OK! So, I decided to write another story that I've been mulling over for awhile now. I'm pretty super excited about it. As you can tell, I can't stay away from the supernatural genre. IT CALLS TO ME. And I love it. I really do hope people enjoy this chapter and look forward to what I plan to do with it... WHO KNOWS IT COULD GO MANY PLACES. Places that I've carefully planned out for myself BUT YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT. But it's sorta kinda based off of Kitty and the Midnight Hour.
So, the pairing thing, it will end up being RusAme eventually. Slight UKUS in this chapter. I just have to work it up. The building blocks, gears turning and all that. It will happen, be patient.
Sad little disclaimer here. It is very sad, and you feel sorry that I own not much at all.
Part One
I tossed my steel grey, ratty backpack covered with all sorts of patches and buttons, wearing my tastes on its threadbare skin, that I've had forever into a corner of the studio and high-fived Roderich on his way out. Well, it was more like I rushed up to him and grabbed his hand and slapped it while he stood in a bit of a shock, but details and all that.
"Ah, Alfred, thanks again for taking the midnight shift," he said a bit awkwardly. Friendly enough guy, but being the more slow paced kind of old fashioned sort of person, he easily got a bit overwhelmed by my high energy and overall exuberance. But that was ok, my puppy-like personality tended to do that to a lot of people. He was basically here on Elizaveta's, our station manager, good graces, as apparently they went way back and she cut Roderich some slack and allowed him to gig here. Roderich had been playing some classical number that made my hackles rise, but I ignored it. Classical music was great and all, but I had a much different view of good classical music that had more to do with guitars.
"Happy to," I bounced back at him.
"I noticed. You didn't used to like the late shift," He said amicably, but with a little hint of suspicion. He was right, though. I'd gone positively nocturnal the last few months. I shrugged, rolling my bright, deep blue eyes. "Things change."
"Well, take it easy." Finally, I had the place to myself. I threaded my fingers together and cracked my knuckles before I dimmed the lights so the control board glowed, the dials and switches futuristic and sinister. My smile tugged itself into a larger grin, showing off my pearly whites, the lights glinting off of my specs as I carded my hand through short, choppy golden wheat hair. I was wearing some old whitewash jeans with tears, an oversized sweater that had been strung through the wash a good too many times, and some tatty sneakers. One of the nice things about the late shift at a radio station was that I didn't have to look good for anybody. Not that I made too much of an effort to dress up in the first place unless I knew ahead of time I needed to but, whatever. Details.
I put on the headphones and sat back in the chair with its squeaky wheels and torn upholstery. As soon as I could, I put on my music. Beethoven straight into Steelheart. That'd wake 'em up. To be DJ was the ultimate freedom, like playing God. I controlled the airwaves. To be a DJ at an alternative public radio station? That was being God with a mission. It was thinking you were the first person to discover The Clash and you had to spread the word.
My illusions about the true power of being a radio DJ had pretty much been shattered by this point in time. I'd started on the college radio station, graduated a couple of years ago, and got a gig at KNOB after interning here. I might have had a brain full of philosophical tenets, high ideals, and opinions I couldn't wait to vocalize. But off-campus, no one cared. The world was a bigger place than that, and I was adrift. College was supposed to fix that, wasn't it? I snorted to myself.
I switched on the mike.
"Good evening to you, Denver. This is Alfred on K-Nob. It's twelve 'o twelve in the wee hours and I'm bored. Which means I'm going to regale you with inanities until someone calls and requests something recorded before 1990.
"I have the new issue of Wide World of News here. Picked it up when I got my frozen burrito for dinner. Headline says: 'Bat Boy Attacks Convent.' Now, this is like, hold on, the tenth Bat Boy story they've done this year? That kid really gets around- though as long as they've been doing stories on him he's gotta be… what? Fifty? Anyway, as visible as this guy is, at least according to the intrepid staff of Wide World of News, I figure somebody out there has seen him. Have any of you seen the Bat Boy? I want to hear about it. The line is open."
Amazingly, I got a call right off. I wouldn't have to beg.
"Hello!"
"Uh, yeah, dude. Hey. Uh, can you play some Lady Gaga?"
"What did I say? Did you hear me? Nothing after '89! Bye!"
Another call was waiting. Double cool. "Hey there."
"Do you believe in vampires?" I paused. Any other DJ would have tossed off a glib response without even thinking- just another midnight weirdo looking for attention. But I knew better.
"If I say yes… will you tell me a good story?"
"So, do you?" The speaker was male, voice clear and steady.
I put my smile into my voice. "Yes."
"The Bat Boy stories, I think they're all just a cover up. All those tabloid stories, and the TV shows like The Uncharted World?"
"Yee-ah?"
"Everyone treats them like they're a joke. Too far out, too crazy. Just mindless trash. So if everybody thinks that stuff is a joke, if there is really something out there- no one would believe it."
"Kind of like hiding in plain sight, is that what you're saying? Talk about weird supernatural things just enough to make them look ridiculous and you deflect attention from the truth."
"Yes, that's it."
"So, who exactly is covering up what?"
"They are. The vampires. They're covering up, well, everything. Vampires, werewolves, magic, crop circles-"
"Slow down there, Van Helsing."
"Don't call me that!" He sounded genuinely angry.
"Why not?"
"It's- I'm not anything like him. He was a murderer." The hairs on my arms stood on end. I leaned into the mike. "And what are you?"
