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PART 6

I felt numb, but that was okay; I'd deal with the fallout of my attempted execution later. I only realized I'd fallen to my knees when a wet-nosed nudge, smelling vaguely of imported beer, startled me into looking up to those familiar eyes, though they were framed by big canine ears, a muzzle and fangs. He looked...upset. Sad, maybe?

I reached up to place a hand on his ruff. It was a tentative touch, but the fur was soft and warm, and had a solidity that was comforting in the tepid air. Yeah, he seemed genuine enough, or maybe I was having a nervous breakdown.

"Rob? Is that really you?" He gave this weird purling growl, and a quick lick on the end of my nose. The intelligence and purpose evident behind those piercing icy-blues cut through any doubts I may have had that this was him, fur or not.

_ Oookay..._

My brain hurt, and the alcohol and fading adrenaline rush weren't helping things at all. I needed to take stock of the situation, but my thoughts were getting fuzzy now that the immediate threat was removed.

So, I'd just met this great guy, and we hit it off really well. I'd been smitten with Mr. Whyte...err, Rob...since I first laid eyes on him. And lucky me, not only was he handsome, but he was smart, likeable, laid-back, and really nice. And surprise! He was gay, which was a definite plus. And he was interested.

But he was also this great big bloody wolf, a fact that didn't exactly thrill me. I had no idea how this kind of thing worked. Did he go all feral each month, needing a cage and chains in the basement for a few days? I didn't know. He was, technically, a monster, and a dangerous one at that, if those other wolves were anything to judge by.

Then again, he did just save me from being murdered by a ravening pack of real monsters. The fact remained that looking into those pained eyes of his, I felt a sense of pity, not fear. Did it really matter that much to me that he had recurring hair-growth problems? I didn't know. I mean, the idea of dating what amounted to a big white dog was distasteful, and more than a little bizarre, and I didn't know if I could deal with it.

I just wasn't sure. But getting upset wasn't going to help anything, and if I did I'd probably regret it later. Sure, the situation was insane, but for now? What the hell. Sanity was boring anyway.

My arms wrapped around the heavily muscled neck, my face buried in his thick fur on a patch that wasn't soaked in blood. "Thanks, Rob. That was way too close for comfort. I guess this makes us even, huh?" Those huge shoulders gave an awkward heave -- a wolf-version of a shrug -- as he grunted.

Another nuzzle and a huff pushed me back to my feet. "Yeah, let's get out of here, before they come back with friends. But don't think you can get out of explaining all this."

I felt relieved...for a moment. Until I glanced back and noticed that the wolf -- err...werewolf? -- I'd blinded had vanished, leaving a congealing pool of blood and crimson paw-prints trailing into the night as the only evidence that it had ever been there. Crap. This wouldn't be the last time I saw those bastards, I just knew it.

We had to make a quick detour to a thick stand of trees nearby, where Rob had apparently stashed his clothes; I rolled them into an easy-to-carry bundle, and wedged it under an arm. Wardrobe malfunctions were clearly a common occurrence with the shaggy shape-shifting set. He bumped against my legs, an obvious push to get going; he was either unwilling or unable to change back, and given the night's events I didn't blame him. I wanted away from here too.

"You never said if you drove tonight," I muttered distantly, thinking -- and not for the last time -- just how surreal this was, "so we'll take my car, I guess. And we'll have to go to my place, since I don't know where you live." His tail swished back and forth, forming swirls and eddies in the fog, so I figured it was okay.

The rest of our trek was tense, the fog muffling both sight and sound. I took point, since I knew where we were headed. I'd recovered my knife and held it ready, with Rob limping silently beside me; even as fast as we were trotting I had to double-check that he was still there a few times, and hoped that those big pointy ears of his were more sensitive than my smaller round ones. Or maybe not; I'd be just as happy knowing that the Big Bad Wolves couldn't hear us, either, though I wasn't about to hold out for that one.

We reached my car in short order. My rusty red Hornet was mercifully free of spray paint and shattered windows, though the overgrown mutt gave a snort, which I suspected was the canine equivalent of a pained laugh. "Hey, cut me some slack, here. I'm a college student. My Ferrari is on back-order until after I get my degree."

I unlocked the passenger door. Once again, I was glad I was using disposable seat-covers. Blood and vomit were two things I didn't want on my car's upholstery, and I was feeling queasy. I realized that I had no idea if the blood was infectious or not. Crap. I was coated with the stuff, and I suddenly felt nervous. "Uh...is this blood contagious? I mean, is it like a genetic thing, or a virus, or what?

He just looked at me, ears askance and his expression nonplussed, and I felt pretty stupid for a moment. "...Maybe this is a conversation we'll have when you can actually, y'know, talk." I jerked open the passenger-side door, ushering him toward it.

