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CHAPTER ONE
Witness
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I guess it all started because I'm both curious and suspicious by nature.
Looking back, it seems a bit ironic to say this, given everything that I failed to see growing up, but I don't know how much of that is my fault. You're supposed to be able to trust and believe your parents, right? And if they deceive you, that doesn't make you an idiot, right?
I pretended to be a smart and cynical adult back then, but if anything, these events made me feel like I was just a little girl playing Veronica Mars.
So, I guess for this to make sense, I have to tell you about my dreams.
* * *
It's dark, and I'm in the forest. I'm afraid, but not panicked, not yet. The air is cold and crisp, and dry leaves swirl around my bare feet. Maybe I came out here for a walk. Then again perhaps I came out here because I knew that this would happen to me.
Mixed with my apprehension is an expectation. It's not entirely certain, but I know, somewhere out here, is what I want. What I need. I'm also confident that whatever it is, it's not safe for me to seek it. I'm sweating now, and I catch my own scent. It's a potent mix of fear and arousal. I know that whatever else is out there, it smells the same thing, and it likes it. I pick up my pace, deciding that it isn't worth the risk to be out here.
I hear something in the distance. In the books, it would be described as a howl, but this isn't that at all. The cry is filled with a devouring hunger and lust, but it sounds nothing like a sound that either wolf or man could make. I know they're far away, but they seem so close. They want me to know that they know that I'm here and that I belong to them. I start to run, blindly at first, but then in the direction that I think will take me home. I know where I am now, it's a park just outside of town. I'm angry at myself for coming out here this late at night.
It roars again, and I realize with a sick mix of desire and terror that it isn't an It at all. It's a He. It's the most masculine sound I've ever heard, and even as my pace increases to an all-out run, my body responds to it. Part of me, a crazy, self-destructive part, wants to just stop and wait for him. He's what I need, after all.
I run and run, for seconds, then minutes. Finally, I have to stop, breathing hard. My lungs are on fire, I'm not in good shape. But I'm close to the tree line now, and I know that there's just a vast field and then the parking lot. I don't remember driving here, but that must be where I parked. I haven't heard that awful, magnificent roar again, so I must have lost him.
I hear a low, deep huffing, just on the other side of some brush. It's him, and he's testing the air. He must be huge to make such noise with just a sniff. I bite my lip, and it's not all in terror. I smell him then, and his musk is almost overpowering. He's primal and male and far more mature than any boy or girl I've ever fumbled around with. He wants me, and he will have me, and that's all there is to it.
He growls, and I hear the snap of brush and twigs as he charges through the thicket like it isn't even there. I lose the last of my courage. I sprint like a deer, a terrified little prey animal separated from my herd. I know I'm not that, though, not really. I just act like that, so I can be more attractive. For him. I feel a great weight impact me from behind, knocking the wind out of me and taking me to the ground. A single huge clawed hand on my back is enough to pin me there, helpless.
How did I ever think I could escape this kind of power. I feel something dripping on my lower calf, and I know that he's so hard for me that he's aching. His paw releases me, and I lift myself up on my elbows and knees, the oldest position of submission. I lift my skirt up, and I'm not wearing anything under it. Jaws close on my neck, and I arch my back so my lover can finally take me, impale me, make me his. I'm ready to die as long as he fucks me first. I scream as he enters me.
* * *
That's when I wake up, covered in sweat, and turned on so severely that it takes me hours to calm down again and go to sleep. Even as I drift off, I yearn to hear that roar in the distance.
* * *
My earliest memories of my mother being pregnant with my baby brother Chris. I must have been around three, and they aren't substantial memories at all. Just vague impressions of her taking care of me, and maybe being tired. Our father had left us, and I have no memory of him at all. Not even a sensation or a single memento or a name. Maybe that should have bothered me, but it didn't.
I know that we'd moved into the city to be closer to her only remaining family, her brother Edward. He helped out whenever and however he could. He never lived with us, but he was close enough to walk to, and he babysat my little brother and me. I know he's also given us a lot of money, too, because there's no way Mom could afford a place like this on a part-time salary. Maybe, more importantly, he spent time with all of, doing the things that our father should have been doing. He took Chris and me fishing and hiking, read us stories when we were little, and attended every school play and game we were in. He was, in hindsight, pretty amazing. He set a high standard for what I expected from men.
Still, it wasn't like Mom was a freeloader. Edward owned and operated a lot of local businesses, and she'd gone to school for accounting and finance, so she handled most of his books.
I was lucky. We all were, really. Mom, Chris, and I all lived in an old yellow two-story in a beautiful residential neighborhood that wasn't rich, but it on the upper side of middle class. I had my own room, went to a good school, and there were parks and stores that I could walk to, although Mom and Edward worried about me if I was out too late, even though I'd turned eighteen two months ago. It was still the city, I guess.
Edward lived in a more modern apartment in a renovated brownstone a few miles away. It was like a second home for all of us, and we all had keys there. I asked Mom once why we didn't all just live together, but she just said that it wouldn't work out. I knew that she wasn't telling me something, but I didn't dig. Maybe I should have.
Like I said, it all started with a misunderstanding. It was the fall of my senior year and about an hour after I'd driven home with Chris, who was at the table scarfing down an enormous sandwich while working on his homework. I still saw him as something of a kid then, even though he was sixteen and a sophomore in high school. He was taller than me by then, but still kind of innocent and sweet. He never had much of a rebellious streak in him, although he could be stubborn. He shared my dark brown hair, but he kept it short. His eyes were a lighter hazel than mine, but despite working out, he had a lanky build that I was sure he would grow into eventually.
Mom was in the kitchen, talking on the phone with someone who owed Edward money while simultaneously cooking. She was really my role model, although I would have had trouble saying it then. Mom wore jeans and a tight tee-shirt, which was basically her standard outfit. She disliked skirts and dresses, except for sundresses in the summer. She was about my height but kept her hair short where mine ran down to the middle of my back. She was practical in everything, almost to a fault, and it was rare to see her get emotional. She was also gorgeous, and I knew that men loved to look at her, and she got hit on a lot. If they were polite, she was flattered, but a lot of the time, they weren't. She could be tough, though, and she tried to teach me to be the same.
I didn't have nearly the same "problems" that she did, though. She was athletically curvaceous and mature and moved with confidence. Despite people always telling me that I looked like her, I felt scrawny. I didn't want to be objectified, but I knew that I was too thin for most of the boys in my class, especially the ones I was attracted to. I had dated a little, made out a few times, and touched a guys dick exactly one time. He came super quick and wasn't interested in getting me off, so that was our last date.
Come to think of it, I guess you could say that that kind of romantic failure ran in the family. Mom never dated. She got out with friends and ate dinner with Edward at least once a week, but never saw anyone else. Edward always seemed to be too busy to date, even though you'd think his travel and business connections would present a lot of opportunities to do so. Chris was shy, or he'd have girls all over him. I was glad for his reticence because it was easy for me to see girls taking advantage of his natural sweetness and loyal nature.
"Ok," I said, picking up my oh-so-fashionable messenger bag and heading for the door, "I'm going out."
Mom turned, smiled, and said what she always did.
