one queen-sized be-d and limited walking space. However, a beautiful desk lines one wall, with numerous shelves full of thick books and various objects, like a crystal globe or a vase with flowers. Even more surprising, the opposite wall features a trophy case, full of hvge statues, plaques and medals.

I walk over to the case, peering at the immortalized men, all in mid-run. They shine like gold itself, without a scratch upon them. “Are these track trophies?” I ask, watching them sparkle.

“Yes,” he says plainly, staring at them also. “I used to be the star track runner on our team.” He places a hand on the glas-s, the tiniest bit of a smile forcing its way onto hisl-ips. I can see the wistfulness in his gaze, as if he wanted to be returned to that time of glory.

“What happened?” I ask softly.

His eyes suddenly flash, and he lifts his head from the glas-s. “I was changed into a werewolf by my brother. He told me it was exciting, that I would enjoy it. He told me we would be brothers forever,” he looks to the ground, bitterly spitting out the words, “but all it has done is tear us ap@rt.”

I look at the bo-ttomof the largest trophy, where words are engraved. It says 1st Place in 100 Meter Dash. However, right un-derneath these words is the word Ray, and his last name is scratched out.

“I had to disappear from the world I had known and loved,” he said softly, “I had to sneak in the school and delete my name from their records. I couldn’t p@rticipate in sports, because that would clearly be cheating. Everything I had was gone.”

“And I would have been a track star!” he continues, his eyes lighting up, “I could have gone to the Olympics if I had worked ha-rd enough. I would have been famous and loved by everyone. But instead, I had to disappear from society. A different life was now waiting for me… one with secrecy, deception, and no expiration d@t£. I can’t look forward to death, because there is no death. I am living a twisted lie of a life.”

“But can’t werewolves be killed?” I ask.

“Yes, but it takes incredible power, and there is nothing around us with that power. There is not a single werewolf for miles and miles.”

“So you hate Xavier…” I trail off, still staring at the scratched off name. I can tell the feelings placed into those scratches… anguish and the regret of losing what mattered the most.

“It is more of a love-hate relationsh!p,” he laughs.

For once, I feel that I un-derstand Ray’s actions and feelings.

“You are a good guy,” I pat him on the shoulder; “I hope that soon your life will be worth living to you.” Feeling that the time had come for me to leave, I amble out the door, shutting it behind me.

Great. Now I have no one to talk to.

I go into my room and l@ydown on the be-d, sighing as I sink into the plump mattress. It is less than twenty four hours before I have to go into hiding, but even now it seems like an eternity. Night is crawling onto the horizon at a snail’s speed, each second becoming an hour.

I want to lose the world, to leave it behind forever. I envy the time when my life was simple and I could sleep without the stress of waking up the next day a step closer to imprisonment by the wolf police.

Alert streaks throu-gh my mind when I recall that email from two days ago, one that called for my termination. I haven’t even thought about what would happen if I was found guilty by the council. How would they exterminate me? It is almost impossible to kill a werewolf… oh yeah. I’m not a full werewolf. I’m not even a true Spier.

But how can I prove that I am a Spier? I can’t even do the most basic of all skills; conjure a spirit spear. And what I can do is very much different from what a Spier does.

My eyesight becomes strained, and I find myself falling into a type of slumber that isn’t fully sleep. My eyelids sl!pdownward, and the world turns black before me.

***

There is a sudden squeak, and I am immediately awake. My eyes stay closed, but my heart beats ever fas-ter.

I freeze completely, not moving a single muscle. The small, nearly inaudible noise resounds once more around the room, and I am sure that there is an intruder. My nose detects a slightly flowery aroma, one full of old and graying age. Alert surges throu-gh my blood, suspicion in my thoughts.

I slowly open my eyes, aware of the darkness surrounding me. It is darkest of nights, almost as black as when my eyes were closed. Without a sound, I sl!ponto the ground, my feet ma-king no resounding impact with the floor.

I sp©t the outline of a small being standing at my closet door, shuffling throu-gh my clothes. I creep forward like a snake, sli-pping across the floor towards my target.

Suddenly, fright stiffens the creature, and it hurries to the door. I lunge for it with amazing speed, gr-abbing its ankle. Its flesh is soft like a human’s skin, yet wrinkled and weary. “What are you?” I ask angrily, “Why are you in my room?!”

