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CHAPTER ONE: FLOWER MOON - PART THREE
Even standing in her elementary classroom, surrounded by broken crayons and forever-leaking bottles of non-toxic glue, Dawn hadn’t been able to get the image of the wolf — because that had been no one’s dog, running wild in the garden — out of her head. She’d tried as she’d stayed late to clean-up today’s inevitable mess and prepare for the next day’s lessons, still playing catch-up after taking over for Mrs. Edna, who’d moved out of the district with her husband last week. But, no matter what she did or how she tried to distract herself, it’d been all she could think of.
He had been all she could think of.
Because she was sure the wolf had been the same man she’d met before. His fur had been the same dark midnight as the man’s hair. His eyes the same brilliant, burning amber. Even the way the wolf had moved through the garden reminded her of the innate confidence the man had shown, as if the land knew him and had welcomed him as its own.
She should have been scared. And part of her had been. But she’d been fascinated too. Even through the frantic pounding of her heart, a part of her had wanted a closer look at him. Wanted to know what that thick, rich fur felt like beneath her fingers. Wondered if his teeth were as sharp as they looked.
Which was ridiculous. Fanciful. And, goodness knew, none of her business. As it was, he’d run away a moment before her own legs — smarter, if more easily spooked, than the rest of her — were prepared to take off, sprinting the rest of herself toward the safety of her apartment. Even now, as she packed up her belongings and made her way home from work, the memory of it made her legs shiver a bit.
Maybe she should have taken the old woman’s advice and stayed away from the garden. But it was so beautiful and she hadn’t seen the harm. Especially that late at night, when everyone else was locked away in their homes and the world seemed so silent, so still. And the groundskeeper had said she could do as she pleased.
He was probably just being nice, saying that. It was the polite thing to say, even if he’d rather tell her to piss off. People were always being nice and polite to her, so sure she couldn’t handle the truth. She wished people would just be honest, instead of sugar-coating lies for her that always ended up making her feel foolish and childish. Maybe, later, she’d ask him — straight-out, hold the sugar. Make sure he really was okay sharing his space.
With that in mind, she opened her apartment door, only to see a flash of white flutter to the floor. Curious, she bent her front legs low to pick it up. Figuring it must be a flyer for some local business or a management notice, she was surprised to see her name scrawled in handwritten block letters across the front of the envelope. She frowned and shut the door behind her, before opening the note.
Dear Dawn,
Hi! This is Tucker, your downstairs neighbor and caretaker! I just wanted you to know that I really enjoyed meeting you the other day and I hope to see you again soon. I hope it’s okay to tell you that you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen! You seem sweet and nice and I’d really like to get to know you better.
So, if you ever want to grab a bite to eat or a cup of coffee or even if you just need another pair of hands to help unpack, I’d really like that! I see you come home alone every day after class and it made me wonder if maybe you don’t know many people yet. And I just want you to know that I’m here, if you get lonely! I know it can be hard being all alone in this city. We can be alone together!
Like I said, I’m just a call or a knock away!
Your caretaker,
Tucker (202B)
Dawn stared at the letter, rereading it. It seemed normal. A flirty, little love letter. The kind that gets passed around desks or stuffed into lockers in every junior high school the world over. But there was something about it that rubbed her the wrong way. For one, she was over thirty and hadn’t been in junior high in a very long time and she didn’t think Tucker had either. But, also, there was something in the phrasing that seemed off. The number of exclamation points — that seemed excessive for a grown adult — aside, the simple, overly casual mix of words seemed terribly intense for some reason.
She walked over to her kitchen window that overlooked the street and sidewalk leading to the apartment entryway. She looked down and wondered if he stood here, a floor below where she was standing, waiting, watching, for her. Every day. She looked down at her hooves and wondered if he sat in his home and listened as she moved about, alone, in her apartment. Despite the letter’s friendly tone, it made her feel spied on, like he had some uninvited peek into her private life.
