A Month with Werewolves (4 page)

When I returned to my room to wash up before
dinner, I was surprised to find Chris sitting on the steps leading
up to my suite. He dropped his scowl when he saw me approach,
though his face didn't seem capable of picking up into a smile.

“Hi,” I said, pausing on the steps for him to
stand up.

“Hey,” Chris replied, nervously rubbing the
back of his neck. “Um, I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to ask
you for a favor.”

“Come on in.” I pushed past him to open the
door. There were no locks on any of the doors. Despite that fact, I
still caught myself checking for keys out of habit.

“That's probably going to take me a while to
get used to too,” Chris commented in a friendlier tone than I had
heard him use before.

“It's definitely different.” I found my way
inside and took a seat on the leather upholstered chair.

Chris appeared to be all nerves while he
slowly closed the door behind himself and then sat on the loveseat,
staring down at his hands as if he might turn to stone if our eyes
met.

“How are you settling in?” I asked, trying to
break him out of his shell.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” He
shrugged.

“Everyone seems nice.”

“Nice enough.”

“So, you had something to ask me?”

“Yeah,” Chris hesitated. “It's going to be a
week before I can earn job points, and another week before I'll
actually get them. I was wondering if I could borrow one of yours .
. . for a soda. I'll pay you back before you leave.”

“Sure. Don't worry about paying me back. I
doubt I'll use all the points they gave me anyway. If there's
anything else that you need or want while I'm here, feel free to
ask.” I smiled at him, a blush quickly warming my cheeks from being
in his presence. Now I was the one averting his eyes, even though
he wasn't looking at me.

“Thanks.” I could hear the relief in Chris's
voice, and when I looked up, our eyes met for a fleeting moment
before he turned away. “If you want to interview me now, you can. I
mean, since I'm already here.”

“Oh, yeah, that would be great,” I stumbled
over my words, feeling my own nervousness building the longer we
were alone together. Haphazardly, I scrambled for my notebook,
flipping it open to a blank page. “If you don't mind, I'd like to
interview you now and also before I leave . . . to see how your
feelings about the reservation change over time.”

“I doubt they'll change much,” he
grumbled.

I watched the scowl return, hesitating for a
moment before I began, “Let's start with your age.”

“I'm twenty-two.”

“How did you contract the lycanthropy
disease?”

Chris's face lost its anger, and I could
detect a hint of sadness in his eyes. “My fiancé gave it to
me.”

Damn. I knew he was too good looking to not
have a girlfriend.

“Then, it was sexually transmitted?”

“Yes. But like a lot of other werewolves, she
didn't know she had it.”

“She's not here on the reservation, is she?”
I questioned cautiously, remembering how he hadn't seemed to
recognize anyone while we were at lunch or on the tour.

“No.”

“Where is she now?”

“It's a sensitive subject,” he said with
tension apparent in his voice. Pressing the subject obviously
wasn't a good idea.

“Alright, well, let's move on then. We can
come back to that whenever you feel more comfortable talking about
it. What do you think of the reservation so far?”

“It seems like a glorified prison to me. My
fiancé had the right idea.” Chris's eyes darkened.

“What do you mean she had the right
idea?”

“Can we get that soda now?” He looked away
from me. “I don't think I'm quite ready to talk about all of this
yet. It's a bit too soon.”

“Sure.” I closed my notebook and set it on
the coffee table, a bit disappointed. He had been the one that had
suggested the interview, not me. It didn't seem right that he'd
pull out of it. Still, I had to consider that this was all new to
Chris and probably a bit overwhelming. Maybe we could try again in
a couple of days.

We walked side by side toward the cafeteria.
It wasn't until I purchased his soda and we came back outside that
he spoke again. “So, what made you want to cover this story, out of
curiosity?”

The truth was on my lips, but I knew he would
hate me for saying it—him and the rest of the werewolves. How could
I confess that I only wanted the story because it would elevate my
career—that I hadn't given a damn about the werewolves plight until
coming here?

