Werewolves of New York: Nathaniel (3 page)

M
ichelle woke
up on the floor by her front door at 10:15 a.m. At first she didn’t know why she was there or why her body ached so badly, but then it came flooding back to her. Her familiar ringtone had awoken her. It sounded far away like in a dream. She stared into her apartment at the red sofa, the Ikea lamp and coffee table, the kitchen farther back that had a sink full of dirty dishes packed so high she could see it from here.

She got up to get her purse and remembered she’d left it behind. The ringing stopped and then started again and she turned and stared at the door, realizing it was coming from the other side. With a throbbing heart, she put her ear to the door and then peeked through the peephole to see if someone was standing outside. “Hello?” she called through the wood. No response came back.

Running into the kitchen, she grabbed her biggest knife and walked to the door like it might burst open any second. Dragging the chair away from the door, she held the knife at the ready and unlocked the deadbolt. The hallway was empty, but lying on her welcome mat lay her clutch bag.

“What the hell?”

She snatched it up and closed the door quickly, locking it behind her. Everything was inside the purse. No money was missing. Her keys were all there, and since it was Sunday she guessed whoever had left it there hadn’t had a chance to make a copy or anything. Confused and not knowing what to think, she checked her phone to see two missed calls from Rose.

Without listening to the voicemail messages, she called her back.

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night, Chelle.” Rose waited, and misunderstood the silence. “Really, I’m sorry. I know I was more than a little embarrassing. Me and birthdays don’t mix; you know that! I can’t help it. Thank you for keeping me safe. Hey…you there?”

Safe. Someone, or some
thing
, had kept Michelle safe last night. Consumed by the memory, she stared at the wall.

After a few awkward seconds, Rose begged, “Can I make it up to you? Brunch? Mimosas? I have the worst hangover and need the best cure ever. The hair of the dog that bit you, they say.”

“Yeah, sure. Where?”

“Really? Great! For a second there, I thought I’d gone too far and you were never going to speak to me again.” Nervous chuckle. “How about Lafayette? It’s in the East Village so you won’t have to go far and–”

“Great. See you in an hour.” She hung up, not saying goodbye or waiting for a response as she headed for her bathroom. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, the mascara-stained cheeks, knotted hair and wrinkled dress with a broken strap, she shook her head with gratitude. “It could have been so much worse,” she mumbled to her own reflection. “You’re one lucky chick, Michelle. So many aren’t as fortunate.” With a shake of her head, she turned the shower on and washed all the evidence away.

A
n hour later
, she walked into the restaurant looking and feeling more like herself. She planned to tell her friend everything, but the words kept getting stuck. It seemed so dark a thing to haunt a beautiful morning with and she didn’t want to think about it anymore. Putting it behind her seemed a more positive, proactive approach, so she smiled extra wide and suggested a toast instead. Rose raised her glass, waiting.

“To both of us getting home safely,” Michelle said.

Rose paused and clinked the champagne flutes together with a shrug. “We could toast to that every day.”

Michelle took a sip. “Mmm.”

“Right?” Rose licked the pulp from her top lip and set the glass down on top of her menu. “What have you got cooked up this week?”

Happy for the change of subject, Michelle took another sip and set her glass down as she answered, “Well, I’ve hired some teens to do a twitter campaign for Moore Designs.”

“That clothing store in the Meatpacking District?”

“Yeah. I figured hiring people who already love to tweet would take the onus off me. By delegating, I can spend my time thinking of new ideas. I’ve got some cooking.”

Rose shook her head. “I hate twitter.”

“There’s a huge community there.”

“I know. But I am much more private.”

“Except when you’re screaming to the world that you want to get laid,” Michelle teased.

Not missing a beat, Rose yelled out to the room of twenty occupied tables, “I WANT TO GET LAID!” Michelle covered her face with her hands, and Rose leaned forward. “But that doesn’t go past this room. The Internet? That’s a whole different ballgame.”

A guy sitting with his buddy at the table next to them, who couldn’t have been more than twenty offered, “I’ll help you out with that.”

Rose and Michelle glanced over and he received the once over, twice. Turning back to Michelle, Rose went on as though they weren’t interrupted, “Can I pay you back for the cab?”

Michelle’s smile vanished and she hurriedly picked up the menu, toppling over her mimosa. A loud crash sounded as wet, orange liquid-covered glass checkered the tile floor. “Shit!” She jumped up in dismay, lying, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

A busboy called out as he ran over carrying a mop and dust pan. “I’ve got it! Don’t touch it!”

Embarrassed, she looked from the mess to him, to her friend who was watching her. Rose didn’t care about public scenes, but she did care about the law. “Let him get it, Michelle. If you cut yourself, you could sue them. That’s what he’s worried about.”

