The Wolf's Song

The Truth Beyond The Myths

Diana

‘...In a werewolf,, the transformation takes place when there is a full moon and they cannot avoid transforming. In a shapeshifter, their transformation can take place anytime and anywhere.’

Unable to help myself, I frown slightly at this information, knowing somewhere in me that it’s not entirely true, but I read on, ‘People who transform into werewolves and shapeshifters do so because they were bitten by one of them.’

Sighing, I drop the phone and set it aside, suddenly feeling my head hurt, because of all the information that somehow, someway, I have to process. The words weigh on me, especially the images. Images of Michael, of his eyes, and of his voice floating in the air, until the revelation of what I always knew finally caught up with me.

“Did you find anything interesting in your reading?” asks the voice of my memories, bringing me back to reality, and I look up as I see Michael coming out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a white towel tied around his waist.

He has another towel over his damp hair, which he dries as he heads toward his large dressing room to get dressed. I can’t prevent my gaze from getting lost in him, in the marked abs, in the memory of those strong and light arms, which hovered around my body with ease; the memory alone is capable of bringing me out of my musings, and more powerful instincts, much more human and primordial, come back to me.

He smiles, noticing how I run through him, and a wicked gleam appears drawn over his eyes. He reaches over, takes my chin, and lifts my face. He looks at me for a long moment, an infinite moment before his lips reach mine, and I sigh as his tongue tangles with mine. His mouth tastes like mint and peppermint, and his warm skin smells like soap.

His mouth leaves mine too soon, and on his lips, there is a smile. He continues on his way to the dressing room as I try to control my heart and the urge I have to follow him and undress too.

“Well?” he asks again, “did you find something interesting to read?”

“Not much,” I state, frustrated, and as I flop down on the bed, my eyes fix on the ceiling, “I’ve read a lot of stuff about werewolves and shapeshifters, but nothing quite matches what you’ve told me.”

I hear Michael laugh from the closet and he comes over to me as he puts on a pearl blue shirt that matches his eyes perfectly.

“Most of the time the texts don’t match the reality. As no shapeshifter has written these books; the information never fits together. They are all arguments of those who have studied them through myths, or stories from a friend of a friend who once thought he saw one. But, while the truth is there, scattered among the stories, it is never accurate enough to help you fully understand the reality. Perhaps, it’s close enough to warn you that something is going on, but not to shed light on the facts.”

I look at him, fascinated that he has, in fact, opened up to me. The secrets that separated us at the beginning of our relationship have vanished, and now reality seems to loom over us in a much more raw, but also, acceptable way.

I can understand Michael now, his fears, his worries, and his concerns, as well as his protective way of being because I understand where that part of his character comes from. And even though I know that there is still a lot left to be said between us, there is more that we have already trusted each other than what still separates us.

Michael finishes dressing then, and we go downstairs to the kitchen. As he finishes getting ready, I pour myself a cup of tea. I follow him around the house, listening to his sporadic conversations on the phone, watching him check something on his laptop, or as he turns on music in the background.

The early afternoon has fallen over the forest, and I know that by the time night falls I must return to my world, to the reality of my life with Martha, but I don’t want to go back. The idea of being separated from Michael now that we are really getting to know each other causes me an overwhelming and unpleasant feeling in my chest.

“Did you do a lot of research in your time about what you were?” I ask as I sit down on the couch. My eyes are following in his footsteps. “When you found out you were a shapeshifter, I should say.”

“At first I did,” he states without looking at me, then turns around. He walks over to me and sits down next to me on the couch. A part of him seems relieved to possess enough confidence to tell me these things. “As I’ve told you before, I did a lot of research on shapeshifters in my day, worse when I found out I was one, I went back and read all the information I could, trying to understand what to expect,” he sighs.

“It was an infuriating time, because I didn’t possess the means that exist now to find a thousand and one legends to piece together some scheme in my head of what was going on, and the information around me was terribly fanciful. I was not affected by the full moon, although I felt a greater desire to transform on those days, it was not an irrepressible need. I could enter churches, I was not affected by holy water or the holy word, nor did I feel the need to hunt humans and consume their blood. Honestly, it was other changes that I noticed.”

“Like what?” I asked curiously, and he kept thinking about it.

“My senses were better, and I could go for long periods of time without sleep. I had more appetite for meat than for other things, and I was much stronger, and faster than any human could ever be. Eventually, I discovered that immortality, or at least, longevity, was part of this life as well; but as I told you, these were all things I discovered with time, experience, and practice, and not because anyone told me. In that sense, it was a much lonelier road than Francis or Robert traveled because I didn’t count on anyone to help me. Damien hated me and had sworn to murder me, and I couldn’t turn to anyone in my condition for an explanation.”

His voice, slightly nostalgic, fills me with emotion, and my hand crosses the distance, seeking his.

“I am sorry,” I whisper, and he smiles as he entangles my fingers with his.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” he affirms and pulls me to him. I let myself be guided easily and lean against his chest as he wraps his arms around me. “I know you have a lot of questions,” he says, “and I promise I will answer them all. We’ll have time to do it.” He kisses the crown of my head, and I nod.

“No more secrets between us,” I whisper.

“But... That’s why I need you to consider my offer,” he asks again. “I need to keep you safe, Diana, and Bamberg is just now a war camp. I would feel safer if you decided to return to New York for a while...”

I bite my lip, unable to give him the immediate ‘yes’ he wants. The thought of leaving him terrifies me and creates a knot in my stomach that doesn’t let go easily.

“I’m terrified of losing you,” I confess, “I’m terrified to think that I’ll leave and never hear from you again.” I bury my face in his chest, and he undoes our embrace, seeking my face and making me look into his eyes.

“Listen, that won’t happen. I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t plan on dying either. I’m the strongest wolf in the area,” he smiles, a delicious, confident smile, and I know what he says is not an exaggeration. “I can handle this, but I need to know that you’ll be safe. That you’re in no danger from being in the line of battle.”

He kisses me. His lips are so warm against mine...

“Please, Diana...” he begs, his forehead resting on mine. I sigh.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

“That’s all I ask of you. At least for now.”

Michael kisses my forehead and then allows me to lie back against his chest, and I sink my nose into his scented sweater, trying to decide if I can go back to New York, and, if I do, if I can live with the uncertainty that, no matter what he says, I may never see him again.