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Written and posted with permission from Leo_Todrius (who also provided the kickass thumbnail icon!)

You can find his profile and awesome stories here: www.furaffinity.net/user/leotodrius

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Lykos - Wild Things

Chapter 10 - What can be seen beyond the voice

Lying on the king-sized bed he had been sharing with Chance, his gentle gray eyes meandering over the cream-colored ceiling, Patrick let out a small sigh and his lips curled into a small smile that could either imply satisfaction or melancholy. He couldn't hear a word of what Angela and Drake were telling in the other room - well, he couldn't hear anything, of course - but he knew that the young woman was recounting her tragic past from the feelings he could perceive filtering through the wall like a private show of northern lights dancing right above his head and displaying the subdued and heart-breaking colors of sadness and regret.

The bear squirmed a bit on the mattress, trying to find a better position; he was happy that Angela had finally decided to open up her heart to Drake and to accept him as a true member of the pack... but at the same time, Patrick was conscious that she was still struggling with a bundle of feelings too big, tangled and deeply rooted to be unraveled by someone else. Even with the bond their pack shared, something like that could not be conveyed properly... nor it could be shared without a degree of emotional distress.

For a moment, Patrick pondered whether or not to join them in the other room, maybe try to provide some emotional support; both of them were surely in need for a good hug, especially Angela. The bear, however, shook his big head: no, they needed a moment by themselves, that was clear. Maybe being open about her feelings with their newest packmate would have helped Angela in taking another step towards some well-deserved peace of mind.

The bear couldn't help but smile again, and this time his expression was unequivocally nostalgic as it always happened when he remembered his first encounter with Angela; in a sense, he had always found ironic that he could have become a werewolf by the virtue of being deaf.

Since his life had been changed by Wyatt's bite almost two years before, Patrick had wondered from time to time why the werewolf curse hadn't cured his hearing problem; indeed, both Angela and the alpha had been quite surprised when they had realized that despite the lycanthropy he had retained his deafness. Of course, there was no definitive answer on the matter, but Patrick had reached his own conclusion after some time: he still couldn't hear because being deaf was intrinsically connected with his identity and with how he saw and perceived himself. In other words, with what constituted the human being known as 'Patrick Cahill'.

The big werewolf relaxed his head against the pillow and closing his eyes, the outside world completely blocked except for the impersonal smells of the hotel room; he even managed to shield himself from all the rogue outburst of emotions floating around him, a thing that he usually refrained from doing. In his own private cocoon of darkness, his eyelids as a silver screen, Patrick started replaying his own life inside his mind.

****

Since he had been a little kid, Patrick had lived in a world full of colors and smells, tastes and sensations on his young, tender skin. He had run in the golden waves of the wheat fields just behind his house with his sister, he had sniffed the wet fur of his father's mutts and sneezed as the pollen of the motley spring flowers found its way up to his nostrils. He had crawled into the pantry to stick his fingers inside the jar of strawberry marmalade hidden between the rows of ceramic cups before licking them clean, being careful not to miss even one single drop of red sugary goo. He had stared for hours at his three baby brothers sleeping together in one big crib, trying to discern the microscopic differences in the bridge of their noses and the shape of their cheeks. He had admired in awe and wonder the jellyfish pulsating inside the tanks at Monterey Bay Aquarium like colorful living galaxies while his hands caressed the soft artificial fur of Bilbo, his trusty sea otter plush. He had smelled countless breakfasts, dinners and suppers, had watched the erratic flight of bats against the dark sky, had crawled under his warm woolly blanket during the cool mornings of January to read one of his adventure books and had licked popsicles while sitting on the porch during the hot, endless Summer evenings.

In a word, Patrick had been happy, as much as a kid can be.

Of course, he had always known that there was something different about him; that, for him, communicating what he needed and what he felt to his parents and siblings was more difficult than for the other people. As a kid, he often focused on the way other people opened and closed their mouths, trying to discern the microscopic variations in the position of their lips, to decode the secrets of that incredibly complex language, to understand why and how people talked to each other.

In the books he read, he often found descriptions about sounds, noises and songs, but to someone like him - who lived in a constant and everlasting silence - such concepts were meaningless and alien to say the least; after all, communicating through the written language seemed so practical! Patrick always carried around his notebook to express his ideas and thoughts, and the people he met were so happy and friendly with him, filling the still blank pages with words of encouragement and compliments, and the chubby, cheerful deaf kid had a smile and a hug for everyone.

Unfortunately, Patrick was like the three-legged puppy spending his days at the kennel: good enough to feel better with themselves for some brief moments while they petted him and expressed some shallow pity, but still not good enough to bring him home; and in the end, as it is inevitable, all puppies grow up... and when they stopped being cute, they are just malformed and handicapped dogs. After he hit puberty, the pages of Patrick's notebook tended to be filled only by his own handwriting and those of his parents and siblings; of course, his mother, father, sister and brothers never stopped loving him, and gave him all the love and affection they could... but for everyone else, he was just a physically impaired boy.

Patrick, however, unlike the three-legged dog lying depressed and alone in his small cage in a corner of the kennel, refused to let himself go and fall prey to sadness: he kept smiling to everyone, even if those around him didn't smile back; he finally mastered the difficult art of lip reading, even though the number of those willing to talk to him without looking embarrassed or uncomfortable was getting pretty thin.

And yet, Patrick still didn't give up. The reason was simple and at the same time extremely powerful: since he had experienced such a complete and total happiness when he was a kid, he wasn't ready to leave that kind of feelings behind even if he had finally stepped onto the cold and unforgiving path to adulthood; he was - and was always going to be - a child at heart, innocent and always ready to find wonder and entertainment into anything. After all, it felt too good to be happy to even consider the alternatives... and most of all, it felt even better to make those around him happy too.

Even then, when he still hadn't been given the gift and the curse of the werewolf, Patrick could perceive the feelings of other people to an extent. It was something very weak and confused, like a shimmering shadow projected over the translucent wall of his soul, but the gift for empathy he possessed was undeniable; he needed nothing more than a passing glance, the smell of someone's skin or some otherwise imperceptible shifting in the color of a pair of irises to determine if someone was sad, angry, bitter, melancholic or content. Soon, Patrick discovered that the easiest way to feel happy was to have those around him being on the same positive wavelength; that was exactly what Patrick strived for every day, with a gentle, nonstop perseverance. In his experience, not much was needed in order to make someone's day a bit better: a smile, a hug, some words of comfort scribbled on his notebook were usually more than enough.

Even if his body and ears couldn't hear, that didn't mean that Patrick's mind and soul didn't listen.

Despite the fact he had been homeschooled until he was fourteen, Patrick insisted to attend the nearest high school until his parents gave in; and, even though in the beginning he was bullied, mocked and ridiculed on a daily basis, Patrick never flinched. Day after day he fought his battle to find his own place in the world, with the obstinate desire to be simply himself as his only weapon... and the most exceptional thing was that in the end he managed not to be defeated, not even once.

How?, was the very first thing one of his most vicious tormentors wrote on his notebook without the purpose of hurting him. How can you always be happy despite everything we've done to you?

