Erin Dameron-Hill (17 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Fetid blood danced over my body as I began to see my own skin. A clear goop stuck eagerly to my fine arm hairs and I tried desperately to shake it off, to shake the feeling of shape-shifting. Sweat poured down my throat and over the tops of my breasts and it was then I realized exactly where I was and what had happened.

I was curled up in a pile of blood, black fur, and other human and wolf pieces that I didn’t have a name for. If I majored in Biology or Anatomy I could name everything that was splayed before me and on me, fortunately enough, I don’t have names to go with this oozing and bloody goop. I just knew that I had eaten my heart, my lungs, and my brain. The leftover bits and pieces that was me didn’t matter anymore. My human body had already regenerated.

I shivered in the hot and humid swamp, hearing several cicadas and crickets chirping in the distance. The forest was back to being alive again. All around me life moved and flowed as God intended it to. Alligators were swimming deeper into the bog in order to withstand the heat from the summer sun; white-tailed deer were running chaotically from a snapping branch; and I was still shivering amongst them. I then heard the tell-tale heart beat of the Hunter who still had his gun pointed directly at me.

My shivers stilled instantly into a cold freeze and I took a deep inhale. I needed to calm myself down, after all, the Hunter wouldn’t shoot me, would he? Just minutes before he had told me he wanted to make love to me, didn’t he? So, my being a werewolf couldn’t have scared him that much, right?

My heart began to beat faster as I knew that the Hunter was about to fulfill his duties as a hunter. He killed werewolves. It didn’t matter that there was sexual tension or even a longing between us, he was the Hunter and I was the Hunted. Simple. Life depends on the balance of predator and prey, because one cannot live without the other. The predator keeps the number of prey down so that the prey doesn’t starve in the winter and so only the strong survive. The weak and sickly are weeded out. In the world of humans versus supernatural, it’s the same. There’s always a vicious cycle that continues to spin because if it didn’t, then there wouldn’t be a balance. I’m not saying it’s fair, I’m just stating fact.

But as I stare down that black gun barrel, I wanted to shoot down my theories of balance and fact. I didn’t want to die. Not here. Not now. And well, not ever. No one desires to face their own mortality and I was staring right at it.

The Hunter bent down towards the ground, holding the gun in my face. I couldn’t really tell what he was thinking because I was too busy trying to find a way out of this. Sure, I could turn again and rip him to shreds or die trying. But, that wasn’t a prospect first on my list.

I may be super fast and super strong, but I cannot outrun a bullet. So, just running was out of the question. And who wants to be shot in the back? I would want my killer to look at me in the eyes and know that he was taking something not worthy of him, my life.

Instead of looking in the gun barrel, into that dark tunnel, I brought my eyes to stare directly into the Hunter’s. As soon as his dark, piercing eyes reached mine, he smiled. He shoved the gun back into its holster and held out his hand.

That was unexpected, or was it? Was Matt correct in the assumption that this particular Hunter only killed the dangerous wolves and not just any of us? Perhaps.

When the Hunter smiled, his lips parted ever so delicately that I wanted to kiss him. It’s insane how my moods were swinging so dramatically lately. I was just thinking he was going to kill me and instead I was hoping he was going to kiss me. I need help.

I took his hand and allowed him to lift me up off the muddy and rain-soaked ground. My legs were covered in brown filth and green moss. I tried to brush off all of the goop but it was embedded into my skin. Only a really long hot bath could loosen its grasp. And then I would have to clean out the tub because Lord knows I’m not letting this dirty crap linger in my bathroom.

Ugh. I hate shape shifting. It’s way too messy.

“Here,” the Hunter said handing me a brown and torn bomber jacket that smelled like it had been in storage for a few years.

“I’m not cold,” I replied, although I was shivering again.

“If I was an asshole, I would say your nipples tell me differently.”

Huh? What does that mean?

I looked down and knew exactly what he meant. I was completely naked and completely covered in mud and blood.

I snatched the coat from him and tied the sleeves around my waist, hoping that it would cover my lower and upper arenas. I don’t mind showing some arm and leg, but my privates, well, they’re private. Hence the name.

“Thanks.”

“I tried to follow you, but I couldn’t keep up. And honestly, you didn’t leave much of a trail to follow,” the Hunter said now stepping softly into the mushy ground, heading for the trailer park.