"Hop in. We need to get out of here, and you need those wounds looked at. I have a decent medicine cabinet at home, and I'll patch you up, if I can." We had some trouble squeezing him into the passenger seat, especially with his wounds, but we managed. "And we both need a bath." I held up a skuzzy hand. "Wolves sure bleed a lot when you stab them; none of this is even mine."

I sighed as I filed into the driver's seat, exhaustion weighing down on me as the adrenaline rush subsided. "Thanks again for the save back there." Rob's tail thumped on the seat several times; I supposed he'd been wondering if I'd go ballistic on him; it had to be lonely being chronically fuzzy, with people in the know thinking you were a freak. I sighed, wondering how I felt about it, and the truth was I didn't know. I could keep from going hysterical, but... "I won't tell anyone, obviously. They'd think I was a loon." And maybe I was.

I'd pulled out of the lot by this point, and was paralleling the river. I could barely see, and I had to go a lot slower than I wanted to. I didn't breathe easy until we'd driven far enough away from that damned fog that all that remained was a few stubborn patches in odd corners. I sped up, just barely keeping the speed limit.

We spent some time in silence, with the growling of the engine the only sound. I wanted to know what was going on, but elaborate conversations were out, and without a game of Twenty Questions I wasn't going to get very far. I'd just have to stick with something simple until later.

"You okay over there, Rob? You got chewed up pretty bad." He grunted noncommittally. "Yeah, well, sorry you got hurt on my account."

I glanced over and saw him looking at me. His expression said it all. "I know, not really my fault, but I'm still not happy about it." His paw settled on my knee, and I gave it a reluctant pat after a moment. "...Thanks." I'd hesitated, and his ears had flattened, probably in disappointment. Truth was, I was disappointed in myself, but I had to get things worked out, and I just hadn't gotten the time for it.

About ten minutes later we pulled into a small parking lot under a flickering yellow floodlight. The slightly crumbled brick building wasn't great, but it served my purposes well enough. The rent was low, the neighbors were friendly, and the 'hood was generally pretty quiet. Not the kind of place you'd expect to see giant white wolves and victims of intended homicide.

I unlocked the door to my little corner of the world and Rob padded in. I threw the deadbolt after I shut the door, and after a moment's thought, wedged a chair under the knob. Couldn't be too careful.

"I'm not technically allowed to have 'pets,' though I don't think anyone'll mind one night." He surveyed my small one-bedroom apartment and checked out some of the framed movie posters, subconsciously waving his tail at the more blatant eye-candy in some of them.

The first-aid kit was in the hallway closet. As I brought it into the living room, I noticed the extent of the wolf's injuries. Damn, he was a mess. His left haunch was a bloody mass of bite marks, deep and ragged and still oozing. There were cuts and gashes along his shoulders and down near the hollows of his neck; those assholes hadn't been kidding around. They'd gone for the throat, but he somehow managed to keep them from succeeding. His front-left paw was half-mangled, and then there was that deep slice along his left cheek-ruff.

"Holy hell, man. That must hurt. I think this calls for something stronger than Tylenol. Do you have any problems with codeine? I had a badly-twisted ankle a few months ago; I still have some left, and it'll help you sleep. You didn't have more than that one beer, right?"

He swallowed one of the pills with no problem, and I provided some water in a bowl to wash it down. After that, I cleaned his wounds the best I could. It required using my electric razor to trim his fur, leaving him looking patchy and kind of ridiculous. He didn't react to the gentle scrubbing with soap and water, or to the sting of the rubbing alcohol I poured generously on his cuts and gashes. The skin around most of them was turning an unpleasant shade of purple. Styptic pencils worked on most of the bleeding -- I didn't know if real werewolves had the same problems they did in mythology, but luckily the pencils weren't silver nitrate. That wound on his haunch was nasty, though, and it required generous use of cornstarch and gauze, a trick I'd learned from one of those television medical dramas. I supposed TV was good for something after all.

By the time I was done with the cleanup and the bandages, he leaned drunkenly, the codeine and the late hours -- not to mention the fight -- finally taking their toll. It was well past three in the morning, and we were both exhausted.

I pushed him into my bed, telling him he needed it more than I did, and left him in a drug-induced slumber while I stripped down and crawled into the shower. I stood with my head under the hot water, letting it soak away the gore on my skin and the tension in my muscles. Damn, I was tired.

It'd been one hell of a night, and it was one that had changed my life forever. I mean, friggin' werewolves. Who knew? I'd be seeing sparkly emo vampires and their suicidal human girlfriends next, I just knew it.

I scrubbed thoroughly, feeling the remaining adrenaline wash down the drain with the soap and the blood. Once I was done I pulled on some fleece pajama bottoms, and collapsed on the couch under a blanket.

I wanted Robert so badly, but I wasn't sure I could handle dating a furball. I knew I wasn't going to turn on him for being different, though. He deserved that much, at least.

It was the last thought I had before darkness enveloped me.

©Lycanthromancer

10/14/2010