Patrick simply smiled at that and wrote back at him. Because that's what I want to be. I mean, it's better to be happy than sad or angry, right? I know you are giving me a hard time because you think I'm different, but the truth is that I'm exactly like everyone else. I know what you're thinking right now, probably something on the lines of "Come on, that's bullshit, you're deaf! Of course you are different!" ...but no, I'm just a human, just like you are. And I'm not telling you this because you've treated me badly: I don't want to be considered "special" and I don't want anyone's pity, either; everyone is different, and I want to be treated just like everyone.

Should this have been some kind of inspirational made-for-TV movie, the two of them would've certainly become the best of friends... but the truth was, after that day Patrick and the bully never talked to each other ever again; although sometimes, when they met each other in the school's hallways and no one else was looking, they exchanged small, nervous, almost timid smiles to each other as if they were the repositories of a secret that was too fragile and precious to be revealed.

After he had started attending college, however, Patrick felt liberated: almost no one there gave a damn about his deafness, a fact he was perfectly okay with; he managed to create his own nest, he found good friends - both deaf and hearing - and even became the assistant of a professor holding a sign language course. He couldn't know, however, that one of the student of said course was going to give him a completely different spin to his life.

****

"Seriously, Chance..." Kaylee frowned, her petite nose letting out a heavy sigh. If she had been a dragon, she would've puffed out a veritable cloud of smoke. "What are we doing exactly?"

Chance shook his head, his dreadlocks bouncing against his shoulders. "Well, it's obvious, right?" he replied in a tense, somewhat peeved tone. The two young werewolves were trodding up and down the corridors of the hotel, with Chance sniffing around from time to time with a very determined look on his face and Kaylee following suit. "And anyway, this is what I am doing. I really don't know why you are here."

"Because you look like someone who could do something very stupid," the girl replied in an equally nervous voice. "Why can't we just stay in the party hall like everyone else? We're missing all the fun."

Chance turned around to strike down his packmate with a golden glance. "Yeah, that's a great idea... Why don't you go back and leave me alone?" he growled.

Kaylee lowered her eyes on the carpeted floor. "I'm... I'm sorry, Chance, I just..."

The feral lights in the irises of the boy flickered and burned out, leaving behind a dark brown filled with regret. "Oh, man, Kaylee, I'm so sorry..." Chance opened his arms and Kaylee let herself get hugged. "It's just that what I'm feeling right now is so..." The boy's cheeks were warm and flushed, and there was an intense and somewhat painful feeling trapped inside his eyes.

The wolf-girl sighed. "You really want to meet her, huh? That girl... Dakota, right?" she asked, even if it was painfully obvious; she freed herself from the embrace and looked at her pack member, this time with a more relaxed expression on her face. "Have you tried asking one of her packmates?"

Chance shook his head; he didn't seem quite convinced. "Um... To be honest, no. I mean, I... They said she had a troublesome past and, you know... I don't want to look like a creep or something..." His voice became less and less audible as he went on, until at the end of the sentence it was nothing more than a breathy whisper.

"What if I am the one asking?" Kaylee proposed. "She definitely seemed like someone in desperate need for some friends... And I could use the fact that I want to show her my fanfiction as an excuse!" And she tapped with her fingers on her hardcover notebook.

Chance snickered. "Well, better not to tell anyone what's inside that thing or you'll be the one to pass as a creep..." he murmured.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"N-nah, nothing," the boy tilted his head slightly towards his left shoulder. "To be honest, it's a very good idea... I still don't know why you're so eager to help me, though."

Kaylee shrugged. "I told you, you look like someone who could do something very stupid... That's all. Yesterday, when you saw her the first time, you looked, you know..." The girl gave his packmate a lopsided grin. "Ready to drop down your pants and..."

"HEY!" Chance shouted, his cheeks red and flushed; he diverted his gaze, his canine fangs protruding slightly from his upper lip. "W-well, we are werewolf, right? I mean, it's quite natural, isn't it? It's not like you ever complained when I have sex with you, or with the guys..."

Kaylee's cheeks and ear tips went crimson too. "Gaaah, why do you have to always been so blunt about that?" she moaned.

"Hey, you're the one who has written more than a hundred chapters of a bunch of guys fucking each other in every possible way!" Chance retorted; his pack member winced at that, her eyes flashing gold in surprise. "I mean, there's no point being prudish about that, right?" the boy added in a more bashful way.

"I g-guess not..." Kaylee muttered. "But, well... that's different. I mean, Dakota isn't part of our pack, so it's, you know... Strange to see you so attracted to her." The girl shook her head. "Never mind... Let's go and ask Xander, okay?"

Joy's head beta, as always, was sitting at his desk in the empty room, busy playing some puzzle game on an iPad; when he heard the two young wolves coming in, though, he put down the tablet and stared at them with his piercing eyes. "Something you need, pups?" he asked in an inquisitive tone. "Or should I say someone?" he added, looking straight at Chance.

The boy whimpered and scratched the carpeted floor with his shoe, while Kaylee shrugged. "Nothing escapes you, right, Xander?" she said with a small grin.

The short man caressed the tip of his long beard. "It comes with the job, you know... Being Joy's head beta means I have to be her eyes and ears and nose; you know her, when she's fixated on something she tends to forget the rest of the world." His stare focused again on Chance. "So? What do you want from Dakota?"

"W-well..." the boy stuttered, before turning towards his packmate with puppy dog eyes. You said you were going to help me! , was the meaning of that look.

"Come on, Chance, there's no point hiding it," Kaylee replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "Xander saw through you like he had x-ray vision." She froze on the spot, as if she had just been struck by an invisible lightning. "Um, I wonder if I should give that power to one of my keeper characters... He could literally undress the other guys with his eyes..."

Leaving the Asian girl to her daydreams, Xander jumped from his chair and walked straight to Chance: even if he was at least one foot shorter, he looked imposing and almost menacing. "Let me get this straight," he said in a gruff tone. "Dakota is still trying to recover from the horrible circumstances that surrounded the bite. We're trying to give that poor kid all the love and affection someone in that condition may need, so... be very, very careful, boy, or you'll have to deal with me. Understood?"

Chance gulped, but the stone apparently stuck in his throat didn't bulge a bit. "Y-yes sir..." he finally managed to whisper.

Xander nodded. "Good. Having said that, I know you're a good boy and you wouldn't do anything stupid, so... Dakota's room is number 1038; just don't go around and say that I told you that, okay?"

"O-of course!" Chance exclaimed, his eyes shining in barely contained excitement. "Thank you so much, Xander, I..."

Joy's head beta stopped him with a casual gesture of his callous hand. "You won't do anything stupid, as I say. Because if you'll do, not only I'll break every bone in your body, I'll instruct Wyatt to do the very same... So keep your goddamned hormones on check."

"Yes... sir," Chance murmured, feeling thoroughly defeated. "Come on, Kaylee, let's go..." he murmured to his pack member, who was still debating with herself about whether or not granting some superpowers to one of the characters of her fanfiction.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." The girl looked quite disappointed by the outcome of the conversation, but nonetheless bowed towards Xander. "Thanks for your help. I was starting to ponder whether or not I should have put him on a leash," she smirked in a rather sour tone.

Xander nodded again. "Keep an eye on him. It's not like I don't trust him, but... no, scratch that, I don't trust him. Make sure he behaves."

"Hey, I am still here, you know?" Chance groaned. For the first time since he had seen Dakota for the first time, though, he finally seemed... relieved; he even started whistling a merry tune as he marched through the long corridor leading to the rooms going from 1020 to 1040.

