City of Wolves: Alphas on Motorcycles

9 | Sunrise

Celeste

We get in the car—despite what you may think we do not have hovercars or hydrocars or any other automobile that doubles as an aircraft or boat. Our cars still use fuel, though it is just as common to have electric vehicles. Lycans found a way to build electric vehicles without mining rare earth metals, and a way to sustain the use of gas-powered vehicles without depleting natural resources such as oil at an alarming rate. That must have something to do with the global population as well, however, given reduced demand: humans, werewolves, and Lycans do not number 10 billion which was the number of humans in 2050 before they nearly wiped themselves out. Altogether we number around 2.5 billion. The global population of human and humanoid creatures is nowhere near as superfluous as it once was.

Matthew has a black car—rectangular and boxy, and therefore durable. I have a gray car that is small and compact, and therefore durable in its own way. He pulls out of his parking stall—we are fortunate enough to have underground parking which costs a few extra credits per month—and keeps the radio turned off as he drives through the concrete maze. It is tense, neither of us speaking, justified paranoia having caused us to turn on one another. I think what he tells me is impossible and he feels betrayed because I don't believe him. Truth be told...I do not think he is bluffing which discombobulates me even more.

We drive over the cord that triggers the gate to open and as Matthew drives up the concrete ramp I notice how the sky is beginning to lighten up to a gunmetal blue. It has been spring for a few weeks now and I have been enjoying waking up to the sunlight and coming home while the sun is still above the horizon. What this means to me now, however, is that if Matthew is able to shift after the sun comes up he is, in fact, a Lycan, and there will be no logical or rational explanation for that. Could this be evolutionary convergence—a spontaneous genetic mutation to provide an advantage in a highly competitive environment? Natural selection? Or is Matthew actually crazy and having illusions of grandeur?

Matthew is taking the fastest route out of the city—the roads are all but silent. We are fortunate that we do not have to go through downtown to leave the city because authorities currently have a strong presence there. It won't be long before people are waking up to go to work but we have beat the morning rush. I want to ask where he is taking me but I remember him saying he will answer no questions until he has shown me what he needs to show me. I know he isn't going to kill me so I have to trust him. I have to show him I trust him...even if I am really struggling with that concept right now.

We drive through blocks of apartment buildings—some are human only, which is glaringly obvious from how dilapidated they are. Some are for werewolves—higher echelon werewolves have visibly nicer buildings than lower echelon werewolves, but both kinds of buildings are degrees nicer than the human buildings. The co-ed buildings range from decent to shabby; we are lucky to live in one of the more decent buildings.

We drive past a Lycan-only park; it is a vast field where Lycans can shift at will and engage in sports. None are in there at the moment on account of being preoccupied with more pressing issues, but I have witnessed those sports before and despite the fact the games often end bloody it is all in good fun. The bloodier the better, they say. Lycan males are obsessed with exhibiting their masculinity in public spaces.

We drive past a series of old businesses, close to the waterfront, and find ourselves in the less wealthy distract—it is exclusively humans out here. It is not often a human is mated to a werewolf or Lycan—either through prophecy or by choice—but it happens, such as in Matthew's case...or so I thought. Since humans are ungifted, and since opportunities are inequitably distributed to those that are not humans, they often live in poverty. Matthew is a brilliant enough engineer that an exception has been made, so he is a rare case on that front too...or so I thought. To think: there is a chance he has passed through life impersonating a human being of all things...

The shops and buildings dwindle until we are driving along the sea to one side and hills on the other. The hills are huge—they are the highlands, an eroded mountain range from hundreds of millions of years ago. They are now called Lunar Hills in honor of the Moon Goddess, whom the Lycans and majority of werewolves worship, and also because in the moonlight, due to the humidity, the hills reflect a lustrous silvery color and are actually quite stunning. Many mansions are spread along these hills until they become too rocky and hostile to establish a domicile.

There are a lot of abandoned places and secret spots along this road the further in one drives—there are operating businesses as well, but they are even further into the highlands where all the untempered resources are in abundance. Matthew has worked at a handful of places that used to exist or currently exist in the highlands so if there is a secret spot out here he is definitely someone who knows where it is. I find myself staring out the passenger window at the ocean, watching the sun rise over the horizon to spill its molten gold into the waters. The light hurts my eyes but it is so beautiful I can't look away. I can always trust the sun will rise in the east and set in the west—she is consistent that way.

Abruptly Matthew swerves left onto a gravel road which becomes a corduroy road for a time and then becomes a gravel road again. We are driving through a path that is beginning to grow in with ferns, fiddleheads, dandelions, and other ground-dwelling plants. There is discarded machinery and equipment, rusted out, lying around, plants having grown through it—a tree has managed to grow through the small circular hole in the back of a mini-tractor seat. So much for reverence for the environment, but at least nature is slowly reclaiming what was once hers.

Matthew keeps driving until there is no more discarded equipment and the trees are taller and thicker; more coniferous. My heart is racing—despite the fact the sun is rising it is getting darker and darker around us. Matthew is taking me to no man's land. I have the creeps, chills trickling up and down my spine. He must have worked here before because he knows the terrain well. I, on the other hand, grip onto the side of the door for dear life, closing my eyes because it helps with the motion sickness.

It stops. Matthew stops, shifting the car into park and shutting off the engine. He grabs my hand that is closest to him and I open my eyes, slowly craning over to look at him. He is inscrutable—it is impossible to tell what he is thinking, feeling. I don't bother asking. Instead, when he leans in and kisses me, I choose to embrace it, peeling my other hand from the door and resting it on his cheek. I clench my eyes shut, hoping he feels in the way I receive him that I love him and trust him. My words are failing me right now, utterly elusive.

When he pulls away he gets out of the vehicle. He doesn't indicate if he wants me to follow him or not but I do anyway, walking up to him as he takes off his jacket and his shirt. He is about to put them on the wet, muddy ground but I extend my arms in silent offering which he accepts.

As he goes to remove his sweatpants I say, "Matthew, you don't have to do this..."

"But I do, so you believe me."

"Matthew—"

"Celeste, I have to do this. For us."

That's the end of things, no more discussion. Even though I have seen Matthew naked innumerable times I can't help but blush and look away as he strips his sweatpants and underwear, handing them to me. I set them on the hood of the car, still unable to look at Matthew. The sun is beginning to weave through the knobby branches of the trees, cutting us with golden blades of light that glint off the morning dew like drops of silver. There is the sound of birds chirping, singing, communicating.

There is the sound of squawking as they fly away, a loud crack like that of a tree snapping in half forcing me to turn around. At the sight of Matthew I have to hold back a scream.

Is that...the embodiment of pain?