Season of the Wolf Pt. 01

The sun is beginning to peek in trough the windows and my fatigue is catching up with me. My automatic answer, not that I say it aloud, is whichever bedroom he's sleeping in. It'd certainly be a whole lot cozier than sleeping alone. I hadn't thought about it and waver. I decide to sleep in my own bed and pad down the hall in nothing but a towel. The sight of my familiar toy wolves and figurines is comforting. Better the wolves I know than the one settling into my grandfather's bed that I don't?

I chuckle insanely, grasping onto the only bit of humor I can find in this whole situation. Red Riding Hood got it all wrong. The big bad wolf doesn't have big eyes, but eyes that are an indescribable shade. He doesn't have big teeth, but a cocky, sexy smile, a lush mouth, and soft lips capable of kisses hotter than the sun. I don't know about the big bad wolf, but I'm certain the wolf in my grandfather's bed can hear my heart pounding from three rooms away. I climb out of bed and twist the lock on the door, but I'm not sure if it's to keep Han out or me safely inside.

I finally get drowsy enough to begin to drift off. Wondering what Red Riding Hood's story might have been if told from the wolf's point of view. I think maybe the wolf was just as afraid of her as she was of him.

Chapter 35

I've spent a restless few hours and wake up with the late morning sun streaming through the lace curtains. Insane dreams of wolves and dark woods preoccupied my mind. No doubt, it was the wolf inside of me supplying the mental images. My body is filled with vigor and unspent energy, but my mind is exhausted. The house is quiet around me. It's odd. I miss waking up to the smell of breakfast and coffee brewing. Han is either still asleep or out somewhere tending to some duty requiring his attention. I've been here a short while and still know no more about what it takes to manage a farm than I did the day I pulled into the drive.

I sit on the bed with the sheets tangled around my legs and stare out my window. The world beyond the glass is lush and green. There's just a hint of fall in the breeze stirring the curtains and I can see it dotting the leaves on the trees with shades of gold, brown, and brilliant orange.

The part of me that is California sunshine, the crowded city of L.A., and surf and sand wants to resist the charm of the landscape. She doesn't belong here. The relaxed lifestyle and consistency of the day to day grates her to the very marrow of her bones. Other parts of me are content to stay put in this place where the passing of time has changed so little and everyday is as predictable as the one before. This house is home and family and the rolling hills and acres of woods and farmland have seeped into my soul.

It's obvious I can't leave. I'm not even really sure of what I want yet. Everything is so new in this never changing place of antiquity. Selling the house is out of the question. Whether I belong here or not is still up for debate, but there's not a question in my mind that to Han this is home.

The wolf may be out of the bag, but there's plenty he hasn't told me. I've seen the way everyone defers to him. I saw it the first day I laid eyes on him in the diner. It's more than familiarity or the force of his charismatic personality.

Han says our wolves cannot override the boundaries of our human sense of morality. It's reassuring to know I don't have to worry about my wolf eating some unwitting traveler passing through town. But, he hasn't exactly said where the line was drawn between wolf and man and that's what scares me.

Natural wolves live in a hierarchy. Coyote is no alpha. In pack ranking, I'd have to guess he's an omega, the wolf content to keep the peace and simply go with the flow. He could be more, if he wanted to. Possibly, the beta wolf and second in command, and I think that's how Han and the other wolves see him. It just isn't how he sees himself. Bear is definitely the enforcer of the pack, eager to follow the lead of the alpha and keep everyone in line. I haven't met the other members of the pack, at least, not in their human forms. But, it's obvious that Han is the alpha, the leader of the pack, and I wonder what he did to earn the title.

I have the niggling sense that somewhere deep down I already know how he moved up the ranks and became an alpha. In the wild, among the natural wolves, fights for rank and position are bitter, bloody, and sometimes deadly. My grandfather is dead. My father is dead. In my gut, I don't believe my grandfather died by natural causes or old age. I don't believe my father died of a broken heart either. I can't see Han as a killer. But, if what he says is true and the wild inside of us can't override our human sense of right and wrong, what or whom was he protecting the pack from and why?

