Blood and Chocolate (2 page)

throw back your head

and part your jowls

to sing a lunar song.

The forest paths are dark

the night is long.

She shivered in delicious shock.

He knows,
she thought.
He knows what's in the picture.
Anger edged out the excitement and her eyes narrowed. Who was this Aiden Teague? Why should he know forest paths?

But she was intrigued. Maybe she should seek him out and have a look at this person who wrote of the crunch of bones, see if she approved of him.

And what if she didn't? Set the Five on him? She laughed softly, baring sharp white teeth.

2

The morning was tentatively warm, and the smell of early roses drifted over from a neighbor's yard. The day would be hot later; she was glad she'd decided to wear shorts.
Not much school left now,
Vivian thought as she walked down the tree-lined street.
What will I do in the summer?
Move, she hoped. Get out of this place.

“Hey, Viv.”

A lean, muscular figure peeled out from behind a stone gatepost, and her eyes widened briefly. “Rafe,” she said in casual greeting, and kept on walking. If she hadn't been daydreaming she would have sniffed him out.

Rafe fell in beside her. She noticed that he was now cultivating a goatee and mustache. He ran a hand through his thick, long brown hair and shifted his grip on a package wrapped in newspaper he carried under one arm. “Going to school?”

“Some of us do.”

The Five were more likely to be found hanging out by the diner around the corner from school, or down by the river.

“Yaaaaahhhhhh!”

“Whoooooooooooooooo!”

Two boys dropped from a roadside tree in a jingling of chains, hair flying. This time she did start slightly, and cursed herself. She should have known the others were near. The twins, Willem and Finn, looked pleased with themselves. Round-faced Willem slipped an arm around her waist and gave her a friendly squeeze. “Didn't scare you, did we?” he asked, obviously hoping he had.

“You are such a puppy,” Vivian said, removing his arm. He'd been her favorite of the twins as they were growing up. He was sweeter and more predictable than his brother, but his affectionate gestures had lost a great deal of their innocence in the last year or so.

Finn, the gaunter twin, smiled sardonically.

She was expecting the others now, so it came as no surprise when Gregory, the twins' lanky, fair-haired cousin, stepped silently out from behind another tree and folded in with them, and Ulf hopped over a white picket fence to dance his jittery way backward up the sidewalk, laughing wildly, until Rafe cuffed him to the rear.

They wore their usual uniform of boots, black jeans, T-shirts, and assorted tattoos. Rafe had his sleeves rolled up to show off his biceps.
My bodyguards,
Vivian thought.

“Saw your mother go into Tooley's bar with Gabriel last night,” Finn said. “She was all over him.” His lips sketched a spiteful thin leer, and his eyes narrowed expectantly.

Vivian bristled, but she wasn't going to say anything.

“Yeah, Astrid wasn't far behind,” said Rafe. “And she looked pissed.” He laughed.

“Hey, leave my mom out of it,” Ulf piped up.

So that's who they were fighting over,
Vivian thought.
Gabriel.
That was disgusting. He was only twenty-four. And full of himself, from what she could tell.

Rafe took the parcel he carried out from beneath his arm, and Vivian heard Ulf giggle. Rafe pulled at the knotted string to loosen it. His eyes were more red than brown when he glanced up at her, a wicked grin playing about his lips, and Vivian knew he was up to mischief.

“Vivian, I'd like to give you my heart,” Rafe said, suddenly serious, then immediately grinning again. “But since that might be inconvenient, I've brought you someone else's.”

The newspaper unrolled, and he slapped a brown slimy gob down on the sidewalk.

“Rafe!” She looked around wildly, hoping no neighbors were in sight. “What the hell are you up to?”

The Five were helpless with laughter.

Vivian grabbed the newspaper from Rafe's hand and scooped up the mess.

“Give you my heart…,” he gasped, and bent over laughing again.

Where could she put this? Where was the body? She started to rewrap the disgusting trophy. Then, “Rafe, you jerk,” she cried. “This is a sheep's heart.”

More howls of laughter exploded from the Five.

She didn't know whether to be angry or relieved. “You were over at Uncle Rudy's store, weren't you?” Rudy was a meat cutter at Safeway. When no one answered her, she growled and flung the whole package in Rafe's face. That set the others off even worse. Ulf had tears in his eyes.

She turned and left them, but they followed at a distance anyway, and she heard their bursts of laughter all the way to school.

Mom thinks the Five have learned their lesson,
Vivian thought. “Hah!” she said out loud.

When Axel had come home from jail, her father had passed judgment swiftly. The punishment for endangering the pack was death.