Michelle sunk back into her chair. “Sorry,” she apologized to the busboy as he swept up the floor. The momentary silence of the tables around them went back to normal chatter. “I wouldn’t sue them for my clumsiness. Who does that?”

“Assholes. Or desperate assholes.”

“You don’t have pay me for the cab. It’s okay.”

Rose nodded and handed her menu over. “Here, I already know what I want. What’s up with you today? You’re normally my role model of poise and grace and you seem…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Shaken. You okay?”

Michelle buried her face in the distraction of the menu. “I’m just hungry. And I’m pretty sure I’m done with booze for the day.”

W
hen they said
their goodbyes an hour later, Rose was still looking at her like she wondered what Michelle wasn’t telling her. She didn’t push it, but Michelle felt badly for the look on her friend’s face. For some reason, she felt ashamed at having been attacked, even though it wasn’t her fault. She was frightened of telling her friend and seeing the sympathy or worse, pity that would surely be there for some time to come. And Rose might blame herself. Saying nothing seemed the best thing to do so that she could move past it, and not have to hear the endless
Are you okay? How are you doing?
asked every time they got together.

But she was definitely shaken, and she needed a nap something awful. Eating a tasty meal had helped her feel a little better, but there was a lingering unrest she couldn’t shake. “At least I didn’t spill anything on myself,” she mumbled as she glanced down to her white t-shirt and sweater. She tucked her hands into loose boyfriend-jeans pockets and walked home enjoying the calming sensation of one foot placed in front of the other. Just like everything in life, one step at a time would make the next chapter of her existence come sooner and last night a distant memory. Time, tragedy’s greatest friend.

What if he’d succeeded?

If this is how I feel from just the limited violence I suffered, what if it had been worse?

An image of the green-eyed man from the club appeared before her and she allowed the daydream of him to change the channel of her mind’s screen. The way he’d looked at her had been disarming in the best of ways. It made her smile to remember the look on his face when her dress had betrayed what she was wearing underneath.

Familiar storefronts, tourists, and locals passed by unnoticed and soon she found herself pushing the button on the stoplight across from her place, the warm sun shining on her and adding the lift to her spirits.

She almost felt normal again.

Out of habit she glanced to the front door of her building and saw
him,
the man from the club,
standing in front of it wearing dark well-fitting jeans, a black t-shirt and black boots. She stared at him, thinking it the wildest of coincidences. Then he looked over, met her surprised eyes, and offered a tilt of his head in greeting. There was no smile on his face, but the patience there indicated he seemed to be waiting for her.

But that’s impossible!

She walked into traffic and his widening eyes and hand flying into the air made her look at what she was doing. She scrambled back onto the sidewalk and glanced away, embarrassed, then found her gaze drifting back to meet his. Michelle tried to look casual when she felt anything but.
What is he doing here?
She bit her lip and glanced around, then back to him. He wasn’t alone, she realized. A good-looking man with shaved short hair and mischief in his eyes stepped forward and said something in his ear. His friend wore jeans and a blue t-shirt with yellow writing that read, “Deal With It.”

When other pedestrians walked past her, she realized she’d missed the light’s change. Joining them as though nothing ridiculously peculiar was happening, she kept pace with the crowd, but could not take her eyes off him. She smoothed her hair self-consciously and then realized she was being silly.
Hold your head high, girl. That’s how to do it.

Arriving in front of him, she glanced to her door and back to him. “What are you doing here?” she blurted, sounding not at all collected.

Looking adorable, he blinked and stammered, “I…uh…”

His friend gave a lop-sided grin and thrust out his hand. “I’m Eli. It’s nice to meet you. This is–”

“Nathaniel.” Green eyes flashed as he interrupted to introduce himself. He knocked his friend to the side, holding out his own hand to say again, “I’m Nathaniel.”

Eli laughed, and was ignored.

“Michelle.” She shook his hand. Her eyelashes dropped as she looked at the size of his hand holding her much smaller one. She loved the way their skin looked touching, and how he felt. He was so warm! “Do you have a fever?” she asked, meeting his eyes. Not that she cared if he did. He could have Ebola and she’d still want to touch him.

A light danced in his eyes and he shook his head, still holding her there. He said, huskily, “I run hot.”

Eli snorted and Michelle looked at him like she’d forgotten he was there. He dropped the smile.

Nathaniel asked, with his light green eyes locked on Michelle, “Eli, don’t you have to be somewhere?”

“Yeah. Totally. Have to be somewhere. Someplace. Right now. Nice meeting you.” He walked off, glancing over his shoulder with a final wave neither of them saw.

