Season of the Wolf Pt. 01

Han nods and grunts as he raises to his feet and moves to tower over me. He fingers the photos and flips through the journal before springing the lid on the box and picking through the contents. Everything that was in the box is still there and that seems to placate him a bit. He hasn't calmed and I can still feel the rage radiating off of him as he struggles to contain it. I can think of nothing to say that won't add fuel to Han's fury. He doesn't buy my story that I went to the bar just to get out of the house for a while. I'm too transparent and not a good liar, not nearly good enough to fool Han. I want to throw his outrage and accusations back at him and do. "How did you know I was with Coyote? Were you spying on me?"

Han lowers his face to my shoulder and fans my hair with his fingertips. I resent the closeness and jerk away. "I can smell him on you," Han answers in a rough voice. I frown in confusion. I don't think Coyote was wearing cologne, but I covertly tilt my head, and take a sniff. I don't smell any trace of cologne. I smell me and while I'm not daisy fresh. I certainly don't stink. Han chuckles bitterly and his eyes flash golden with heat.

I'm mad and his laughing at me has only fanned the flames. I glare at him and empty the contents of the box on the desk. Gold coins go plinking over the edge, spilling onto the floor along with a litter of papers. "What did he tell you," Han asks. By this point, I'm over his accusations and am not about to entertain an interrogation. I don't say a word but stand defensively with my arms crossed over my chest. His voice has a hard edge that is almost a growl.

Embarrassing as it is, I cry when I'm truly angry. I can feel my face heating and tears begin to well at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away and take a deep breath. I have plenty that I want to say and the words build and build behind my closed lips. I need to think for a minute before I speak. Han's anger must have a motivation that's deeper than my spending an hour or so with Coyote in plain view of any passerby on the street. His level of rage could be a cover for a more intense emotion.

I do a quick mental inventory of all the things I do know about Han. He's confident almost bordering on arrogant and cocky. He's the captain of his ship and sure of the waters through which he navigates. I don't see him as the jealous type, territorial, yes, possessive, sometimes probably, but not blindly jealous. I've seen him be kind and caring. He's protective and passionate. I have no doubt from the things he has said about his relationship with my grandfather that he's loyal to a fault. What emotion would make a man so certain of everything fly into such a rage?

Fear. Han is afraid. He isn't jealous of Coyote or angry with me for digging up the truth. This realization has me seeing him in a new light and cools my simmering temper. If Han is as old as I think he is. He has seen war and death and has known great losses. For all that he has seen and been through in his long life. Fear is an emotion he hasn't been forced to confront before and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

He certainly has no reason to be afraid of me. I'm physically no threat, but violence isn't the only way to hurt someone. I'm thinking back to that kiss and the way he crushed his lips to mine. The things whispered in such urgency that he said. He held me closely, gently, and so tightly in his arms as if I were as fleeting as a rainbow on a sunny day. Han's afraid of losing me once I've found out the truth.

I'm shamed by Coyote's quick assessment of me. He is right. I'm not ready for the truth. Whatever it is. I could live a very long time and that's too long to live with such a weak character flaw. My ego doesn't want to back down from the fight. But, I quickly tell that bitch to take a hike and reach out to Han. His biceps are rigid beneath my fingertips. An apology quickly spills from my mouth. I am sorry that I didn't trust him. But, I'm not sorry that I found the box and the pieces of the truth it contains. Han nods and exhales, releasing his fury.

I automatically feel a little better now that we've come to a fragile truce. But, I'm not letting it go until I find out everything there is to know. Han realizes this. He is left with two choices. Either he tells me himself or I'll keep at it by myself. It doesn't matter how I learn the truth, because eventually I will. It'd just be a whole lot easier if he'd simply tell me, not bits and pieces, but the whole of it.

We make short work of cleaning up the mess I made of the priceless coins and aged papers. After everything is neatly tucked away in the box. He pulls out the family tree Coyote showed me and begins there. Everything goes back to the family tree. Han's explanation of the family lineage isn't much different than Coyote's. Han sprung from one branch of the tree and myself from another.

Han tells a story of a great romance, of war and death, of bitter separation, and of a child born in secret. The child grew up into a man and returned to this place to claim the fullness of his inheritance. The child was Han's ancestor. Han's fingertip traces my branch of the family tree as Han tells the story that goes along with it.