She shook her head. She was being silly again. Seeing the world through the overly emotional eyes of prey. Making a problem out of nothing. He was just being nice. Friendly. Flirty, at most. Which was fine. Normal. Even if she didn’t feel the same way back, that didn’t make it a crime or creepy or suspicious. It was flattering. She should be flattered.
And she would tell him so. Yes. That was what she’d do.
Ripping a blank page out of her school notebook, she pressed a pen to the paper and began to write.
Tucker,
Thank you. I’m flattered, but I’ve just moved in and, like you said, I haven’t had much time to get settled in yet. I appreciate the offer, but I’m just not ready to go out with anyone right now.
But it was nice to meet you and I’m sure we’ll see each other around the building.
Thank you for your kind welcome,
Dawn
There. Short. Simple. To the point. Without being cruel about it. Right? She bit her lip. She didn’t want things to be awkward with him. He was her neighbor and the caretaker of her building. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t see each other ever again, in the hallways, around the complex, or even out and about town. She couldn’t afford to hurt his feelings.
Grabbing one of the lemon bars she’d baked last night for her new coworkers, she wrapped one of the leftover, citrusy treats in a paper towel and attached the note to it. There. Perfect. Bad news always went down better with sweets. No one could get mad while eating baked goods, right?
Pleased with herself, she headed downstairs to deliver her message. She walked down the second floor hallway, the layout identical to the third floor yet seeming strange somehow. The light was oddly, dimly bluer. The smell almost clinically clean rather than touched by the lingering homey scent of whatever goodie Dawn had recently baked.
She stopped in front of 202B. Hesitating, her hooves nervously pawed the carpet. Should she knock? She couldn’t very well slip the parcel in his door, like he had with hers. Should she just leave it in front of his door? He had a welcome mat, announcing that he was the building’s caretaker; maybe she should just leave it there. But doormats were usually where people wiped their feet — their shoes — before entering; that seemed disrespectful to leave food — even wrapped food — there. She bit her lip. She couldn’t leave it in front of the mat either, placing it far too far into the walkway. Someone might kick it or think it trash, and the idea of anyone else seeing — reading — the note mortified her, on his behalf as well as her own.
She frowned and tilted her head. To the side, maybe, next to the mat? That seemed right or, at least, the best option she had. Her tail flicked up as she bent her front legs low so she could place it down.
“Dawn?”
Her flicking tail shot straight up with shock as she straightened instantly at Tucker’s voice, letting out an embarrassing bleat. Gripping the paper-toweled package again, she blushed, tucking her tail down between her legs, and looked up at Tucker, who met her gaze with an amused smile.
She coughed. “Hi.” Her clumsy feet tripped all over themselves as she puttered in front of his door awkwardly. She thrust out the lemon-bar-sweetened letter. “I was just leaving you this.”
He took it from her and grinned wider. “You baked for me.” He peeled back the paper towel.
She winced a bit, shrugging shyly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “I made them for the teachers’ lounge, but I thought you might enjoy one.”
He nodded and took a bite. His face brightened as the lemon treat touched his tongue. “Delicious! Thank you.” He stepped closer to her, hope shimmering in his eyes. “So do you have dinner plans?”
Shit. This was not going how she’d hoped. She pattered back a bit. “Actually, I did write you back, saying, with everything going on — you know, the move, being in a new town, my new job — I’ll be a bit busy for a while.” Her heart raced and her palms felt sweaty as nerves nipped at her. She tucked her hands behind her back, letting the feel of her velvety fur against her knuckles settle her a bit. She plastered a smile she hoped looked apologetic yet cheerful on her face. “I hope you understand.”
He paused midstep, his grin faltering for a moment as disappointment pinched his expression. But, in the space of a blink, his smile was back. Casually, he rocked back on his feet. “Well, whenever that changes, I hope you’ll let me know.” He leaned in without taking a step closer. “Whenever you want. Anytime. I look forward to it.” As she took another step away, he leaned back again, his expression friendly and eager, confident. He raised the lemon bar. “Thanks again.”