He let out a breath that echoed over the phone. "Never mind. I called about the tabloid."
"Yes, Bat Boy." I paused to lean back into my chair and cross my arms behind my head. "You think Bat Boy is a vampire?"
"Maybe not specifically. But before you brush it off, think about what may be really out there."
Actually, I didn't have to. I already knew.
"Thanks for the tip." He hung up.
"What an intriguing call," I said, half to myself, almost forgetting I was on air.
The world he talked about- vampires, werewolves, things that go bump- was a secret one, even to the people who inadvertently found their way there. People fell into it by accident and were left to sink or swim. Usually sink. Once inside, you especially didn't talk about it to outsiders because, well, who would believe you?
But we weren't really talking here, were we? It was late-night radio. It was a joke.
I squared my shoulders, putting my thoughts back in order, shaking myself from the relaxed, whimsical posture I had before: "Right. This raises all sorts of possibilities. I have to know- did I just get a call from some wacko? Or is something really out there? Do you have a story to tell about something that isn't supposed to exist? Call me." I put on White Lion while I waited.
The light on the phone showing an incoming call flashed before the song's first bass chord sounded. I wasn't sure I wanted anyone to call. If I could keep making jokes, I could pretend everything was normal.
I picked up the phone. "Hold please," I said and waited for the song to finish. I took a few breaths, half-hoping that maybe it was just another caller wanting to listen to modern hip-hop.
"Alright, Alfred here."
"Hi- I think I know what that guy's talking about. You know how they say that wolves have been extinct around here for over fifty years? Well- my folks have a cabin up in Nederland, and I swear I've heard wolves howling around there. Every summer I've heard them. I called the wildlife people about it once. But they said the same thing, that they're extinct. I don't believe them. "
"Are you sure they're wolves? Maybe they're coyotes." That was me, trying to act normal. Playing the skeptic. But I'd been to those woods, and I knew she was right. Well, half right.
"I know what coyotes sound like, and it's not anything like that. Maybe… maybe they're something else. Werewolves or something, you know?"
"Have you ever seen them?" I tilted my head as I asked the question, propping my chin on my hand and my elbow on the small flat desk-space in front of me.
"No. I'm kind of afraid to go out there at night."
"That's probably for the best. Thanks for calling!" I exuberantly pressed the end call button, stretching myself, taking a sip from a water bottle I usually had handy with me.
As soon as I hung up, the next call was waiting. "Hello?"
"Hi- do you think that guy was really a vampire?"
"I don't know. Do you think he was?"
"Maybe. I mean, I go to nightclubs a lot, and sometimes people show up there, and they just don't fit. They're, like, way too cool for the place, you know? Like, scary cool, like they should be in Hollywood or something and what are they doing here-"
"Grocery shopping?" My mouth quirked into a little smile, elbows on the table, mike in front of me, water bottle casually held in one hand.
"Yeah, exactly!"
"Imagination is a wonderful thing. I'm going to go to the next call now. Hello?"
"Hi- I gotta say, if there were really vampires, don't you think someone would have noticed by now? Bodies with bite marks dumped in alleys-"
"Unless the coroner reports cover up the cause of death-"
The calls just kept coming.
"Just because someone's allergic to garlic doesn't mean-"
"What is it with blood anyway-"
"If a girl who's a werewolf got pregnant, what would happen to the baby when she changed into a wolf? Would it change into a wolf cub?"
"Flea collars. Rabies shots. Do werewolves need rabies shots?"
Then came the Call. Everything changed. I'd been toeing the line, keeping things light. Keeping them unreal. I was trying to be normal, I really was. I worked hard to keep my real life- my day job, so to speak- away from the rest. I'd been trying to keep this from slipping all the way into that other world, a world I still hadn't really learned to live in very well.
Lately it felt like a losing battle.
"Hi, Alfred." His voice was tired, flat. "I'm a vampire. I know you believe me." My belief must have shown through my voice all night. That must have been why he called me.
"Okay."
"Can… can I talk to you about something?"
"Yeah, sure." My curiosity was piqued and my nerves were slightly on edge.
"I'm a vampire. I was attacked and turned involuntarily about five years ago. I'm also- at least, I used to be- a devout Catholic. It's been really… hard. All the jokes about blood and the Eucharist aside… I can't walk into a church anymore. I can't go to Mass. And I can't kill myself because that's wrong. Catholic doctrine teaches that my soul is lost, that I'm a blot on God's creation. But Alfred… that's not what I feel. Just because my heart has stopped beating doesn't mean I've lost my soul, does it?"
I wasn't a minister; I wasn't a psychologist. I'd majored in English, for crying out loud, with a little minor in Drama. I wasn't qualified to counsel anyone on his spiritual life, love life, any kind of life. But my heart went out to him, because he sounded so… lost, losing his hope and faded. All I could do was try.
"You can't exactly go to your local priest to hash this out, can you?"
"No," he said, chuckling a little.
"Right. Have you ever read Paradise Lost?"
"Uh, no."