"So... What are you going to do with her?" Kaylee asked, nervously combing her black hair behind her ears. "More importantly, why are you so attracted to her? You know you can't just go there and have sex with her, she's not part of our pack."

The boy turned around the expression on his face dead serious. "I'm perfectly aware of that, Kaylee. To be honest, having random sex with Dakota is the last thing on my mind right now."

The girl gave him a slightly bitter grin. "Come on, that is so not you, Chance! In any other circumstance you wouldn't hesitate to jump on her big bad wolf-style! Why is she different?"

Kaylee's words had most probably been uttered in order to anger Chance, or at least tease him... So when the girl saw the face of her best friend becoming sad and sour, she felt cold claws squeezing her own heart a bit and shivered in shame and guilt. "Probably... It's because of what you just said," Chance replied. "I mean, I always have fun with you and the guys, I have sex every time I want and I don't have to care about STDs or knocking someone pregnant... But this is going to change eventually someday, right?" The boy caressed his dreadlocks as if he had suddenly felt the need to ascertain that they were still there. "We'll always be part of the same pack, but at some point in the future we'll also have our families, and to be honest that's what I want: finding myself a mate and having some puppies, just like my parents and my grandparents did."

The declaration was received by Kaylee with a conceited snort. "And so what? You think Dakota is your soulmate or something? Come on, Chance, you barely know her name! This is just silly, and you know it!"

"Yeah, but... I've never felt drawn towards someone else like this, before. And it's not like she just makes me feel horny... There's literally something in her that I can't understand, like an answer that I want to find." Chance let out a tiny yet hopeful smile, and in that moment he looked more mature that he had ever been in his life. "Maybe it is silly, just like you said, but... Who knows? Maybe she can be my future mate, and there's only one way for me to discover that."

Kaylee stared at the back of her pack member walking down the corridor with sullen and bitter eyes. "Why are you so goddamned dense?" she murmured in a sad tone, before following him towards door 1038.

****

She was sitting in a corner of the classroom, a lock of her auburn hair falling gracefully on her forehead, her light blue eyes focused on something invisible and remote, a fluffy black scarf around her neck. She was sitting alone, at a good distance from the other students, and despite being a good-looking girl she emanated the distinct aura - suffused and silvery, subtly melancholic - of a solitary type. She didn't look sad, though, nor longing for some company; she looked more like someone who lived on a slightly different level of reality than the rest of the world around her.

Patrick spent the whole first lesson staring at her in wonder, and acting mechanically whenever the professor asked him to show a sign to the class; those were the only moments where the girl looked back at him, but Patrick had the impression that she wasn't actually seeing him: from her point of view, probably, the only thing that counted were the hands tracing sings in the air, and not the person attached to them.

This, however, made Patrick feel drawn even more towards the charming young woman: he spent the following week immersed in a nervous and uneasy daze, wondering again and again if that auburn-haired beauty actually existed or was nothing more than a figment of his imagination; after all, he seemed the only one who had noticed her!

Next Monday, however, she was sitting at the very same place in the corner of the room, with the same distant air and her notebook opened in front of her; she was wearing a different scarf that day, white with big green Hawaiian-like flowers that complimented the color of her hair quite well. After the lesson was over, the mysterious girl put the notebook back into her bag and stared at Patrick - directly at Patrick, not at his hands as if only they were there - for the very first time. Her expression was for the most part unfathomable, but at least she didn't look angry or aggressive... more like mildly curious, even interested. She didn't seem intentioned to start a dialogue first, so Patrick saw that as the perfect chance to introduce himself: with a quick gesture he grabbed his own notebook and the antique and heavy fountain pen his grandma had given for his graduation and approached the girl with his right hand held open against his forehead, the sign for "hello".

Hi! Nice to meet you! I'm Patrick, although since the professor introduced me last lesson you probably know that already. What's your name? , Patrick scribbled on an empty page. The girl looked at the words, then at him and nodded, beaming him the tiniest smile. She fished her own notebook from her bag and rapidly wrote her reply.

Hi, Patrick. My name is Angela. I guess you would prefer to communicate through sign language, but after only two lessons I do not feel that confident in my abilities...

The deaf guy grinned at her.Don't worry, not a problem at all! I talk like this with almost everyone, after all. So, what brings you here?

Angela lowered her eyes. To be honest, I just needed some extra credits... Although, the lessons seem quite interesting! A brief pause before she decided to add something else. I am really sorry, Patrick, this probably was not the answer you were hoping for...

Patrick shook his head. Nothing to be sorry about, really... That's the reason why most of the other students are here too! He took a deep breath, trying to reorganize his thoughts about what to say next, and froze on the spot for a moment, his eyes wide open; there was something strange in Angela's smell, right beyond the sweet aroma of chamomile and lemon of her shampoo. It wasn't a bad odor or a foul stench, just something different from the usual smell coming from the rest of the denizens of the campus, albeit vaguely.

Maybe it's just something that she eats? , Patrick pondered. It was a scent too subtle to be properly defined, but it reminded him of meat, or maybe blood... His face went scarlet in the span of a single moment. Oh my god, am I smelling her period? , he thought frantically.

Patrick felt timid fingers tugging his sleeve; Angela was staring at him with a concerned expression. Is everything alright?, she had written on her page. The next words had been completely covered in furious swipes of the pen, although Patrick managed to discern a "heartbeat" among the forest of black lines, and had been replaced with: You looked unwell all of a sudden.

The young man shook his head. No, don't worry... I was just lost on a random train of thoughts. It happens sometimes. He gave her a tentative smile, and she seemed to accept the lame excuse with graceful kindness.

So, Patrick... Where are you from?

That moment after the lesson, and many more following, became for Patrick the best and most anticipated part of the week: he and Angela talked to each other about every kind of stuff, mostly through the written words, but also - as the weeks passed - through the first, timid sentences in sign language Angela's elegant fingers finally dared to trace in the air. Every time the young woman completed a sequence of gestures and looked at him for approval with puppy dog eyes, Patrick could feel his heart skipping a beat. Is this how it feels, to be in love? , he pondered that night, staring at the dark ceiling of his bedroom, unable to drift into sleep; every time he closed his eyes he could see Angela's face hovering in front of him, and his nostrils were instantly filled with the ghost of her mysterious, wild aroma.

Patrick knew many kinds of love: the one for his parents, the one for his siblings, the one for his friends... But the feelings towards a romantic partner had always escaped him; at least until now. I probably shouldn't keep my hopes up, he had pondered. I doubt someone like me could be the type of guy for a girl like her...

Patrick scratched his beard as the last words flashed again inside his head. Actually, now that I think of it, I know next to nothing about Angela. All the conversations the two of them had had, in fact, had been about Patrick, the campus and the college, or about random things. Every other attempt of the young man to know more about Angela's life had been deflected with polite smiles and graceful obstinacy, a fact that Patrick had attributed to his new friend's extreme shyness. I should probably insist a bit more..., he decided in the end. Make her open up her heart to me, at least a bit.

