Imprint of Mate

Chapter 9

He looked at me and put his glasses on his head. What have you done, Cristine? He laughed, delighted with his own joke. His laughs sounded like sandpaper; his fingers, filleting knives that scratched at my skin. His smile twisted, opening up with sharp teeth descending from his lips and out of his mouth. Fangs.

What have you done, Cristine? He asked again, his voice deformed as it chased me, and his eyes filled with a hunger that was far from love.

He walked towards me with blood dripping from his chin, his golden skin slowly fading into a sandy brown fur. He positioned himself behind me and wrapped his arms around me, a posture I knew all too well from him.

His teeth raked my neck, over goosebumps and pulsing veins. I felt his fangs piercing my skin before a scream... mine.

I sat up abruptly on the bed and covered my mouth with my hands to stifle the sound. Violent sobs broke through my fingers.

Clumsily, I made my way to the bathroom. I turned the knob on the old, oxidized sink, splashed water on my face, looked in the mirror, and then wished I hadn't.

They weren't bruises. They were my eyes. A furious blue storm that shone like the neon sign of Shirley's diner.

"No," I whispered, my chest aching.

The door burst open. Derek looked frantically around and then at me. —Nothing's happening. You're safe. Are you okay? Nobody's coming for you—. He approached me, but I moved away until my back hit the bathroom wall. —Alright. It's fine—.

Tears took over me. —My eyes—. I gasped.

He nodded, looking at me intently. —It's normal—.

—How do you know?—

—I've seen many werewolves change, and a few humans too.

Come—, he added, —let's get you to bed. We'll talk in the morning—.

I shook my head. He sighed and sat down in front of me, leaning on the furniture. I felt tears beginning to run down my cheeks as sobs tore me apart.

I don't remember getting back to bed or falling asleep. He must have waited and then carried me in his arms.

- - -

I woke up to something cold on my leg. I shivered slightly at the tingling sensation.

Derek directed his eyes towards mine, his fingers covered in the same white cream smeared on my ravaged flesh.

—I'm sorry, I know it stings. I thought you were unconscious. May I?—

—Sure—, I replied, as my dazed mind began to slowly come to life.

Carefully, he applied more cream with gentle touches. —There's a bottle of ibuprofen on the bedside table.

It might help you—.

I leaned over, unscrewed the cap, and took out four pills. Derek gave me some water and I swallowed them with a prayer for them to take effect soon.

He took the glass and placed it on the bedside table. —So...

He bit his lip and grabbed a tissue. It was woven, soft to the touch, but it still felt like sandpaper on my leg. I closed my mouth and tried to behave, knowing he was probably trying to make sure it didn't hurt me. —How are you feeling?—, he asked.

—How am I supposed to feel?—

He shrugged. —Most humans would be more hysterical, I think—.

I responded with a shrug. How was I supposed to feel? Grateful to be alive? Scared to die? In limbo between the two? Should we also add a conga line with a bad DJ?

—I don't know—, I admitted.

—How did you end up in this part of the forest, sleeping in your car, all alone?—, he asked.

—I guess you could say another monster was chasing me—.

He nodded but didn't say anything in return, and for that, I was grateful. I wasn't ready to talk about my life, especially with two people I knew nothing about. —Are you hungry? You've been out for a few days...—

—A few days?!—

He nodded with a long sigh. —Your body is trying to adjust to the bite. It's natural for bitten wolves—. He put a band-aid on the bandages. —I think you need coffee and breakfast—.

—As long as it's not on the menu—. A playful suggestion to hide my inner fear.

He laughed. —You're not my type. You're starting to smell like your beast, and to me, that smell will never be attractive—.

—Do I smell like a dog?—

He let out a louder laugh. —Don't refer to them as dogs.

They hate it. But yes, you're starting to change—.

I smelled my own hair. It was dirty, but certainly didn't seem like I smelled like a dog. Derek rolled his eyes and stood up. He pulled back the blanket for me. —Do you want to try walking?—

—Does it seem okay?—

—It will do you good to move. You don't have to go far.

Just around the cabin—.

I exhaled a sigh. —Why not?—

Carefully, he helped me out of bed. I felt like a monkey falling out of the barrel all the way down the hall and into the cozy kitchen. The whole house seemed solid and warm.

I only made it to the counter before Derek opted to carry me in his arms to the table. I sat down with a groan as he approached the kitchen. It was decorated with forest green cabinets over cedar countertops, with a few appliances: an old Mr. Coffee that had seen better days, a toaster that probably burned the toast more than toasting it, and a small blender with faded lettering on the buttons.

Derek approached the stained coffee maker. He lifted the empty pot and groaned. —Damn it, Levi—.

Levi was nowhere to be seen, but the sound of his name made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I had no desire to see his slimy wolf ass or his shotgun again.

The coffee pot came back to life, gurgling, giving the kitchen a very necessary human touch that suspended the fantasy for a moment.

—I've gone to get your things—, Derek called over his shoulder.

I hadn't realized I was wearing my own shirt and soft cotton shorts.

—Did you dress me? My throat dried up at the thought, all the scars and bruises on my body screaming to life.

—Trust me when I say I have no interest—, he waved a spatula in a small circle towards me— —in that. Offense taken. And your clothes were no good, they were completely dirty. I couldn't let you walk around in that. How do you like your eggs?—

Jhon loved them semi-raw.

—Scrambled—, I said. —Or in a basket—.

—How about in a basket with some bacon on the side?—

—Why are you doing all this?—

—Well—. The law states that if you harbor a bitten human, you're responsible for that human, so we're responsible for you. That, and, well, I've been around for many years and I've seen many humans change. It would be a shame to let you die. It wouldn't be right. I know we don't know each other, but I can't just sit back and let an innocent person die—.

—Many years?—

—It's bad manners to ask someone their age, you know?—, he teased while the smell of coffee enveloped me, making my mouth water. —Cream or sugar?

—Both—.

Jhon always had to have his coffee black. No sweetness, just black.

Derek moved around the kitchen like he was Flash before appearing in front of me with my coffee. I didn't realize I was clutching the seat until he placed the mug on the table. —Sorry. Vampire speed. It slips my mind—.

I stared at him.

—Drink—, he said cheerfully.

—If I wasn't having a mini-attack, I'd be a lot more worried—.

I picked up the mug with trembling hands.

—I have a lot of questions and I'd like to have the answers... —. I needed to clarify some details. I was right: I had no idea who they were and, although they were being nice now, that didn't mean they would be later.

—I was human once, and although it was a long time ago, I still remember the shock. Eat, please, and ask me anything you want—.

—Anything？—