The Last Lycan

Chapter 8 - Those Fiery Lips

(“I genuinely have no idea why I keep talking like you understand me,”) Heather groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She pointed back towards the woman who had just arrived, saying a single word louder and slower. (“A-roar-a.”)

“Aurora?” I repeated, assuming this was the woman’s name.

Heather smiled, lighting her face up as always. (“That’s it.”)

(“Holy hell…”) Aurora gaped at me, her mouth hanging ajar. (“No wonder the menfolk are trippin’ d***s over the rogue.”)

(“What do you mean?”)

(“They’re intimidated as f**k. And I don’t blame them.”) Her dark brown gaze scanned me from top to toe, and I was suddenly very conscious that the only barrier I had between my bare chest and this she-wolf was a basket of dirt-covered vegetables. (“I thought you made a mistake with the measurements, but I guess not.”)

‘I don’t like this wolf eyeing us.’ Kirill shuddered a warning growl up our throat.

(“Friendly guy, ain’t he?”)

(“It’s like trying to melt an iceberg, but I think it’s because he’s had some bad dealings with wolves.”) Heather’s features softened, the wind wisping her hair around her like a blazing halo. (“He doesn’t know any English, and he doesn’t seem to know what anything is. I mean, a toaster freaked him out, for goddess’s sake.”)

(“Well, you’ll be needing this”) – the she-wolf handed Heather a pale blue book, followed by a black bag – (“and these. Although, I think he looks just swell as he is.”)

(“Will you stop? Get in the house before you mount him.”) My mate shoved her visitor towards the house and pulled the brim of the basket in my arms, tugging me along with it.

(“So sue me; I can’t help it. If I was gonna sin with a cute kass’aq (white boy), that is the cute kass’aq I would sin with. Well done, moon goddess.”)

Heather ushered me inside her home, taking the basket from me in the kitchen and dropping it on the floor. She didn’t seem to care that a few potatoes jostled out and went rolling across the wooden floor.

I awkwardly scooped up the tumbled root vegetables, not knowing what else to do other than stand at the side and wish I had a shirt. While the she-wolf focused on Heather, I stole the opportunity to study her features. She looked strikingly similar to the humans with whom my home pack occasionally traded: straight black hair, a rounded face, narrow eyes, a tanned complexion and high cheekbones. She was by far taller, though still clear below my shoulder in height.

Unlike many wolves I had seen so far, Aurora wore jewellery – a necklace made from three lines of white beads, punctuated with red and blue. I was still unsure how these wolves in the outside world operated, but in my home, few of our pack wore any adornments as they were a hindrance during the shift. The few exceptions were simple homemade pieces or scent-marked gifts between mates.

(“Is it true he didn’t bat an eye at Alpha Richard’s aura?”)

(“Yeah. It was the weirdest thing.”)

As the two she-wolves spoke among themselves, the air thickened in the living space past the bead curtain that separated us. The hum that shimmered all the floating specks in the air emanated from Aurora. I had only met one other wolf who emitted anything similar but stronger, the man Heather called ‘Alpha’. What was this sensation that few seemed to possess? What was its purpose?

(“Would you stop testing him with your aura?”) Heather smacked the back of her hand around her guest’s arm. (“I already have a stress headache with everything I need to figure out.”)

(“Yeah, I heard about that too. I can’t promise anything, but I might have an idea. Leave it with me.”)

Whatever it was that Aurora said, my mate exhaled her fretting, a relieved smile tweaking her lips. Spotting that I was loitering in the kitchen and unwilling to cross the threshold, Heather riffled through the black bag she had placed on the table and pulled out an item of attire. She swept the swath of beads aside and fastened them behind a metal arm, dragging me forward by the wrist whether I wanted it or not. Heather held up the unfolded garment to my torso, which was made of a thick, dark grey material with long sleeves and a hood attached.

(“Spoilsport.”)

(“You’re making him uncomfortable, Aurora.”) Heather shoved the garment over my head without warning, wrestling it onto me. (“And I’m trying my best to win him around.”)

“Stop dressing me like a pup!” I growled, my griping muffled by the dense fabric. “I don’t need your fuss!”

Kirill reared his head, annoyed with me yet again. ‘Dammit, loaf! Stop ruining this for me. I like her attention.’

(“I don’t know what he said, but I don’t think it was ‘thank you’,”) Aurora chuckled. (“You’ve got your work cut out for you. This mate bond is gonna make you earn it, girl.”)

(“As well as test my patience, give me shifter arrhythmia from stress and just overall exhaust me. Goddess, and his scent isn’t helping…”) Heather messaged her temples as I poked my arms through the clothing she pushed on me. (“Do you notice anything strange about his scent?”)

(“It’s muskier than I’ve known a wolf’s to be. Why?”)

(“It was easier when we were outside… inside, it’s different.”) A thin sheen of sweat was forming on my mate’s forehead. (“It’s making me hot.”)

(“What, like a fever?”)

(“No… hot.”)

(“Oh, you mean horny.”) The visiting she-wolf laughed, wiping a tear from her eye. (“No, he’s not making me hot. Well, he is, but not because of his scent. Must be a mate pheromone thing.”)

(“Do you suppose… maybe… possibly… one of your Yup’ik wolf doctors could come check him out? I can’t ask the others in the pack because I know they’ll say no.”)

(“Heather, I don’t know. Alpha Richard doesn’t know I’m here, and I’m risking my people just being here and helping you with clothes.”)

(“Please, Aurora.”) My mate clutched the woman’s hands, and I wished I could understand her, to know what it was that was causing her such distress.

(“I’ll ask, but only if they can make it here without being seen. Luckily, you live as a hermit, and they like you, so that should make it easier.”)