Dawn nodded and tried to remind herself to calm down. But still, after slowly turning, her flighty, foolish legs fled down the hallway back to the stairwell.
***
Russ huffed as he snipped at the rampion bellflower that was threatening to overtake the garage. The sneaky beauty liked to creep into places it shouldn’t. Much like the pretty woman humming softly to herself beneath his willow tree. Days ago, she’d tiptoed into his garden to ask if he minded her spending time by the pond. Asking permission, like he had any say in what she did. He hadn’t known what to say to her, so he’d just grunted with a nod.
Now, everywhere he looked, he saw traces of her. Her hoofprints in the soil. The patch of bent, disturbed clover where she liked to sit. Her scent — sometimes happy, sometimes longing, always a little nervous — seemed everywhere, carried to him on the breeze wherever he went.
He peeked at her now, noticing the slight, dreamy smile on her face as she read Lord-knew-what on her phone. A small laugh escaped her lips and made him wonder what had caused it. He watched her finger carefully tap the phone, as if she were marking some passage that she particularly liked. He wanted to ask, wanted to know, what had caused that tinkling bit of mirth to bubble up her slim throat. But he cringed at the reaction he knew that would cause.
She was afraid of him.
Maybe not afraid. But definitely wary. As she should be. He was a monster. And she was sunshine and laughter. She ought to stay as far away from him as she could.
Though, seeing as she wouldn’t, he really should. But he couldn’t. Instead, he stole silly, glancing looks at her as he puttered about his plants, feeling a shallow ghost of the peace he used to feel here as an almost painful awareness hung over the pond.
With a sharp hiss, he jerked as he accidentally sliced his thumb on his pruning scissors. He winced at the crimson blood oozing from the cut, the metallic scent of it hitting his senses hard and making him growl irritably at himself.
“Are you okay?”
He looked up, seeing her suddenly standing close to him, her slight but soft chest heaving lightly. She was quick. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He looked down at her legs, slim but strong, made for agility and speed.
“Let me see,” she said, holding out her hand.
His brows furrowed, confused.
“You cut yourself, right? Let me see.” Then, without waiting for him to respond, she grabbed his hand and pulled it close. She almost completely hid a grimace behind a beaming smile as she studied the cut. “Not too deep. That’s good.” She dug into her bag and pulled out a curiously smaller bag. “I never got your name.”
“Russ,” he said, watching her fish around what turned out to be a polka-dotted coin purse she’d turned into a travel first aid kit. He crooked his eyebrow, wondering what other mysteries she kept in that ever-present satchel. He stood impossibly still as she wiped his blood away with an antiseptic cloth.
Her sweet scent still touched by distress wafted around him, filling his nose and head, with her so close. He could hear her heartbeat race. Had to force his gaze away from her chest that rose and fell in shallow, agitated breaths, only to notice her nervous tail flick. Yet her hands were calm, gentle and competent, as she wrapped a bandage around his thumb. “There. All better.”
He looked down at his thumb and the blindingly brilliant colored bandage taped neat and tidy around it.
“Sorry, neon green is the best I’ve got. It was that or cartoon characters.” She shrugged. “When you work with kids, you learn to always keep a kit on hand. Never know when you’ll need it. And kids respond better to blood when it’s covered with something cute and colorful to distract them.”
He watched her tuck her kit back into her bag, casual as you please. As if, from her scent to the sight of her to the near need to touch her, her anxiety wasn’t buzzing in his head, making him feel a bit crazed. As if she was… unaware of it. He looked down at her hooves that fidgeted and pawed at the ground nervously. No, she was as aware of it as he was, he was sure. She was just disregarding it, dismissing and downplaying it. Aping at a calm he knew she didn’t really feel.
And, for some reason, it pissed him off.