A small yelp escapes the strange creature as I grip it ti-ghtly, unrelenting. “Nothing, mistress! I am nothing.” Its hands reach to cover its face, whimpers escaping it. Alarm evacuates me as I hear its voice, so soft and gentle that I cannot be afraid.

“Don’t move, ok?” I ask, and let go of her ankle. I walk over to the light, and reach for the switch.

“NO!” The creature’s skrie-k is plainly heard throu-ghout the whole room. “plea-se, no bright light,” it begs, “it will kill me.” I pause with my hand on the wall, staring at it.

“Then how do I see you?” I question it softly.

“Turn on the table lamp,” it suggests. I pad over to my dresser and twist the small knob. Soft yellow light floods the room, and I can finally see it clearly.

Large brown eyes are set in a wrinkled, sagging face, with thinl-ips and a pointy nose. Her smooth gray hair is in a bun, and her small, three-foot form is adorned with a simple dress and apron. She looks like a perfect, yet miniature grandmother.

“I am a phoenae,” she says softly, as if the name itself is of the utmost importance. “I work here, for the masters.”

Without a word, I open the door and beckon for her to follow. There are small shuffles of movement, and then we both reach a door. I raise my hand to knock, but then my hand freezes. I suddenly realize that I had subconsciously traveled to Xavier’s room, and that I was not welcome to him.

Let’s try the other door, I think, quic-kly shuffling a few more steps down the hall. Trying not to be loud, I sl!pinto Jake’s room.

The silver-haired man is sitting at his desk, tapping keys on his cutting-edge l@pt©p. When I am ba-rely an inch away from him he swivels in his chair, facing me stoically. “Why are you coming to talk to me at-” he checks his watch, “-eleven o’clock at night?”

“I would like to know what this is, exactly,” I gesture to the slender creature in confusion, and Jake’s eyes wi-den. “It was in my closet three minutes ago.”

“I guess you were bound to notice eventually, with your newfound abilities,” he shrugs slightly, leaning back in his seat. “She is a phoenae, a phoenix-like creature that ages every day, and is reborn every night at 12:00. She and a few others clean the mansion for us.”

“They aren’t slaves, are they?” I turn to look at the pitiful, wrinkly creature with a frown.

The phoenae’s bright brown eyes flash. “No, mistress,” she says hastily, “My most gracious masters are helping me and allowing me to live in luxury!”

Jake smiles handsomely. “It is very difficult for a phoenae to get a job and survive, especially since they are very short, have an aversion to very bright light, and go throu-gh the aging process at a terrific speed every day. Also, they have an extreme pas-sion for steak, which we have an abundance of.”

“And I get to have it every day!” she squeals. I stare as the wrinkles on her face multi-ply at an incredible rate.

“So, in exchange for protec-tion, steak, and a place to live, they work for us,” Jake concludes, turning back in his chair to look at his computer screen once more. The taps begin again, and I turn to walk back into the hallway.

My eyes grow soft as I look at the strange creature with the gentle voice. “What’s your name?” I ask, my words as smooth as honey flowing throu-gh myl-ips. Even if she is a big ball of wrinkles, I feel the urge to be nice to the only girl I have seen in the mansion.

“Danae,” she says shyly, smiling up at me. Her teeth are shiny white and perfectly aligned, which doesn’t seem to fit her current appearance. However, something about her unnatural grin is enchanting, ma-king me feel more comfortable. I smile back.

“Danae, you don’t have to clean for me,” I tell her firmly, “I can do that myself, unlike these incompetent werewolves.” I return to my room, flouncing back on the be-d. Danae hurries in also, protesting furiously.

“But Mistress shouldn’t have to do such a thing… cleaning is only for the servants!”

“You are not my servant…” I look at her plainly, “I do not have servants.” I do not think I can bear having a servant, when I was practically a servant myself to Ms. Penn not too long ago. Also, I hate it when I leave my shi-t on my chair to wear the next day only to find that it is missing when morning comes.

“But-”

“Leave,” my voice now oozes with command, “and don’t come back here to clean again.” She shuffles outside, closing the door behind her. My head flops onto the pillow, swirling with new ideas and thoughts. First werewolves, then Shifters, and now phoenaes?! How many other creatures are out there that I don’t know about? Obviously Xavier was lying to me when he said there were no other supernatural species out there.