The next Monday, however, the reaction he got from Angela when he straight-out asked her some details about her life was akin to that he would have gotten from asking her to kill someone: the girl took one step back, one of her hands clutching her striped scarf, her eyes almost bulging in fear and surprise. Sorry, I have to go, she scribbled on her notebook before trying to run away; Patrick, however, managed to grab her by a hand before she could escape. He couldn't talk, of course, so when she turned around with a look on terror in her eyes - the same terror of a small woodland animal trapped against the back wall of its burrow by the maws of a hungry fox - he stared back with the most pleading and innocuous expression he could muster... And after a few seconds, he could feel Angela's arm relaxing, at least a bit.

Please, Patrick, let me go, the young woman scribbled on her notebook in a confusing handwriting, using only one hand; he replied by shaking his head. I promise I will not run away. I promise, she added, and only after those words he agreed to do so.

The two just stared at each other, bathing in a moist and uncomfortable silence that Patrick couldn't hear anyway; finally, he decided it was the time to make the first move. I'm sorry, Angela... I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, he wrote on a brand new page. If you don't want to talk about your life for whatever reason, that's perfectly fine to me.

Angela lowered his gaze, her limbs trembling. For a moment, Patrick was afraid she was on the verge of running away again, but - her pen clutched in her pale fingers - she instead wrote her reply. It is more a matter of not being able to, her words said, a bashful expression on her face. I have secrets that I cannot possibly share with you, or with anyone else, Patrick... That is why I thought that maybe we should not see each other again. I am different, you see.

I'm different too, was the young man's simple reply. He pointed at his ears with a small, bitter smile on his face. Seriously, I don't care if you can't share your past or whatever thing is that makes you different... I just want to be your friend, and that's the only thing that counts to me; but if you don't want to, I'll understand and respect your wish, and we'll never speak to each other again, okay?

Angela reacted with an expression of anguish; her light blue eyes looked very close to unleash a desperate stream of tears. I want to be your friend too, Patrick, she finally wrote between sniffles. I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry.

Patrick suppressed the almost irresistible desire to hug Angela and pat her on the back. Don't be. Let's just pretend this conversation never took place, okay?, he scribbled instead. Let's just go back at being happy. And the two, somehow, managed to do exactly that: their relationship didn't degrade after the accident, and even though Patrick didn't get to know anything about Angela's mysterious background - after all, he wouldn't even know her surname, if it wasn't for the attendance sheet - he was content with that, and in a strange way he actually felt even closer to her than before: after all, even if she hadn't shared her secrets with him, she was at least trusting him enough to let him know that she had some.

That is why, when the accident that irrevocably changed both Patrick and his relationship with Angela happened, it was just an innocuous and innocent gesture, an act of simple kindness between two friends. It all started when Angela's pen ran out of ink. I don't have another, she apologized using sign language; almost four months had passed since the beginning of the course, but the young woman - despite being the best student - still didn't feel that comfortable in having to rely only on gestures to communicate with Patrick.

He shook his head, a dorky smile on his lips. Don't worry, we can share mine. Take turns, he scribbled on his notepad before handing out his old fountain pen to the girl; Angela smiled in gratitude, but the moment her fingertips brushed over the metal surface of the pen, her friendly expression immediately changed into a mask of horror and pain. The fountain pen fell, and Patrick's hand, with impressive speed for a man his size, darted down to grab it before it could hit the ground; he managed to prevent his grandma's present from breaking, but when he raised his eyes again the relieved expression on his broad face turned into a look of perplexity and extreme confusion.

Angela stared back at him, her usually gentle features deformed into a mask of pain and anger; her fingertips, where she had touched the surface of the pen, looked like they were covered in reddish blisters and grotesquely swollen. An allergic reaction?, Patrick thought for a moment; then the realization hit him: that could of course explain the rash, to a certain extent at least... but certainly not the fact that Angela's eyes had shifted from a light blue to a menacing, red-speckled golden, nor that her teeth seemed longer and pointier, like those of a beast of prey. The young woman's beastly irises looked at the fountain pen with barely contained hatred; her nostrils flared, and she hissed a single word. Even if Patrick couldn't hear it, he read her lips quite well.

"S-silver..."

Oh my god, Angela's a werewolf! A real werewolf!, Patrick thought in pure amazement. He wasn't at all scared - okay, maybe just a bit, but that fear was buried under a pile of more intense feelings combined and merged together inside his head to create a complex knot of diverging sensations; he could feel his whole body tickling from excitement, his legs even shaking a bit. A million of different questions crowded inside his brain: was she able to turn into a real wolf? Could she transform at will, or she had to wait for the full moon? Could she turn other people with a bite or a scratch, like the werewolves in movies? And, most importantly, was she the only one around?

With a quick gesture Patrick grabbed his notebook, ready to pose the first question, when he felt a dull pain on the back of his head and his consciousness fade; before his eyes closed and he plunged deep into unconsciousness, he managed to lift his gaze towards Angela, and saw the girl looking back at him, infinite sadness filling her now golden irises... But before he could wonder what that stare could mean, he slipped into a dark and numb oblivion.

****

"So... I think we should discuss those dreams," Joy announced in a silvery tone to the other four alphas sitting around her; she, Wyatt, Clyde, Hyun-woo and Felissa had monopolized a corner of the party hall and were busy having some well-deserved small talk.

"I thought we were going to discuss why she's dressed like freaking Sailor Moon," the Korean werewolf said in a deadpan fashion, pointing at Felissa with a microscopic tilt of his head.

The blond woman, who was indeed donning a white and bright orange sailor fuku, crossed her gloved arms over her chest and grunted. "Please, I'm Sailor Venus. I mean, come on, haven't you ever seen the show as a kid? How sad was your childhood, Hyun-woo?"

The young man scoffed at her. "I was just taking a guess. Since you're a werewolf, it would've made more sense for you to dress as Sailor Moon, considering what celestial body she represents."

"No way I'm going to cosplay that vapid whiny bimbo!"

"Whatever. I can still see your panties either way."

As Felissa blushed and tried to pull down her miniskirt as much as she could, Clyde chortled. "Oh, come on, it's not like he hasn't seen them already!"

Hyun-woo's black eyes darted towards the man from above the barrier of his checkered scarf. "I'm sorry?"

The musclebear crossed his burly arms over his chest. "Dude, we're all werewolves here. You really think we never smelled each other's scent all over your bodies?"

Joy cleared her throat. "Clyde... Remember what did we say about invading other people's personal space?" Her expression was a mixture of embarrassment and concern, with just a spoonful of unwitting amusement on the side.

Clyde lowered his head. "Sorry, ma'am."

Joy nodded like a mother proud of her unruly but good-natured son. "Apologies accepted. Okay, let's stop talking about cosplay or about Felissa and Hyun-woo's sex life..."

"HEY!"

"...and let's go back to those mysterious dreams we've been having." Joy seemed ready to describe her own night visions, but stopped talking when her British grey-haired beta seemingly materialized out of thin air behind her, carrying around a small tray with a ceramic cup and a zinc teapot letting out a small cloud of hot stream from the muzzle.

"Your tea is ready, miss," the man said with the impeccable tone of an old-time butler; Joy smiled at him while Clyde and Wyatt exchanged an amused glance.

"Thank you, John," the young woman replied; the beta took a deep bow and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, leaving only the tea cup behind.

"Oh, it would be so cool to have a butler!" Felissa exclaimed. "Although, well, of course I'd prefer for him to be younger and raven-haired and mysterious..."