Vivian couldn't save Axel, but she pleaded with her father for the Five. They were just kids like her. They had only killed to prove the witness wrong and protect the secret of the pack. They wouldn't do it again. So Ivan Gandillon made them beg forgiveness of the Moon and run the Trial of the Fang down a narrow path lined with the pack in their fur, and all could take their bites. Some said that he let the Five off too lightly, although they licked their wounds for weeks. Maybe those people were right. Vivian hadn't quite trusted the Five ever since.

It wasn't until almost lunchtime that Vivian remembered that she wanted to track down Aiden Teague.
Yeah, why don't I have a look at this poet,
she told herself.
See if I like him writing about things he shouldn't know about.
That was better than sitting around being miserable. Where should she look? She decided to ask her art teacher. He was one of the advisers to
The Trumpet
.

“Oh, yeah. He's a junior,” Mr. Antony said, shaking some brushes out over the art-room sink.

“How would I find him?” Vivian asked.

“Well, if you hang around for another half an hour until second lunch, all you'll have to do is look out that window. He hangs out with his friends in the quadrangle, under those arches over there.” He pointed with the brushes to a section of the covered walkway that ran around the perimeter of the square courtyard.

“What does he look like?”

“Oh, I dunno. He's tall, bohemian.”

Whatever that means,
she thought.

Mr. Antony must have noticed her blank look. “You know, a throwback to the sixties, jeans and beads, an MTV hippie.”

The way he said that made her suspect that he thought he'd been the real thing at one time.

“Oh, I know,” the teacher added. “He was wearing this flowery shirt this morning—lots of yellow and blue. It made me smile. Listen, I've got to grab a sandwich. Close the door when you leave.”

“Sure.”

Luckily she'd brought her lunch with her. She relaxed on the warm windowsill and chewed on a piece of steak while she waited. Groups of kids were scattered across the quad, eating, talking, and sunbathing. Some of the boys had their shirts off, their flesh golden and slick as if they'd swallowed the sun. They were sweet to look upon. Her eyes lingered on them tenderly as she bit into her meat.

At the next bell, the shift changed. Kids reluctantly scooped up T-shirts, soda cans, and books, and hurried to class, while others hardly distinguishable from them took their places.

I'll be late to French,
Vivian thought. It didn't matter, the teacher loved her. She had a perfect accent. Vivian sat upright, and her hands kneaded her empty lunch bag. She kept her eye on the arches.

Two young men walked into view. One had dark, shoulder-length hair and wore a flowered shirt. That must be him. Another boy joined them, then a girl. They stood laughing under the canopy, the shadows hiding their faces.

So that's you, Poet Boy,
Vivian thought, but she couldn't see him clearly. She wanted a closer look.

Why am I bothering?
she asked herself as she went through the side door.
Because I'm a pirate of the night and I want to see who's trespassing in my territory,
she answered. But maybe he was one of her kind from some other pack.
Or maybe he just knows too much,
she thought. She laughed aloud at her melodramatic thoughts as she crossed the grass, and a spotty tenth-grader eyed her curiously. The sun was hot, so she peeled off her shirt to reveal the tank top underneath.

Shall I only have a look, or will I say something?
she wondered.
“Ooooh I loved your poem.”
Instantly she felt like playing wicked games. She put a sway in her walk.
Maybe I'll make
him
look.

The boy to Aiden's left noticed her first. He was a burly blond with a good-natured face and eyes that glazed over slightly at her approach. Vivian couldn't resist, she winked, and his cheeks turned pink. It was so easy. The other kid, wearing some kind of funny lopsided haircut, kept on yakking away, but the girl looked over and wrinkled her nose. She was small, with close-cropped dark hair—the sort of girl that wore black stockings even on days like these.
I'll put a few more runs in those tights, honey, if you look at me like that again,
Vivian promised silently.

Then Aiden Teague turned around to see what had captured his friends' attention. The crystal stud in his left ear reflected the sun in a burst of rainbow, and his slow easy smile sent a shock through her.

She was staring, she knew, but his face was delicious. His eyes were amused and dreamy, as if observing life from the outside and finding it vaguely funny. He seemed languid, not intense like the Five—those jangly, nervy, twitching, squirming, fighting, snapping, sharp-edged creatures who demanded so much from her. She noticed his tall dancer's frame and his long-fingered hands, and the thought crossed her mind that she would enjoy him touching her.

“Do I know you?” he asked. He waited expectantly, a bemused look on his face.