My eyes will not close this time.

The night edges away as I shift and sit up in my be-d, thinking about everything.

***

Hours later, my door swings open and Ray walks in, smiling grimly. “Good morning…” he surveys my cross-legged form, “or not. Did you have a bad dream or something?”

“I just couldn’t sleep last night,” I slide out of the be-d, looking into the mirror. I pu-ll my incredibly long ru-by red hair into a ponytail, and turn to face him. “I just found out who was stealing my socks every day,” I say dryly.

He laughs, a genuine grin dancing across his features. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you about that.”

“Well, anyways…” I stare at him, “what do you want?”

“For you to get re-ady,” he says, “we will leave in a couple of hours.” He holds out a small drawstring bag, printed with the word Moonlight.

“Where are we going?” I inquire wonderingly. I stare into the small pouch, wishing for it to be one of those magical ones that fit a whole closet into a tiny space. When I was officially an orphan, everything I owned could fit into that one bag. Now I have so much… stuff I can call my own. Stuff I don’t want to lose for fear of having nothing again.

“Okay,” I stare at it resignedly, and then back up at Ray. “How long will this last?”

His face turns stone still, resolute. “We will probably, if we avoid capture at all, be in hiding for a very long time.”

It is then that I realize just how serious our situation is.

“I’ll get re-ady,” I take a step back and sit back down on the plump mattress, dazed. Ray seems to s-en-se my hidden dismissal and sli-ps outside into the hallway.

I l@ythe pouch beside me and stare around the room, looking at my various possessions. What should I bring and what should I leave behind?

After a second of pondering, I gr-ab my emerald ring from the be-dside table. It isn’t nee-ded to keep me safe because I have really bright green eyes now, but the fact that… he gave it to me makes it truly worth a sp©t in my bag. I would wear it, but it seems to symbolize the good times we have together, and those are the times I don’t want to remember right now.

“Mistress,” a small, gentle voice whispers from the hallway. My head shoots up as I see an unfamiliar phoenae peering into my room. Her ebony hair is long and wavy, surrounding a heart shaped face. With big, brown eyes and ru-by redl-ips, she seems to be very young.

“Who are you?” I ask sharply.

“Danae, Mistress,” she replies respectfully, “may I come in?” I stare at her beautiful features with suspicion. She looks nothing like the grandmother I saw last night.

“I… look different in the mornings because I am a phoenae,” she cautiously continues when she notices my confusion. I suddenly realize that this was what Jake was talking about when he said phoenaes go throu-gh the aging process very quic-kly. It is ha-rd to believe that this short, yet amazingly slender woman will morph into an old, wrinkled one by night’s end.

“Come in,” I wave my hand slowly, and she comes by my side. She looks at the bag, and a frown appears on her face.

“Are you leaving?” she asks softly. I shake my head.

“No, we are just going to pl@ya little hide and seek,” I sigh, casting her a glance to see if she bought it. Danae dubiously returns the look.

“Let me help you pack,” she takes the pouch and holds it ti-ght in her little f!ngers. The phoenae sli-ps to the closet, viewing it appraisingly.

“What makes you think you can help me pack?” I say in a rather brusque manner. She ignores me, looking throu-gh my clothes. After about ten seconds, Danae pu-lls out a shi-t and a pair of jeans, along with a moderately thick jacket. I g@sp when I realize that those three articles of clothing were my favorites out of them all.

“Wear this,” she hands me the jacket, “in case you get cold.”

“How did you know?” I ask wonderingly, f!ngering the soft fabric. She smiles, the same glitteringly white teeth shining at me.

“The person that does the laundry knows a lot about the person she is cleaning for,” she says, then lifts her arms. “Can you lift me onto the be-d?” she embarras-sedly asks. I laughingly comply, lifting her small form and putting her on the mattress.

Danae comes to stand behind me, and places her tiny f!ngersin my hair. “What are you doing?” I stiffen at the t©uçh.

“Relax,” she smiles again, “and close your eyes.” I oblige her once more, focusing on her f!nger light t©uçh as it skims throu-gh my hair.

Silence reigns for a while, and then she speaks again. “Mistress, may I request something?”

“Yes,” I softly reply, thinking how nice it is to actually have a civil conversation with a girl. I can’t even remember the last time that has even happened.