My grandfather was already a man when war bled the ground and the river red.

My grandfather was a follower of his father and fought bravely as a warrior by his side. The night of the battle when it became clear that all was lost he ran for his life and hid in the woods. When others left, he stayed behind and buried the dead. Two years later, he buried his father beside his warriors. The land belonged to his people by a treaty that wasn't worth the paper it was written on. But, to claim what rightfully belonged to his father and his people he needed something he could never possess, pale skin.

He bade his time and rebuilt everything that had been laid to ruin in preparation for the day his half-brother would grow old enough to claim what rightfully was his. When the time was right, he rode out and brought the child, then a man, back to claim their shared birthright. But, there was more to their birthright and the legacy of their shared blood than land and a few cabins. There was a gift and along with the gift, a terrible curse.

Han downed the amber liquid in the bottom of his glass and poured another, handing it to me and encouraging me to drink before he slid it from my fingers and drank a generous portion for himself. I'm confused by the history lesson. So far, he really hasn't explained anything. Maybe it was the liquor that gave him the courage to speak of the curse and gift he had been alluding to. But, he went on to tell me stories about the goddess of creation, the Grandmother, and of spirit wolves that could share the body of a man. I'd think Han's drunk off his ass, if it weren't for the seriousness of his tone.

I'm struggling to make sense of his story. It's obvious he so desperately needs me to believe and I pretend that I do. Han tells me I'm a terrible liar and I should never attempt to play poker. I shrug. We sit in silence sipping strong whiskey out of the same glass, passing it back and forth with intermittent pauses for refills. I am feeling a good buzz, but still can't wrap my head around exactly what it is he's trying to tell me. If this is the truth, it's a shitty version of it. I can come to only one conclusion with all of this babbling about gifts and curses and goddesses and spirit wolves. I giggle drunkenly and close one eye to focus on Han. "You mean to tell me you believe that you're a werewolf?"

He flashes me an annoyed glare. "I hate that term," he grates out through gritted teeth. "Werewolves are a fiction. We, not me, but we, are very real."

Chapter 27

Grace is drunk. Not falling down stupid drunk, but drunk enough that her buzz has kept her planted in the chair and listening to my story...our story. She has no tolerance for alcohol. But, then again, Coyote's homebrew has knocked many a man stouter than Grace off their ass. I need her pliant and attentive and the sweet honey whiskey has done its job. She is looking at me with one eye squeezed tightly shut as she tries to make sense of the truths I've confessed. I'm done coddling her and trying to ease her into the fullness of her reality gently. She wants to know and she is going to.

I sip the whiskey and hold the glass well out of her reach. The homebrew doesn't begin to take the edge off. My insides are twisted in knots and my mind reeling with fear. When I left Grace upstairs with nothing more than a feeble explanation. I knew she'd take it farther and maybe, in a way, that's what I wanted. I wanted her inquisitive nature to do my job for me. Well, it has. Now, I don't know what my next step should be. Only, that I can't shelter her any more.

Grace is as volatile as the whiskey in my glass. Coyote says it's a delicate process to make whiskey. One miscalculation and you can blow yourself to kingdom come. Perhaps, it is so with Grace as well. I never thought she'd go to the measures she did go to get to the truth. That strong box has been buried and dug up and then, reburied at least a dozen times. The last time was the day Grace was born and her name was added to the family tree.

The family has always had as few dealings as possible with banks or the outside world. The less of a traceable paper trail we leave behind, the better. I've become quite the forger over the decades. I've faked deaths and births, transfers of property, and wills. I could easily erase Grace with a few keystrokes. The modern world thinks it's difficult to disappear when in fact it's so damn simple.

To hide the truth from prying eyes I've gotten quite creative in my means to protect the pack. It wouldn't do if our secret got out. It also won't do if the pack dies out and we're close, so very close. Grace doesn't realize it yet, but she is the key to our survival.

Grace scrambles to reach for the glass dangling from my fingertips. I give it to her and watch her drain the whiskey in one swallow. She doesn't understand what I'd go through to keep her safe. I didn't expect her to stumble upon the trunks in the attic or to rummage through the contents. She has decidedly sped up my timeframe. I thought her human sensitivities would prevent her from digging up the box. I was wrong. There's more of her grandfather and his father before than she realizes.