3

Vivian said the first thing that came into her head. “Um. I liked your poem in
The Trumpet
.”
I don't believe that stupid sentence came out of my mouth,
she thought.

“Hey, thanks,” Aiden said. He still looked puzzled.

He's not a werewolf,
she thought in dismay.
How can I react this way when he's not one of us?
His smell of sweet perspiration and soap was purely human.
Get a grip, girl,
Vivian told herself. She didn't like this off-balance feeling. She put a hand on her hip and dared his dark eyes to try and drown her now. “Your poem was facing a print of mine. I was glad I wasn't next to some trash.”

The blond kid brayed with laughter.

“Shut up, Quince,” Aiden said, but he grinned.

“That was like some forest scene, wasn't it?” the kid with the funny haircut said. “Spooky, man.”

The dark-haired girl put a hand on Aiden's arm. “Bingo's waiting for us.”

“Hold on, Kelly.” Aiden gently disengaged his arm, and the girl frowned sulkily. “Cool picture,” he said to Vivian. “It's like you read my mind.”

“That's what I thought about your poem,” Vivian answered. Her response to him was disturbing but she wanted to explore it. She took his hand and turned it up, then ran her nails down the length of his fingers. He didn't resist.

“What are you going to do, tell my fortune?” Aiden asked.

“Yes,” she answered. She slid a felt pen from her purse. Then, while he watched mesmerized, she wrote her phone number in his palm. On a whim she outlined it with a five-pointed star.

“What's that?” Quince said. “You Jewish or something?”

“Nah,” said Aiden softly. “That's a pentagram.”

“So she's a witch,” Kelly snapped.

No, my dear,
Vivian thought.
You don't watch enough late-night movies. The person who sees a pentagram in his palm becomes a werewolf's victim.

“Are you a witch?” Aiden asked, his eyes twinkling.

Her voice was husky. “Why don't you find out?” She folded his hand around the sign that made him hers. Inside, her heart was thumping crazily in response to her charade, but she refused to lose her nerve.

As she walked away she heard Kelly raise her voice, but she didn't bother listening. Was that his girlfriend then? He could do better. Much better.

All afternoon her thoughts returned to him like a song she couldn't get out of her head. After a while it became annoying.
What am I, a pervert?
she asked herself. He was human, for Moon's sake—half a person.

It's only a game,
she told herself,
to see if I can snare him.
But she wanted to know what was in a human head to make him write that poem, and she wanted to know why he'd stolen the breath from her lips.

As she reached home the front door opened. Gabriel, the inspiration for her mother's latest fight, was leaving. He filled the door frame, blocking her way. His T-shirt clung to his wide chest.

“Hi, Viv,” he said. “Lookin' good.” His voice rumbled like lazy thunder.

The teasing in his blue eyes made her want to spit. “Save that for Esmé.”

Gabriel rubbed his chin and grinned. She noticed the puckered white scar tissue on the back of his right hand. The tip of another scar showed at his throat. “We don't see you down at Tooley's,” he said, ignoring her anger.

She glared up at him. “I'm too young to drink.”

He looked her over, taking his time. Before she could help it she tugged at the hemline of her shorts. Her shirt felt too tight. She was aware of a droplet of sweat that tickled its way down between her breasts. “Could have fooled me,” he finally said.

She stared him in the eye, challenging him; she was out of her depth, but defiant anyway, willing her lip not to tremble. There was silence for a moment and she couldn't read his strong, chiseled face. He reached for her. She jerked back. Then he laughed like a giant and moved aside. She slid past him into the house, angry that she'd flinched, but showing him that she dared go by. She closed the door on his arrogant face.

“Mom!” she yelled shrilly.

Esmé poked her head out from the dining room.

“How long's he been here?” Vivian demanded.

“Only a few minutes,” Esmé answered. She looked smug. “He dropped by to invite me for a late-night drink.”

“Dammit, Mom. He's twenty-four.”

“So?”

“You're almost forty.”

“Well, rub it in.” But nothing was wiping the smile off Esmé's face.

“Don't you think it's a little bit disgusting?”

Esmé flung her hands in the air. “Well, for goodness' sake, I'm not serious about him.”

“Oh great. Now he's your boy toy.”

Esmé smirked. “Some boy.” She danced up the stairs, her rear end wagging like a tail. Vivian followed Esmé up and slammed the door of her room.

Rudy had gone to Tooley's bar after work, so there were just Vivian and Esmé at the dinner table. Vivian was still brooding about Gabriel's visit. She thought of her father and the aching emptiness that still gnawed at her. Her parents had seemed so happy together. She'd thought her mother shared that ache, but now Esmé was acting like a stupid fourteen-year-old.