“You said you didn’t nee-d a servant…” she twirls a strand of my hair in her f!ngers, working her magic, “but I can be something else.”

“And what is that?”

“I think what you nee-d most at this time is a friend.” She pauses for a second, and then continues to fold and twist my hair. “If you will let me, I will be exactly that.”

A slow smile appears on my face, and my eyes start to flutter open. quic-kly I try to shut them, but a marvelous sight catches my gaze.

My hair is compiled into an elaborate updo, with br@ids and weavings. It looks so beautiful with my green eyes and the flawless face that isn’t truly mine. I gaze at the wondrous style, trying to figure out how she did that so quic-kly.

“Can I come with you?” she inquires softly, “I promise I won’t be a has-sle.”

I am still struck silent; p@rtly because of her earlier request, and p@rtly because she actually wants to come with me into hiding. Is a scre-w loose in her head or something?

“Of course you can come with me,” I reply, “but why would you want to?”

“I have been in this mansion cleaning for over thirty years,” her voice gains an edge of wisdom, “doing the exact same things over and over. I’ll miss my steak, but this is a chance for change. For excitement. And what is the point of having a new friend if you can never talk to them?”

“That’s true,” I admit, laughing softly. Thirty years. I can’t imagine her to be that much older than me… although I could have thought that with her other appearance last night.

“So can I, Mistress?” she asks, reaching over and pu-lling a thin flower out of a delicate vase. With precision and accuracy, she places it in my updo, putting the final t©uçh on the masterpiece.

I laugh genially. “Danae, don’t call me Mistress. That is how a servant would address me.” She laughs too, and lets out a little squeal of happiness.

“Thank you, Mona,” she nearly stutters on my name, “I have never had a woman as a friend before.”

“Me either,” I say in reply, and she g@sps.

“But you are so beautiful! How could you not have some friends at school?!” she practically exclaims. I just shake my head.

“This new skin is only a facade… the one I used to have looked far worse.”

She just looks at me with concern. “You are like a flower in full bloom,” she states, before your appearance may have just been budding, but your conversion is what made it truly blossom.”

“But that was just because of my conversion! If I didn’t go throu-gh with the conversion… this would have never happened!” I say furiously.

“I tend to believe that a conversion gives a werewolf different levels of beauty, based on the inside beauty they always have possessed.” She jumps off the be-d and walks towards the closet once more. Danae returns with some un-derwear and heavy socks. She stuffs it in the bag, ma-king it full to the t©p. “You are exceptionally beautiful, Mona,” she says softly, “and I don’t think you fully appreciate the blessing God has given you.”

Expressionless, I stand up, staring at the face that isn’t mine. Could it truly reflect who I am on the inside, or is Danae just spitting out lies?

“Come on,” I take the pouch and start walking outside my room.

“I want to pack first,” Danae apologetically says, “I will meet up with you in a minute. Get some breakfast.”

I stare at her for a second, then without a word I walk downstairs, my stomach grumbling. The first werewolf I see is Yi, cooking an omelet in the kitchen. His hair is messy and wild, which contrasts greatly with the frilly apron he is wearing.

He turns to the sound of my laughter, startled. Once he realizes that it is directed at him, a blus-h spre-ads across his cheeks. “I didn’t want anything to get on my clothes!” he nearly squeals.

“Of course…” I chuckle, “while you have that on, though, can you make me some scrambled eggs?”

He fli-ps the omelet, and then slides it out onto a plate. He carries it into dining room, then returns and slides off the apron. “You can have it,” he sm-irks and hands it to me, “make your own breakfast.”

“That’s not something an apron-loving man should say when he is caught in the act,” I sm-irk back, showing him my small c@m£ra, which is in the process of recording his every movement.

“THAT’S NOT FAIR!” he yells, lunging for my phone. With lightning speed, I draw my hand away at the last second, Yi tumbling on the floor. He snaps to his feet, racing at me like a bull. I cringe slightly and start to close my eyes, but a form sli-ps in front of me and takes Yi head on. Yi bounces off like a spring, dizziness in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Ray, he was just pla-ying,” I step out from behind him. “Yi, could you plea-se make me some scrambled eggs now?” I laugh. As he watches, I slide the c@m£ra de-ep into my pocket—so de-ep that he would have to as-sault me to get to it.

He glances at me angrily, then ambles over to the refrigerator and pu-lls out some eggs.