"Of course not, no one reads anymore. Paradise Lost is Milton's great epic poem about the war in heaven, the rebellion of the angels, the fall of Lucifer, and the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. As an aside, some people believe this was the time when vampires and lycanthropes came into existence- Satan's mockery of God's greatest creation. Whatever. At any rate, in the first few chapters, Satan is the hero. He speaks long monologues, what he's thinking, his soul-searching. He's debating about whether or not to take revenge on God for exiling him from heaven. After reading this for awhile, you realize that Satan's greatest sin, his greatest mistake, wasn't pride or rebelling against God. His greatest mistake was believing that God would not forgive him if he asked for forgiveness. His sin wasn't just pride… it was self-pity. I think in some ways every single person, human, vampire, whatever, has a choice to make: to be full of rage about what happens to you or to reconcile with it, to strive for the most honorable existence you can despite the odds. Do you believe in a God who understands and forgives, or one who doesn't? What it comes down to is, this is between you and God, and you'll have to work that out for yourself."
"That… that sounds okay. Thanks. Thanks for talking to me."
"You're welcome." I silently let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and just leaned back, boneless in my chair.
At 4:00 am, the next shift came on. I didn't go straight home and to bed, even though I was shaking. All the talking had taken a lot out of me. After a late shift I always met Mattie for coffee at the diner down the street. He'd be waiting for me. He was practically my only friend, and one who shared my… unfortunate circumstances.
He wasn't there waiting, but I ordered a coffee and when it arrived, so did he. Slouching in a red, overlarge hoodie, glancing around to take note of every person in the place with lavender-grey eyes that had telling circles underneath, he didn't look at me until he slid into the booth.
"Hey, Al." His voice was both rough and light at the same time. Odd, but soothing to me. He flagged down the waitress for a cup of coffee. The sky outside was grey, paling with the sunrise. "How'd your shift go?"
"What, you didn't listen to it?" I tried not to sound disappointed, but I'd been hoping to talk to him about it.
"No, sorry. I was out."
I closed my eyes and took a deep, quiet breath. Grease, cigarette smoke, bad breath, and tired nerves. My senses took it all in, every little odor. But the strongest, right across the booth from me, was the earthy smell of the forest, damp night air, and fur. The faintest touch of blood set my hair on end.
"You went running. You turned wolf," I said, frowning. He looked away, ducking his gaze. "Geez, if you keep doing that, you're going to lose it completely-"
"I know, I know. I'm halfway there already. I just… it feels so good." His look grew distant, vacant. Part of him was still in that forest, running wild in the body of his wolf.
The only time we had to Change was on full moon nights. But we could Change whenever we wanted. Some did as often as they could, all the time. And the more they did, the less human they became. They went in packs even as people, living together, shape-shifting and hunting together, cutting all ties to the human world. The more they Changed, the harder it was not to. Some could ignore the call easier than others… some people's wolves were more insistent than others as well. Getting the short end of the stick in both regards could be a nasty situation indeed. My wolf… well… he was very insistent. It took quite a lot to ignore him.
"Come with me next time. Tomorrow." I sighed, I didn't need another knock against my willpower to fend off the Change urges, and Mattie knew that.
"Full moon's not for another week," I said, "I'm trying my damnedest to keep it together. I like being human." He looked away, tapping his fork on the table.
"You really aren't cut out for this life, you know." But you could be, was left out, tangible in the air between us. I'd been down this road with Mattie hundreds of times, starting from practically the day after Mattie had been with me through my first Change. My wolf was powerful. Defiant. Stronger than most of the pack. Mattie had told me once, in hushed tones, that maybe I was even stronger than our Alpha. Even now, Mattie, the second, rarely ever felt inclined to actually look me in the eyes. To challenge. Mattie's wolf thrummed with excitement at the thought of hunting with my wolf.
But I didn't want it. I didn't want the pack, I didn't want to be a part of this mad cycle of dominance and submission, and I had never asked to become a werewolf. I wasn't given a choice. And that mattered more to me than anything. And so I fought against it. Did everything I could to stay human, to stay above the water level. Because I knew that if I ever went under, really gave in… I'd probably never make it back up to the surface. My wolf would pull me down and hold me under. It was an almost constant struggle. Both of us wanted to be out, in control, and free.
I stayed mostly out of sight and out of mind of the Alpha and those higher up in the pack hierarchy and never picked fights. I was relatively the newest member, and I'd just never felt inclined to try and move up the ranks. Made it clear that I wasn't in the pack for status. It was more of a haven. A place I didn't have to worry about my werewolf 'problem' getting out of hand.
"I do okay."
That was me, patting myself on the back for not going stark raving mad these last couple of years, since the attack that changed me, since the wolf started breathing down my back. Or not getting myself ripped limb from limb by other werewolves who saw a barely grown into his fur newbie as easy prey. All that, and I maintained a semblance of a normal human life as well.
Well, not much of a human life, all things considered. I had a rapidly decaying bachelor's degree from CU, a run-down studio apartment, a two-bit DJ gig that barely paid rent, and no prospects. Sometimes… running off to the woods and never coming back sounded… great. And, as half of me was feral, a hard possibility to stay away from.
Three months ago, I missed my mother's birthday party because it fell on the night of the full moon. I couldn't be there, smiling and sociable in my folks' suburban home in Aurora, not while the wolf part of me was on the verge of tearing himself out of me, fighting and clawing, pushing his consciousness in front of mine, gnawing at the last fringes of my self-control. I made some excuse, and Mom said she understood. But it showed so clearly how, in an argument between the two halves, the wolf usually won. Since then, maintaining enthusiasm for the human life had been difficult. Sometimes, even felt useless. I started to sleep through the day and work nights. I'd catch myself thinking, lingering more and more about those times I ran in the forest as a wolf, with the rest of the pack surrounding me. I was on the verge of trading one family for another. My wolf was wearing me thin.
