Not Your Ordinary Wolf Girl (11 page)

“Zombies?”

Marlon stared down at me. “What?”

“Do they exist?”

“Probably. How should I know?”

“Fairies, vampires, witches … what about them?”

“I'm not an expert on the world's supernatural underbelly.”

“So you're saying there
is
one?”

“Who do you think I am—Batman? I'm not keeping tabs on Gotham City.”

“I don't know
who
you are.” All my previous assumptions about him were changing. He wasn't a fan
or a stalker. But it would almost be easier to accept that he was a superhero than to believe both of us were werewolves.

Marlon tilted his head, sniffed once, and then a second time. He glanced toward the kitchen, lunged forward, and descended from the bed in one fluid movement. In the next instant he was standing on my counter, inspecting the edges of the windowpane I'd barred earlier.

“Someone else was here,” he said. “You need to come talk to my parents. Now.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“You stubborn wolf.” Marlon reached up and gave the mop handle a good yank to make sure it was jammed in there. I noticed that the claw marks on his arms were already healing. He hopped down to the floor, picked up a pen on the table, and jotted a number on a scrap of paper. “But it's not a bad idea for you to rest. Call me when you need me. I won't be far away.”

“That's not very comforting.”

“It should be.”

I slammed the door behind him. Not that it made me feel any safer.

NINE

B
ack in bed, I stared up at the dark skylight. It felt like hours before I drifted off, and I woke up again almost instantly. I shook myself, hopped up onto all fours, and leapt off the bed. As I prowled around the apartment, I smelled under furniture and in the corners. There was a strange furry scent around the kitchen windowpane—I could pick it up now. Through the floorboards I heard Zoe running around, barking up at me. Her yap-yap-yapping was so irritating that I had to silence her. Immediately. I hurled myself at my door.

When I lunged at the apartment door downstairs, it opened easily. Unlocked. A brief, furious standoff ended when I swung a claw at Zoe's head. She
scrambled back to cower beneath a chair. I clamped my jaws down on her foreleg and shook. Eventually, she stopped whimpering.

I ran down to the ground floor, licking my lips. The front door was propped open. Outside, the cool night air cleared my brain. Marlon was sitting across the street in his car. When he saw me, he sat up with a jerk and reached for the door handle. I barked, warning him away. He held up his hands for a truce. I passed Zoe's humans skulking in the shadows. They smelled like smoke. And prey.

There was a scuffling noise behind me. I twisted in time to see Marlon bearing down on me, holding a blanket. I sprinted away. He caught up with me, tossed the blanket over my head, and pulled me into his arms.

“It's okay, Sam,” he whispered, holding me tight. “Relax. I've got you.”

“Keep your animal on a leash, asshole!” the guy from downstairs yelled at us.

“Sorry. She got away from me,” said Marlon. He kept a solid grip on me, and the blanket, as he moved us toward his car. I didn't resist, just slid inside and slumped in the seat. My body changed back to human form, and I found myself buck naked. I clutched the blanket around my shoulders and peeked out the window. My neighbours had finished their joint
and gone inside, which meant they'd found Zoe by now …

“I don't want to be a monster,” I moaned.

“That's your choice,” said Marlon. “You're different now, but whether you're a monster is up to you.”

“You still want me to meet your famous parents?”

“Definitely. They can help, I promise. I'll run upstairs and get you some clothes.”

I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “We're going now, at five in the morning?”

He waved off my concern. “My family's pretty much nocturnal. We don't sleep for long periods at a time, even during the day, unless we're exhausted or sick.”

“Okay, then … let's go.”

“Great. They're looking forward to meeting you,” he said.

“You've already told them about me?”

“It's not every day a new female enters our lives.”

“A what?”

“Female lycan—lycanthrope, shape-shifter, skin-walker, werewolf, animal spirit. Take your pick. Whatever you want to call yourself.”

He waited for me to mull that over.

“So, what do you call
yourself
?” I asked.

“Marlon Lebrun.” He held out a hand for me to shake. “Nice to meetcha.”