Perhaps, that was why my mother ran. The truth she was trying to protect me from. She didn't want this life for me. Yet, here it is wrapped up in a neat bow of legal paperwork and lying at my feet. It would be easier to stay in the world I've always known and to play by the rules I've always played by. I scarcely understand the ways of the wolf inside of me. I wonder how much of her has and possibly, had always had influence over me. Did some subconscious part of my brain recognize what my rational mind could not accept?

The questions are tearing me apart. Though the sunshine has made my bedroom uncomfortably warm. I wrap up in the covers. As if I'm trying to use the faded sheets to hold myself together. The attraction I feel for Han is too intense to be rational. I'm drawn to him down to the very marrow of my bones, but is it real? Sure, even humans have instinctive drives. I'm not necessarily a big believer in Darwinism, but if it weren't, to some degree, for survival of the fittest and natural selection, none of us would be here.

What is it about Han? Is it the draw of a female to an attractive man? I've seen my share of plenty of gorgeous men. Perfect men with bulging muscles, deep tans, and faces that would make the angels weep. Han isn't perfect. His nose is slightly crooked as if at one point it had been broken. His body doesn't have an ounce of fat, but his build isn't the kind of bulk that comes from a gym. He earned his muscles the old-fashioned way thorough hours of hard labor on the farm. He isn't poised and polished like the men I'm used to seeing. He's rough around the edges and doesn't give a damn about who likes him and who doesn't. Maybe, that's the draw. That he's so real and as wild as the landscape around him. Is it nature or nurture that has him pressing my feminine buttons? I should stay away from him until I figure it out. But, I know that's impossible. He has already worked his way in and there's no escape now.

Just thinking about Han has my toes curling and my breath catching in my throat. Maybe, it is simply natural selection doing its part to further the species. I'd like to think that my human sense has the power to override a few errant hormones. But, what if it doesn't? I'm burning from the inside out and there's only one way to put out the fire.

I've had ample opportunities with men, but never found one worth giving up the goods for until now. Christine's advice would be to go for it. But, I've survived plenty of bad breakups from the cheap seats as she bounced from bed to bed and from man to man after swearing this latest and greatest guy was the right one. I don't want to be ruled by my emotions like Christine too often is. I don't want to be a victim of my sex drive either. I want something real and deep down inside I know that Han is as real as it gets.

I feel the tingle of awareness and realize I'm no longer alone in the house. Han calls it pack magic, the prickly sensation that has the hair on my arms standing on end. I don't think I'll ever get used to being able to feel when one of the pack is near or to pick up Han's scent from the rooms below. I've gone from thinking to hiding in my room behind a locked door. No lock would stop him if he really wanted in. The big bad wolf downstairs has the ability to blow my house down and it has nothing to do with a damned lock.

Chapter 36

Against my better judgment I pull on some clothes and unlock the door. I can't hide the blush heating my cheeks. He saw me naked last night and I saw plenty of him too. And as I suspected the awkwardness as we sit at the kitchen table and pick at the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches he hurriedly slapped together for a makeshift lunch is almost palpable in the air. I have no appetite but eat because Han says I have to feed myself or the wolf will take care of business for me. That thought has me grabbing up a second sandwich and forcing it down.

Han leans over and wipes a blob of grape jelly off of my chin. He licks it off the tip of his finger in a gesture that is intimate and somewhat possessive. He accuses me of being so restless that I'm about to crawl out of my skin. He's right. I am. Today, he's full of helpful advice. Exercise will help to calm my inner wolf. He's wrong. It's not my wolf I'm struggling to contain. The feeling of restlessness has everything to do with him.

He grabs a couple of bottles of water and coaxes me into my tennis shoes for a hike in the woods. I wonder if I'm in for another history lesson or if we're even going to talk at all during our walk. If I thought the woods at night were beautiful, thanks to my amplified senses, in the daytime the woods are amazing.