“Walk with me?”

Michelle nodded as he laced his fingers with hers and led her back in the direction she’d come. They walked for a whole block in silence, waiting at the same stoplight she’d just crossed at, both of their minds occupied as they stared forward. The silence was charged, but comfortable, and she wondered at why being with him felt so perfectly natural. She glanced over to his handsome profile.
Do I know him from somewhere and just can’t remember? No, I would definitely have remembered him.

But then he raised his arm to hail a cab and one pulled over immediately. Her heart raced as she became conscious of the fact that she did not know him. Whatever this was, it made no sense and he was not a friend. She had no idea how he’d come to be there, how he’d found her, and the realization pulled her hand away with violent force.

“Hold on a second! I’m not getting into a cab with you.”

A deep crease pierced his brow as he searched her face. “I was taking you to Central Park. For a walk…where we could get to know each other. It’s a beautiful day and I thought…” He stopped cold at her expression.

“Look. I see you for the first time last night, and today you’re outside my apartment like you’re waiting for me or…or something? It seemed like you were.”

“I was waiting for you.”

Her manicured hand flew up as a boundary between them. “How did you know where I live? Did you follow me last night?” Struggling, she muttered, “No, you couldn’t have followed me, because…” and stopped before
because you’re not that fucking rapist. He was smaller than you and sunglasses or no, did not have your face!
“Do you know the bartenders from last night and they gave you my card info? How do you know where I live? Who are you?”

He frowned and she could see he didn’t know how to answer the question. “I obviously didn’t think this through. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He trailed off, lost in thought. He waved the waiting cabbie off and turned to frown at her again. She waited for him to say more, but he just stared at her, and if she weren’t careful, she’d forget under that gaze to protect herself from him and any man who couldn’t tell her how he’d found where she slept at night. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t have any answers I can give you, and I know that sounds strange, but…”

“You could just tell me the truth.”

He glanced to the sidewalk and then to his left, tortured. “I can’t,” he whispered.

Stunned, Michelle mumbled, “Great,” and headed home. Walking backwards, she called to him, “Until you can tell me the truth, don’t bother talking to me. I don’t do
this.
” She spun around and left him standing there. Before getting home she changed course and found a key shop open on the weekends where she begged the guy to change her lock that very day.

N
athaniel watched
her yelling at him. Of course she was scared; why hadn’t he thought of that before showing up like this? But he couldn’t tell her the truth. She had him in a bad spot and she didn’t even know it. She’d looked at him like he was the problem, like she was scared of
him
. What could he tell her?
I’m the one who saved you? That guy will never bother you again, or anyone else–I made sure of that? I know where you live because I brought your things back to you? That bag in your hands, I know what’s in it. I studied everything in the purple wallet you’ve stuffed too many receipts into for it to close. I even know you forgot to take your pill yesterday.

When she left, didn’t turn around or look back, he walked to the nearest building and leaned against it, watching her, oblivious to the many, many New Yorkers walking past him enjoying the bright Indian summer day. He pulled out his phone and called Eli. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You scare her off or something? Why are you calling me?”

“Yeah. She wanted to know how I knew where to find her.”

Eli exhaled like a tire letting out air. “Right. We should have thought of that. I’m sorry but with the ass you get, it never occurred to me she’d ever question anything.”

She walked out of his sight as Nathaniel said, “Yeah, but Michelle was attacked last night, remember?”

Silence, then, “Shit.”

“How do I make it right?”

“I don’t know man, but I’ve got a woman lying naked in front of me, so can we talk about this later?”

Nathaniel chuckled and hung up. He absently tapped his phone against his thigh as he thought about the problem. Eli was with someone already; had to be a regular hook-up he had in the East Village. Nathaniel had a couple of those, but now they seemed ridiculous. Michelle’s hand in his, he’d felt like he wanted to use it to pull her toward him and crush her in a tight embrace. He wanted to spend time with her, listen to her voice, watch her expression change…as long as it didn’t change into fear of him.

But with what I am–isn’t that inevitable if I let her in, anyway? No matter how strongly I feel about this human woman, it can’t go far. I cannot allow myself to become attached. I will never be able to tell her what I am without that terror transforming her beautiful brown eyes, with me the cause.
Knots formed in his stomach and his chest ached with loneliness. He pushed off the wall, walking slowly into the traffic of human bodies, blending in with the pedestrians of all ages, races, and nationalities as though he were just like them.

H
e buzzed
the brownstone Darik lived in, expecting to find him absent, lost to a movie theater, his packmate’s greatest passion. Darik loved to travel into worlds he would never otherwise know by way of motion pictures. But today Nathaniel found himself lucky as a sleepy voice burst from the speaker. “Pizza guy?”