I smiled despite myself and pumped his hand. “Samantha Mitchell Lee. And you can't go get me clothes, because wolf me didn't stop to grab my keys.”

He looked at me thoughtfully. “Did you lock your apartment door?”

I shook my head.

“No problem, then.”

I rested my forehead against the window, listening to the driver's door open and close. He jogged across the street, pushed all the buttons on the intercom, and got lucky. One of my sucker tenants buzzed him in. He disappeared inside.

Marlon came running out ten minutes later, looking rattled. He passed me my canvas bag, quickly started the car—glancing anxiously back at the building as if he expected someone to come running after him—and pulled away from the curb.

“What exactly did you do to your neighbours' pet?” he asked. “That woman just chased me down the stairs with a soup spoon, accusing my
dog
of attempted murder.”

I shook my head grimly. “I hope she's okay. I'll offer to pay the vet bills.”

As he manoeuvred through dark, quiet streets, I opened my bag and found a matching sports bra and undies, loose green skirt, T-shirt printed to look
like the top half of a tuxedo, and my favourite black hoodie. He'd also brought my flip flops, keys, wallet, and cellphone. I should've felt completely creeped out at the thought of him poking around my stuff, but I was too numb.

“I didn't get you anything fancy,” he said.

“This is fine.” I wrangled with my clothes beneath the blanket. After years of touring in a bus, I'd gotten pretty good at changing in moving vehicles. I was just glad I wasn't naked anymore. Or furry.

I tossed the blanket aside, suddenly much too hot, and relived the sensation of Zoe's leg bones cracking between my jaws. I felt queasy. Marlon glanced over, but didn't say anything. I was grateful for that and struggled to calm down. He got onto the highway and retraced my bike route out to Long Island.

The smell of the cleaning products and oils that Marlon used to pamper the car settled around me. Fixing up an old classic, rather than buying the most recent model, appealed to me. But I'd never wanted the hassle of a car in the city. That's why I stuck to cabs, public transit, and my bike.

Soon, we were in the sprawling suburbs.

“Why did you pick an El Camino?” I asked. “I mean, why not a muscle car, if you're into vintage. A T-bird or something?”

“It's easier to lug around bikes, or a kayak, or climbing gear.”

The sporty lifestyle seemed at odds with his hair and clothes. After the past couple of days, though, I understood the urge to use your muscles. I waited for him to elaborate, but apparently he didn't love the sound of his own voice. He also didn't expect me to entertain him. It was surprisingly comfortable to lapse into silence. I yawned and shut my eyes.

Marlon turned off the highway. I sat up and looked around, but all I could see was darkness. “I should probably prepare you,” he said. “It's, um, been a long time since I brought a girl home. And my family has this thing where they say whatever's on their mind the second it occurs to them.”

It was tempting to ask exactly
how
long it'd been since he'd had a girlfriend, but considering I'd mentally accused him of being a psychopath a couple days ago, I couldn't bring myself to do that. “No one could be worse than my mom,” I muttered. “It's like she can read my mind.”

“Is she a seer?” he asked.

“What's that?”

“They can channel others' emotions and thoughts.”

I snorted. “Well, if she is, her powers work only on animals. And daughters.”

He glanced at me. “Technically, you're both now.”

Crap. My brain still couldn't handle it. My thoughts drifted back to the subject of Marlon's exes. What would his type be … Hipster? Punk? Intellectual activist, like his parents? Sporty babe who kayaked and rock-climbed? Nothing fit.

He pulled onto a residential road. We passed a subdivision surrounded by green space and full of rich people who didn't want to live in the dirty city. But he didn't turn into the complex—he kept going up a densely wooded lane into a state park. About a mile later he veered right, up a gravel driveway lined with trees. No street lights pierced the intense darkness, unheard of in the city. Above us, I could see stars. Full constellations!

“Here's the family place,” Marlon said, stopping in a random spot beneath a giant pine tree and cutting the engine.

I gaped. “You live here?”