“I thought it was an interesting story that
hadn't gotten enough coverage.” It wasn't exactly a lie, but it
wasn't the full truth either.

“Do you think it will really make a
difference?” Chris lowered his voice. “You know as well as I do
that they're not actually working on a cure for the lycanthropy
disease.”

I was taken back by this. How did he know? I
hadn't even known until John had told me, and I had researched the
compound, medical journals, and history of the disease before
coming.

“Maybe they'll try harder once the report is
out,” I said, hopeful.

“I doubt it.” Chris twisted the top off his
soda and took a long drink. “You know how people out there are.
Hell, you're probably just like me . . . didn't give a damn about
all of this until you had to become involved in it.” He gestured to
our surroundings with the soda bottle before taking another drink.
There was something really rough about the way that he
was—something that I liked.

“I have more work to do,” I stuttered,
avoiding his gaze, which had landed on my face to gauge my reaction
to his statement.

“See you around, Mrs. Raveen.”

“It's Ms. Raveen,” I corrected him before
walking to my room, completely forgetting that it was dinner time.
By the time I remembered, I was too embarrassed to go back, unable
to face Chris again until my nerves steadied.

My decision led to a night filled with hunger
pangs, and the only thing that distracted them were thoughts of
Chris's mysterious story. He had a fiancé, but she wasn't at the
reservation. That could only mean one of three things. She had
either escaped capture, been sent to a different reservation, or
been killed. The last two seemed highly unlikely. Werewolves were
assigned to certain reservations based on the district they were
captured in, and if Chris had contracted the lycanthropy disease
through sexual contact, then she probably lived in the same
district as him.

The murder option wasn't very probable
either. It was extremely rare that werewolves were killed by the
authorities. Most of the cases of werewolf murder occurred when a
shifted wolf winded up on the property of a gun owner. Otherwise,
the authorities did their best to tranquilize the beasts.

The most logical explanation was that she had
escaped. Chris said that she had the right idea. Perhaps she had
begged him to come with her and he had declined, which led to her
escape and his capture.

The morning came too soon, and with no alarm
clock, I had to rely on my wristwatch to wake me up on time. I
didn't even have to wait for it to go off before there was a knock
on my door. Groggily, I dragged myself out of bed, surprised that
the bed wasn't a fraction as uncomfortable as it looked.

As quickly as possible, I pulled a yellow
jumpsuit over my undergarments. With no night clothes provided, I
slept in my bra and underwear. I could only assume that was what
everyone else had to do as well.

When I opened the door, a scrawny Hispanic
man greeted me. His entire torso couldn't have been any wider than
one of my thighs. Beneath a pair of thick rimmed glasses, his large
brown eyes brightened at the sight of me, and an ear to ear grin
spread across his thin lips.

“Good morning, ma'am. My name is Devon
Linkenshire. I'm the omega of the Blackfoot pack, and I'll be your
guide for the remainder of your time here,” he said with a heavy
accent.

Linkenshire. That name doesn't sound Hispanic
at all. My eyes landed on a massive scar covering his right
forearm. A moon of pink raised flesh left no question in my mind as
to how Devon had contracted the lycanthropy disease. Good God, the
beast must have been huge.

“Wait here,” I muttered, not wanting to be
bothered as I gathered my things.

From the second I stepped out of my front
door, Devon seemed absolutely fascinated with everything about me.
From my camera, to my notebook, to my jumpsuit, he wanted to touch
and examine it all. He was jittery and overly hyper, buzzing around
me like a bee to a flower. By the time we reached the cafeteria, I
was completely annoyed with him and never happier when I was
invited to sit with the alphas and betas while he was forced to sit
elsewhere.

“How'd you like Devon?” Emmett asked, cocking
a half-smile. It was obvious he knew the answer without me having
to speak it.

“He's a nice guy. A bit hyper, but nice,” I
replied, throwing a glance in Devon's general direction.