I catch a scent and am leading us, blazing my own trail as I follow the enticing aroma. Han smells it too. I can tell by the way his nose is twitching and he struggles to hide his predatory grin. I'm moving fast and silently, my wolf pounding at the boundaries of my consciousness to break free. I've caught sight of a doe and crouch in the bushes watching her, barely able to hold my wolf back. Han gives me a small nod and I'm stripping and doing what feels as natural as breathing and letting my wolf slip the chain of my humanity.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea and trying desperately to hold myself together, again. My stomach is reeling and I'm wobbly on two legs. Han reassures me it'll take a little getting used to. Slipping free of one skin and into another. I do love the freedom of my wolf. The hours where I just am, no particular way, but just am. My wolf doesn't worry about society's conventions, what she'll eat, where she'll live, or what her next move will be beyond scoring her next meal.

As for myself, the human me, I'm scared shitless about all the above. I know I'm financially secure and I have a roof over my head, thanks to my grandfather. But, I've inherited a great legacy that is so much bigger than a few hundred acres of land, a home, and a bank account. And it's that one thing. The legacy I feel burdened to live up to that weighs so heavily on my shoulders. Albeit not much of one, I had a life in California. Sitting here at the kitchen table, staring across the red and white checked gingham tablecloth at Han. My former self and the life I had before seem hazy and more distant than just the handful of days it's been since I left.

I close my eyes and try to envision the hazy cloud of smog that always seemed to blanket the L.A. skyline. The only thing I see in my mind's eye in absolute clarity is the rolling hills of farmland and the vibrant green of growing things. I can no longer remember the exact scent of the spray coming off the ocean or the gritty feel of sand heated from the sun beneath the soles of my feet. The scent of pine and earthy forest loam has replaced my ocean and my city.

My belly twinges with guilt. I've been a bad best friend and haven't called Christine in days. In fact, I've only called her once since I arrived. I should have by now but haven't bothered to check on getting a landline installed. The post office has a forwarding address. Unfortunately though, I haven't managed the trip into town to check the post office box for mail. At one time, I couldn't have imagined a life without cell phones or the Internet. My old life and all the people in it are fading away into memories and this new life is swallowing me whole.

I don't feel trapped though. I feel a sense of peace. As if I'm finally where I belong. I know my innermost self and realize it's the sense of belonging that I don't trust. This place is a universe unto itself. Inside of this bubble of remoteness the outside world simply has no hold. I'm beginning to understand why these people have isolated themselves to an almost unhealthy extreme. They've done it to protect the pack. You really can't have a paper trail when you age a day for every decade that passes. That kind of evidence would condemn them all.

Han says there have been those who have chosen to leave. I can understand that as well. I miss technology and the frantic pace of an ever-changing world. He sets them up with ID and the necessary papers to prove they exist. And that day is the day they truly begin to exist. He says out of the pack that left only one has ever returned. I get that too. The appeal of the outside world and the sacrifice it'd take to leave it all behind. Han has been patient with me and hasn't pressed the issue. For now, I have time. But, the truth hangs over my head like a dark cloud. If I choose to stay, the Grace Klein I'm so familiar with is going to have to disappear forever.

I can choose the means of my own death. Eventually, in order to hide what I am I'll have to stage my demise, at least on paper. I'll become my own daughter and then granddaughter, on and on and on for as long as the world as we know it keeps spinning and humanity has means to keep records. Han says it's become trickier over the last few decades to not be and then to suddenly be, but it can be done.

I even understand what would drive a person to chose his wolf over staying human. The ease of simply being and not thinking beyond one moment to the next has its appeal. But, it isn't for me and that won't be a choice I'll make. I want to hang onto my human skin and the humanity within me.

The present is consuming my past. In such a short time I've changed. I'm not the person I was. Like the scent of the surf and feel of warm sand, she is a memory. Am I becoming the person I was meant to be? I don't know. It's frustrating and confusing to sift through all these different pieces of my innermost self, shuffle them around over and over again, and try to make them fit. For Han and the pack this life is the only life they've ever known. But, for me it isn't that simple. Acceptance of what I am has a high price. I'll have to leave everything and everyone I've ever known behind and start fresh. I get the sense that Han and the pack expect great things from me, that they're patiently waiting for something, but I don't know what.

