8. Daria
Eight
Daria
Of all the crazy things I expected to wake up to today…
Sitting on my couch in the middle of a Saturday afternoon with the sexy biker I'd spent all night talking to—and making out with—while he calmly informed me I'd witnessed a little boy turn into a Werewolf wasn't even remotely on the list.
Not even close.
I stare at him.
Rand stares back.
Neither of us speaks.
Finally, I clear my throat.
“So...”
“So?” he asks carefully.
“I've narrowed it down.”
His eyebrows lift.
“To?”
“One of us is having a psychotic break.”
He sighs.
“Honey—”
“No, hear me out.” I hold up a finger. “Option one: I hit my head.”
“You fainted, and I caught you before you hit the ground.”
“I know I fainted,” I reply calmly—which, considering the circumstances, I’m super proud of myself for.
He watches me intently, and I nod before continuing.
“So maybe I'm still unconscious.”
He doesn't answer.
“I could be in a coma.”
“Daria...”
“I've watched enough Grey's Anatomy to know stranger things have happened.”
His lips twitch.
He's trying not to smile.
“Don't laugh at me!”
“I'm trying very hard not to.”
“Because if you laugh, I'm going to assume you've poisoned me.”
“What? How does that even make sense?”
“How do little boys turn into lethal predators?”
“Honey, I haven't poisoned you.”
“Have you drugged me?”
“No! When would I have drugged you? I didn’t even know you’d be there.”
“Maybe those kids slipped me some hallucinogenic mushrooms! I did drink the soda they brought me.”
“Was it in a can or closed bottle?”
“Would it have to be?”
“Daria, I don't even like mushrooms.”
I narrow my eyes.
“That was a suspicious answer,” I mumble.
Then a chuckle escapes him.
And, dear Lord, why is that sexy?
Even when I’m having a nervous breakdown, I still think the man has an incredible laugh.
Which is wildly inconvenient, considering he's trying to convince me Werewolves actually exist.
“Werewolves,” I repeat slowly.
“Yes. Or Wolf Shifters, if you prefer.”
“So, like...” I lift my hands into little claws. “Awooooo?”
He nods.
“Kind of. But less loup-garou and more full on Wolf shifting Werewolves.”
“And those kids?”
“They're Werewolves.”
“The golden retriever puppies?”
“Just puppies.”
“Their dad?”
“Werewolf—the Alpha of our Pack, actually.”
“Their mom?”
“Human.”
“The giant mansion?”
“That’s Maccon Manor—our Pack house.”
I point dramatically.
“Aha!”
He blinks.
“What?”
“You admitted it.”
“Admitted what?”
“You're in a cult!”
His face goes completely blank.
“A cult?”
“Well, yeah.”
He rubs both hands over his face.
“We're not a cult.”
“That is exactly what someone in a cult would say.”
He actually groans.
“Shit, I guess I walked right into that one.”
“You really did. And no, I will not be drinking any of your Kool Aid.”
I’m only half-joking.
Silence settles between us.
He looks...
Not annoyed.
Not angry.
Just resigned.
Sad, even.
Like he desperately wishes there were another way to explain this to me.
That gives me pause.
“Rand.”
His beautiful moss-green eyes meet mine.
“I need you to understand how this sounds.”
“I get it, Honey, I do.”
“No, really. I need you to consider what you’re telling me.”
“Daria, I know, and believe me, this isn’t how I wanted to tell you.”
“It sounds insane.”
“I know.”
“It sounds like you belong on one of those late-night History Channel documentaries.”
“I know.”
“So why are you sticking to it?”
His answer is so quiet I almost miss it.
“Because it's true.”
I search his face.
No hesitation.
No grin.
No hint that this is some elaborate joke.
Just certainty.
Complete certainty.
“You're serious,” I whisper.
For the first time since this all started, I feel a pang of fear. A moment of panic.
“I've never been more serious. But, Honey, whatever you’re thinking right now, understand that I would never let anything bad happen to you.”
“What? You expect me to just believe all this?”
“No.”
That surprises me.
“I expect you to need proof.”
I fold my arms.
“Good answer.”
He slowly stands.
Giving me plenty of room.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm giving you proof, but I gotta ask you not to scream.”
I bark out a laugh.
“Oh, sure.”
He doesn't smile.
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
“I don't want to frighten you.”
“You already have.”
“Shit. I’m so sorry, Honey,” he says, and instead of being angry with him, I just feel bad now.
He seems so sincere.
“Rand, we don’t have to do this,” I say, because really, what proof can he possibly have?
He cants his head to the side and watches me—and there it is.
Silent resignation.
My pulse starts to speed up, and so does my anxiety.
Then I throw my hands in the air.
“You know what? Fine.”
“What?”
“Show me. Prove it to me, Hot Shot.”
His face falls.
“Honey, please.”
“No.”
I shake my head.
“If you're telling me everything I know about biology is wrong...”
I gesture wildly around my living room.
“... commit to it. Show me.”
“I think I'd rather you think I was crazy.”
That kinda hurts.
Why does that hurt?
Because he sounds like he means it.
Like he'd honestly prefer I thought he was insane than watch what's about to happen.
Slowly he removes his leather cut.
Then his shirt.
He folds them neatly over the back of a chair.
And for a second, I forget what he’s doing.
Rand isn’t just some sexy biker. He’s a work of art.
His body is corded with thick ropes of muscle and sinew that look like they belong on some ancient Greek sculpture in a museum somewhere.
He’s got tanned skin with swirls of ink running across his chest, abs, back, and arms. The tattoos are beautiful, too. And he has a lot of them.
But I’m too caught up in the fact that he’s getting naked in my living room to notice any specific design.
