"You'd be a very beautiful wolf," he said.
She smiled. "I am."
"And, Mademoiselle Wolf, what do you want from me?" he asked.
"I want you to think about what I've just said," she told him. "I'm coming to you tonight, and I'll make it true."
It was after nine, and the fat, lazy night hummed with the gossip of insects and wallowed in too much perfume. The heat of the day had yet to fade, and Vivian plucked at the damp material of her dress as she crossed the main road and entered the tree-lined streets of Aiden's neighborhood.
Fear fluttered in her chest. She was defying pack Law. But no one had to know, she thought. Just Aiden and me. What harm can there be in that?
She knew Aiden thought she was playing on the phone that morning. She knew she would have to show him to make him believe. But if she had started him thinking about her changing form, that might help him accept it more easily when she finally did. She imagined the look of wonder on his face as she changed before his eyes. He might even be a little frightened at first, but he loved her, didn't he? She could see it in his eyes. He would know that she'd never mean him harm. He loved her and she loved him. She shivered with excitement. She had never put those feelings into words before. I want to share my life with someone I care about, she thought. What gives them the right to tell me who to love?
But what if the pack found out? Would she and Aiden have to run away together? Surely he'd want to when he found out she'd been claimed by another. He chafed under his father's rules. He wouldn't want to stay. They could go somewhere far away. They wouldn't starve. She could hunt for them both.
She laughed abruptly. She sounded like one of those romance novels Esmé consumed like popcorn. Aiden needed his parents to pay for college. She didn't want to ruin his life. But she did want someone who'd appreciate the sheer beauty of what she was. He would understand why she didn't want to make light of life, or use her strength to lord it over others. He'd understand that being was enough.
Maybe there was even a way to change him. She'd never known it done, but there were legends - survive the bite of a werewolf and a human became one; drink water from the paw-print of a werewolf; smear on a magic salve - legends were often based on a nugget of truth. Oh, he would love that. She knew he would. He wanted so much to be special. But he wouldn't lord it over her, or soil his new ability with blood and power. He would be her true mate.
She walked up the flower-fringed path to Aiden's house. She paused to take a deep breath and speak a prayer to the Moon. The Moon looked after lovers. A bead of sweat trickled down the low neckline of the soft cotton sheath she wore. Her rat-a-tat knock echoed the beat of her racing heart.
"It's open," Aiden called from inside. "Count to ten, then come in." There were excitement and secrets in his voice. He echoed her mood as if he were her soul's twin. Her eagerness for him eclipsed her fears.
She was curious and impatient, but she indulged him. Slowly she counted, then tried the knob, and the front door opened easily. She stepped from the thick night heat into a shadowed hallway filled with cool, discrete air.
She didn't bother to search the first floor. He wouldn't be there. She understood his game. Instead, she quietly ascended the stairs. As she came closer to the landing the apple-sweet warmth of him filled her nostrils. She knew exactly where he was.
She approached his room languorously, enjoying the soft slide of cotton across her thighs. She was torturing herself as well as him, drawing out anticipation with excruciating delight. To hell with telling him right away, she thought. Maybe I'll love him first.
Hot steamy air that mimicked the night lingered outside an open door. She drifted inside and saw a bathroom, the tub still full. He didn't have to bathe for her. She would have devoured his sweat, licked it from him, and rubbed herself against his fragrant body until she became his essence. No matter, she thought. I will make him sweat more.
A delicious shudder went through her. She dropped to her knees by the tub, then lowered her head and lapped up a sip. The water tasted of him. I'm coming to get you, she thought delightedly.
She hummed the catchy refrain of a popular tune with wicked words as she neared his room. At his bedroom door she stopped. "Am I still cold?" she said aloud, and waited a moment. She reached for the knob. She thrust open the door. "Or am I hot?"
She let the door slide from her hand to thud gently against the wall and stood framed in the doorway. Her triumph transmuted to wonder as she saw the candles. A motley assortment of every shape, size, and color covered every spare surface. There had to be at least a hundred. They gleamed like stars and turned his room into a glittering grotto.
"Where did you get them all?" she asked breathlessly.
"Oh, I scrounged," Aiden said. He was in his bed and, apparently, naked under the sheets.
"I expect you need them to keep you warm," she said.
He blushed and looked away from her amused scrutiny, obviously wondering if he'd miscalculated.
She felt a familiar tightening of her spine. The change? she thought. Now? Her knees popped. Was the Goddess telling her not to waste time making love?
"It's a lovely way to be met," she said to Aiden, and her voice wavered. Aiden smiled despite his red face. He probably mistook the tremor in her words for sentiment. A ripple rode down the flesh of her back. "This is the perfect setting for the magic I was planning to show you tonight." But she had expected more time to prepare him.
His smile grew wider.>Vivian threw a glass across the room. It shattered on the window frame. Even her mother would gladly hand her over to a mate she didn't want.
All day Vivian came out of her room only when she was sure Esmé was elsewhere. She knew it drove her mother crazy. Serves her right, she thought. If I hadn't had to save her ass, I wouldn't be in this fix.
The phone rang constantly, it seemed. Nosy bastards, Vivian thought. Don't they have their own sex lives to keep them busy? She turned her television on loudly to drown out the ringing, but there were only stupid game shows on and a program in which fat women complained that their boyfriends couldn't accept them as they were. She turned the TV off in disgust.
Vivian stared at her unfinished mural of running wolf-kind, and the fine hair on the back of her neck bristled. She wondered if she had enough paint to obliterate it, but a pang of loss cut through her at the thought. Nah, she told herself. That was the good times. The harmony. That's the stuff I want to remember. An ache awoke for the blissful oblivion that seeped through her when she painted, and she went so far as to lift a brush from the jar on her desk, but the grip hurt her still-bruised fingers. I'd have to go get water, she realized. She tossed the brush down.
A squeak on the landing warned her Esmé was close again.