Rejecting Him

The following night found me at my dad's house, perched on his bed as I watched him pack. He was tall, muscular, with a deep authoritative voice. His eyes were hazel, but against the deep, dark brown of his skin they looked almost gold. He could easily pin another person--wolf or human--under his gaze.

"Are you sure you'll be okay on your own, Callie? I'm not going to be in town for a whole week," Dad said as he packed. He had asked this question multiple times, and each time, my answer was always the same.

"Yeah, I can take care of myself. In case you haven't noticed, I'm an adult."

Dad smiled and chucked me under the chin. "Remember when I took you to the zoo, and took that picture of you splashing in the puddle?"

"Barely. I was, like, three, wasn't I?"

"You were. And that's how I always think of you. Even when you're old and have little grandpups of your own, you'll always be that little girl splashing in the puddle."

I groaned at this and rolled my eyes, which drew a throaty chuckle from Dad. Some of the friends I'd managed to make over the years complained about having overprotective parents, but I doubted any of them were as overprotective as my dad, the Alpha of the Willamette Valley Pack. In the world of werewolves, our family was like the elected royalty of the territory our pack had claimed. That title alone meant that if another pack tried to start anything with us, i could be in danger as a potential heir. Since I was in the picture, our family still had claim to the Alpha title until or unless Dad stepped down and decided to pass the role of Alpha to another wolf. But if I became Alpha--and I didn't care either way if I did or not--I could further keep the title in my family by finding a mate and a surrogate to carry the baby. Other female werewolves had done it. I know I'd be expected to do the same if I became Alpha or was married to an Alpha.

Yeah. My friends knew nothing about overprotective parents.

"I don't want you in trouble while I'm gone. You're my daughter, and you'll be alone--"

"And I know how to call the cops, too. Don't think I'm some dingbat damsel-in-distress, cuz I'm not," I insisted. Dad studied me for a long, tense moment. Finally he sighed and resumed packing.

"What an Alpha you would make," was all he said.

A few days later, I drove Dad to the train station, which was nestled within the Old Town Chinatown area of Portland. I'd always loved this area, its arch marking the entrance to Chinatown, guarded by lions; the old-timey sign posts, the cafes and Japanese Garden. Recently new lamps had been added. Constructed of colored glass, they were fashioned to resemble flowers and contained solar panels at the top. When it got dark, the entire lamp lit up, running on the solar energy it had collected earlier in the day.

Dad and I weren't alone; my uncle Brandon accompanied us inside. As we checked in Dad's luggage he lingered idly in the gift shop. Dad didn't always feel the need to be shadowed by a bodyguard. It was mainly on pack business when that happened. But with the typical "us versus them" attitude werewolves usually had toward humans, I found it odd that Dad had chosen his human brother-in-law for the task. Perhaps it was because Brandon was a human, I figured. No one believes in werewolves, and Brandon alone isn't physically strong enough to take on an entire pack of them.

At the gate, Dad gave me a final speech that I'd heard him give Mom many times before.

"I won't be gone for long, but you shouldn't have much trouble. My men will check in on you regularly. If someone gives you any trouble, you can call Charles. He'll take care of everything." Also a werewolf, Charles was Dad's second-in-command. Tall, sandy-blonde and muscular, he was the head of Dad's bodyguards. I had known his daughter, Alanna, for almost all my life. "I'll call you tonight when I arrive. Be sure to answer the phone so I know you're safe as well."

I wanted to scoff at this, but the weight of his hands on my shoulders kept me silence. That weight, like his voice, his gaze, his posture, held all of his authority and power within it. To scoff or say anything else than "Yes, Dad" would be disrespectful.

I sighed quietly but smiled and nodded. "Yes, Dad."

Outside the train station I paused, and clutched at Uncle Brandon's arm.

"Do…do you smell that?" I asked, sniffing at the air.

"You know I don't, Callie," Brandon replied.

"It's a werewolf--oh…" I blinked. The smell was gone.

The following week I went through what I could only describe as a werewolf PMS. All I could hold down was water, my head hurt like it was about to split into two, and I found myself getting more snippy with my coworkers. Since werewolves weren't "out" yet (assuming we ever would be) I tried to hide it as best I could. Whenever i could get away I would have my lunch breaks off of company property. Retail, and the customers who came with it sometimes, wasn't a conducive environment for a hungry, cranky werewolf.