To escape Grace I gave my wolf his head. There's a certain measure of freedom in not having to think and just letting instinct be your only guide. When I came to myself hours later my wolf was more than happy to supply the mental images necessary to fill in the missing blanks in my memory. Grace knew we were there hiding in the woods watching her. Well, I don't know if she knew, but her wolf certainly did. My wolf stalked her through the woods and watched her dig. He followed her home and tracked her into town.

I should be grateful that he didn't leave me naked on the stoop of the bar and I awoke in the field behind the barn instead. I had been in his skin just a little too long and it was all I could manage to pull on a shirt and a pair of jeans before storming into the house. My wolf has no concept of jealousy or anger or fear. He only knows what instinct and his keen intelligence provide him.

I wasn't angry with Grace when she finally showed up. I was angry with myself and I was afraid. My wolf was too close to the surface when Grace marched into the study smelling of Coyote, whiskey, and confusion. I was terrified of what Coyote might have told her. The truth of what he had said was written in the expression on her face. I didn't know what she'd do about what she had learned from Coyote and I lashed out at her out of fear and my own outrage at myself.

My wolf is desperate to claim her as his mate. Sometimes, it's a little too difficult to separate the man from the beast. I want her too. She is all I've ever wanted. Grace needs me and she wants me more than she is willing to admit. She has forced my hand and any wolf backed into a corner will come out fighting. I hate that part of myself that is ruled by instinct and knows no boundary between the beast and the man I am. The glimmer of tears in Grace's eyes was like a rainstorm on a forest fire raging out of control. I'm calm now, sharing potent whiskey with the woman I love and dreading the truth I'm about to show her.

Grace paces the room. She has given up on the glass and clutches the bottle in her hand, pausing now and then to take a sip. "You know, I'm sure there's a doctor that can help you. You're no more a werewolf than I'm the queen of England." She shakes her head and stares out the window up at the dark sky, scoffing. "The moon is full. How come you're not furry and running around on all fours? I thought that's what werewolves did on the night of the full moon."

"It doesn't work that way, Grace." She's reluctant to give up the bottle, but doesn't put up too much of a fight as I ease it out of her grip. Grace is slurring her words and clumsy on her feet. I need her drunk enough for her mind to be open to possibilities not passed out in the middle of the floor.

She giggles as if I've said something incredibly funny instead of telling her the truth. "Of course it doesn't," Grace says in a somewhat placating tone. "Because you're not a werewolf." She reaches up and pats me gently on the cheek. Wavering on her tiptoes she meets my eye. "You're schizophrenic."

"What?" Wonderful. Grace thinks I'm mentally ill. "I told you. I'm not a werewolf. I'm a shape shifter...a skin walker." I'm struggling to find a definition for what I am, for what she is, that'll make her understand. I'm failing and the humoring curve of her lips as she nods is pissing me off.

"I have to give you credit, Han. You and Coyote almost made a believer out of me. I mean the pictures and the documents are very convincing. Maybe, everyone in this town believes, but I don't. This," she waves her hand to the items on the desk, "is just an elaborate scam. I get it. I do. Living as isolated as you people do. Who doesn't have a damned telephone or the Internet in their house? C'mon not even cable TV, I mean, really?

"You people have gone to great lengths to hide your illness. Schizophrenia, I don't know, maybe it is inherited. Who knows? Maybe the well is contaminated by some hallucinogenic chemical and you people really are convinced that you're werewolves or," she makes quotation marks with her fingers, "skin walker or whatever."

Grace flops drunkenly into a wingback chair and props her feet up on the arm. "I like wolves too. Not enough that I'd want to be one. Ok, maybe when I was a little girl I had that fantasy, but I grew out of it about the same time I realized there was no tooth fairy or Santa Claus." She reaches up and waggles her hand wanting the bottle. I give it to her and she takes a long drink. "I like you, Han," she says with a whiskey thick raspy voice. Pointing at me with her index finger, she squares her shoulders in determination. "I'm gonna get you the best doctor I can find. There are pills to fix this kind of thing." She nods with determination and certainty. "I'm a gonna fix you."