Mattie and I had parted ways and I'd gone home, slept, and rolled back to KNOB toward evening. Elizaveta, the station manager, a sort of hippie vegetarian woman, but with good fashion sense and an iron fist, who wasn't afraid to use violence to keep the peace, handed me a stack of papers. Phone messages, every one of them.
"Uh, what's this?" I asked, staring.
"I was going to ask you the same thing. What in the hell happened on your shift last night? We've been getting calls all day. The line was busy all night. And the messages… Six people claiming to be vampires, two say they're werewolves, and one wants to know if you could recommend a good exorcist."
"Really?" I asked, sorting through the messages.
"Yeah. Really. But what I really want to know…" She paused, and I wondered how much trouble I was in. I was supposed to run a late-night variety music format, the kind of show were Velvet Underground followed Ella Fitzgerald. Thinking back on it, I'd talked the entire time, hadn't I? I'd turned it into a talk show. I was going to lose my job, and… did I really have the strength to go out and have the initiative to get another one…? I could run into the woods and let the Wolf take over…
Then Eliza said, "Whatever you did last night- can you do it again?"
The second episode of the show that came to be called The Midnight Hour (I would always consider that first surprising night to be the first episode) aired a week later. That gave me time to do some research. I dug up half a dozen articles published in second-string medical journals and one surprisingly high-level government research project, a kind of medical Project Blue Book. It was a study on "paranormal biology" sponsored by the National Institutes of Health and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Researchers attempted to document empirical evidence of the existence of creatures such as vampires, lycanthropes, etcetera. They more than attempted it- they did document it: photos, charts, case histories, statistics. They concluded that these phenomena were not widespread enough to warrant government attention.
The documentation didn't surprise me- there wasn't anything there I hadn't seen before, in one form or another. It surprised me that anyone from the supernatural underworld would have participated in such a study. Where had they gotten test subjects? The study didn't say much about those subjects, seemingly regarding them in the same way one would disposable lab rats. This raised a whole other set of issues, which gave me lots to talk about.
Pulling all this together, at least part of the medical community was admitting to the existence of people like me. I started the show by laying out all this information. Then I opened the line for calls.
"It's a government conspiracy…"
"… because the Senate is run by bloodsucking fiends!"
"Which doesn't in fact mean they're vampires, but still…"
"So when is the NIH going to go public…"
"… medical schools running secret programs…"
"Is the public really ready for…"
"… a more enlightened time, surely we wouldn't be hunted down like animals…"
"Would lycanthropy victims be included in the Americans with Disabilities Act?"
My time slot flew by. The week after that, my callers and I speculated about which historical figures had been secret vampires or werewolves. My favorite, suggested by an intrepid caller: General William T. Sherman was a werewolf. I looked him up, and seeing his photo, I could believe it. All other Civil War generals were strait-laced, with buttoned collars and trimmed beards, but Sherman had an open collar, scruffy hair, five-o'clock shadow, and the screw-you expression. Oh yeah. The week after that I handled a half-dozen calls on how to tell your family you were a vampire or a werewolf. I didn't have any good answers on that one- I hadn't even told my own family. Being a radio DJ was already a little too weird for them.
And so on. I'd been doing the show for two months when Elizaveta called me at home.
"Alfred, you gotta get down here."
"Why?"
"Just get down here!"
I pondered a half-dozen nightmare scenarios. I was being sued for something I'd said on the air. The Baptist Church had announced a boycott. Well, that could be a good thing. Free publicity and all. Or someone had gone and got themselves or someone else killed because of the show.
It took half an hour to get there, riding the bus. I hadn't showered and was feeling grouchy. Whatever it was Eliza was going to throw at me, I just wanted to get it over with.
The door to her office was open. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket and slouched. "Elizaveta?"
She didn't look up from the mountains of paper, books, and newspapers spread over her desk. A radio in the corner was turned to KNOB. A news broadcast mumbled at low volume. "Come in, shut the door."
I did. "What's wrong?"
She looked up. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Here, take a look at this." She offered me a packet of papers. The pages were dense with print and legalese. These were contacts. I only caught one word before my eyes fogged over.
Syndication.
When I looked at Eliza again, her hands were folded on the desk and she was grinning. That was a pretty big canary she'd just eaten, for a vegetarian and all. "What do you think? I've had calls from a dozen stations wanting to run your show. I'll sign on as producer. You'll get a raise for every new market we pick up. Are you in?"
This was big. This was going national, at least on a limited scale. I tried to read the proposal. L.A. They wanted me in L.A.? This was… unbelievable. I sat against the table and started chuckling uncontrollably. Wow. Wow wow wow wow wow. There was no way I could do this. That would require responsibility, commitment- things I'd shied away from like the plague since… since I'd started hanging out with people like Mattie.
But if I didn't, someone else would, now that the radio community had gotten the idea. And dammit, this was my baby.
I said, "I'm going to need a website."
That night I went to Mattie's place, a shack he rented behind a carpenter garage out toward Arvada. Mattie didn't have a regular job. He did all sorts of carpentry projects for cash and didn't sweat the human world most of the time. I came over for supper a couple of times a week. He was an okay cook, his real time to shine was breakfast pancakes. More important than his cooking ability, however, was that he was able to indulge the appetite for barely cooked steaks.
I'd known Mattie forever, it'd seemed like. He helped me out when I was new to things, more than anyone else in the local pack. He'd become my friend. He wasn't a bully- a lot of people used being a werewolf as an excuse for behaving badly. I felt more comfortable around him than just anyone. I didn't have to pretend to be human around him.