“Nah. I've got an apartment near Washington Square.”

“How big is their land?”

“Sixteen acres. The plot just feels bigger because it's next to a state park. No one's totally sure where the property lines lie.”

This place could easily hold a housing development … or three. For an instant, I pictured a pimply
fourteen-year-old Marlon with braces and perfectly spiked hair exploring this massive forest.

I peered through the trees and could see an old two-storey stone and log house. A few lights were on.

“Ready to meet the monsters?” he joked.

“Are they …?” I couldn't bring myself to say it.

“Are they what? Lycans? Yes, the whole family.”

Meeting a guy's parents was stressful under any conditions. The Lebruns were bestselling authors, academics,
and
werewolves.

“You told me they were normal professors that day on my bike.”

“Oh, right. Well, they're pretty normal to me. And I didn't think you were exactly open to hearing the whole truth yet.”

I crossed my arms. “So I was right not to trust you.”

Marlon reached into the glove compartment, grabbed an open pack of cigarettes, and shook one out. He lit it, took a few deep drags, then stubbed the butt in the ashtray, exhaling white smoke into the chilly air.

We got out and crossed a long patch of grass to the house's stone front steps. A porch light turned on before we were close.

The door flew open and the Lebrun family tumbled through the doorway as if they'd been waiting for us. I wondered if Marlon had called them when he was
in my apartment. His brother was dressed in designer jeans and a black shirt with fiery red Chinese characters that meant “strength and power” (I'd studied a little Cantonese in high school because of my dad). Dark hair curled around his ears. His face was wider than Marlon's, with a square Superman jaw. He was larger and more muscular in general. When our eyes met, his raked up and down my body. I blushed, annoying myself.

“You're not deformed,” Marlon's brother remarked.

What the hell?

“No, she isn't,” said Marlon with an edge in his voice.

Their father stepped closer. He looked like a professor—a slim, elegant man with dark brown skin, short grey hair, and horn-rimmed glasses, dressed in a button-down flannel shirt and beige corduroys. His wife hovered excitedly by his side. She was much shorter and slightly plump, with pale skin, tawny eyes, and flyaway chestnut hair shot through with a single strand of white at her forehead. As I peered at her, her nose twitched and her head tilted upward. She gave Marlon a judgmental look.

“Smoking again?” she asked.

She could smell the smoke on him from that far away?

“He thinks it makes him cool,” said his dad. “It doesn't.”

“How cool will it be when he gets lung cancer?” asked his mom.

“Werewolves don't
get
cancer,” said Marlon.

“Seriously?” I asked. “Wow.”

“Our cells metabolize too quickly,” he explained. “Sam, these are my parents—Françoise and Pierre. And this is my
baby
brother, Owen.”

“Hey.” I waved awkwardly, fighting the urge to turn and run—fast and far, without looking back. It felt an awful lot like I was onstage, standing in the spotlight. Owen snickered at my discomfort. Françoise stepped forward with arms outstretched. She looked safe enough, but I inched back. I wanted these people to like me. Were werewolves technically
people
? I had no one else to turn to. But I was afraid of what I was about to learn.

“I'm glad you agreed to visit,” said Françoise. She spoke calmly, like I was a skittish animal, and she didn't try to touch me again.

“Welcome, Sam,” said Pierre, offering his hand. I accepted it gingerly. He had a very energetic shake. I pulled away as soon as possible.

“As you can imagine, I'm very excited to meet another female,” Françoise went on. Then, without
any warning, she leapt forward, grabbed me, and enveloped me in a big hug. When she let go, she continued to clasp my elbow, as if she knew I was tempted to bolt.

“You're the first fully changed female any of us have met,” said Pierre. “Other than my wife, of course.”

“Oh,” I said.

“You're rare,” said Marlon.

“Extremely rare,” Owen added.

“Something to do with the infection process,” said Françoise. “Women's bodies fight the transformation. Some of us have such a terrible time—”

“They die,” interrupted Owen. “Most females. Violently. Or else they're hideously deformed.”