After another quic-k giggle, I turn back towards Ray. “Where are the others?”

“Getting re-ady,” he replies, “I’m surprised you got packed so quic-kly. What did you bring?”

“Just one set of clothes,” I dryly state, “it’s not like you gave me room to pack anything else.”

“True.” He lets loose a big, hearty laugh.

“Couldn’t you have given me a bigger bag?” I complain, but he shakes his head.

“Look, I got a debit card, and that is what counts. It has all of our money on it. We can buy what we nee-d.”

“But-”

“We nee-d to stay light,” he gently, yet firmly insists, “we can’t have you dragging a backpack around.” I give up immediately, looking at the floor. They just don’t know what it is like to be a girl.

A tall, muscled form fills the doorway, his gaze directed at Ray. His face is magnificent yet weary, with faint circles un-derneath his eyes. Even one glance at him strikes pain in my heart.

“Xavier,” I begin, and he looks my way. Fire and electricity immediately snap between us with our sudden connection, along with pas-sion and regret. In addition, a strange type of hate is emanating from him, burning me to a crisp. Ironically, I shiver.

“I nee-d to talk-” I am interrupted by the shrill sound of the doorbell ringing. It sounds like the chime of a thousand bells, ma-king even the ground vibr@te.

“Why don’t you get the door, Mona?” Ray asks politely, though eyeing Xavier.

“Okay,” I shuffle to the hallway and look back at Xavier. At first we make eye contact but Xavier looks away, dissatisfied. I shake my head slightly, and then I start to run. Before the last chime sounds, I am in the foyer, staring out of the thin windows.

Rain is flooding down, the cold fogging up my view. The clouds are dark and intimid@t!ng, shrouding the world like a thick blanket. A shivering figure is huddled outside, his or her head and arms covered by a thin jacket.

Without a moment more of hesitation, I fling the door open, hastily urging the person inside. I can tell that the figure is a girl, for she is wearing a knee-length dress, one that is rather low-cut and very fashionable.

“What’s your name?” I ask her softly. She doesn’t answer, clutching her soa-ked jacket with long, pointy f!ngernails. “Do you want me to take that and wash it?” I gesture towards the jacket. She remains silent, unmoving.

I move my hand towards the jacket, but then she finally speaks, st©pping me with her voice. “Where is Xavier?” she softly demands, “I nee-d to see him.” All the while she keeps her head down, as if she is afraid of my gaze. Water drips off her ba-re skin, soaking the carpet beneath her feet.

“Okay, but don’t you want to change into something dry first?” I offer, but she shakes her head sharply. Golden ringlets tumble from her jacket head covering, shiny and smooth.

“Come on then.” I lead the way back to the kitchen. She follows me softly, ma-king almost no sound. “Hey guys, we have a visitor. It looks like she c@m£ in the rain.”

“A she?” Jake and Yi perk up, their voices blurring together. All of them race to the doorway. Xavier, though lagging behind, follows their movement. Ray remains sitting at the table, engrossed in his newspaper.

“Yeah,” I say dryly. They stare at her like she is an unwra-pped pres£nt, immediately turning on the charm.

“What’s your name?” they chorus, smiling brightly. They drink in her beautiful appearance, her nice figure and golden hair.

She is silent for a minute, and then she says, “Meryl.”

Xavier turns stone white, the very life su-cked out of his statuesque features. “Meryl,” he chokes, “how did you find us?”

Her head snaps up, and the werewolves are immediately struck by a familiar face, judging by their expressions. She is wearing thick Raybans, so I can’t see her eyes, but her skin is flawless, along with her luscious redl-ips.

“I have… connections,” she says slowly, peering straight at Xavier. He narrows his eyes, staying silent.

She takes a step towards him, distraught in her features. “Why did you leave me, and the entire club for that matter, that night? Was it because of a girl?” She gets right to the point.

He stood, his face ha-rd ening. “Maybe it was, Meryl. But you really don’t have to know. You have broken our contract, and I can sue you until there isn’t a dime left in your pocket. If I were you, I would leave right now before that happens.”

“Was it this girl?” she mercilessly continues, whirling around and flinging a single, accusing f!nger at me. “Was it she that bewitched you?”

He casts one glance at me, and then returned his gaze to her, silent. A smile appears on Meryl’s face, one full of laughter and mocking.