I found him in the shed outside. He was working on one of his various wood-sculpting projects. This time, it was a decent sized cutting of a bear. Last time, I got a good kick out of the giant life-sized moose that Mattie had been commissioned to carve, wanting to get up on its back and do pretend stuff, but Mattie had shut me down pretty quick, since it was a precious art piece and all. Mattie turned to me and reached out to give me a hug, woodchips and all.
"You're perky," he said, arching an eyebrow, "You're practically glowing."
"We're syndicating the show! They're going to broadcast in L.A., can you believe that? I'm syndicated!" I spoke, bouncing around like a puppy.
He smiled. "Good for you."
"I want to celebrate," I said. "I want to go out. I found this all-ages hole-in-the-wall and the vampires don't go there. Will you come with me?"
"I thought you didn't like going out. You don't like it when we go out with Arthur and the pack."
Arthur… was the alpha male of our pack, god and father by any other name. He was the glue that held the local werewolves together. He protected us, and we were loyal to him.
When Arthur went out with his pack, he did it to mark territory, metaphorically speaking. Show off the strength of the pack in front of the local vampire Family. Pissing contests and dominance games. Whatever.
"That's not any fun. I want to have fun."
"You know you ought to tell Arthur, if you want to go out." I frowned.
"He'll tell me not to," I half mumbled, a pout starting to form. A pack of wolves was a show of strength. One or two wolves alone were vulnerable. But I wanted this to be my celebration, a human celebration. Not the pack's. But the thing about being part of a pack was needing a friend at your back. It wouldn't have felt right for me to go alone. I needed Mattie. And maybe Mattie needed Arthur.
I tried one more time, shameless begging, but I had no dignity. "Come on! What could possibly happen? Just a couple of hours. Please?"
Mattie sighed and started brushing off chips from his hair and clothes. He smirked at me like the indulgent older brother he'd become. If I'd been a wolf, my tail would have been wagging hopefully.
"Okay. I'll go with you. Just for a couple of hours." I sighed, relieved.
The club, Livewire, got a deal on the back rooms of a converted warehouse at the edge of Lodo, just a few blocks from Coors Field, when the downtown district was at the start of its "revitalization" phase. It didn't have a flashy marquee. The entrance was around the corner from the main drag, a garage-type rolling door that used to be a part of a loading dock. Inside, the girders and venting were kept exposed. Techno and industrial pouring through the woofers rumbled the walls, audible outside as a vibration. That was the only sign there was anything here. Vampires liked to gather at places that had lines out the front- trendy, flashy places that attracted the kind of trendy, flashy people they could impress and seduce with their excessive sense of style.
I didn't have to dress up. I wore grubby, faded jeans, a non-descript black tee-shirt with a jacket thrown over it. I planned on dancing till my bones hurt. Unfortunately, Mattie was acting like a bodyguard. His expression was relaxed enough, and he walked with his hands in his jacket pockets like nothing was wrong, but he was looking all around and his nostrils flared, taking in scents.
"This is it," I said, guiding him to the door of the club. He stepped around me so he could enter first. There was always- would always be- a part of me that walked into a crowded room and immediately thought, sheep. Prey. A hundred bodies pressed together, young hearts beating, filled with blood, running hot. I squeezed my hands into fists. I could rip into any of them. I could. I took a deep breath and let that knowledge fade, though the wolf in the back of my head remained ever present.
I smelled sweat, perfume, alcohol, cigarettes. Some darker things: Someone nearby had recently just shot up on heroin. I felt the tremor in his heartbeat, smelled the poison on his skin. If I concentrated, I could hear individual conversations happening in the bar, ten paces away. The music flowed through my shoes. Sisters of Mercy was playing.
"I'm going to dance," I said to Mattie, who was just surveying the room.
"I'm going to go grab something to drink," he said as he moved himself towards the bar. I wasn't too worried about him, though. It took a lot, lot more to get a werewolf drunk than a human. I briefly thought about trying to scope out a potential night fling, but thought better of it. For one thing, I had Mattie to consider, and for another, having sex with a werewolf wasn't exactly… healthy for humans. If I lost control at any point in time, I could go into a frenzy and maybe potentially hurt my partner. Female or male, top or bottom, it didn't matter. A werewolf's strength was nothing to mess around with.
That being said, I'd been pretty much celibate ever since I'd become one. Werewolves and sexuality were just as varied as humans were (humans were changed to werewolves, after all) and though a lot of animal instinct was ingrained, sexual instinct had no gender preference, only the preference of the individual, coupled with desire. I'd experimented plenty during college, and there were things about both genders that I liked. But I really didn't want to subject myself and anyone else into all of this, so I rather just decided not to risk anything.
I was a radio DJ before I became a werewolf. I'd always loved dancing, sweating out the beat of the music. I joined the press of bodies pulsing on the dance floor, not as a monster with thoughts of slaughter, but as me. I hadn't been really dancing in a club like this since the attack, when I became what I am. Years. Crowds were hard to handle sometimes. But when the music was loud, when I was anonymous in a group, I stopped worrying, stopped caring, lived the moment.