"And let me guess, he would be called Sebastian or something like that," Hyun-woo mused.

"Of course!" The woman took a hard look at the fellow alpha. "Um... You'd probably look quite good in a tuxedo, you know?"

"No way I'm cosplaying as your butler."

"Well, it's not like John is really my butler, he just loves to play the part." Joy took a sip from her cup and grimaced. "To be honest, I don't even like tea that much." Nevertheless, she gulped down the rest of the hot liquid without breaking a sweat. "So, let's go back to the topic... Has any of you had some strange dreams recently?"

"Oooh, are you talking about dreams? That's interesting!" a voice exclaimed, interrupting Joy for the umpteenth time. Wyatt felt a hand grabbing his shoulder and instinctively looked up: a pair of amused blue eyes stared back. "Mind if I join you guys?" Jacob asked in a hopeful tone.

The other four alphas stared at each other in slight embarrassment; after what had happened the day before at the Battle of the Betas, they didn't look particularly keen in letting Jacob sit with them. Joy, however, had to be polite and diplomatic. "Sure!" she exclaimed, waving her arm and splattering the remaining tea in her cup on the floor.

"Um... Before that, can I borrow Wyatt for a second?" Jacob asked, staring back at the young alpha who was still eyeing him with a mixture of grudge and suspicion.

Wyatt got up on his feet before anyone could say anything. "I'll be back in a minute," he told the other four wolves before walking away with Jacob. "Okay, what do you want?" he growled after the two of them had been outside the alphas' hearing range.

Jacob lifted his open arms, the expression on his face meek and hurt. "H-hey, calm down... Seriously, Wyatt, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what happened yesterday."

Wyatt snorted, his arms crossed over his chest. "You better be," he replied curtly. "So? Where's that creepy girl? Is she threatening to kill someone else?"

The other alpha put on a vague smile. "My lily of the valley? I'm sure she's around here somewhere. She's like a flower in the wind, I can't keep her from wandering around." Jacob sighed: he looked genuinely displeased. "As I said, I'm sorry for what happened. Inori is, well... not the average werewolf. Sometimes it's difficult to keep her restrained, even for me. That's why I had to withdraw from the tournament after the first match... Come to think of it, choosing her wasn't probably the best idea, huh?"

"Yeah, definitely," Wyatt grunted. "So, now that you said you're sorry, can we go back to the others?"

Jacob, however, shook his head. "To be honest, there's another thing I want to tell you, now that I have the chance to do it. Your beta, Drake... He's very strong."

"Of course he is." Wyatt narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "That's what you wanted to tell me? He is my dragon, of course he..."

"Well, I mean," Jacob resumed. "He is really strong. I think he could have had some serious chances to win the Battle of the Betas, should he haven't been unlucky to face to face Inori in the very first match. Joy's beta... Xander, right? He is strong and deserved to win the tournament, but I think Drake could've managed to defeat him."

"Maybe," Wyatt replied, cautious and circumspect. What the hell is he getting at?, he thought. "I still don't know what..."

"Well," Jacob interrupted him again. "My point is, he could become too strong, given some more time. He told me he's been a werewolf for just a few months, and yet, should I look at the two of you without knowing who's the alpha and who's the beta, I'd probably guess Drake is the one who's in charge. No offence."

"N-none taken," Wyatt replied. He tried to maintain a dignified and cold expression, but it was clear those words had left him perturbed. "Although, Jacob, this is none of your business," he then went on in a grumpy tone. "Drake is my faithful beta, and he'd never try to challenge my authority."

Jacob smiled. "Well, good to hear that! You look like a great couple, it would be a pity if something bad happened to you two... Now we should go back to the others, shouldn't we?"

"Yeah..." The two werewolves walked back to the small circle of chairs, Wyatt walking just behind Jacob, his eyes fixed on the other's back. There was something wrong and bitter, in that stare.

****

When Patrick finally regained consciousness, the very first thing he realized was that he had been immobilized: someone had bound his wrists to the arms of a chair, and his ankles and calves to its legs. He tried to move his hands and feet, but the rope binding them was too tight; he was stuck there, at the complete mercy of his kidnapper.

The second thing Patrick realized, however - something that surprised even himself - was that despite the bizarre and downright disquieting situation he was in, he didn't feel scared in the least; after all, he was quite sure about the identity of his kidnapper. Yeah, she might be a werewolf, but Angela is a friend, he said to himself. Even the idea that the mysterious young woman was a supernatural creature had been processed and accepted by his brain with almost unnatural ease. And, I mean, if she had wanted to kill me or eat me she wouldn't have bothered to bring me here and tie me up, right? The man looked around, trying to understand where he had been taken since it was clear he wasn't inside the campus anymore: the room was illuminated by a couple of old-fashioned lamps spreading a warm, amber-colored light over wooden walls and solid, thick furniture. Whatever that place was, it looked like the stereotypical cabin in the woods; there was even a moose head hanging from over an unused fireplace, staring at him with a dopey expression in its glass orbits.

Did Angela bring me here by herself?, Patrick pondered. The preliminary inspection of the room hadn't been that satisfying, especially since he hadn't seen anything sharp or pointy that he could've used to free himself. She must be way stronger than she appears to be... Although, well, if she really is a werewolf that makes sense. Patrick was what some people would've called a "bear cub", which meant someone as frail-looking as Angela would have had a hard time even dragging his body around, let alone taking him away from a crowded campus undetected and bringing him somewhere else.

The door of the room opened slowly, bringing Patrick's train of thoughts to a halt, and Angela slid inside; Patrick tried to beam her a small smile, but the girl diverted her pale blue eyes with a saddened and embarrassed - almost guilty - expression on her face. For the first time since he had woken up the deaf young man felt a pang of worry clutching his stomach, but the appearance of a third person made him turn his head towards the door again.

A blond boy stepped inside the room with a smug grin on his face; despite looking like a high school student, the confidence and pride he showed were those of someone twice his age. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and a pair of denim shorts, and sporting a slim but well-muscled physique; behind the lenses of his metallic-rimmed glasses his chestnut eyes shone almost like the bronze fang-shaped earring dangling from his left lobe.

Unlike Angela, the new guy stared at Patrick face to face, and the tied young man stared back at him... at least for some seconds, until he had to divert his gaze. There was something peculiar in the eyes of the boy, a certain quality of wildness and power that Patrick found impossible to sustain. He's a werewolf too, he realized. At a first glance he might have looked like the average teenager, but the more Patrick looked at him, the more he realized that the bespectacled boy was a young predatory beast in the guise of a human being.

The blond teenager said something to Angela that Patrick didn't catch, and she replied with a simple nod; the boy went on talking some more, but since his face was turned towards Angela Patrick couldn't understand a word he was saying. Finally, though, he turned around and flexed the fingers of his left hand, producing a set of curved, deadly-looking claws; before Patrick could feel even the first signs of fear, the boy had already sliced the rope that kept his hands and arms blocked against the chair, without hurting him in the least. Careful not to look in his general direction, Angela gave Patrick his notebook back: his silver fountain pen had been replaced with a bright yellow pencil.

You're Patrick, right? My name is Wyatt, the blond boy wrote on a small whiteboard; he was using a red marker, something that Patrick found oddly appropriate.

