The curse of the wolf

What hides in the shadows

*Griff*

I spend the remainder of the day just strolling along the Seine, walking through parks, and venturing down small crooked streets, watching the soft snow fall.

I have always had a soft spot for Paris, and I will be sad when I have to leave, but I can’t stay anywhere too long.

Trying to collect my mind is no easy task. Trying to clear my mind of her is even harder. Having her that close has unsettled my soul, rattles my very core. If I have one of those; souls, I mean. I guess it is questionable.

Her scent seems to still be lingering in my nose, fogging up my brain and leaving my body longing for her closeness. It is the most potent scent I ever remember smelling. Not even Liona had smelled that strong to me, that enticing.

My mate being near me makes me feel alive, makes me feel. How can I simply walk away from that? I need to. For her sake.

I know it is selfish to let her take all the attention, but to be honest, relief had washed through me when I had discovered that I would probably get away with this. That no one had seemed to recognise me there or to figure out the truth.

It is close to a miracle, but my little mate doesn’t seem to realize what has happened either. Human brains and their reluctance to accept the supernatural are our greatest ally.

My chest constricts painfully as I remember how grateful she had been. The worry in her eyes, aimed at me and no one else, had almost been my undoing. It had almost made me forget myself, and throw away my promise not to draw her into my world, to make her part of my life.

The look in her eyes and the soft breath on her lips had almost made me pull her into my arms, tempted to take her mouth, to sip at it, to taste it.

“Leave her alone,” I tell myself, kicking a small rock into the river. “She deserves better… and she has a fiance.”

If only her fiance had actually been a better man, been worthy of her, then maybe it would have been easier. I would have been able to tell myself that she was happy and that I should not ruin that for her. But he isn’t. I have met enough guys like him through the centuries. He is a prancing peacock who is not worthy of her.

Even like this, my hood is up and doing nothing to draw attention. I know people are looking at me. Whispering about me. I am used to it. My size alone is often enough, but plenty of people also seem to recognize me, which I guess is impossible to avoid, given my status in human society.

When darkness is slowly descending over the city and my heart. Time has come that the creatures of the night, both the human kind and the ones that are not, start scurrying out from the shadows looking for new victims. I decide it is time to go home, as I have no patience for trouble tonight.

I determine that my city apartment is the best option, as the chateau is located more than an hour’s drive, or run, outside of Paris.

I usually favor the seclusion of my countryside home. Nature and tranquility are preferable to the constant clatter of the city in this century. Even if I have taught myself to filter most of it out, it still tires my head and annoys me.

Changing my path, I make my way towards Montmartre, where my apartment takes up the top two floors of an old building that I had built back before this area was even considered a part of Paris.

From here I have watched the artists, the revolutions and the wars all come and go. I have witnessed life and death pass by.

The building has been damaged several times, but never destroyed beyond repair, for which I am grateful. It is one of the few constants in my cursed existence.

On the street level, there is a quaint cafe, one of those where painters, writers and other like-minded people come to discuss their work. It has been a gathering place for artists since la belle époque and I enjoy the atmosphere. The same family has owned it since the beginning, trusted friends who know not to talk.

The first floor of the building is empty at the moment. I use it for friends and allies who need somewhere to stay or somewhere to meet up. Much of the French Revolution was planned within these walls.

I take the stairs to the second floor, which, along with the top floor, is my apartment. It is really much more space than I need. I was never a fan of confined places.

Already on the stairs I catch a well-known scent, and before reaching my door I know the trail is fresh, and he is still here. Dammit, why is he here?

“Why are you here?” I ask as soon as I open the door.

He smiles at me from the couch. “Is that really a way to greet your beloved big brother?”

*Anaïs*

“So I am to believe that you killed an armed man with your bare hands? You who can’t even kill a spider,” Mathis says almost as soon as we are back in the apartment.

It has been a long tiring day, and I am still angry with him and rather disappointed in him, so I can’t help but mumble, “If you had stayed you would have not needed to ask.”

“Really? You are going to blame me for valuing my life?” He sounds beyond offended. “I asked you to come with me. It’s not like I just abandoned you.”

“You did leave.” I say. I mean, yes, he had asked me to come. That is true.

He looks at me, one brow raised in a way that somehow gives off a condescending air. “Are you really gonna tell me I should not have wanted to get out? Did you want me to die?”

“No, of course not,” I mumble, shaking my head. I feel a headache coming on.

Was it wrong of me to expect him to stay? After all, the kid was not his responsibility. Am I wrong to want him to not leave me? I could have gone with him. Did I expect him to take the bullets for me? I guess that would be very old fashioned and a lot to demand of someone. But the stranger, he had done just that.

“So what really happened?” Mathis asks. “Because the police said the terrorist had been killed instantly and his head almost ripped off. I know you did not do that.”

Should I lie? Griff had asked me not to tell anyone, but Mathis will never believe I did it. Also I should not lie to my fiance. “No, I didn’t kill him.”

“Ha!” He says triumphantly. “I knew that. So who did? And do not tell me he did it himself.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I mumble. “This guy, a stranger, just showed up. He stopped him.”

His eyes narrow. “So a random dude just comes out of nowhere, superhero style, and stops the terrorist and then, what ? Sinks into the ground and disappears?”

“No, he merely left. There were so many people, so much going on. Nobody seemed to notice him.” I feel like rolling my eyes, but I know Mathis would take offense.

“I don’t get it,” He says, like he expects someone, most likely me, to explain it to him. “Why would he leave? I mean, the guy would be hailed as a hero. Why not stay and enjoy that?”

I shrug. “Maybe he had no desire to be hailed, maybe he did not want people to know.”

“But why?” His tone only serves to make my head hurt even more. “And why did you claim that you did it?”

“I didn’t claim that. Everyone just assumed…,” I start to explain.

Of course Mathis has to interrupt; “You didn’t correct them, or mention Superman flying in.”

“He asked me not to,” I say with a sigh spurred by my now pounding head. “He told me to go with it and not to mention him. He saved my life, so I felt he deserved as much.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but then a calculating smile spreads across his lips. “I think we can use this. No doubt you, and that means we, will be invited to things. People will want to honor you. This could mean a lot of new contacts.”

I know he means for him, for his business. I just smile. “I am very tired, so I am going to go to bed. Night.”