Feral (12 page)

Bennie excused himself to do his homework.  I felt guilty for
snapping at him, but I had a lot on my mind.  I finished cooking dinner and placed it in the oven to keep warm until Mom and Dad got home, then retreated to my room where I could be alone.  I had no appetite, and I decided it was safer to avoid everyone than barking at them by no fault of their own.

I might’ve been wrong for thinking it
, and maybe it was melodramatic and small-minded of me, but I was the one who should’ve been dead.  I earned it.  I fought Marcus.  I endured his attack.  I embraced death.  So why had I lived and Jack died?  Where was the justice?  Why did I deserve my life anymore than he did?  I certainly didn’t want it.  This life was a curse.

Unable to sleep thanks to my mid afternoon nap, I lay in my bed, tossing and turning.  In desperation, I popped my earbuds into my ears and flipped
on my iPod, relaxing to the sound of Grapevine Fires.  When I’d listened to every Deathcab track I owned, I resorted to our treadmill in the basement, and a little Cage the Elephant, hoping to burn off a bit of excess energy.

Deep down inside, I knew the nap hadn’t hindered me from sleeping.  Icarus had.  My mind continually returned to our conversation.  Could he have been telling the truth?  His explanation was understandable, and remained true to his persistent claims about the danger I would attract.  Could I blame him for being afraid?  He’d already lost his parents.

More importantly, was Bennie right about Icarus’s involvement in Jack’s death?  Is that why Icarus sat watch over the house last night?  The possibility of a threat was now concrete.  It was no longer an ‘if’, but ‘when’.  Was he really concerned for my well-being?  And why?  We hardly knew each other.  He’d said he wanted to.  Was that part of his ploy, along with kissing me—to get me to cede?  I was sure of it earlier, but now I was having second thoughts.

That’s how the rest of the night continued, my mind roiling with uncertainties, sleepless and growing increasingly irritable.  It wasn’t until near morning that I finally fell asleep, curled up under my faithful rag quilt, only to be equally disturbed in my sleep by nightmares.

Well into Wednesday, I was stir crazy
, yet too weak to care.  I wasn’t sure if it was part of the change or some super stomach bug.  Did werewolves get the stomach flu?  Well, we must, because I’d spent Tuesday and the better part of Wednesday with my personal throne.  Yes, we’d become close over the last two days.  I even named her.  Odette.  She knew me better than my closest friend.  I confessed all to her.  And she didn’t judge me.  She loved me unconditionally.

Bennie delivered things like
Pepto and ginger ale, but I suspected he was afraid that I might blow up on him again because he kept his distance.  I apologized for snapping at him, but it came out in a growl, which made the tray rattle in his hands.  I couldn’t help it.  I’d hoped he would help me and he was acting like a chicken shit.  I was still his sister, Thale.

Rolling over, I burrowed deeper beneath the covers.

“Thale,” Bennie said carefully.

“I’m not hungry, Bennie.  Go away.”

“I brought you some chicken broth and some Jello.  I’ll just leave it on your bureau in case you get hungry later.”  Bennie’s lazy footsteps crossed the room.  The tray skidded across the surface of my bureau.  He hesitated, but when I paid him no mind, he buckled and left.

The scent of chicken broth drifted across the room.  My stomach gurgled in response, but I wasn’t sure of it was a growl or a complaint, so I ignored it.  Though Odette was a devout listener, my bed was much more comfortable than the bathroom floor.  Besides, my limbs were shaky and weak.  I was too tired to move.  Sleep was more enticing.  It involved no expenditure of energy, which I had little of after vomiting for
the past two days.

It wasn’t until nearly two AM that I awoke to the sound of someone climbing through my bedroom window.  I swore I had locked it after Icarus left Monday afternoon, but as I watched the silhouette of some unidentifiable male squeeze through my smallish window frame, I wished I hadn’t
returned the Beretta to my dad’s dresser drawer.

Sitting up, I noticed a second male figure standing beside the window, his back pressed flat to the wall.  This one I recognized.  He motioned for me to lie back down, putting his index finger to his lips.  I obeyed this time, with no other choice.  I still didn’t like it.

The figure climbing in my window cussed as his foot caught the sill and he fell the rest of the way in, stumbling onto the floor with a muffled, “Oomph.”

“Marcus?” I hissed, recognizing the voice.

“Thale?” Marcus enthused.  “Jesus, baby!  I thought you were dead!”

“You
wish
I was dead!” I growled, jumping out of the bed.  My right foot drew up, catching him heartily in the ribs.  Another, “Oomph!” and he collapsed to the floor on his side, curling into fetal position to protect his groin.  I stole another kick or five before Icarus wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug, pinning my arms to my sides.  “You lying, cheating, mother fucking, piece of shit!  Let me go, Icarus!  I’m gonna kill him!”