Hi Wyatt!, Patrick replied, his fingers trembling just a little and mostly because his hands had been tied until a minute prior. I hope we'll become friends. To be honest, I'm quite excited at the idea of knowing real werewolves... I didn't even know creatures like you actually existed outside of books!

Wyatt read the words scribbled by Patrick very carefully, then burst into a fit of laughter; he looked amused, in a genuine and non-malicious way. You know what, Patrick? I already like you a lot!, he replied after a while. Patrick smiled at him and then gazed at Angela, but the young woman didn't felt like sharing the hilarity, apparently: she looked more like she was on the verge of crying.

So... Could you please untie me, Wyatt? I promise I won't try to run away, Patrick scribbled on a brand new page; for some reason, he was feeling like giving a hug to Angela, or at least patting her on a shoulder... And, well, despite the fact that Wyatt looked friendly enough, it was still unnerving to be that helpless and completely at his mercy.

The young werewolf nodded. In due time, Patrick, don't worry. There are things we have to discuss first... Things that are quite important. For a split second, his chestnut irises were filled with molten gold, something so quick that left Patrick wonder whether or not that had just been a trick of his imagination.

The deaf man sighed, a sudden weight on his chest: guessing what those "quite important things" Wyatt wanted to discuss with his was painfully easy, and having hoped to avoid that conversation had been - Patrick was now forced to admit to himself - nothing but a foolish delusion. It's about your secret, right?, he wrote, and his handwriting was a bit shakier than the usual... this time, not because of a lack of blood flow in his fingers. I guess just promising you that I won't tell anyone wouldn't be enough.

You are incredibly perceptive, Patrick!, Wyatt scribbled, admiration pouring from his skin like a light pink aura. I knew there was a reason why I liked you immediately! Before Patrick could realize what was happening, the blond boy came closer and lowered his face until their mouths touched; it was brief and innocent, but it was definitely a kiss... The first kiss Patrick had ever received from another man.

Patrick looked back at Wyatt, his lips still slightly parted. What... what happened?, he thought, trying to find some sense in the werewolf's gesture. As far as he could remember, he had never felt attracted to another man - or, to be exact, to anyone before he had met Angela - and all he could do was to stare at him in confusion, but... Something powerful had happened during the fleeting moment their lips had brushed against each other, like an electrical discharge. Was he trying to hit on me? But why? He couldn't really find any sense in the behavior of the young werewolf; Angela, meanwhile, was adamant in avoiding direct eye contact.

Are you alright, Patrick?, Wyatt wrote on his whiteboard; he had an amicable smile on his face, although the pointed tips of his canines - canines too long to belong to a normal human being - poked from beneath his upper lip. You look a bit shocked.

Well... I was wondering why did you kiss me, to be honest, Patrick replied in earnest.

Oh, that's simple, Wyatt wrote back. It's because I love you.

Patrick felt the skin on his face burn while the inside of his head turned numb and cold. I'm sorry, what?, he managed to scribble after a while, his handwriting shakier than ever. This is... Not how love works. I mean, we met each other less than ten minutes ago!

Maybe for human beings, yeah... But the wolf inside me doesn't have any doubts. Wyatt erased the words from the small whiteboard before writing again. I know it's difficult to believe, but I'm absolutely honest, Patrick.

The deaf bear cub bit his lower lip: no, it wasn't difficult to believe Wyatt at all, and that was the thing that was confusing him the most; he could feel that the werewolf actually meant each and every single word he had scribbled on his whiteboard, that they had come straight from his heart... He didn't seem capable of lying, and that was exactly why Patrick felt so torn. He loves me... but why?, he said to himself, a cold and immovable lump stuck in his throat. I don't understand... He once again looked at Angela, hoping that the girl would provide him an answer, at least this time; she returned the stare, her eyes watery and filled with deep sadness.

"I am sorry, my alpha," Patrick could see her lips spelling. "It is all my fault."

Wyatt, in hearing those words, turned towards the young woman with an expression so moved that Patrick felt closer to tears just by looking at his face; the teenage werewolf kissed Angela on the lips too, before resting his forehead against hers in a very intimate gesture. "No, it's not," he replied, and then added other things Patrick couldn't understand. The two hugged for quite the long time, a warm cocoon of affection surrounding them; Patrick felt the almost insuppressible desire to stand up and join them, partake in that simple and wonderful moment, but the ropes still held him onto the chair.

Angela, he wrote after the hug was over, looking at the young woman with big puppy eyes. Please, talk to me. I'm not angry at you, I don't care if you kidnapped me... So why don't you even want to look at me now?

Angela looked at Wyatt, who nodded with a serious expression. "You should tell him," he mouthed, placing the whiteboard in her hand. She nodded back, and grabbed the blood red marker with trembling fingers. I am so sorry, Patrick, but... We cannot let you go. Not like this. You know our secrets, so the only way to be sure you'll keep it is to make you part of it, too.

Patrick looked at Angela, then at Wyatt; he kept switching back and forth, his eyes getting progressively wide and watery. The blond werewolf stared back before bending over and kissing him again, his hand warm against the side of Patrick's face. "Please, don't be sad..." he said.

The deaf young man shivered, and it took him some seconds - and a big dose of surprise - to understand it was in pleasure. No, I'm not sad... I'm happy, he wrote on his notebook; on the white page, small damp circles appeared where his tears fell without him even realizing. I mean, I haven't just become friend with two werewolves... You want me to become like you?

Wyatt and Angela exchanged a worried glance, and then the girl - with extreme circumspection - leaned on and hugged Patrick too; he jolted in surprise and felt his back stiffen, but when he smelled the familiar scent of lemon and chamomile coming from her auburn mane he relaxed once again. "Yes. This is what we want, from the bottom of our hearts," Angela mouthed. "But it is not that easy, unfortunately." And there it was again, the face of someone taking part to a wake for a loved one.

Huh? What do you mean?, Patrick replied. Do I have to die or something to...

Wyatt vehemently shook his head, interrupting his words flowing on the paper. "No! You dying is the last thing we want! But, well... It's not that easy, as Angela said." He took the whiteboard from Angela's hands and wrote three words on it: "RED", "BLACK" and "COLORLESS". "Those are the possible outcomes of a werewolf bite, Patrick. You either become one of us, one of them, or you become nothing at all."

One of them?, Patrick wrote in response. He felt curious to discover more about what was going to happen to him, but on the same time he was creeped out by the behavior of the two wolves... especially from Angela, who still looked sad and miserable. And what does "become nothing at all" means? Like, being immune to the bite and not changing at all?

"One of the direwolves," Wyatt repeated. "Those who walk the black path. They have a wolf inside too, but they don't live in harmony like we werewolves do... They cannot coexist: when one emerges, the other one dies. They are either mindless monsters bent on destruction, or tortured souls begging for release. As for the colorless path, no, it doesn't mean being immune... Or well, in a way that's exactly what it means. Your body refuses the curse, but... The curse is always stronger. I'm sorry, Patrick."

I know you are, was all Patrick was able to write for a long time. He let himself go against the chair, his eyes turned upwards to the wooden ceiling without actually seeing it; it hurt to think, it was difficult to breathe, and it was impossible to cry. He could feel Wyatt and Angela still half-hugging him, but they didn't try to communicate or attract his attention; Patrick, with the back of his mind, still could feel their feelings trying to seep inside his brain, but he didn't feel strong enough to decipher them... he didn't feel strong enough to do anything at all.