“Or maybe you left because you were different,” she turns back to face Xavier, “I saw you that night. I saw who you really are.” Her voice takes on a menacing edge, but then softens with her next words. “I am the only one that will accept you, Xavier.”

Xavier stares at her, horrified.

She smiles, “you are a monster, Xavier. I am the only person you can be yourself with.”

I can’t take it much longer. This is like an episode of a soap opera. Does she really and truly believe that? He is so handsome that any girl would run off with him, regardless of his quirky, morphing-into-a-wolf tendencies.

I break down into a fit of laughter, causing the crazed girl’s attention to turn to me. “So you know too?” she asks dangerously, each word like a sharp dagger against my skin. “You think you can deal with him?”

“Meryl!” Xavier frantically tries to turn her attention away, “you only saw me shift once! You know nothing else about me!”

She ignores him, staring at me. “Looks like I’ll have to get rid of you then,” she mutters sharply, and then flings off her sunglas-ses. Her eyes are as red as blood.

She races at me, the jacket flying off her arms and head right into Ray’s face. I quic-kly dodge her attack, running to other side of the kitchen. Ray snaps to his feet, looking anxiously at Meryl.

She looks like a rabid dog, full of thirst for blood and fighting. All four werewolves run at her, but she avoids them easily. She is very quic-k and nimble, racing throu-gh their grasp like it is just a game.

Somehow Meryl makes it over to my side, a Swiss Army Knife in her hands. She gr-abs my arm as quic-k as lightning, holding it to my throat. “Don’t move!” she skrie-ks, pressing it towards my n£¢k. A single bead of blood forms at the edge of the knife, dripping down it towards my che-st.

They freeze, even their heartbeats slowing. Her smile wi-dens to one of madness. “Now, Xavier, I want you to watch me kill her,” she says darkly, staring straight at him. My life flashes before my eyes, and I feel even more regretful for trying to end it only a couple of weeks ago. It is such a wonderful gift… one so easy to lose.

A few more agonizing seconds pas-s, full of pain as she makes an even dee-per cut. I look down towards the blood, and then snap my gaze to where it was before. A tear bubbles at the edge of my eye, sliding down my cheek. The other werewolves look just as horror-struck as I feel right now.

Suddenly, there is a blur of movement, and Meryl howls in pain. The knife sli-ps from her hold, clattering on the floor. The werewolves immediately race into action, and within a few minutes she is firmly held by Jake.

Danae stands on the table, holding a dagger dripping with blood that isn’t mine. She shoots me a smile as the werewolves f0rç£ her on that table, nimbly jumping off and taking the knife to the sink.

Shock crosses my face when I realize what she has done. “Danae!” I shout, racing over to her, “you saved my life!”

“Yes,” she says plainly, “I couldn’t lose the only friend I have.” She washes off her knife, then takes a towel and wipes my n£¢k.

“Thank you so much!” I smile, and then hesitantly laugh. I have never felt so… relieved in my whole life. I walk back to the table, and without fear I place my hand on Meryl’s head. It is so easy for me to heal a person now, having done it so often.

When the red had finally faded from her eyes, the werewolves still refrain from re-leasing their hold. Xavier’s eyes are bloodsh0t, full of savagery and anger.

“We have to go,” Ray abruptly let go of Meryl, fury in his features, “the Council must have alre-ady f0rç£d our barriers down if a Shifter managed to make it to our doors. Who knows what will come our way!”

“Yeah, we have to go,” Xavier agrees, his silky smooth voice washing over us. “Put her away,” he commands. Jake and Yi silently slide off to do his bidding.

“Can Danae come with us?” I ask, a hopeful expression in my features. They both stare at me, confused.

“Why would she want to come?” Ray asks b!tt!gly. Danae appears by my side, smiling. At this distance, I can tell she has aged considerably, a few gray hairs sprouting from her scalp.

“Because I want to have an adventure,” she smiles enchantingly, and I see Ray’s firm expression soften. Without a word, he turns and walks to the door, vanishing from my gaze. Xavier looks at me for a second, and then follows Ray.

After a couple of minutes, Danae and I meet them at the door. My n£¢k is patched with a band aid, and I am carrying my small pouch. Danae is adorned likewise, but the two werewolves are carrying nothing.

“Let’s go,” Xavier says softly.

The rain soaks my hair as we race into the darkness.