My body was preparing itself in another way, too: it ached all over, like I was going through growing pains again. Every night after work I ran a hot bath, put on Enya, and soaked until the water grew cold. It only helped a little, though. Not every human cure works for werewolves. After the bath I would change into a large 3LW t-shirt and curl up in bed, trembling all over. For once I was happy that I was the only one living in that apartment.

***

My transformation occurred on a cold summer night. I'd called in sick that day, unable to get out of bed. That wasn't for lack of trying--my head swam every time I sat up. If there was one thing I hated, it was lying in bed all day doing nothing. There was a reason I went to clubs, jogged in the mornings, did Yoga on the weekends, held a job--I like to keep myself busy.

Around ten PM, I began to feel it, the first baby steps of my transformation. A subtle warmth bloomed in my arms, spreading down to my legs. The dizziness that I thought had gone away began to come back. Without any second thought I hauled myself to my feet and grabbed my keys from a hook by the door. In the bed of my truck was a trash bag with a bundle of clothes inside. When I first moved out I thought that driving out to Oaks Bottom, a large wetland park in my corner of Southeast Portland, wasn't a bad idea. Cars were quicker than buses and more reliable, too, in my opinion. What werewolf wanted to wait fifteen minutes for the us on the Big Night, only to get passed up by a driver? It could be another fifteen minute wait, or longer, if the bus wasn't one of the Frequent Service lines.

When I sat down to think about it, though, something else had occurred to me: not all places allowed overnight parking. A smart werewolf knew better than to draw unwanted attention to herself. For me, that meant not getting my car towed.

With a forlorn glance back at my car, I accepted, once again, that I'd have to brave a nighttime bus ride out to Oaks Bottom.

On arrival I stashed my clothes and keys in a hollowed-out portion of a tree. I was dizzier now than before I had left, and I fell on my ass as I stumbled away from the tree. With a deep breath in, I slowly laid my head down on the ground. The earth was damp from this afternoon's light drizzle. My fingers curled around the dirt as a spasm of pain shook my body. I dimly registered the fact that I was shaking all over. No longer was I just warm, either. It felt like white-hot metal rods had been shoved through my arms and legs. A phantom weight pressed into me, pinning me to the ground. The weight, I slowly realized with each burning, labored breath, was from me, my achingly heavy limbs.

A strange sensation skittered across my skin. It was like a tickle, but it stung, and it was everywhere. I bit back a cry as I scraped my nails across each offending area. My eyes widened when I saw little brown-black hairs, coarse and bristly, springing up from my skin. I quickly looked away.

I was half out of my mind with pain, so much so that I didn't immediately realize that the snapping sound I heard wasn't twigs. With each snap a brand new jolt of pain bloomed beneath my bubbling skin. My limbs bent and contorted in various unnatural ways. Tears sprang into my eyes, sobs shook my chest.

Once upon a time, back when the Twilight craze brought vampires and werewolves back into vogue, I heard two girls arguing over the merits of vampires and werewolves. One even insisted that she loved werewolves so much, she wanted to be one herself. Now, I would gladly trade places with her, if I was sick enough to wish this type of horror on someone.

A sharp taste exploded in my mouth. Blood. I could feel my teeth extending into fangs, my nose and mouth lengthening, blending together into a snout. My fingers curled and shaped themselves into paws. The skin around my nails bled as I grew claws. A bushy tail sprouted from my hind end and thumped on the ground. By now I was covered in fur.

Though the entire process of transformation only took about fifteen minutes, it felt like an eternity.

***

The wolf sprang to her feet and let loose a howl. The long, lilting note was filled with her bottled-up emotions: fear, melancholy, anger.

She loped into the woods. Hunger clawed at her stomach. After nearly a week of nothing but water to sate herself, all she could do, all she could think of, was the hunger's call.

In the woods around her echoed the song of the night. Owls hooted, nocturnal rodents bustled about in the foliage, bullfrogs croaked to one another. As a human, she would have hated the frogs. As a wolf, she considered them for a possible meal, but quickly shot it down. Hunger was number one on her list, with self-preservation coming in at a close second.

The wolf perked up at a quick darting movement in the bushes. She cocked her ears toward the noise and snuffled at the air. Raccoon. A fat one, too. Perfect.

But there was another smell as well. The wolf recognized it from those agonizing weeks as a human. She raised her hackles, the fur standing straight on her body. A growl rumbled in her throat. This was her territory, and she'd marked it as hers long ago. No other wolf had dared to enter it.

Until now.