That's the reason why Angela wanted to keep me away from her, he thought, the voice inside his head no more than a grim whisper. If only I listened to her, I... He lowered his eyes and looked at her, at her beautiful hair, her melancholic eyes and her delicate yet intense features; he could feel a myriad of different conflicting feelings menacing to turn apart his insides, pressing on his stomach, twisting his intestines and crushing his heart and lungs into a formless mush. No. I wanted to be with her... I still want to.

Patrick's gaze shifted towards Wyatt, the strange and incomprehensible werewolf he had just met and yet had managed to find a way inside his soul faster than anyone else; Patrick's tongue tip licked his dry lips, and the faint taste of the two kisses was still there. He said he loved me, and... Somehow, I know he was telling the truth. But why? How? No answer came, unfortunately; he could feel the warmth of Wyatt's body against his own, and that was somehow comforting... But the abyss in his mind and soul was too dark and too deep at the moment to divert his eyes from.

I... I don't understand what's happening. Patrick let out a broken sigh. All of this happened because I lent my pen to Angela? Because of something that simple and stupid? A tear escaped from the corner of his left eye and found its way through his bushy beard. I don't want to die and leave my family and friends, and I don't want to be a monster... Patrick bit his lower lip, but the tears kept falling anyway. I always lived my life trying to be kind and friendly with everyone... So why is something like this happening to me?

But maybe... This isn't a punishment. Maybe this is a prize, another voice in his head whispered, shining quiet and discreet in a light, benign green. Maybe things like these happen for a reason. I mean, look at them. Angela and Wyatt were still hugging him, their eyes closed: they were trying to calm him down, to make him feel better with the beating of their hearts and the rhythm of their breathing. You don't want to die, but they don't want you to die, either... I think you should trust them.

Patrick took a deep breath, the influx of air hurting his numb lungs, but a lot less than he had expected. Yeah, maybe... Even if it's silly, it's the only hope I have. His fingers brushed Wyatt's shoulder, and he opened his eyes. "Yes?" he asked.

There's something I need to ask you, Wyatt, Patrick wrote on a new page. He noticed it was the last one of that notebook, and for a moment he was unsure whether or not interpreting that as an ominous sign or a hint of his imminent change and rebirth. Do you think I'll become a werewolf? Answer honestly, please.

"Yes," was Wyatt's immediate and earnest reply. "Angela told me a lot about you. You're kind and generous and extremely perceptive and a stronger person than that you could ever imagine. I'm sure you would... no, I'm sure you are going to be an incredible werewolf." The boy beamed him a comforting smile, and Patrick did his best to smile back.

Angela?, he then wrote on the remaining part of the page. There is something I need to ask you, too. Patrick tried to write the question, but at first his fingers stubbornly refused to work. After a couple of unfruitful attempts, he tossed the pencil on the ground and traced the sign language gestures in the air, knowing they were simple enough for Angela to understand.

Do you love me?

The girl stared at Patrick in wonder for some seconds; her eyes shifted towards Wyatt for a moment, as if she was asking his approval, then nodded with a quiet, serene expression. "Yes," she added. "Even though I was scared, and I was afraid it could not work... When you told me you did not care about my secret and that you just wanted to be my friend, that is when I realized that I wanted to be with you."

Patrick's smile widened, even though his tears were still streaming down his face. He tried to pick the pencil up, but since he was still tied, he couldn't bend over that much; so, to show his resolve, he grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and pulled it a bit, exposing the bare skin of his neck. Come on, bite me... before I change my mind, his grey eyes said, and they were expressive enough.

Wyatt barely grazed Patrick's skin, puncturing it with his fangs until he drew blood. That was enough to infect someone with the curse of lycanthropy, after all, and Patrick didn't even wince in pain: he just felt the damaged skin prickle and become a bit warmer, and that was it. With Wyatt busy licking the bite marks with a tongue that uncannily resembled that of a dog, Patrick pointed at the small whiteboard, that Angela readily handed over. So... How am I going to know if that worked?

It depends from person to person, Angela scribbled back. It usually takes some hours for the change to be complete, but your body should start to adapt soon. The "...or at least I hope so" was of course left implied. It might take a bit more in case the bite has to heal some damage.

What kind of damage? You mean like the bite marks?

Angela shook her head. Think more like broken limbs or cancer. Maybe it will even restore your hearing!

Patrick frowned. I'm not sure I'd want something like that to happen.

Why? Angela looked confused. I mean, do you not want to heal?

No, because from my point of view I'm not sick, was Patrick's reply. I've always been deaf, since the day I was born... This is the very reason why we were able to meet each other, Angela, so I'm not sure if I want that to change.

And, with those words, Patrick got his third kiss of the day.

****

Patrick let out an embarrassed chuckle as his mind finished replaying the events of that day; what had happened after that hadn't been particularly noteworthy: he had just felt tired, fell asleep and when he had woken up some hours later he was already a werewolf. He had marveled of his heightened senses, he had met Chance and Kaylee, and then he had, well... bonded with the pack at large for the first time. Everything that happened that fateful day had seemed like a strange dream... and, Patrick realized, still looked like it, even after two years.

I wonder why I never really begged them to let me go, not even once, he idly wondered. With hindsight, I should probably feel angry with them, since they purposefully hid the existence of keepers from me in that moment... but I'm glad I got the bite. It's the best thing that had ever happened to me... And mostly because for the wonderful people I met. Wyatt, the pups, Clyde, and... The image of the two people he cared the most flashed for a second in his brain, stopping the train of thoughts; the door of the room opening hammered down the last nail in the coffin of his recollections.

The deaf wolf sit back on his bed and beamed a warm smile towards the newcomer. [/i]Hello!,[/i] he gestured. I thought you were busy talking with Drake.

Angela stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her back. Yes, she replied in the same way. But now I want to talk with you.

Patrick nodded and invited the young woman to sit alongside him. To be honest, I was waiting for you to come here, he explained, the expression on his face a bit bashful as if he had suddenly returned back in time to when his mother had caught him with the fingers sticky with strawberry jam. I was quite sure you needed to talk with someone else after the conversation you just had with Drake... You told him about your past, right?

Angela looked surprised, but only for a split second. You should stop spying on other people's feelings, she gestured, but her true disposition was betrayed by small yet relieved smile on her face. The girl placed her hands over her lap and stared at Patrick, only for him to realize that her eyes had shifted to those of the wolf, the familiar gold splashed with blood red.

So, how did it go?, Patrick asked when he realized Angela was waiting for him.

Angela lowered her eyes. I was not able to tell him, she replied. Although I think he understood it anyway.

Patrick didn't ask for explanations; he knew what his packmate was talking about. He was kind to you, right? More than you expected. His hands stopped for a second as his lips pursed. More than you hoped for. Angela still didn't reply, so Patrick went on. You shouldn't try so hard to make people hate you, Angela. Especially not your packmates. We love you too much for that.

I know, but maybe... I did not want Drake to hate me. Maybe I just wanted a reason to hate him. Angela had a hurtful expression on her face, as if the silent conversation was causing her physical pain. Before Drake joined our pack, I thought that maybe Wyatt one day would have noticed me, that he would have accepted my feelings... But then Drake became his mate, and...

