The curse of the wolf

His peculiar pack

*Griff*

Although I’m not overly concerned since Jean, as a werewolf, can go quite a while without food, I still hasten to free him, well aware of his impending foul mood.

Despite my enhanced strength and speed, it takes a couple of minutes to reach the basement and dismantle the bars and locks on the heavy oak door. As I swing it open, I shout, “Hey Jean, are you still with us?”

His pallid face emerges, squinting against the light as his eyes struggle to adjust. “Barely. What took you so long to let me out, you jerk?”

“Apologies. I was in town on business. I thought Edward would…” I start explaining, empathizing with his irritability. Who wouldn’t be grumpy after being cooped up in a basement for days?

“Where’s that blasted vampire?” He storms up the stairs. “I’m going to throttle his scrawny British neck.”

I can’t help but chuckle quietly. After all, strangling wouldn’t exactly kill a vampire. “You are kind of proving his point, you know.”

“Was his point that he’s an insufferable, pompous arse?” Jean grumbles, brushing past me. “If so, I agree.”

“No, he simply didn’t want to handle your post-transformation crankiness,” I reply, grinning. Edward isn’t entirely wrong about that. “And please, put on some clothes. I don’t need to see your personal ‘full moon.’”

Adjusting to another personality sharing our body can be tough, especially for those already prone to moodiness before turning. But this is an unavoidable part of staying safe and protecting others. I think Jean would choose the basement over death.

He sighs heavily, appearing slightly deflated. “Just tell him to quit making my life miserable.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll see what I can do,” I assure him, though I’m not entirely confident about it. Edward is Edward, and that won’t change.

Once he’s dressed, we head to the kitchen, knowing Jean must be famished after not eating for days. I also want to fill him in on our plans.

“What’s the story?” He inquires gently as he settles into his chair. A juicy, crimson steak dangles from his mouth, making me wonder if he enjoys it that way or if hunger had simply gotten the better of him. “Why did you stay there? What took you so long to return?”

“In a nutshell, it’s because of my brother and my mate,” I admit with a sigh.

He nods slowly, well-aware of my past with both. He chews on his steak, pondering the situation before continuing. “And you’re still determined to maintain your distance from them?”

I offer a noncommittal shrug. That decision was made for me long ago, for various reasons. Despite not being sure what I truly desire, breaking those self-imposed boundaries now seems inescapable.

“I can understand avoiding your brother. No one would willingly get close to him if they had a choice,” Jean says, rolling his eyes. “But your mate? Perhaps that’s not the wisest course of action. You keep bending the rules anyway, don’t you?”

“I should keep my distance from her. She deserves that,” I confess, even though it becomes more challenging with each passing day. “As for my brother, well, we might see him around here soon enough. He persuaded me to host a Christmas masquerade ball, reminiscent of the old days.”

“Ugh!” Jean exclaims. “That sounds dreadful! Not the ball itself. That could be fun, but having Llewelyn hanging around? Who would willingly subject themselves to such torment?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “You know me all too well. I’m a glutton for self-punishment.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Jean mumbles beneath his breath, deliberately avoiding eye contact. “Well, I’m not a fan of punishment, self-inflicted or otherwise.”

His expression speaks volumes, and there’s no need for further words. Our friendship spans a long time by human standards. Jean and I were close even when he was still human, despite my having left that life behind many years prior.

Perhaps my brother was envious, or maybe he simply couldn’t tolerate me having anything, even a friend. He did the most malicious thing he could imagine: he turned Jean, likely assuming I would put an end to him. Perhaps I should have, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I took it upon myself to ensure he didn’t pose a threat to others.

Still, it’s difficult at times. Each instance of witnessing his transformation and the moments I have to confine him serve as reminders of our friendship before everything went awry. I know he doesn’t hold me responsible, but that knowledge only makes it harder to bear. If only things could have turned out differently.

“So you’re planning to don a mask, huh? Just like the good old days?” Jean asks, smirking. “For the ball, I mean. And you’ll be wearing fancy costumes too?”

I roll my eyes in response. “Of course, why wouldn’t I? It’s a time-honored tradition. And you, Edward, and even Pierre will be joining in as well, primarily so you can’t ridicule me.”

“So you’re going to make everyone endure the experience with you,” he grimaces. “At least promise me there will be some attractive, single women in attendance, will you?”

“There just might be,” I reply, giving him a playful wink. “By the way, where is Pierre?”

Jean takes another bite of his steak, chewing thoughtfully as he ponders the question. “He’s around here somewhere, I believe. I mean, someone was locked in the basement, so...” He shrugs nonchalantly.

“Why do you sound so indifferent about him?” I inquire. “I thought you two got along.”

Jean shakes his head. “I do like him, but he can be quite irritating and odd at times. I’ve grown accustomed to it, though. Besides, he didn’t let me out either.”

I nod in understanding. “Right, that makes sense, I suppose.”

At times, Pierre can be somewhat peculiar, though not in a negative sense. Perhaps this quirkiness stems from his years of solitude in the forest. It was about three decades ago when my wolf discovered him during one of our runs. Feeling compassion for him, I extended an offer of refuge that he accepted.

Describing Pierre is no straightforward task. Is he a were-porcupine or a hedgehog shapeshifter? Truthfully, I can’t quite pinpoint it. He doesn’t transform into a tiny creature; instead, he morphs into a fantastical being, an amalgamation of man and hedgehog. Pierre is a rather diminutive fellow, standing at about five feet and four inches, with an appearance that hasn’t aged a day since our first encounter, perpetually locked in his early thirties. His gentle and helpful nature characterizes his demeanor, endearing him to all who cross his path.

“You’ve come back,” a voice exclaims joyfully from the doorway, but its enthusiasm wanes as it continues, “And you’ve released Jean.”

“There he is,” Jean mutters, raising his voice for emphasis. “Someone had to set Jean free, and you didn’t.”

Pierre mutters something about not wanting his head bitten off.

I swivel my head in response. “Hello, Pierre. I’ve got wonderful news. We are going to host a Christmas masquerade ball, right here at the chateau. I will need your assistance in organizing and handling all the details.”

Pierre’s face brightens, and his nose performs an odd, wiggling dance. “A Christmas masquerade ball. I already have a plethora of ideas.”

“Fantastic,” I respond. “Grand balls aren’t exactly my forte. We will have a distinguished guest list; celebrities, politicians, and the like. I would like to make an impression.”

Pierre shudders faintly, “And Edward? Will he be there too? Vampires make me uneasy.”

Jean arches an eyebrow, murmuring, “They have that effect on everyone.”

I dismiss Jean’s comment and offer Pierre a comforting grin. “Yes, Edward will be present, but you needn’t worry. He poses no danger. you should know that by now.”

“Who doesn’t constitute a threat, and to whom?” A refined British accent inquires.

Startled, Pierre leaps with a tiny shriek, clutching his hand to his chest. His hair transforms into quills, standing erect atop his head. “You see? They’re hazardous with their silent footsteps. They creep up on unsuspecting individuals, frightening the very essence out of them.”

Edward chuckles, while Jean emits a wolfish laugh. Even I can’t resist a smile. “I believe you will make it through, Pierre.”

In that moment, I come to a realization: I often perceive myself as a solitary wolf, devoid of a pack. But that is not really the case. I do have a pack, albeit a small and rather peculiar one. Yet, they are undeniably my pack.