Letting the music guide me, I closed my eyes. I sensed everybody around me, every beating heart. I took it all in, joy filling me. In the midst of the sweat and heat, I smelled something cold. A dark point cut through the crowd like a ship through water, and people- warm, living bodies- fell away like waves in its wake. Werewolves, even in human form, retain some of the abilities of their alter egos. Smell, hearing, strength, agility. We can smell well enough to identify and individual across a room, in a crowd. Before I could turn and run, the vampire stood before me, blocking my path. When I tried to duck away, he was in front of me, moving quickly, gracefully, without a sign of effort.
My breaths became fast as he pushed me to the edge of panic.
He was part of the local vampire Family, I assumed. He seemed young, cocky, his red silk shirt open at the collar, his smirk unwavering. He opened his lips just enough to show the points of his fangs.
"We don't want your kind here." Wiry and feral, he had a manic Clockwork Orange feel to him. I looked across the room to find Mattie. Two more of them, impeccably dressed in silk shirts and tailored slacks and oozing cold, blocked him in the corner. Mattie's fists were clenched. He caught my gaze and set his jaw in grim reassurance. I had to trust him to get me out of this, but he was too far away to help me.
"I thought you guys didn't like this place," I said.
"We changed our minds. And you're trespassing."
"No." I growled a little under my breath. I had wanted to leave this behind for a few hours! I glared, shaking. A predator had me in his sights, and I wanted to fight, to flee, my primal instincts sharper with the threat and my nerves. I didn't dare look away from the vampire, but another scent caught my attention. Something animal, a hint of fur and musk underneath normal human smells. Werewolf.
Arthur didn't hesitate. He just stepped into the place the vampire had been occupying, neatly displacing him before the vampire knew what happened.
Our slight commotion made the vampires blocking Mattie turn. Mattie, who could hold his own in a straight fight, elbowed his way between them and strode towards us.
Arthur grabbed my upper arm. "Let's go outside."
He was about five-six but had the presence of someone over six foot tall. His narrowed acid green eyes practically screamed "Alpha, BACK OFF" to anyone that made eye contact, as he almost perpetually glared. He'd been around a lot longer than I or Mattie, so he had experience as well. For all my strength, I doubted I had the confidence or the skill to actually fight Arthur, no matter what Mattie had said. He was ferocious in the way a pit bull was, short but intimidating and an iron bear trap for a jaw that wouldn't let go. Ever. That was Arthur. Even as clean shaven as he was, there was still a wild element about his scruffy sandy blond hair and a slight feral gleam in his eyes. Even if I didn't know what he was, I'd have picked him out of a lineup as most likely to be a werewolf. He had this… look. But I also could be biased, as Arthur's authority washed over any and all werewolves in the pack and sent them groveling.
I made a little surprised noise as he wrenched me toward the door. I scurried to stay on my feet, but I had trouble keeping up. It looked like he dragged me, but I hardly noticed, I was too numb with relief that the vampire was gone and we were leaving.
A bouncer blocked our way at the passage leading from the dance floor to the main entrance. He was much taller that Arthur, a bit taller than me, in fact, and I was just an inch or two shy of six feet, all muscle. But none of that mattered at all. Poor guy had no idea that Arthur could rip his face off if he decided to.
"This guy bothering you?" the bouncer said to me. Arthur's hand tensed on my upper arm.
"It's none of your concern." Frowning, the bouncer looked at me for confirmation. He was judging this based on human sensibilities. He saw two guys herding a younger one off the dance floor and out the door. It probably looked a lot like trouble. But this was different. Sort of.
I squared my shoulders and settled my breathing. "Everything's fine. Thanks."
The bouncer stepped aside. Joining us, Mattie followed us down the passage and out the door. Outside, we walked down a side street, around the corner and into an alley, out of sight of the people who were getting air outside the club. There, Arthur pinned me against the brick wall, hands planted on either side of my head.
"What the hell are you doing out where they could find you?"
I assumed he meant the vampires. My heart pounded, my voice was tight and with Arthur looming at me I couldn't calm down. My breaths came out as gasps. He was so close, the heat of him pressed against me, and I was on the verge of losing it. I wanted to hug him, cling to him until he isn't angry at me anymore.
"It was just for a little while. I just wanted to go out. They weren't supposed to be here." I looked away, distress mounting on my face. "Matthew was with me. And they weren't supposed to be here."
"Don't argue with me," Arthur growled.
"I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry." It was so hard groveling upright, without a tail to stick between my legs. Mattie stood a couple feet away, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed, his shoulders hunched.
"It's my fault," he said, "I told him it was okay."
"When did you start handing out permission?" Arthur turned his gaze to Mattie now, but didn't budge from his stance. I was actually starting to slouch a bit, trying to lower myself so that I wasn't taller, wasn't in any way shape or form trying to challenge him. Mattie looked away. Arthur was the only one that could make him look sheepish. "Sorry."
"You should have called me."
I was still trying to catch my breath. "How… how did you know where to find us?" Arthur looked at Mattie, who was scuffing his boot on the asphalt. "I left him a note."
I closed my eyes, defeated, but a bit of human defiance, and maybe a bit of wolf too, slipping out. "Can't we do anything without telling Arthur?"
Arthur growled. Human vocal cords could growl. The guys in pro-wrestling did it all the time. But they didn't mean it like Arthur meant it. When he growled, it was like his wolf was trying to climb out of his throat to bite my face off.
"Nope," Mattie said.
"Matthew, go home. Alfred and I are going to have a little talk. I'll take care of you later."
"Yes, sir."