Han's patience drives me to the point of insanity. But, of course, he's had plenty of time to practice the art of patience. I don't understand how a person can love someone for as long as he says he's loved me. He has waited for me since before I was born. I'm terrified by that and feel the burden of it weighing on me along with all the other burdens stacked on my shoulders. Compared to him I'm a child, a woman in my world, but merely an infant in his. I can barely manage to stay in my own skin. He is from a time I've only read about in books. We have nothing in common outside of this bubble of isolation.

I know there's plenty he hasn't told me. I can see how heavily the secrets he's holding back until the right time to tell them weigh on him. I realize things about his world that he doesn't think I'm ready to hear. I'm starting to understand the barrier between man and beast and how it blurs at the borders. I can take anything he has to say. After all, what could me more shocking than popping out of your own skin and sliding into another's?

I sip my tea and sift through ways to form the questions I need to ask. I know Han well enough to trust that he won't lie to me. He may not disclose anything beyond the specific terms of my question, but he will give me an answer. I have to be careful to capture all the things I need to know in the way I phrase my question. Too few words and I won't get what I want. Too many and I'll give him the room he needs to dance around the truth. I've deduced two things about Han. First, that he loves me beyond anything I can begin to comprehend and second, that he'd kill to protect me.

I consider turning to Coyote with my questions, but I want to hear the truth from Han. The idea of what I think he's done turns my human sensibilities on end. But, I'm not entirely human and neither is this world I've suddenly found myself thrown into. I decide no matter what I want to hear or possibly am hoping to hear. I need the truth and blurt out the question I must have an answer to. "Did you kill my father?"

Han freezes with his mug halfway to his mouth and I have my answer without him uttering a word. Regret tinges his eyes and turns them dark. His body is tense and each movement he makes to set the mug on the kitchen table takes great effort. "I told you the truth," he says with absolute conviction. "Your father died of a broken heart."

"Do you remember how I said only one that chose the outside world came back?" I nod and eye Han carefully. He is terrified to tell me the truth of the circumstances surrounding my father's death. I can see his fear written in the expression on his face. I know little about this world, but I understand human rules don't apply here as much as they do out there. "Your father, he returned a changed man. The boy I watched grow up into a man was gone and in his place was a twisted, power hungry version of the man I knew.

"Your grandfather was on the verge of finding you when your father returned. Josiah didn't want this life for you and he and your grandfather fought bitterly about it. Your grandfather wanted you back where you belonged. Your father didn't. Protecting someone, it all depends on perspective. Your father thought he was protecting you and so did your grandfather as well."

My hands are shaking. I've put the rest of the story together for myself. Han sees that I've realized the truth of what happened and why and sits stoically waiting to incur my wrath. "My father killed my grandfather and you, in turn, killed him."

"Yes." Han bristles with righteous indigence. I don't know what he reads in my expression or body language, but it sets him on edge. "Don't judge things you can't possibly understand. Josiah was my friend...he was like a son to me. When he challenged your grandfather for control of the pack. I knew it would be ugly and brutal, but I never thought it'd go as far as it did. Both men thought they were doing the right thing, for the pack and for you and they died because of it.

"I watched Josiah kill the only father I ever knew. It's our way and there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening. If Coyote or one of the other pack got the idea to challenge me, I'd fight and it would be to the death. One life means nothing to the bigger picture of preserving what we are. We are a dying breed, Grace. Your father believed we should let what we are die out. Your grandfather gave his life defending the few of us that are left. Our way of life, Grace, is slowly coming to an end. You are our hope."

"So, you killed my father to preserve your precious DNA? You brought me back here so that I could breed the next generation into being?" I'm pacing the kitchen trying to process what Han is really saying. I have no more value than a prize sow at the county fair, or at least that's what I'm trying to cling to. I know it's more than that. Han is buying the pack time in hopes of winning a losing battle. He needs me. The pack needs me. It's just a little too much to process. "What happens if one of you has children with an ordinary human?"