“Didn't you love Dad?” she finally said.

Esmé looked startled at this question out of the blue. “Yes, I loved him.”

“Then why are you out running around?”

“A year's a long time, Vivian. I'm tired of crying. I'm lonely. Sometimes I want a man in my bed.”

Vivian grabbed her plate abruptly and headed for the kitchen. Couldn't her mother talk to her as if she was a daughter? She scraped her leftovers into the trash with a squeal of knife against porcelain.

“Watch those dishes!” her mother yelled.

That's more like it,
Vivian thought.

An hour later Vivian was on her bed doing some halfhearted studying for Chemistry, when the phone rang. She picked up the phone on the second-floor hallway, expecting to hear one of the pack, but it was Aiden.

“There's a free concert at the university this weekend,” he said. “Sunday afternoon. You wanna go…maybe?”

Her eyes half closed and she licked her lips. “Maybe. Who's playing?”

He mentioned a band she'd never heard of in reverent tones that suggested it was well known and one of his favorites. He was sharing a special treat with her. “I'll have to see if my family has anything planned,” she told him. “I'll let you know tomorrow.” No sense in letting him think her too eager. “No. Don't worry. I'll find you.”

Vivian hung up and stretched her arms to the ceiling contentedly, arching her back. Should she go, or was having him rise to the bait good enough?

But a shadow slid across her pleasant mood. If they went on a date he would want to kiss her. Would he be safe if he came close enough to fill her nostrils with his scent?

Esmé walked out of her bedroom. She was wearing the tight black dress she used for waitressing. “Who was that?” she asked casually as she put in an earring.

“A boy from school.”

Esmé paused. “Oh?”

“He asked me to a concert.”

“One of
them
asked you out?” Her mother's expression combined repulsion and surprise. “I won't allow it.”

Vivian bristled. “You can't tell me who to date.”

Esmé put her hands on her hips. “‘Don't date if you can't mate,' the saying goes.” Human and wolf-kind were biologically incapable of breeding.

“I'm going to a concert, not having his baby,” Vivian snapped. “And don't tell me wolf-kind only start relationships when they want children. I know better.”

“You've got a smart mouth, girl,” Esmé called as she walked off.

Now Vivian was sure she was going.

He had phoned, and she wasn't an outsider anymore—untouchable and strange, perhaps invisible. But why should she care so much? He
was
a human after all: a meat-boy scantily furred, an incomplete creature who had only one form.

How sad,
she thought, and suddenly she craved the change.

Like all her people, at the full moon she had to change whether she wanted to or not, the urge was too strong to refuse. Other times she could change at will, either partway or fully. Right now the moon swelled like a seven-month belly, and she wanted to change because it was possible. She wanted to run for the joy of it.

She stalked through the backyard dusk, across the bat-grazed clearing in the narrow ribbon of woods out back, over the stream, up the embankment, and down into the wide grassy valley that held the river.

The grass was already high. Here and there might be nests made by kids making out or getting high, but she sniffed the air and smelled no human flesh.

Down by the river was a giant tumble of rocks that screened the riverbank. Behind the rocks, amid the shoulder-high weeds, she slowly slid off her clothes. Already her skin prickled with the sprouting pelt. A trickle of breeze curled around her buttocks, and her nipples tightened in the cool air off the river. She laughed and threw her panties down.

Her laugh turned to a moan at the first ripple in her bones. She tensed her thighs and abdomen to will the change on, and clutched the night air like a lover as her fingers lengthened and her nails sprouted. Her blood churned with heat like desire.
The night,
she thought,
the sweet night.
The exciting smells of rabbit, damp earth, and urine drenched the air.

The flesh of her arms bubbled and her legs buckled to a new shape. She doubled over as the muscles of her abdomen went into a brief spasm, then grimaced as her teeth sharpened and her jaw extended. She felt the momentary pain of the spine's crunch and then the sweet release.

She was a creature much larger and stronger than any natural wolf. Her toes and legs were too long, her ears too big, and her eyes held fire.
Wolf
was only a convenient term they had adopted. Those who preferred science to myth said they descended from something older—some early mammal that had absorbed protean matter brought to Earth by a meteorite.

Vivian stretched and pawed at the ground, she sniffed the glorious air. She felt as if her tail could sweep the stars from the sky.

I will howl for you, human boy,
she thought.
I will hunt you in my girl skin but I'll celebrate as wolf.

And she ran the length of the river to the edge of the city slums and back, under the hopeful early-summer moon.