I grabbed his wrist and stopped him, I needed to know what he was planning on doing with me. Yes, I saw him put away the gun but I was still scared. It’s not an easy thing to erase the concept of Hunter vs. Hunted. All werewolves are told that Hunters are dangerous, end of story. We are made to fear them, to run from them, to never face them. And here I was, alone with my mortal enemy. I couldn’t help but ask, “Now that you know about me, what are you going to do?”

The Hunter moved closer to me, just a few inches away from our chests touching. His fingers wound around my own hands and brushed off the coagulating blood and clear goop, “I always knew you were a wolf. I just didn’t know what type.”

His touch made me shiver even more than I already was. I wanted to be closer, to feel him all over. He had a steady and unshakeable movement to him, one that I didn’t. I was always shaking and I needed a pillar of strength. Just because I have super strength it doesn’t mean that I have emotional strength. And when the Hunter touched me, I didn’t have to have emotional strength. I could be myself; sensitive and delicate. I didn’t have put on airs and don my con-artist suit, I could just be Sophia Morgan.

Eventually I would need to learn how to be myself without the help of the Hunter, but for now, I enjoyed his help in the form of his touch. My other issues could wait.

“How did you know?” I asked slightly moving closer towards him.

“I know a wolf when I see one.”

“I thought you might,” I paused and moved just a little bit more near him, barely brushing his nipples on my cheek. He was so much taller than I was, “If you knew, why didn’t you do anything?”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” he said, his fingers now roaming up my forearm sending chills all over me, “I’m not a poacher. I don’t kill for sport, nor out of prejudice.”

“Yeah,” I replied barely paying attention.

My body bumped against him and I wrapped my cold, naked arm around his waist. His back was so firm that as he moved into me, I could feel every muscle shutter under my touch.

I breathed him in, pushing my face further into his chest and smelled the unmistakable musk of testosterone. It coursed over his body and settled hungrily into his groin and as I gently moved, the length and hardness of him grinded closer onto my stomach.

His heart was beating frantically beside my ear and the constant and rhythmic thumping jump started my own heart to beat in time with his.

My belly fluttered with a thousand butterflies dancing and floating around like the only thing they cared about was this man in front of me.

His chest pushed against my face, increasing his need to breathe. I could hear his pulse racing frantically, smell his sex coming alive, eager with the thrill and the excitement of me.

As I gripped him tighter and shoved myself so close as to become permanently bonded to him, my hard and filth ridden hair crunched underneath my cheek. I pulled back uncontrollably and immediately that perfect warmth, serenity, and exhilaration disappeared.

I stood alone, cold, sweating, and dirty. I desperately wanted the Hunter, but not like this, not ever like this. I was so dirty that it would take hours to become fully clean again and I didn’t want my werewolf goop nor my leftover human blood and flesh ruin something that I wanted to be perfect.

I shook my head and walked towards the trailer park. I heard the Hunter shuffle behind me, felt his hard stare on my back, and at that point, all I wanted to do was run and hide.

It had been embarrassing enough to change in front of him, to be caught, to be revealed even though he had already known. But it was my secret, mine. Only my were-family knew my secret, no one else. I didn’t appreciate that just anyone could look at me and know. I felt somehow molested because I didn’t tell the Hunter my secret, that he had just known.

I don’t know why that thought truly bothered me, but it did. Being a werewolf was my secret and if, when the time came, that I trusted the Hunter enough to tell him, then I would. It would be a bonding experience to reveal something so personal and unique about me. And hopefully, in return, he would appreciate my trust and tell me a secret of his.

Instead, he had just known. I had dodged so many questions and pretended like I didn’t know what he was talking about all the while he was probably laughing at my pathetic attempt to hide myself from him.

“Sophie, are you okay?” he asked.

I just kept walking. Perhaps if I ignored him, he would allow the continuing silence, just allow the snapping branches to mingle with the sounds of our heavy breathing.

“Sophie, stop and look at me.”

I didn’t. I didn’t want to ever look at him again. It was odd, I desperately wanted him, but at the same time, I didn’t. I was scared and emotionally unnerved. So much had happened to me in such a little time that I barely could register it all. My sudden mood changes and roller coaster rides were more than I could handle for the time being. I can’t just live through so many deaths and desires all at once and not be affected by it.