Heather flung her arms around Aurora’s neck, stirring my wolf’s jealousy that she wasn’t draped around our neck. I would not entertain the notion that the same twisting emotion gripped my heart, wanting to relive her body clinging to mine this morning.

(“Ok, I’m gonna head out before I’m spotted. Bye, Mr. Russian.”) Aurora wiggled her fingers at me as if waving farewell. (“And you. Go climb him like a tree and live there.”)

(“Goddess, would you go already? You’re the worst.”) Heather grinned and closed the door in a hurry.

She leant her back against its surface, tilting her head to the ceiling and taking a deep breath, only to wriggle in discomfort and flush a delicious red.

(“I’m opening some windows.”)

*

*

*

The white of the moon’s reflection caught the subtle cresting waves of the sea, the water breaking its tide upon the sand under my feet. It was the kind of night I knew well, and if not for the missing volcano behind me, I could have been home. Had I been on my own in the wilds, I would have been lying on my back by a dying fire and staring up into the stars, willing my mind not to think about anything. If my thoughts began to wander, they tended to circle and spiral.

I tried to tell myself I was fine alone, that I could live just fine with nothing.

‘That wasn’t living,’ Kirill butted in, ‘it was existing. A fine life is sitting behind us and playing some beautiful music.’

I tightened the grip around my wrists resting on the bend of my knees. Everything she offered was more than my lonely thoughts could ever conjure. But I’d had this life once before: a home, warm food, security… a family… and I had lost it all. Allowing myself to fall into its trappings a second time would never end well, and I couldn’t endure it again. To lose everything this time around would come with a far heavier cost, one whose ember had already set a spark in my soul.

‘So you wish to deny it in case a hypothetical might happen?’

‘Kirill… you don’t know what it was like. You’ve seen it, but you didn’t live it.’

‘Would you rather have never had it then?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I baulked, my tone dripping in defensiveness.

‘Our mother and father, Galina, all those memories you made with them, our home; would you rather you had never known them so you wouldn’t miss them now?’

‘Of course not! Their memories are all that keep me going.’

Where, under the moon, was my wolf going with this?

‘Do I really need to spell it out further? Because I’m growing weary of it,’ he groaned, rolling his head with far more theatrics than was necessary. ‘Think of all those wonderful memories you could make with mate – memories you wouldn’t trade for the world. And it could all start with you standing your rear end up and walking over to our beautiful goddess to listen to her play. She cooked a tasty meal for us again, and all you did was come out here to stew.’

I turned my head back to the porch of the house, where Heather sat in a suspended chair, swinging and playing a metal tube. It sounded similar to the wooden fifes pack members of Fire Mountain would play for fun, and my mate played hers like a songbird. I didn’t want to admit my wolf was right, but…

‘But I am. Shake a leg, loaf.’

Kirill would not shut up unless I did.

I brushed the sand off me as I rose and made the short walk back to the lit-up home. As I approached, Heather’s music fell quiet as the instrument dropped from her lips. Her knee, propped up under her elbow, fell slowly with it, an easy half-smile forming despite my poor behaviour towards her thus far.

“Privyetik (Hi),” she spoke in my language, her brows crinkling as she gazed at the open page of the pale blue book she had propped open.

I didn’t know why, but this one simple yet intimate word rippled a wave of heat in my skin that collided with the cool night air. She had found a means to speak my mother tongue.

(“I hope I said that right. Here.”) She offered a dark brown bottle from a box of ice by the house wall, popping the metallic lid off with a lever. “Dlya tebya (For you).”

Chilled dew dripped down my fingers as I took it and sniffed the top of the opening for some idea of the contents. The fragrances of sweet malt and wheat bubbled in the foam, creeping along the neck of the bottle. I took a cautionary sip of the liquid, surprised by the fizzing sensation on my tongue and the dual taste of sweet and bitter.

(“Your first werewolf beer? Damn, you really have lived an innocent and sheltered life,”) she chuckled and swung her swaying chair to and fro. (“Go easy on it; it’s pretty strong.”)

I sat on the porch step in front of her, draining the bottle in a few chugs. An abrupt burp rattled my throat and escaped my mouth before I could stop it, bringing with it the heat of embarrassment in my cheeks.

‘It truly is a wonder how you’ve never wooed a woman before.’ Kirill bashed his head on the walls of my mind in exasperation.

‘You’re making it worse!’

A melodic teeter of laughter rang from the she-wolf, who I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact with. She stood and popped two more bottles, brushing my thigh with hers as she sat next to me on the step to offer me a second.

(“No need to be embarrassed. Especially if you like it.”)

We sat in a somewhat easy silence, and this time I had learned not to drink so hastily. Heather’s body pressed into mine, my skin tingling with her contact where our bare legs touched. Between sips of her drink, she flipped through the pages of the book Aurora had given her. I recognised some of the words jumping off the page, where they were coupled with writings I couldn’t decipher.

“Roditeli? (Parents?)” Heather pointed to one of the entries.

A single word, but I knew what she meant.

I swallowed a knot and pointed to the sky, more specifically, the moon. She wouldn’t understand anything I said, and it would take too long to find the words in her book. All I could do was hope she caught my meaning.

(“Mine too.”) She pointed to the sky as well.

‘She’s more like us than you realise.’ Kirill nudged.

Perhaps it was the simmering warmth rushing through the surface of my skin, or the hazy layer worming into my vision. Whatever it was, the inhibitions that used to ring their warnings seemed to be muted, leaving only the call of a pair of ruby-red lips and their taste of fire.

Before I knew it, my body was closing the minute space and constricting our world to bring those fiery lips to mine.