Moon Dancer

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The wolf had drunk with wild abandon. But she was a predator. Even while reveling in cow blood, she hadn’t closed her eyes.

So I was privy to the reactions of the audience. Surprise. Disgust. Bewilderment.

The cluster of archaeology faculty two rows back vibrated with consternation. This open-to-the-public lecture was meant to draw new students into our department. My actions would surely drive our existing students away to biology or math.

The Archaeology Club was more forgiving. My former-student-turned-teaching-assistant Patricia c****d her head as if waiting for the punchline. She whispered something to the blond freshman beside her. A cascade of nods fluttered down the line, ending with a pencil-stick drumbeat from the pimply boy on the end.

Between the two extremes, audience members I was unfamiliar with exuded pheromones that tantalized my wolf-assisted senses. Confusion. Excitement. The slick sweetness of fear.

I swallowed hard. Or rather, my wolf swallowed. We licked blood off our lips, raised our hand to wipe our chin, then sucked on our fingertips.

We didn’t try to erase the streak of red across the top of our formerly pristine blouse. There was nothing to be done about that so it was better ignored.

Instead, we turned to face the audience member I’d been avoiding, the only person my wolf was interested in. Claw.

He perched at the edge of a seat at the rear of the lecture hall, flanked by familiar werewolves. The others were overlookable, but Claw was tall, broad, glowering.

Magnificent.

No wonder my wolf advanced a single step in his direction. Our joint body vibrated with interest. She acted for all the world as if—three months after Changing—we were still very much caught in the fickle attraction of the moon blind.

If so, moon blindness had its advantages. My animal half was so intent upon Claw that she forgot to fight me for control of our shared body. She didn’t notice when I grabbed her tail with intangible fingers and yanked.

I struggled not to gag as furry feet slid down my gullet and into my stomach. My eyes bulged as her claws scraped against the underside of my skin.

But now I was in charge and she wasn’t. Time to salvage the lecture.

“Blood,” I repeated, this time speaking my own mind rather than responding to the wolf’s yearning. “Blood was one of the binders added to rock powders to help colors adhere to cave walls.”

I plugged the HDMI cable into the side of my laptop, hit a button, then relaxed as prehistoric art glowed into life on the screen behind me.

“Blood-red ochre was used ceremonially for tens of thousands of years across several continents. Also known as iron oxide, the pigment was painted onto cave walls, used in ceremonial burials, and streaked across bodies, weapons, and animal skins.”

I dipped my fingers into the blood puddling in the indentation atop my collarbone, used the drying liquid to streak quick lines across my brow and cheekbones.

Now the cascade of red around me wasn’t horrifying; it was intentional. Was this how the first shamanism had started—klutziness saved from ignominy with a little stagecraft?

Warm air swirled around my nostrils. The audience was relaxing. As my faux pas faded, I segued straight into Patricia’s promised punchline.

“For hunters, blood was instantly familiar,” I continued. “Drop a caveman in this lecture hall and he’d know I merely spilled my morning tomato juice.”

***

AFTERWARDS, THE STUDENTS mobbed me with questions and effusions. But my wolf slid past so quickly her act bordered on rudeness. What did students matter when Claw was present? Without wasting time on apologies, we took the stairs to the back of the lecture hall two at a time.

All three werewolves rose as I approached them. The gesture might have been respectful, but it felt more like intimidation. I tensed, fully expecting a mean-spirited comment from one of Claw’s companions.

After all, Theta was dour by nature and Harry hated me because I’d lost him the job of presidential protector. Both were strong, hard, and capable. No wonder they found it frustrating to cool their heels in a small college town.

Claw was their alpha, however, so where he went they followed. Now, they let their leader do the talking for the group.

“Olivia.” Claw’s voice was as sweetly seductive as the cloud of butterscotch surrounding him.

“Claw.” I breathed the word as I relived our most recent conversation. For weeks, I’d avoided this werewolf who turned my inner beast unruly. But three days ago we’d all been invited to the White House for a formal thank-you from our President.

There, Claw had finally drawn me aside and forced the conversation I’d been trying to escape.

“What you and Val want,” he growled, “is an abomination.”

“I have to do this.”

“At least hunt with the pack one more time before you make a final decision.”

“I’m trying to cut that tie, not strengthen it.”

“You think starving your wolf will make her leave you?”

“I’m not starving her. I’m segregating her.”

“That’s the exact same thing.”

His eyes had said I was an i***t, but his mouth remained silent. We’d left it at that. Or I had.

Since then, Claw kept showing up just beyond speaking distance. In the cafeteria when I met with a student interested in a career in archaeology. At the edge of my vision when I walked home on a day too warm to be stuck in a vehicle. Outside my bedroom window just before I closed the shades for the night.

His silent presence should have been creepy. But Claw met my eyes, raised his brows, accepted my silent refusal to budge on my decision.

Rather than a stalker, he was a sentinel guarding a recently Changed werewolf. He disapproved of my decision, but he wouldn’t try to force the issue. Instead, he watched, waited, expressed his willingness to help if I lost the battle with my inner beast.

Now, he took a single step forward. His lips parted—for a kiss or a comment?

I never knew, because Claw’s languid grace shifted into alertness as his eyes flicked up and over my shoulder. Behind you, my wolf warned unnecessarily.

I whirled, taking in the grandmotherly form of Dr. Inez Sanora, the new department chair. She was one inch shorter than I was, her long gray hair twisted into an unremarkable bun. But her tone reminded me less of a fairy-tale grandmother and more of the big, bad wolf.

“When you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

Apparently my joke about tomato juice hadn’t hoodwinked everyone.

***

“SO,” DR. SANORA STARTED once we were settled in her office. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t smile. She never smiled around anyone except students. But her dark brown eyes were warm and non-judgmental. This was my chance to spill my guts.

I didn’t, of course. Dropping my gaze to her empty desk blotter, I redirected into an apology. “I’m sorry I was late and unprofessional. I overslept my alarm....”

“I don’t mean today. I’m referring to your recent pattern of behavior.”

I winced, fully aware that I hadn’t been giving my students the undivided attention they both paid for and deserved. Unfortunately, on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and all weekend, my wolf consumed me. Which meant coming to the university on an off day—like I had this morning—was a recipe for disaster.

Before I found a way to voice that problem in a human-friendly manner, Dr. Sanora lost patience with my silence. “What was your purpose in becoming a professor?” She leaned forward. Her head c****d. This wasn’t a rhetorical question. She really wanted to know.

“I...” It was hard to explain. I’d felt so alone as a child. Teachers had been my lifeline. I wanted to offer that same connection to those I taught.

Voicing that reasoning aloud sounded pitiful, however. So I went with the obvious instead.

“Archaeology is my passion. I want to share the past with scientists of the future.”

Dr. Sanora’s lips pursed and she hummed noncommittally. “Good words, but your actions don’t support them.” She pushed a sheaf of papers toward me and I barely had time to skim the first line before she continued. “I’ve received complaints from half a dozen students who are unable to stay late at night to find a spot in your office hours. They love you when you’re present, but you rarely are.”

Ungrateful brats. My wolf didn’t need to read the anonymized emails to come to her conclusion. I wriggled my butt against the seat cushion to remind her now was not the time to sprout a tail.

We’ll fix this. Today, I reminded my alter-ego. Aloud, I spouted similar promises. “I’ll do better.”

“See that you do.” Dr. Sanora opened her laptop and turned her attention to the screen, a clear dismissal.

But when I reached the door, she couldn’t resist a parting shot. “And put something on that blouse. Tomato juice or blood—once they dry, both stains are impossible to get out.”