“Sophie,” the Hunter said and turned me around, holding onto my bare shoulders tightly, “what’s wrong?” He seemed sincere, but not that false sincerity that most people assert, no he was genuinely concerned for my well being. I could see it all over his face. He had been worried for a few hours now and suddenly I realized that his emotions had been taking a toll on him as well. A few lines of crow’s feet now creased around his very tired eyes and even that beautiful tanned skin drooped with weariness.

He had been concerned about me all evening, from the calming potion to coming to the trailer park to even my shape shifting. He had really cared for me.

So, the least I could do was voice my fear, “Why didn’t you tell me you knew my secret?”

He sighed gently and slightly released the death grip on my shoulders, “I wanted you to be honest with me, I wanted you to trust me.” He shrugged and turned away from me then, placing his hands on his hips in a way that I have never seen a woman nor a man do before. It wasn’t childish nor feminine, instead the gesture reeked of weariness and exhaustion, “I really wanted you to trust me.”

“Why?” I asked his back.

“Because from the moment I first saw you, I wanted to take you in my arms and never let go. Sex is just sex, but I wanted everything. I wanted you.”

It was my turn to look away.

I swallowed deeply and felt my heart shrivel and cry. Those were the words I wanted to hear and yet I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t handle them. All I could do was cradle myself.

“Sophie, I’m sorry. I’m not being very professional and I don’t know how to go about this. I just don’t know what to do here.”

His body brushed past me and I followed behind him. If I was in a better mood, I would have looked at his well-formed ass. But as it was, I was too tired, too emotionally overwhelmed to do anything but walk.

I watched my feet step over felled logs and decaying moss, watched as bugs scattered beneath my feet, watched as spiders made their webs for a new day, and shielded my eyes with my hands as the bright sun beat towards me on the other side of the forest.

Chapter Fifteen

The drive home was quiet and long. It hadn’t been minutes that had passed while I was a wolf, it had been a few hours. Dawn had already come and gone. Rush hour traffic was in full bloom filling the already silent and awkward Hummer with a sense of impatience and anger.

I was still wrapped in a torn brown Bomber jacket, the sleeves tied around my waist so that I could cover all my private body parts. When the human body explodes, you can bet the clothes tear apart as well. That’s usually why wolf families have picnics and partners for such occasions; we have back up. We’re fully prepared to deal with each other’s beast, maybe not our own beast, but definitely the family’s beasts.

My nudity and thrown together wardrobe didn’t help to ease the tension in the stuffy and hot Hummer. My fingers picked at the torn upholstery, pulling on the yellow padding. I had nothing better to do then to further the damage inside the vehicle, so I continued to pick. All the while I wanted to scream and get the hell out of this uncomfortable and unwanted situation.

I don’t know why I was so peeved that the Hunter had told me he wanted me. I mean, wasn’t that every woman’s dream to have a handsome and rugged man tell their secret desires? I guess it wasn’t my dream. But it should have been. I wanted it to be.

Instead, I picked at the torn padding. Bits and pieces of yellow cushion packed underneath the gray upholstery seemed to interest me more than the sky falling around me. Or maybe I just didn’t want to face the real monster in the car--my own feelings. I was trying to ignore them, push them aside, forget them completely, but they weren’t going to go away. Sooner or later I would have to deal with them.

I heard the click and turn of a knob when the cool, air conditioned breeze blew in my face. I took a deep breath and relaxed somewhat. At least the beads of sweat that had formed were now chilling my body as the cold air swept around me. It was a relief to no longer have to deal with the heat and humidity, that soon, one thing would be comfortable-the air.

My hands wiped at my forehead in an attempt to remove any and all dew that had formed. Unfortunately, they came away with mud and crude debris that were finally un-sticking themselves from my skin.

I was trying desperately to avoid the grossness all over me, but the dirt continued to slide and drop all around me and into the small crevices on the seat. I was brushing them onto the floor when the Hunter spoke. I knew what he was going to say, and I didn’t want to have to deal with it. I didn’t want to face the truth of his words. I was already burdened with emotions that I couldn’t handle, so I didn’t need the extra aggravation even if it was good aggravation.

“I’ve always wondered,” he began slowly, pulling quickly into the far left lane of the interstate, “what’s it like to be a wolf?”

Okay, not what I was expecting. But that was a question I could answer with somewhat more ease than
it’s true, I want you, too.