“Easy!” Icarus tutted, backing a few steps until Marcus was out of reach of my flailing feet.  “Marcus Pera, you make for that window and you’ll be facing the rest of my pack below.”

Marcus, who was indeed inching toward the window, resigned his attempt to escape.  Bending over his torso, he braced his hands on his knees, gulping air like a fish out of water.

“Let me go,” I said solemnly,
regulating my voice.  I wasn’t done with Marcus by a long shot.  His balls were mine.  They had my size nine written all over them.  Along with the sign that said clearly, “Kick here,” with neon arrows pointing toward the bull’s-eye.

“No,” Icarus refused.  “Not quite yet.  I need to have a word with Marcus first.”

“I’ll only kill him a little bit.  It’s not his throat I’m aiming for anyhow.”

Marcus stole another step away, keeping his eyes on me.  “I’m sorry
Thale,” he said.  “I never meant for this to happen.”

“Don’t talk to me!” I snapped, renewing my struggle in Icarus’s arms.

“Shush, Thale!” Marcus warned.  “You’ll wake your parents!”

It was too late, the knob jiggled behind us and the door swung open.  My dad, dressed in his flannel pants and his beat up Penn State tee, flicked on the lights.  He blinked a few times, waiting for his eyes to adapt and then took in our faces.  Tiredly, he scrubbed his chin.

“Gentlemen, should we take this downstairs?”

“That might be best,” Icarus agreed, loosening his grip.  He didn’t let go completely, but reached down and grasped my hand to thwart any attempts I might’ve been planning to continue my assault on Marcus.  “I think Mrs.
Llorente should be present as well, Sir.”

“What are you doing?” I hissed under my breath, my eyes darting frantically between my dad, Marcus and him.  Was he really suggesting I tell my parents? 
“Are you insane?”

“Got
a better idea?”

I glanced to my dad, who disappeared to summon my mom.  “The R5.
A bottle of Tramadol.  My dad’s Beretta.  A nice sharp Gillette.  Should I go on?”

“Not funny,” Icarus chastened, pushing me into the hall.

“Who’s joking,” I muttered, over my shoulder, plodding down the stairs.  “My parents—you’re going to give them heart attacks.  They’re liberals, not lunatics.”

“Sit,” said Icarus, nudging me toward the sofa.  He prudently kept himself between Marcus and me.  If I took a step to the left, he mirrored my moves until I gave up and sat down as ordered.  I didn’t do it quietly, dropping onto the sofa with a noise of discontentment.

Shortly after, my parents emerged, Mom half dressed in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, her blonde hair pulled into a knot at the back of her head.  Spikes stuck in all directions.  Messy as it was, she looked more presentable than I did, considering I hadn’t showered in nearly three days.

“Mrs.
Llorente,” Marcus said, eyes dropping repentantly to the floor.

“Shut up Marcus,” I grumbled.  Just the sound of his voice raised my hackles.
  Marcus’s eyes flickered to me and back to the floor as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I guess I needn’t point out that you’re not welcome here, Marcus,” Mom replied indifferently.  “One would think you got the point when your phone calls went unanswered.”

“Sorry Mrs. Llorente.”

Mom then turned her attention to Icarus.  “And the nature of your visit, Mr.
Quirinus?”

“Your daughter’s welfare,” Icarus answered.  “
Apropos to Mr. Pera’s visit.”

“I wasn’t aware you knew Marcus.”

“I don’t, but I have concerns about his interest in Thaleia.  As should you.”

“Your concerns are…
?”

Icarus turned to Marcus, raising his eyebrows in question.  Marcus cleared his throat superfluously, beads of sweat breaking out of his forehead.  He wiped his palms over his thighs.

“I…uh…just wanted to see if Thale was ok.”

Leaping off the sofa, my temper flared.  “Do I look ok to you?” I shouted.  “You’ve ruined my life, Marcus!  To think I wasted a year with you!  And what did I get in return?  As if it wasn’t bad enough you cheat on me—you nearly mauled me to death you prick bastard!  I hate you more than life itself, and I promise you, right now that’s almost impossible to surpass!”

“I’m sorry, Thale!” Marcus exclaimed.  “You have to believe me!”

“Ha!” I barked.  “That’s a good one, Marcus!  Trust a cheater!”

“Fine, don’t believe me, just listen then.”  Marcus’s eyes turned toward Icarus.  “You can’t let her stay here.  Alec will come for her.  It’s only a matter of time.”

“What is he talking about?” Dad
interjected, raising his voice.  “What has he gotten you into Thaleia?  Somebody better start explaining before I call the police.”

“What do you mean
mauled
you?” Mom added.  “Did he hurt you?  You told me nothing happened Friday night!  Did you
lie
to me Thaleia?  I want to know right now!  Why are you covering for him?”

