Chapter 8
YVAINE
Icrawled across the bed, eyeing my phone as it was still vibrating. What should I say?
Good evening? No. I shook my head.
Maybe, What can I do for you? Invites too many unwelcome answers.
Yvaine speaking, that seemed too formal.
Or I could just decline the call outright.
I highly disliked Ludmilla for putting me in this situation.
Side note: Warn Makena about her other friendships outside of us.
Why was I so undecided about an ignorable stranger?
Maybe because I wasn’t used to this kind of interaction.
The attention I received from the male population was very, very cautious and very, very polite.
I was the daughter of the Alpha and the twin of the wereball team captain, after all.
Most of the opposite sex was just too intimidated to talk to me; limb loss wasn’t worth asking me out.
I rubbed my clammy hand against my tights before I clicked accept.
“Yello?” I blurted out.
Way to go, Yvaine.
“See? I knew you didn’t block me.”
I bolted upright.
That had to be the huskiest voice in the whole world. It could win contests, first prize for deepest baritone category.
I just blinked, my facial structure refusing to hold my mouth closed. I couldn’t find the right words.
“Helloooo? Are you there, baby?”
Baby again. That pulled me right out of my strange daze.
This boy probably had a full list of ‘baby’ contacts in his phone. Baby 1, Baby 2, Baby 3, and so on.
“Mmm. I guess your acting ended the moment I called. Am I right, or am I right?”
I scrunched up my face. This person was the definition of rudeness, with an ego larger than my pack house.
He let out a long sigh. “I told you, I don’t want to see you for the next couple of weeks, but maybe after that, I’ll give you a call. How’s that for a good deal? Alright then, bye-bye—”
“Who the heck do you think you are?” I snapped, startling Zeus. “I was just about to block your number, then you called right at that moment. Do you have any idea how late it is, or haven’t you learned to tell the time yet?”
I inhaled at the end of my speech, considering ending the call. It was already… I glanced at my brain-shaped alarm. 3:12 a.m.
Four hours of sleep left.
I pursed my lips, waiting for his answer, maybe an apology…
Neither came.
Just deep breathing.
Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he was mortified. Or maybe he fell asleep? I glanced at the screen. Yep, Mr. Unknown was still there.
“Well?”
Waiting for that husky voice, my heart beat faster than I would ever admit.
“Say something else.” His voice had dropped an octave.
Baffled, my eyes went wide before narrowing. “And why would I do that?”
“I want to hear your voice again. Talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you. And I don’t know what Ludmilla saw in you, but how can you dare talk to anyone that way?” I bit out.
His chuckle, deep and sexy, sent a jolt of weirdness through my spine. That kind of voice should seriously be illegal!
“Stop getting your panties in a twist, little baby,” he drawled.
My mouth curled into a scowl. “You are so inappropriate. And don’t call me little baby!” I growled, my wolf surfacing. She was mad, pacing inside my head, tail whipping—but I didn’t know if he was a werewolf or not, so no matter my instincts, I couldn’t let her out fully.
His breath came out in a rush. “You know, you’re actually funny.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m usually the funniest. Everybody laughs at my jokes.”
I rolled my eyes, belly flopping onto my bed and fluffing my pillow. I laid my phone out in front of me. “Ever consider the highly possible hypothesis that they laugh at you?”
He clicked his tongue. “Hypothesis? Jeez, I feel like I’m talking to a seventy-year-old librarian.”
“I like books, sue me. Consider yourself lucky if you even reach your sixties.” With his sleeping schedule and foul mouth? I doubted he’d see fifty!
His laugh sent a balmy rush over my skin, even while his words rattled me.
“Already asking my age? Ah, the bunny wants to get to know me better.”
“Now I’m a rabbit?”
“Not a rabbit. A bunny. Because I imagine you small and fluffy, but also, a little nasty.” Before I could answer, he anticipated my next words. “Don’t worry, though; I have that effect on the ladies.”
“Okay, then. You should go talk to them. Night!” I bristled.
“Wait!” Slight urgency laced his tone. “What’s your name? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“Why do you want to know?” I retorted as I rubbed my forehead.
“Well, how else can I save you in my phone?” he asked matter-of-factly.
Baby 6? I snorted.
“You won’t need to, because after this call, we won’t need to interact anymore.” I paused. Did I just hear…a moan?
“Oh, I promise you that we will,” he said in a low growl, and my cheeks grew heated.
A shuffle to the left distracted me.
“Zeus!”
The sneaky thing was always trying to get inside my school bag.
“That’s a disappointing name,” he said.
“My name’s not Zeus!”
“Weeell, Not Zeus, I’m still waiting.”
I hesitated. He was a complete stranger. I really shouldn’t tell him.
“The sun is almost rising!” he singsonged.
I plunged deeper under my blanket. “Yvaine.”
A sharp intake of air whooshed from the speaker.
“Yvaine,” he parroted. My stomach churned at my name being rolled out like that.
“And what’s yours?” I fiddled with the hem of my pajamas.
I really wanted to place a name to this voice. It had a dangerous ring, almost solemn. Not that I would ever tell him, obviously.
“Ah, I can’t tell you that. You know what they say…total stranger danger,” he said in an amused drawl, almost distracting me—until I realized what he said.
“Fine. I didn’t want to know anyway!”
“But how will you save me on your phone, bunny?”
“Do Not Answer. Or The Rudest.”
His next laugh stole my breath away. Did he find everything amusing, or just me? I wasn’t that funny.
“Bunny, honestly,” he chided, “not very innovative. You seem smarter than that.”
There was a challenging ring there.
“Okay.” I paused, racking my brain, demanding the perfect nickname. “Rudolph.”
Lame, I thought as soon as I said it. Since when did I get like this? And why did I even care?