He sat with the misfits of the pack. Scrawny
and unkempt, the other werewolves in his group listened to eagerly
while he told the short tale of our introduction.

“How did you sleep last night?” Rick asked,
pulling my attention back to the group.

“Well, thank you. And you, Chris, how did you
sleep?”

Chris was busy scowling at his eggs. He had
given me a nod of acknowledgment when I first sat down, but since
then had ignored everyone, the same as he had the day before. It
appeared that a good night's sleep did nothing to improve Chris's
mood. Then again, maybe he didn't sleep well at all. Who was I to
know? He glanced up at me for a moment, muttering something
inaudible before returning his attention to his food, scarfing it
down as if he hadn't eaten in weeks.

“Tonight you guys will be introduced to the
rest of the pack. We'll be having a celebration of sorts in the
rec. room,” Emmett told us.

“Sounds fun.” I smiled as genuinely as
possible. “Will all the pack be there?

“They're supposed to be, but I'm sure one or
two will stay behind. They always do.”

“Is going to the celebration mandatory?”

“Yes. Some don't care though.”

“If it's mandatory, are there any
repercussions for those that do not attend?”

“Not so much for the ones at the base of the
reservation. When the lone wolves don't attend, the compound
usually sends a guard out to check on them the following day.”

“Lone wolves?”

“Yes. Some werewolves choose to live deeper
inside the reservation, away from the main pack.”

“And why is that?” My curiosity was
piqued.

“Mostly because they can't accept our way of
life. They'd rather be alone.” I could tell by Emmett's furrowed
brow that he was dissatisfied with the behavior of the lone
wolves.

“Can't you call them back to the pack, since
you're the alpha?”

“They don't answer to any alpha. They don't
even much follow reservation rules.”

These lone wolves were sounding more
fascinating by the minute. “I should like to interview them.”

“Good luck with that.” Emmett let out a short
laugh. “They're not the friendliest bunch of guys either.”

“So, they're all males?"

“Yes, there are three of them, all claiming
their own territory towards the back of reservation.”

I thought for a moment. “Does the reservation
provide them with housing?”

“No. They build their own. They also hunt off
the land, do their own farming, and make their own weapons. All
things that are supposed to be prohibited. I think the compound
just lets them get away with it because they tend not to bother
anyone else. As long as they stick to themselves, the compound
doesn't seem to care.”

Even more fascinating. I would definitely
like to see how these lone wolves lived and discover the reasons
why they chose to be solitary. “Do you think you could take me to
meet them in a few days?”

“That's Devon's job now,” Emmett told me, and
I could hear a twinge of annoyance in his voice, as if escorting me
around was now beneath him.

I decided to begin my interviews later that
day. With fifty-three werewolves to interview, I would be able to
take my time. If I interviewed two a day, I would be doing
good.

Since it was easiest, I decided to start with
Devon. He was going to be trailing me like a shadow for the rest of
my stay anyway, so it was probably a good idea to get to know more
about him first.

I decided to conduct the interview in Devon's
room. As Emmett had informed me it would be, the room was bare
bones, the same as Chris's.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Devon said,
his big eyes as excited as ever.

I sat on his loveseat and flipped open my
notebook. To keep things easy, there were a few basic questions
that I planned to ask all the werewolves. Anything else that came
from their responses would be icing on the cake for my report.

“How old are you?” I began.

“Nineteen, ma'am,” Devon replied before
taking a seat on his bed and fidgeting with his fingers. Whether it
was because he was actually nervous or just had too much built-up
energy, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that the boy could not sit
still for the life of him.

“How long have you lived on the
reservation?”

Devon looked up at the ceiling in thought for
a moment. “About three years now.”

“So, you were sixteen when you contracted the
lycanthropy disease?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“How did you contract the lycanthropy
disease?”

He held out his arm, showing me the gnarled
pink scars where teeth had torn flesh and muscle all the way down
to the bone. I scooted forward for a better look, instinctively
reaching for my camera.