“Honestly, I don’t really know. I’m not really present when in wolf form. And you should know by now, that were not all wolves. Some of us are foxes, some hyenas, and you know I’m a jackal. There are some wolves, but it’s more of a common term, you know. If it was up to me, I’d call us were-canines. We’re not strictly wolves.”

“I have noticed that. Although, you’re the first jackal I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, apparently they’re rare. Matt says he’s never seen another one either and he’s been to several conventions.”

“Conventions?”

“Yeah, kind of like a comic-con. We all get together and…wait, why don’t you know this?” I asked now trying desperately to back track. This Hunter may not have shot me, but he was still capable of shooting other wolves. And lucky me, I was giving him more information about his prey. Yay.

“I only chase rogue wolves, I mean, rogue
canines.
I don’t specialize in the habits or lives of non-dangerous canines.”

“Oh,” well that was a relief of sorts, although, I should watch what I say. Were-animals are a closely guarded secret and I didn’t need to be the one to bust the bubble.

“What do you mean, ‘you’re not really present in wolf form’?”

“Well, just that. I can only remember parts of it really. I’m not in control at all. I mean, I know I’m there with the wolf, but it’s more like a dream when you wake up--you can only remember certain parts and you never really control your dream, it just happens.”

“Hmm, so what do you remember from last night?”

“Not much. Swamp water. Howls. That’s about it.”

“Do you remember what you were chasing?”

I took a deep breath, did I remember? Yes. Was I going to tell him? No. I wish I could but something, some little tiny part of me wouldn’t let me tell anyone my dream, feelings, or the truth of the situation. Honestly, I don’t even really know what was happening. All I knew was that there was another jackal, my creator, out there, killing people. So why couldn’t I bring myself to rat him out? It’s not like I want my friends and my family to be systematically killed off. I want to help them, to exact revenge, or rather, avenge them. So, why couldn’t I tell the Hunter who or what was behind it all? Why was I being so secretive about this?

“Like I said before,” I replied, “I don’t remember too much in wolf form.”

“I know you were, maybe still are, scared of your secret, especially around a hunter, so why exactly did you change in front of me? What called your beast?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to change. It’s just, well,” I paused and knew why I had shifted, but should I say it out loud, should I say that my maker called my beast and ripped it from me? That I was no longer in control? “it’s so close to the full moon. I’m a new werewolf, I don’t have that great of control,” is how I responded. I should have told him what was really happening, perhaps he had an answer for me. But I didn’t. Instead, I gave him half-truths, “And what’s with all the questions? Am I on trial or something?”

“No, I was just wondering why you would show me that hidden secret so blatantly.”

“Like I said, I wasn’t in control.”

“So you said.”

Not only was the ride uncomfortable from grime, overwrought emotions, and stop and go traffic, but now it seemed like the Hunter was pulling his Joe Friday routine and that I was Suspect Numero Uno.

I was tired and exhausted and this interrogation was so over. If he really cared for me, he wouldn’t be putting me through the gauntlet. He would just trust me and accept my half-truths and move on with the day. Instead, I knew he wasn’t buying it. I could tell. He may wear a poker face like it’s going out of style, but his eyes gave him away. Those beautiful eyes couldn’t lie or don the appropriate blankness. They carried the hint of knowledge, of being able to see through lies and misgivings. As much as I loved to look at those eyes, I wanted to avoid them right now. He could read me so easily that it was a bit unnerving. He may not know the truth, but he could tell I was lying. And I think he was disappointed. He really did want me to trust him.

But like I said, I couldn’t tell anyone why I was hiding the truth, why I was avoiding my visions, why I was keeping the killer hidden.

“Other than your were-family, have you told anyone your secret?” he asked.

“No, and up until now, I thought no one could tell,” I said bringing both my arms to cross on my chest. I didn’t like being found out, being called so easily.

“I’m really sorry, Sophie, I didn’t realize how much you wanted to keep your beast a secret.”

“It’s fine. You’re good at what you do,” I said looking out the window and trying desperately to end this conversation. I just wanted to be left alone. Hadn’t I been through enough lately?

“Do you want to know my secret?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“Please, Sophie, I’m trying to make this right between us.”

I shook my head, “So I tell you a secret and you tell me a secret we’ll be BFF’s? This isn’t the fourth grade, Damon.”

“In the past thirty six hours, you’ve only used my name twice,” he said, glancing over at me as he swerved through traffic into the far right lane.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But that’s a good thing. I don’t want you to get familiar with the name Damon Black.”