Mattie caught my gaze for a moment, gave me a "buck up" expression, nodded at Arthur, and walked down the street. Arthur put his hand behind my neck and steered me the opposite direction.
This was supposed to be my night!
Usually, I melted around Arthur. His personality was such that it subsumed everyone around him- at least, everyone in the pack. All I ever wanted to do was make him happy, so that he'd love me. But right now, I was angry.
I couldn't remember when I'd ever been more angry than scared. It was an odd feeling, a battle of emotions and animal instinct that expressed itself in action: fight or flight. I'd always run, groveled. The hair on my arms, the back of my neck, prickled, and a deep memory of thick fur awakened.
His car was parked around the corner. He guided me to the passenger seat. Then, he drove.
"I had a visit from Francis."
Francis was Master of the local vampire Family. He kept the vampires in line like Arthur kept the werewolves in line, and as long as the two groups stayed in their territories and didn't harass each other, they existed peacefully. Mostly. If Francis approached Arthur, it meant he had a complaint.
"What's wrong?"
"He wants you to quit your show." He glared straight ahead.
I flushed. I should have known something like this would happen. Things were going so well.
"I can't quit the show. We're expanding. Syndication. It's a huge opportunity, I can't pass it up-"
"You can if I tell you to."
I tiredly rubbed my face, hand underneath my glasses to reach my eyes, unable to think of any solution that would let us both have our way. I willed my eyes to clear and made sure my voice sounded steady.
"Then you think I should quit, too."
"He says some of his people have been calling you for advice instead of going to him. It's a challenge to his authority. He has a point."
Wow, Arthur and Francis agree on something. It was a great day for supernatural diplomacy. All it involved was a little bit of throwing me under the bus.
"Then he should tell off his people and not blame it on me-"
"Alfred."
I slouched in the seat and pouted like a little kid.
"He's also worried about exposure. He thinks you're bringing too much attention to us. All it takes is one televangelist or radical right/left-wing senator calling a witch hunt, and people will come looking for us."
"Come on, 90 percent of the people out there think the show's a joke."
He spared a moment out of his driving to glare at me.
"We've kept to ourselves and kept the secret for a long time. Francis longer than most. You can't expect him to think your show was a good idea."
"Why did he talk to you and not me?"
"Because, it's my job to keep you on your leash."
"Leash or choke collar? Sorry." I blurted both the defiant statement and the apology without thinking. Part of me was still a willful, headstrong young guy and the other was a wolf doing everything it could to appease his Alpha. Sometimes, it wasn't even as straightforward as that, and I didn't know whether it was me or the wolf trying to be appeasing, or if it was me or the wolf trying to be defiant and break out from Arthur.
"You need to quit the show," he said. His hands clenched the steering wheel.
"You always do what Francis tells you to?" Sad, that this was the best argument that I could think of. Arthur wouldn't want to think he was making Francis happy.
"It's too dangerous."
"For who? For Francis? For you? For the pack?"
"Is it so unbelievable that I might have your best interest in mind? Francis may be overreacting, but you are bringing a hell of a lot of exposure on yourself. If a fanatic out there decides you're a minion of evil, walks into your studio with a gun-"
"He'd need silver bullets."
"If he thinks this show is for real, he just might have them."
"It won't happen, Arthur. I'm not telling anyone what I am."
"And how long will that last?" Arthur didn't like the show because he didn't have any control over it. It was all mine. I was supposed to be all his. I'd never argued with him like this before. I looked out the window.
"I get a raise for every new market that picks up the show. It's not much right now, but if this takes off, it could be a lot. Half of its yours."
The engine hummed; the night rolled by the windows, detail lost in the darkness. I didn't even have to think about how much I'd give up to keep the show. The realization came like something of an epiphany. I'd give Arthur all the syndication bonus to keep doing the show. I'd grovel at his feet every day if he wanted me to.
I had to hold on to the show. It was mine. I was proud of it. It was important. I'd never done anything important before.
He took a long time to answer. Each moment, hope made the knot in my throat tighter. Surely if he was going to say no, he wouldn't have to think this hard.
"Okay," he said at last, "But I might still change my mind."
"That's fair." I felt like I'd just run a race, I was so wrung out. He drove us twenty minutes out of town, to the open space and private acreage that skirted the foothills along Highway 93 to the west. This was the heart of the pack's territory. Some of the wolves in the pack owned houses out here. The land was isolated and safe for us to run through. There weren't any streetlights. The sky was overcast. Arthur parked on a dead-end dirt road. We walked into the first of the hills, away from the road and residences.
If I thought our discussion was over, I was wrong. We'd only hashed out half of the issue. The human half.
"Change," he said.
The full moon was still a couple of weeks away. I didn't like shape-shifting voluntarily at other times. I didn't like giving in to the urge. It only gave my already hard to handle wolf that much more of an edge on me. I hesitated, but Arthur was stripping, already shifting as he did, his back bowed, limbs stretching, fur rippling.
Why couldn't he just let it go? My anger grew when it should have subsided and given way to terror. Arthur would assert his dominance, and I was probably going to get hurt. But for the first time, I was angry enough that I didn't care.
I couldn't fight him. Though he was a little less than half my size, he made up for with just the sheer amount of experience he had over me. He'd been around this game a lot longer than I have. Brute strength only got someone so far. My wolf had intuition, instinct, but so did his. My power was more, but his wolf was used to leading, dominating, having others submit. Mine was not. I was so careful not to transform unless full moon, to not get in fights, to basically avoid all but mandatory interaction with the pack, with the sole exception of the easygoing Mattie, who I was supremely grateful for.
