"It's almost full," Morgan smiles as he reaches for the dark curtain.
Blue light fills the small room and casts an eerie shadow over his form. His blue-black hair ruffles slightly as he unclasps the lock and pushes the window out toward the street.
My eyes narrow, watching the ghost like ripples the light causes as it touches his pale skin.
He's right. The moon is almost full. His wolf knows it. Senses it and paws under his skin to test the waters.
I shiver when his clear blue eyes turn back to me. The faint silver iris burns brightly as he watches me shift with unease, trying to toe the blanket back up my body.
He smiles gently and shakes his head, staring out into the emptying streets. "I'll never know why you hide your body. It's beautiful. Being in this form is a natural instinct to us."
I snort as I swing my legs and sit on the edge of the bed.
Morgan is extremely sweet. Irritating, but sweet. He's like a candy. You know you shouldn't have so much of him, but you want it anyway. You want to be high on him. Fuck the consequences, right? That is, until you feel sick. Until your head pounds and you end up with you head resting on the edge of insanity. Until you can't stand the withdrawals and you shake like a fucking leaf in a hurricane, knowing the only cure is more. More of him. More until your veins stand on the tops of your wrists. Until your eyes roll back into your head. Fuck the consequences, right?
"You're leaving?" he asks as I stuff my feet into my boots. I don't stick around for the after part. Well, not normally. Reaching for my bra which hangs delicately over the lamp shade, I shove it into the pocket of my jeans and slip my shirt over my head. His face is sullen, like he hadn't expected me to leave so soon.
I saunter up to him and wrap my arm around his naked waist, stroking the curve of his back. My eyes stay fixed on his chest as I nod my head. "I don't stay the night. Rules are rules."
I kiss his cheek softly, feeling his hand run from my wrist to my elbow in soothing strokes. The rough skin of his fingers make me shudder, knowing how much of a contrast his personality is to his body.
He's built like a truck, easily 6'6, and could crush a human man's face with his palm. But his personality is soft, almost feminine and calm. Every female in a 100 mile radius knows he is an Alpha. His voice. His smell. It's all man. But in these moments I see his weakness.
Men have always had the same weakness. They act as though they are impenetrable, unbreakable, but I can see his truths. He's lonely. Afraid of living an eternity without ever finding his mate. He wants to share his life. His love. He wants to be a father, a husband and a good man.
My heart constricts tightly as I think of my life. I am very much the same. Like him, I am afraid.
But we are opposites in the sense. I am afraid of finding someone who means more to me than anything. I am afraid of being chained. Tied and bound to a person I will come to resent. Like a bird, I wasn't born to a cage. And I'd die before being trapped into one.
"When have you ever followed anyone's rules," he states smartly as he bumps my shoulder.
I snort and give another nod. "I follow yours, don't I?"
"You call what you do, following the rules?" he laughs, curling his large hand around my neck and pulling me forward.
Kissing my forehead, and burying his nose in my temple, he whispers that he will see me in the morning.
I nod deftly and take my leave, closing his room door quietly and out of respect.
Walking down the corridor of the share house, to the far most southern end, I hear the loud snores of the werewolves sleeping and stirring behind the thick steel doors. The steel prevents any 'accidents' from happening within the large building. Especially when the full moon lingers.
Some newbies have difficulty changing and have not yet honed their skills. Their change is much more gruesome than the older Were's. Their bones still crack, their fangs pushing through the gums of their mouths much too slowly. The pain is tenfold to that of a normal change, and the screams make it hard to not follow.
Full moon nights usually mean I'm gone. The bar down stairs is hauled up and barricaded, and every entry and exit to the building seals shut. Steel mirrored planks lock into place just before sundown, trapping all occupants inside. I've endured only one change and vowed never again to be present.
The scratching and loud howls surrounding my room made my ears ring and my teeth clench. Granted I was also a wolf, hearing their pain manifested into an actual physical feeling of pain for me. I'd blacked out after twenty minutes of withering on the slate floor.
Morgan had found me in the morning, scratch marks covering my forearms and neck. He tore up half the bar when he realised I'd been locked in for the night and immediately had my door changed.
I reach a dark brass door, enter the pin on the press pad and saunter into my room. Even though the building pre-dates the 1940's, every safety measure has been fitted. Pushing the door shut, I slide my finger over the internal press pad and hear the locks slide into place.
Peeling off my clothes and kicking them toward a corner of the room, I head for the bathroom. Turning the taps of the old over bath shower, I hear the groan of the ancient pipes and pray that a morsel of hot water is left in the tanks. With forty Weres showering at all hours of the day, I hope for at least a drop. After a few moments the shower head kicks to life and delivers me water hot enough to stand under.
I wash my hair and scrub down my body, knowing that tomorrows event will probably have me skipping on the act. There are plenty of late night bars that stay open. They are the perfect hideout until the sun rises again and I can return back to the building. It's not that I'm hiding per say. More like... waiting.
Scrubbing my wrists, I slow the motions. Bruises litter my arms and it's not unusual. Morgan's touch is an Alpha's. He starts off slow and steady, but the animal in him requires dominance. His wolf likes to hear me scream and claw, it likes to bite the skin of my wrists and elbows.
However, the one place it wants to mark, is off-limits. Even Morgan's wolf knows that.
He is not my mate. And to mark me there, would mean everything and nothing at the same time.
Everything to him. And nothing to me.
He knows I would run. He knows I would disappear, maybe head back to the States. He knows that if he ever crossed that line... he would never be able to find me again. So he accepts that while he has most of me, he can never have all of me. It's selfish, really. But I'm a glutton for punishment and it seems he is too.
Drying off my hair I look in the iron cast mirror. There's something about the mirror that reminds me of Snow White. More notably, the evil stepmother. The mirrors black edging is sharp and twisted, trailing down into a tweaked edge. There's a large crack in the glass that splits my face in two parts. It shows me what I want to see on the outside, but I know I am broken just like the mirror on the inside.
After one hundred years, I still looked like I did the day my daddy died. The day my mother died. When... Seth... died.
One hundred years had passed and I was still the same. My eyes were still bright and my hair was still black. My skin did not wrinkle or crease. My lips remained blood red.
Figures.
That after one hundred years, I was technically part of the undead.