I looked to Icarus.  This was his bright idea.  Let him explain.  He sighed long-sufferingly and turned to face my parents.  “Mr. and Mrs.
Llorente, please have a seat.  Thaleia, sit.”  When the last of us reluctantly acquiesced, Icarus returned his attention to Marcus.  “Marcus, since you’re responsible, perhaps you’d be so inclined to demonstrate where words will surely fail.”

“What—no—I can’t—in front of—what about—
they’ll see—fine.” Marcus caved, seeing Icarus wasn’t about to relent.  Crossing his arms over his chest, he gripped the seam of his shirt and tugged it over his head, his pants, socks, and shoes following until he stood only in his boxer briefs.  His clothes sat in a pile at his feet.  He kicked at them diffidently.

“Turn around
Thaleia,” Icarus ordered, his mouth twisting grimly.

My eyes rolled condescendingly in Marcus’s direction.  “Seriously?  You’ve been humping my leg for
almost a year, and now you’re going to play coy?”

“Not that I understand this one bit,” Mom said.  “But, do as he says,
Thaleia.”

Huffing, I closed my eyes.  But once Marcus began to transform, I wished I could mute my hearing as well.  Among the bloodcurdling noises he made, I
could hear the gurgling sound from that night in the woods.  My mom gasped.  My dad said a prayer I never heard before in my life.  I could almost see him making the sign of the cross.  I kept my eyes pinched firmly shut.  Marcus’s transformation seemed to last an eternity.  Bones snapped and crackled, and reformed again.  Skin stretched.  Teeth descended.  Hair and nails grew and retracted.  I could’ve gone through life and back again all the happier had I never known the sound.

The sofa dipped beside me and Icarus pulled me against his side, leaving
me hide in his shoulder.  I clutched his hand, wincing as the transformation continued.  I was surprised to find that Marcus was able to remain silent throughout the process.  How did he not scream?

Was this what I had to look forward to?

“It’s almost over,” Icarus said quietly.  His hand threaded into my hair, cupping the back of my head and rubbing it in small, consoling circles.  His other hand squeezed mine gently.

I listened quietly as the sounds of Marcus’s transformation slowed and the room grew silent except for Mom’s horrified murmurs.  When at last it was over, Marcus grunted lowly as he pushed himself up off my mom’s pale beige carpet.  I opened my eyes one at a time, peeking reticently from between my lashes until I discovered that it was
, in fact, over.

Marcus was imposing, while not quite as large as Icarus in lycanthrope form.  How I ever
believed I could fight him off, I’ll never fathom.  Gaping at his great mass of muscle, I realized that I never stood a chance. Had Icarus not shown up, I most likely wouldn’t have been sitting here today.  Of Course, after witnessing his transformation, I wished I weren’t.

Icarus motioned to Marcus to revert to his human form.  Whether Marcus should be considered human or not, I found debatable.  He was more like the sludge found on the bottom of a lake, you know, fish poop and slimy things that no one in their right mind wants to stick their toes in, let alone kiss.  Yes, that’s where I categorized Marcus.  Pond scum.

Dad, after several long minutes of confounded silence, regained his wits and found his voice.  “I see your concern, but what involvement has Thaleia in this?  To my knowledge her relationship with Marcus ended Friday night.”

“Indeed, and during that event, he and
Thaleia were involved in an altercation,” Icarus said, watching Marcus drag his jeans and boxers into the kitchen where he could attain a measure of privacy.

“He bit her,” Mom deduced.  “That’s what you’re saying, right?”

Icarus nodded once.  “Yes, Ma’am.”

My mother broke down into hysterical sobs, muttering imprecations that would’ve put any one of the Goodfellas to shame.  Actually, you could’ve added up all the shit, fuck, balls, goddamns and motherfuckers from the entire length of the film, and she still would’ve bested them easily.  She obviously understood the implications of Marcus’s unconventional love bite.

On the other hand, Icarus, having lived in a house full of male lycanthropes was unprepared and ill equipped to handle my mother’s unprecedented reaction.  I watched as he dithered on whether to continue or not, and for a minute, he second-guessed his approach.

“
She’s venting,” I explained quietly.  “Just give her a minute.”

Nonplus, Icarus rubbed his mouth. 
“Perhaps you should you say something.”

“She’s swearing just fine on her own.  I don’t think she needs my help.”

Disapprovingly, he glared at me.  “To
comfort
her, Thaleia.”

I shrugged and cleared my throat, gathering Mom and Dad’s attention.  “Kind of makes you look at teen pregnancy in a new perspective, doesn’t it?”

As expected, Mom laughed.  It sounded like a snort seeing as her nose was clogged with tears.  Well, and snot too.  Us Llorentes weren’t naturally criers, but when we did, we threw grace out the window and did it right.  There was no point in crying if snot wasn’t involved.  Dad plucked a few more tissues from the box and passed them to mom, waiting patiently until she mopped her face and gathered her composure.