Even if I'd had any clue what to do, I'd probably still lose. So, I ran. I pulled off my shirt, paused to shove my jeans and briefs down to my feet, dropping my glasses down with them, jumped out of them, and Changed, stretching so I'd be running before the fur had stopped growing. If I didn't think about it too much, it didn't hurt that badly.
Hands thicken, claws sprout, think about flowing water so Wolf doesn't feel bones slide under skin, joints and muscles molding themselves into something else. Wolf crouches, breathing deep through bared teeth. Teeth and face growing longer, and the hair, and the eyes. The night becomes so clear, seen through the Wolf's eyes. Then, he leaps, the Wolf is formed and running, four legs feel so natural, so splendid, pads barely touching soft earth before they fly again. Wind rushes through his fur like fingers, scent pours into his nose: trees, earth, decay, life, water, day-old tracks, hour-old tracks, spent rifle cartridges from last season, blood, pain, his pack. Pack's territory. And the One. The Leader. Right behind him, chasing. Wrong, fleeing him. But fleeing is better than fighting, and the urge to fight is strong. Will be killed if he doesn't say he's sorry. But Wolf is sorry; He'd do anything for Leader. Run, but Leader's faster. Leader catches. Wolf stumbles, struggling, fear. Leader holds fast with teeth, fangs dig into Wolf's shoulder and he yelps. Using the grip as purchase, Leader claws his way to Wolf's throat, and Wolf is on his back, belly exposed. Leader's control ensures he never breaks Wolf's skin. Wolf falls still, whining with every breath, stretching his head back, exposing his throat. Leader could kill him now. Leader's jaw closes around his neck and stays there. Slowly, only after he's stayed frozen for ages, he lets Wolf loose. Wolf stays still, except to lick Leader's chin. "You are God," the action says. Wolf crawls on his belly after him, because he loves him. They hunt, and Wolf shows him he his God by waiting to feed on the rabbit until Leader gives permission. Leader leaves him skin and bones to lick and suck but Wolf is satisfied.
I awoke human in the grey of dawn. The Wolf lingered, bleeding into my awareness, and I let it fill my mind because its instincts were better than mine, especially were the One was concerned.
Wolf lies naked in the den, Alfred's body sticking to his fur, a covered hillock that is Leader's place when he sleeps off his Wolf. Leader is there, too, also naked, and aroused. He nibble's Alfred's ear, licks Alfred's jaw, sucks Alfred's throat and pulls himself on top of Alfred's body, leveraging Alfred's legs apart with his weight. Wolf moans and lets him in; he pushes slowly, gently. This is what Wolf lives for- his attention, his adoration. Speaking in his ear he says, "I'll take care of you, and you don't ever need to grow up. Understand?" "Yes. Oh, yes." He comes, forcing Wolf against the earth, and Wolf clings to him and slips away, and I am me again.
I guess I should revise my earlier declaration of celibacy. The only exception is, of course Arthur. Alpha's prerogative: He fucks whomever he wants in the pack, whenever he wants. One of the perks of the position. It was also one of the reasons I melted around him. He just had to walk in the room and I'd be hot and bothered, ready to do anything for him, if he would just touch me. With the scent of him and the wolves all around us, I felt wild.
I curled against his body, and he held me close, my protector.
I needed the pack, because I couldn't protect myself. In the wild, wolf cubs had to be taught how to hunt, how to fight. No one had taught me. Maybe, Mattie might have, but in the end, he was loyal to Arthur. Arthur was Alpha. And Arthur wanted me to be dependent. So Mattie did nothing. I wasn't expected to hunt for myself, or help defend the pack. I had no responsibilities, as long as I deferred to Arthur. As long as I stayed a cub, he would look after me.
The next afternoon at the studio, I jumped at every shadow. Every noise that cracked made me flinch and turn to look. Broad daylight, and I still expected vampires to crawl through the windows, coming after me.
I really didn't think anyone took the show that seriously. I didn't take it that seriously half the time. If Francis really wanted me to quit the show, and I didn't, there'd be trouble. I didn't know what kind of trouble, but one way or another it would filter back to me. Next time, he and his cronies might not bother going through Arthur as intermediary. He'd take his complaint straight to me. I walked around wishing I had eyes in the back of my head. And all sides. I contemplated the fine line between caution and paranoia.
Arthur might not always be there to look after me. He couldn't come to work with me.
I found Antonio, the show's sound engineer, as he came back from supper. One of the benefits of my newfound success: Someone else could pay attention to make sure the right public service announcement played at the right time. He was laid-back, another intern turned full-timer, and always seemed to have a friend who could do exactly the job you needed doing.
"Hey, Antonio- do you know anyone that teaches a good self-defense class?"
So, a quick little explanation about the wolf segment. It was meant to be written kinda rushed and flow like that... and also, the second part, with the whole repetition of Alfred and whatnot. I wanted to make a clear distinction that the Wolf knew it was Alfred's body and that it was different from it's own and that he was awake/conscious inside of it. So yeah, there is that, in case anyone is like "Why are you saying his name so much it looks bad, etcetera." It was meant to be that way!
I thank anyone that decided to actually look at this and read all the way to the bottom. Hopefully you're reading this right now? Likes, follows, and reviews are appreciated, I do like knowing if I'm doing a good job or not. I just generally enjoy knowing other people's opinions.