"I'm not the one in need of fixing. You're the one with one foot in reality and the other in fantasy. I know exactly who and what I am. You have no fucking clue. How hard was it to convince yourself that what you know in the very depth of your soul to be the truth is a lie?" I'm crouched on the floor at her feet, silently begging her to understand. I grasp her hand and press it to my pounding heart. "Grace, this is as real as it gets."

Attempting to placate me, Grace nods and takes another hit off the bottle. She hasn't really heard a word I've said. Her mind is focused on finding a logical explanation rather than processing the truth. Her brow furrows in concentration as she makes her plans. "We'll check the water supply first, naturally. Could be some kind of a weird fungus or mold in the corn. I think I read something somewhere about that. Happened in the middle ages or some shit." She pats my hand sympathetically. "Whatever it is, Han. We'll fix it."

I grab onto her fingers and give them a hard squeeze to draw her attention away from her delusional thinking. She tries to twist her fingers free from my grip, but I don't let her go. I secure one arm around her tiny waist and drag her against me. Her knees part and squeeze hard into my ribs. Our lips are inches apart and I resist the temptation to kiss her doubts away. My wolf growls and huffs impatiently, scratching at the borders of my mind. It would be far too easy to unleash him and with that icy preternatural power that is a part of us both claim what is ours. Maybe, I should. "You feel it. I know you do. The draw between us is something more than just an attraction between a boy and a girl. It's as elemental and necessary as air."

Grace licks her lips and her eyes automatically gravitate to mine. I know she sees my wolf in their depths. Her body hovers inches from mine fighting the pull. Her mind resists and I can see her building her defense of logic. I don't want to hurt her. I don't want to frighten her away. If she'd just give in to what she already knows and leave what she believes is the real world behind. She won't. She can't. She isn't ready for it yet. "Han, there's nothing magical or mystical about it. You are an incredibly hot guy." Her voice has turned husky and is dripping with desire. "It's lust, Han, pure and simple lust and nothing more."

I kiss Grace and sigh into her mouth as she melts, leaning into meeting of our lips so eager for more. I don't operate that way. She's confused, drunk, and in such deep denial it'd be wrong to take the kiss any further. The golden glow of the lamp casts stars into the depths of her brown eyes. Her wolf edges around the periphery of Grace's humanity. Our wolves want so much more and in that urgent wanting they psychically pace and the dance I'm so desperately trying to avoid until the time is right has already begun.

I'm on my feet and pulling Grace onto hers. She stumbles into me and I help to steady her. I trace the curve of her jaw with gentle fingertips. I have to tell her. There is one logical conclusion for her to embrace. "Grace, you've heard every word I've said and have listened to none of them. I need a favor from you, Grace."

Grace's palm tracing over my chest is almost my undoing. I smell the tinge of her desire on the air mingling with the musk of her wolf. I want to claim this woman as mine and I could. She'd go willingly to my bed thinking it was simple lust guiding her steps. I can't have that. I can't have her, not until she knows and understands. This isn't lust. This is life. "What's that, Han?" she asks dreamily.

I tilt her chin and force her face up to meet mine. "I need you to trust me, Grace. Don't think. Just trust. Can you do that?" I don't give her time to answer. My mouth descends on hers and I'm drowning in the sweetness of her kiss. In her passion, I find the only answer I need.

Chapter 28

Grace stumbles along beside me, clutching my hand and keeping up with my frantic pace. My mind is made up. I am going to give her the only proof she needs. Her kiss gave me the courage to reveal everything she must know. I can't influence her choices. She has to decide for herself. I don't agree with Coyote's motives. She hadn't told me exactly what he said. She didn't need to. I've figured it out. He gave her just enough of the truth to leave her hungry for more. He drove her to me in search of the answers she wants and forced my hand. Coyote is a trickster, but he's an honest trickster and I can't fault him for that.

I lead Grace away from the glow of the windows and into the shadowy places far from the house. Her trust is a timid thing. She trusts me, but only so much. She doesn't have my preternatural ability to see in the dark or to scent out the pack watching us from a distance. The coolness of the night has sobered her up and she shakes off a chill. She asks questions and I avoid the answers. At this point, I'm done explaining truths she doesn't believe. Proof is something she won't be able to argue her way out of. Ultimately, it doesn't matter if she believes or not. The wolf is in her, a part of her, and requires no such display of blind faith.