He brushes his long, dark hair back, and it hits his shoulder blades—and I am floored.
He’s fucking gorgeous—and way, way out of my league.
He steps out of his boots and pulls off his socks.
Jesus.
Even his feet are nice.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“I am so sorry, Honey,” he whispers as his hands go to his belt buckle.
“For what?”
He looks at me and drops his jeans, pushing down his boxer briefs with them.
My mouth hangs open as I take in Rand in all his naked glory.
“I’m sorry for having to show you this so fast,” he whispers.
For a second, I think he’s talking about his dick. But why anybody would apologize for that long, thick, and oh my fuck, semi-hard cock?
I have absolutely no idea.
And really?
I’m about to drop to my knees and tell him I’ll believe in anything he wants if he lets me touch him. Or taste him.
Holy shit. He’s hypnotized me into being a total slut for this man!
But before I can shout or question why I feel like I’m going to combust if he doesn’t touch me soon—the air around him begins to shimmer.
Seriously.
And I don’t mean sparkle.
I mean, he actually shimmers.
It looks like heat waves rising off blacktop in July.
His broad shoulders flex.
Bones shift beneath his skin with deep, unsettling pops.
Muscles ripple.
His long dark hair blows back though there isn't any wind inside my house.
The shimmer grows brighter.
Bigger.
And then—standing where the man had been—is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.
An enormous Wolf.
And it’s not the typical gray wolf.
Not black either.
This beast has a shiny brindle coat.
His fur is streaked with deep browns, charcoal, warm gold, and black, every color blending together like someone painted him by hand.
And he's enormous.
Easily the size of a small horse.
But those eyes? Rand’s moss-green eyes are exactly the same.
The ember ring still circles them.
Only now, they're actually glowing.
Just shining beautifully from his lupine face.
I sigh and stare at the soft gold dancing behind those familiar eyes.
He lowers himself onto his belly.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Making himself as small as a creature that size possibly could.
His ears flatten.
His tail stays low.
Then, he gives one tentative wag.
I stare.
“No...”
His head tilts.
“No.”
He lets out the saddest little whine.
“Oh...”
Everything comes rushing back.
The little boy.
The blood.
The flash of fur.
The Alpha.
The panic.
It wasn't a dream. Or a hallucination.
None of it.
“Oh my God.”
My heartbeat explodes.
The room tilts.
I scramble backward.
“No.”
The Wolf doesn't move.
He just watches me.
Whining.
Looking sad.
Heartbroken, actually.
“Oh, shit.”
My foot catches the couch cushion.
I lose my balance.
And land hard on my butt.
The tears come instantly.
Hot.
Fast.
Unstoppable.
Not because I fell.
Because everything I thought I knew about the world? Shattered in an instant.
The Wolf whines louder.
His ears flatten even more.
He looks miserable.
Not dangerous.
Miserable.
Almost like he’s scared.
I blink through my tears.
Wait.
He's...
He is scared.
Of me.
For me.
“You...”
My voice cracks.
“You think I'm afraid of you? That I’m going to hate you.”
Another tiny whine.
Oh.
Oh no.
My heart breaks.
This magnificent creature is terrified that I'm going to reject him.
Slowly.
Very slowly, I move closer to him.
I lift one trembling hand.
He freezes.
Doesn't move.
Doesn't even breathe.
I reach farther.
My fingertips brush the end of his nose.
Warm.
Soft.
Real.
His eyes flutter closed.
Another tiny whine escapes him, but this one feels different.
Hopeful, maybe?
I place my whole palm against his muzzle.
“Oh, wow.”
Fresh tears spill.
“You're real.”
A deep rumble starts inside his chest.
Not a growl.
A purr.
Or whatever the Wolf equivalent of a purr is.
Carefully, like he's asking permission, Rand the Wolf nudges his face into my hand.
I laugh.
It's watery.
Broken.
Half laugh.
Half sob.
“I'm sorry I didn’t believe you. I didn’t know.”
Another gentle nudge.
“And I was scared.”
He licks my fingers.
The gesture is so unexpectedly sweet another sob escapes me.
“I didn't know,” I repeat, whispering this time.
His enormous head settles into my lap.
Trusting me.
Waiting.
Wanting comfort.
Without thinking, I bury both hands in the thick brindle fur around his neck.
It's impossibly soft.
Warm.
Like hugging a living blanket.
“Oh, wow.”
I wrap my arms around him.
He's huge.
Beautiful.
Impossible.
And somehow...
I think he’s mine.
“I don't understand any of this,” I whisper into his fur.
The shimmering begins again.
The warmth beneath my arms changes.
Fur melts away.
Muscle shifts.
The impossible reverses itself.
One heartbeat I'm holding the great Wolf.
The next? Strong human arms slide carefully around my waist.
Rand.
His forehead rests against mine.
Neither of us moves.
Neither of us speaks.
My fingers are still tangled in his long dark hair where moments ago they were buried in fur.
He closes his eyes.
“Thank you.”
I blink.
“For what?”
“For seeing me.”
I cup his face.
“I still don't understand.”
“I know.”
“I'm terrified.”
“I know.”
“But...”
I stroke his cheek with my thumb.
“I don't want you to go away.”
“Honey, do you know what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to be alone anymore. So, is it possible, I mean, can we like date? Do Werewolves date humans?”
His breath catches. Then, he barks out a laugh and shakes his head.
Like he can’t believe it.
Like I'd just given him the greatest gift imaginable.
Then, he turns his head and presses the gentlest kiss into my palm.
Not hungry.
Not demanding.
Reverent.
Like I'm something sacred.
When he finally opens those incredible moss-green eyes, they're shining with emotion.
“About that, Honey.”
His voice is barely above a whisper.
“There's something I need to ask you.”