“Why not?” I asked, my curiosity peaked.

“Because it’s not my real name.”

“I knew it. I knew Damon Black was such a made up name.”

He snorted just a bit, swallowing some laughter and suddenly, the air seemed less tense, “How could you tell?”

I chuckled just a bit, “It’s kind of obvious.”

“I thought it was a great name.”

“Why Damon Black?”

“Well, the name Damon is closely related to Damien, son of the devil, and Black is the color associated with Death. I assumed it would strike terror into the hearts of my enemies.”

I laughed out loud and as soon as I did, I felt good. I hadn’t laughed in such a long time that my soul actually felt warm and my heart literally danced with joy. When a person is constantly weighed down with depression and anxiety, the body tends to rebel and thought processes fail so miserably that one cannot even add 2 + 2. So, it was beautiful just to smile again.

Damon laughed along with me, his laugh thundering in the large vehicle, overshadowing the honking of horns and the blast of the air conditioner. It was a hearty laugh, a real laugh, and it warmed me more than any fire could.

And the truly funny thing about that statement; it wasn’t very funny at all. But we were both exhausted, tired, and weary and we just needed some lighthearted conversation. We had seen so much in such a short period of time that something needed to curb the atrociousness running through our minds. We just needed to laugh.

“So, it comes down to this, then, what’s your real name?”

“Well, I changed my name for two reasons; I wanted a better name suited for my occupation and my real name is terrible. I don’t know what my parents were thinking.”

Through my dotted chuckles I asked, “What is your real name?”

He took a deep breath and shrugged, “No one else knows this and I prefer to keep it that way. Okay? Don’t go telling everybody.”

“I pinky swear,” I said giggling over the childishness of the conversation.

“Good,” he paused, and for a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to tell me. He was obviously embarrassed of his name, “Mortimer Edison Pyle.”

I held my mouth and looked out the window. I could feel tears of uncontrollable laughter pouring out of my eyes. He had to have been mocked so many times with a name like that so I couldn’t also join the crowd and make fun of it, no matter how much I wanted to laugh and point.

I took another deep breath to steady myself and wiped a few tears away from my cheeks, “That’s not so bad,” I managed.

“You can laugh, it’s okay,” he said smiling widely.

“It’s, you know, it’s a name. You were probably named after your grandfather or something.”

“Nope. My parents were just lunatics.”

I couldn’t help myself anymore, I bust out laughing, “You can say that.”

He grinned back at me showing the most brilliant smile that left it in stark contrast to the black windows and gray interior. I felt a part of me melt when those shiny, white teeth glittered at me. It’s such a cliché, but his smile really could light up a room. At least, it was able to light up my darkened heart.

“You know, I kind of like it.”

“My name?”

“Yeah, you can bet no one else has it,” I said, “I had a friend named Sarah, and she was always bitching about everybody else having the same name. In fact, I had another friend named Carter, well, her first name was Sarah, but I had to call her something other than Sarah 2.”

“Yeah, I guess some things are a blessing in disguise.”

“Exactly, it’s all in the way you look at things.”

“You know, I never pegged you for the optimistic type.”

“You’ve never seen me at my best.”

“I like what I’m seeing now.”

I looked back out the window at the passing trucks and red sports cars and wanted desperately to go back to the laughter. The mood had lightened itself so much and it had felt so good and then he had spoiled it by…by what? By telling me something that I longed to hear? Why was I so afraid of hearing my ultimate dream of acceptance, was I afraid of the change from rejection? Why couldn’t I tell him how I really felt, that I wanted him to?

And I did want him. I wanted every part, from the goop that was stuck to his torn boots to the so-called lucky hat that fit perfectly over his long, brown hair.

But I couldn’t bring myself to drop my guard around him. I had been mistreated and used so many times before that it’s not easy to allow someone else in. No matter how much a part of me wanted to, the other part screamed for caution.

Oh, screw caution.

I threw myself over the black center console and wrapped my legs around his thighs. My head bumped against the roof as I dove towards his lips with an enthusiasm so rich and vibrant, I was left breathless.

As I kissed those perfectly firm and delicate lips, the word ’shit’ erupted from his mouth and I felt my back smash into the steering wheel as the Hunter, Damon, or Morty whatever he wanted to be called slammed on the brakes.