He huffed, still staring at his now neon thumb, his teeth gritting a bit. “Nice trick, but I doubt that works as well on a werewolf that scents blood.”
She gave him a questioning smile. “What?” She knew what he was talking about. He knew she must. People in town talked. Hell, old Mrs. Crinkston from the third floor barely went a week without complaining to him and management about his terrible howling — despite the fact that he only shifted once a month and, even then, made damned sure to never make a sound louder than a yip. Someone would have told Dawn — warned her — what he was by now. Yet she still came. And despite this terrible want he could feel welling within him — because of it — he wished she wouldn’t.
He frowned and looked her up and down. Her sleek form looked soft and fragile and made his hands itch to stroke. His gaze narrowed on her lips, full and pink, as her tongue nervously flicked over them, leaving them slick and glossy. This close, her scent was so strong; he wondered what she would smell like with his nose pressed against her skin. His jaw tensed as he watched a drop of sweat trail down her neck, her chest, and beneath the hem of her shirt. He swallowed hard and tried not to think about what she would taste like if his tongue followed that same trail.
He shook his head as his nose tickled with the hint of something hot and wanting from her. Inside, he could feel the heat he knew simmered in his eyes look out as he met her gaze. He watched her eyes widen as she saw it. The corners of his lips twitched a bit, offering the slightest peek of canines that were too long, too sharp to be a human’s. “It makes us hungry.”
She took a tiny, timid step back. That was more like it. The scent of her unease burned brighter, making his nostrils flare, even as a strange curiosity flickered in her eyes. She grabbed the strap of her bag, her alarmed tail tall and long like a fluffed flag behind her. “Are you?”
It didn’t make sense, his reaction to her. He didn’t like her acting like she was safe and fine, when he knew deep down she wasn’t. She’d do better to pay attention to her instincts. No one knew better than Russ that there were real dangers in this world and pretending there weren’t could do worse things than kill you. It left her vulnerable in a way that set his nerves on the ragged edge.
Yet he hated the idea of her being on that edge with him. Over him. Even though he knew she should be scared of him, he really didn’t want her to be. Wished she didn’t have to be. So he hunched his shoulders and grunted, tucking his hands close as he felt his claws ache to grow. His pelt seemed to scratch just beneath his skin and his bones’ ached with the need to crack and shift.
Stop it.
He took a breath and clenched his hands. He stared at his feet and grunted, willing his body under control. “It’s my own blood, so you should be fine.”
Questioningly — wonderingly and a bit worriedly — she tilted her head. “So, if it was mine?”
He looked up at her, meeting her midnight gaze that looked as open and inviting as the cosmos, letting her read the inevitability he knew burned in his wild eyes. He fisted his hands, letting his nails bite into his skin and against his ravenous need to touch.
She inhaled sharply and looked away, her hooves skittering in place as her grip tightened on her strap. “Well, you’re all bandaged up, so we’re both fine now, right?”
He grunted, hating that he was what he was. “You should be more careful.”
He looked up when he heard her soft laugh, marveled that she could laugh through the alarm he knew must be ringing through her. She took a calming breath and lowered her tail, before arching an elegant eyebrow at him. “Says the man who cut himself.”
Except he wasn’t a man anymore. Would that he was. Then maybe he wouldn’t know she was afraid, could believe her well-crafted lie. Or maybe, if he was human — and nothing else — maybe she wouldn’t need to lie at all. With a gruff sound, he bowed his head and picked up his tools. “Thank you.” He waved his injured hand. “For this.” He was so fucking eloquent, wasn’t he? He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “Enjoy your day.”
Feeling stiff and awkward as hell, he turned and left her in his garden that was now filled with too many scents — the flowers, the pond, her, her fear, his blood, her curiosity, his hunger, her, the earth, the animals, her — for his senses to keep straight. Shaking his head, he left it behind. Left her behind.
It was safer that way.
For her and for him.
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