A genuine, deep laugh expanded from the speaker and vibrated through my ears. “Rudolph sounds about right, Yvaine the Yva.”
I regretted giving him my real name immediately and huffed. “It comes from Rudest. Since, if you haven’t noticed yet, you’re both rude and inconsiderate.”
There you go, Yvaine. Your nickname was that pathetic, he’s laughing at you now. I facepalmed.
“Glad I can make you laugh, Rudolph.” I wasn’t glad at all. “At least one of us is having fun.”
Then I hung up.
As I floated in the land between sleep and wakefulness, I became aware of raspy breathing. Cracking a crusty lid, I found myself nose-to-snout with Zeus, parked right next to my face like a furry bowling ball.
“Hey, Z.” I yawned, so tired that I didn’t even try to cover my mouth, and stretched like the wolf I was, arching my back. “Did you sleep better than me, or…?”
He huffed and hid half his body under the pillow. Rude! Especially since he hadn’t had to deal with that man.
The incident—because disaster felt too inflating, and moment gave it too much grace—involving the stranger I’d dubbed Rudolph was firmly filed under Things We Don’t Talk About Before Coffee. Or After.
There would not be a plurality of the incident. It would always be just an embarrassing memory, reminding me of how terrible my sense of humor was.
Who would rename someone Rudolph for being rude?
Good reminder not to lend out my phone. And a clear note to squeeze in more time for my NMWB, considering my body’s response. Because of a voice!
Last night, after ending the call, I had proceeded to block the number of the unclassified specimen—or rather, speci-voice.
The man had learned my name. He could be dangerous, as far as I was concerned.
He could be a stalker. A charming one, with a voice that sounded like whiskey mixed with the smoke of a fireplace, but still.
A stranger. No reason for us to speak ever again.
My phone pinged. A little anticipation swirled inside me. Zeus pricked up his ears, as if he was connected with my internal turmoil.
Morning, bunny.
Whatcha doing now besides thinking of me? Fun talking to you last night ;)
He’d messaged me from a new number. Probably figured out I’d blocked his last one.
“Delusional and cocky. A terminal combo,” I muttered, side-eyeing Z as his tail thudded once, like he agreed.
With an unnecessarily long sigh, because he was right, I typed back with the speed of someone torn between annoyance and a tiny, sickening flutter of giddiness.
Morning to you. None of your business, Rudolph.
I paused. Then, because apparently I hated peace, added with a smile rising on my lips:
Go pester other girls.
His reply was almost immediate.
I don’t ‘pester.’ I usually get pestered.
If ‘being pestered’ means sprinkling your bad pickup lines like a bee flitting flower to flower, sure. You’re a real pollinator.
Wow. Poetic. My former third grade teacher would cry. And yeah, I like flowers. All kinds. Most smell great. Some less. Bet yours is amazing
My brain buffered, then reeled.
“Did he just—?”
Back to the perverted jokes so early in the morning?
It wasn’t a joke. It’s called honesty. I like flowers, and I was giving you a compliment, damn Yvaine the Ive. Accept one for once in your cactus life.
A second message pinged in before I could even process the previous one.
Or maybe you just don’t get compliments and don’t know how they work?
How is saying my vagina smells good a compliment? Besides, you don’t even know me.
Want me to get to know it?
I cried out with indignation. Another text popped up.
Let’s fix that. Thursday. After my second lunch break. Eat some pineapple. Makes flowers smell even better
Blocking this number.
Aw, why not? Are you always so uptight?
YES! WITH STRANGERS!
Where I come from, that’s mean.
Where I come from, it’s harassment.
Okay, fine. Your flower smells like shrimp eggs. Happy now?
You’re the most disgusting person I’ve never met.
And yet…here you are. Texting me back. Again.
Goodbye, Rudolph. Enjoy your weird flower fetish.
I never said vagina. You did. Ivy, Ivy, who’s the real perv here?
Still you. Besides, you implied it, and you know it! Bye now.
Stop nagging me, I’m a busy man. Ciao
No further messages came through.
Since my mind was already in operation mode and my body was so energized, I scooted out of bed and showered, yelping a little as I did a few circles under the cold water. Our apartment was quiet; even Amaia’s room had gone silent, without sound or heartbeat. She was probably at the library.
I cast a worried look at Makena’s door. Two steady heartbeats came from inside. Tiziano was still sleeping there. A faint smile crinkled my worried features.
Deciding to make the most of my day, I took Zeus out, saluting Spiky and Gertrude B. Elion’s shrine before locking the door behind me.
Since Zeus loathed people—good boy—I couldn’t just stroll around town, so we headed for the forest that clung to the outskirts of campus. The only noise around me was the breeze interacting with the natural elements. Leaves, tall grass, bushes…
There was something about early mornings.
That quiet moment before the herd of people flooded the streets in the morning rush, the doves chirping at first light, the postman delivering letters to every door as he whistled some forgotten tune, and the group of Chinese elders practicing Tai Chi in the park with a concentration that not even the wisest of werewolves could boast. There was a melancholy that the smell of damp earth and pine needles brought, but it paired with the reassurance of freshly baked goods.
The world woke up lazily, and I loved watching it.
I figured it was somehow a feeling similar to the stillness of a late night.
Once, I read that a walk in the dark was synonymous with reflection. At night is when the heart’s beating, the ticking of anxiety, the buzz of the impossible, and the silence of the world are all best heard.
Dreams had time to unfold, but so did nightmares.
And yet, both were necessary.
As Zeus and I hopped along the edge of the forest, my mind snaked to Rudolph. Chills caressed my skin. Must have been the morning breeze. Why was he awake so early, too?
And why did I even wonder that?
I shook my head, brushing off the unwanted thought with the last remnants of the night.