Angela started crying, but that didn't stop her from gesturing. I knew I could not make him hate me, so at least I hoped to be able to hate him, but... The girl shook her head. I cannot hate him. Drake is so gentle and kind and he loves Wyatt so much... And I am a horrible person for having thought about putting my happiness above theirs.

No, you aren't, Patrick replied. You're just human. And most of all, you have every right to be happy, just like anyone else... You are one of the most selfless persons I've ever met, and you don't even realize that.

A bitterly amused stare appeared in Angela's speckled eyes. Maybe you mean selfish. Maybe that time when I revealed my true nature to you and forced you to become a werewolf it was all a plan to make Wyatt jealous. Have you ever thought about that?

Patrick chuckled in complete silence. No, because it's stupid. And it's not true anyway. You love me too much to do something like that and I love you too much for believing such a silly and obvious lie... And even if it were true, I'd still love you and be grateful, because the past two years have been the best days of my life, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for that.

"You are such a wonderful person," Angela was too flustered to use sign language, so she reverted to speech. "How can you love someone like me?"

Because you're a wonderful person, too, Patrick replied with a smile. And you should stop torturing yourself for something that happened more than fifteen years ago... You've suffered more than enough because of that. Patrick's big hand caressed Angela's auburn hair with gentle strokes, as if she was a lost, whimpering puppy. None of us blame you for what you did... Not me, nor Wyatt or the pups or Drake. We just want you to be happy, because we love you.

It was in that moment that Angela's last wall of conflicts and self-hatred finally crumbled inside her soul. Even if Patrick couldn't hear it, he felt it fall apart and turn into dust, as Angela's eyes filled with more than fifteen years worth of stifled tears; the young woman buried her face into Patrick's chest, her body shaken by desperate sobs. Even if he couldn't see her mouth moving, Patrick knew that she was saying something, and he even knew what she was saying.

I am sorry, Angela was crying. I am sorry, I am sorry.

Patrick just cradled her in his arms, petting her back and hair for a long time as she finally let herself go; he couldn't tell her anything, of course, but there was no need for words: his calm heartbeat, the warmth of his big body and his gentle fingers caressing Angela's frame spoke the kindest language in existence.

When Angela raised her gaze again, there was something different in her eyes: something imperceptible, and yet unmistakable. "I love you," she mouthed with trembling lips.

I love you too, Patrick gestured back.

"Do you think..." Angela started before pausing, as if she was at a loss of words. "Can I love two people at the same time, in the same way? Do you think that is possible?"

Patrick's lips departed slightly. I..., he gestured before stopping. Was that possible? He thought at Drake, at how compassionate and brave and generous their newest pack member was, at the connection he had felt towards him since the very first time he had hugged him, at the way he always wanted to please him and make him feel good every time they bonded physically... And a small, bittersweet smile tinged his lips. Yes. That's perfectly possible, he gestured back. But even if we can't be their mates, we'll never lose them... We belong to the same pack, and this will never change.

Angela raised her head and kissed Patrick, a tender gesture that almost melted his big heart. "Thank you for being who you are, Patrick," she told him before she leaned against him, making his lie on the mattress.

The same goes for you, the deaf man thought as they cuddled. If you haven't been who you are, we would have never been able to meet each other, Angela.

And, as Patrick and Angela rekindled their bond and gave it a new and more intimate shape in complete silence, the two werewolves found a peace and a serenity they had never experienced until that moment. Both of them were imperfect and lacking, but together they completed each other; and even thought they had suffered, they had belittled themselves and had placed their own happiness way below that of other people... the love filling them during those moments was reward enough.

****

Inori was wearing an immaculate dress, a simple yet elegant white gown that made her look even more like the ghost of some girl who had just climbed out from the dark insides of an old stone well in some Japanese horror movie and was now searching for her next victim. The dress wasn't long enough to hide her obstinately bare feet, and the glaring look in her eyes was the perfect corollary to her disconcerting and creepy aura. She was just standing in the middle of a corridor as if she were waiting for her fraternal twin to cover their matching dresses with blood and scare little Danny Torrance.

In facing that unsettling apparition, Drake felt an unpleasant shiver travelling downward from his neck right to were his dark grey tail would have been. For a moment he considered the idea of simply walking away, before realizing that he couldn't keep running from the creepy girl forever. "Um... Hi, Inori," he murmured, waving his hand and feeling like a perfect idiot.

The girl moved her eyes towards him with disquieting slowness, her dark irises so deep they looked like holes in her face. "Oh," she replied in her same distant and unfathomable voice. "Drake."

"Do you... remember my name?" he replied, a bit taken aback.

"Is there any particular reason why I shouldn't?" she said.

Drake frowned. "No, I guess... I just didn't think I left that much an impression on you." It would be like asking a tiger what animals it has preyed upon the day before, he added in his head.

"On the contrary... You fought quite well. I deeply enjoyed our match, and I was sad it had to be that short." It was the first time Inori was displaying some kind of emotion, and instead of making her look human, Drake was even more creeped out by the subtle and sudden shift in her voice.

"I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough for you," Drake replied, hoping that the tone of his voice would have sounded apologetic enough to mask the still lingering anger he was feeling towards Inori.

The girl tilted her head towards her left shoulder like a broken marionette. "That's not what I meant. It was not you, it was me."

"Oh, you mean you're too strong for me, then?" Drake said, and this time he didn't bother to paint with gentler colors over the creeping rage.

Inori, however, kept staring at him unfazed. "No. I mean that I am cursed."

What?, Drake thought; without even realizing it, in hearing the word "cursed" he had taken a step back, as if that vague concept was too frightening for him to face. "You mean... that scent?" he asked; even with his sensitive nose, he couldn't smell the weird, arousing mystery that the girl had exuded while they were fighting.

Inori for a moment looked ready to divert her gaze, but ultimately her hole-like eyes remained planted on Drake. "This is not something I can control. I'm sorry, Drake."

Even if she didn't sound sad, even if she didn't even look sad, Drake was sure she was. "What are you talking about?" he asked, this time taking several steps forward... at least until he noticed Inori's body stiffen and her sharp menacing clouds erupting from her fingernails.

"Don't come closer, Drake," she warned. "Please."

"O-okay, the young man replied, raising his hands to show her he didn't mean any harm. "I just... want to know more about you, Inori."

"Really?" It was only for a split second, but the girl looked genuinely surprised; her wide eyes made her seem even more like a child than she already was, like some waif escaped from a Margaret Keane painting.

"Really," Drake repeated. "I'm not angry with you, I just want to talk." I wonder how old she could be, he wondered. _She barely looks like a teenager, and yet there's something in her eyes, as if she has suffered for so many years... _

"I..." For a moment, Drake was sure Inori was going to open her mysterious heart to him, but her unfathomable mask took possession of her face once again, shutting him out. "That would be useless, Drake. Leave me alone, please... I promise I won't bother you anymore." And, without adding any other word, the girl simply turned around and walked down the hallway, before disappearing from sight around the closest corner.

Drake, however, stood in the middle of the corridor for a long time, staring at the now empty spot, his mind a maelstrom of confusion. Who... what exactly are you, Inori?, he thought.

Of course, no answer came.

(next chapter: Superliminality)