“No, it’s me.”

The door unlocked with a loud alarm and Nathaniel entered quickly, taking the single flight of stairs to the second floor. The door was open and standing in the doorway was his 6’3” friend wearing checkered, flannel blue and white sweatpants, bare feet and chest. His red, curly hair was everywhere and he jerked his head with a flat, “Hey.”

“Were you sleeping?”

“Yeah. It’s Sunday. Where do I have to go?”

Upon entering the apartment, Nathaniel glanced around the usual mess of clutter layering every flat surface including sections of the hardwood floors. “You’re a slob.”

“My maid quit,” Darik lied with amused sarcasm.

Nathaniel pushed over a stack of earmarked Fortune and Money magazines to make room to sit. The comfortable couch cushion gave slightly under his weight and he sunk into it, leaned back and closed his eyes.

Darik threw a questioning glance behind him as he headed to the kitchen. “What’s up? Feeling guilty? Don’t. You should be proud; forget about what Dontae says. Oh, I’ve been watching the news.” He threw beans into a coffee grinder, turned it on and talked over the obnoxious sound. “Nothing yet. But it’s Sunday, so…we’ll see if it hits the nightly news, or maybe tomorrow. Don’t look so glum, man. Rapists should die a horrible death. And I won’t apologize for saying that.”

Nathaniel listened to the freshly ground coffee poured into the French press. If focused, he could hear almost every flake fall. They all could. But you tune that stuff out most of the time. You have to. But on a day like today where he needed something to ground himself, sounds like that were helpful to keep him not thinking about her. It wasn’t doing the trick.

He exhaled and called over, “I don’t feel bad about what I did. Not that, anyway.”

Darik filled a pot from the water faucet. “What then?” He put the pot on the stove, turned on the gas and padded back to the couch, his head to the side. “Is it the woman?” Surprised, Nathaniel glanced up. Darik chuckled and crossed his arms over his sinewy bare chest. “It’s always a dame.”

“Dame? You’ve been watching Casablanca again.”

Darik shook his head. “Double Indemnity.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever, Nate. It’s Barbara fucking Stanwyck. Now, if she was still alive…” he whistled. “Remember Judy?”

Nathaniel threw an arm over the back of the couch. “The blonde with small tits?”

Staring into the memory, Darik nodded with a distant smile. “Yeah. She was my modern-day Barb Stanwyck. Such a bitch that one. I miss her.”

“What happened to her again?”

“Married.”

“When you were seeing her?”

“Yep.”

“Ah.”

Darik walked back to the kitchen. “You want some coffee? I’m assuming you do. So the woman last night, is she who’s got that weight on your soul? You know what I’d do?”

“What?”

“I’d go find her.”

Not sure he wanted to reveal that he already had, Nathaniel asked, “How would I do that?”

“Her scent. Duh.”

Oh. That. The fresh shampoo mixed with her own personal aroma that he couldn’t get out of his nose. And then the sweet scent of arousal he’d gotten a whiff of when they were walking hand in hand.
God help me
. “It’s a big city. That’s not so easy.”

A knock at the door swung both of their heads in that direction as a muffled voice called through, “Let me in.”

Dontae.

“How’d he get in the building?” Darik mumbled, impressed.

Nathaniel opened the door and in walked Dontae with a look that sized up the messy room with distaste. He turned on his packmate. “Eli tells me you’ve contacted the woman you saved.”

Nathaniel cast a guilty look to Darik and shrugged at the dropped jaw waiting for him in the kitchen. Darik shook his head with disapproval, grabbing a third coffee cup and pouring.

“Eli has a big trap.”

Dontae ignored the casual tone. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Nathaniel paused. “I don’t know.”

Dontae held his stare. “From what I hear, she’s nothing special.”

Fire burst through Nathaniel’s preternatural veins. He lunged at Dontae. His punch landed because his attack was unexpected. The second one was for him. Nathaniel reeled back as the powerful hit knocked him against a wall. Running at Dontae, he snarled but Darik flashed between them with unhindered speed, holding them back with his long arms stretched wide, muscles taut. “Enough! Dontae, we know what this is about.”

Dontae glared at the tall wolf from under blonde, furrowed eyebrows. “Fuck you.”

Panting and eager to fight, Nathaniel glared at Dontae. “Move out of the way, Darik. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Calm your wolf, Nate.” Darik’s eyes flashed. “Calm down!”

Nathaniel snarled, “Eli didn’t say that about her. You’re lying just to piss me off.”

Dontae shook out his shoulders and his leather jacket shone in the sunlight streaming through the window. A grimace appeared and he stepped away. He didn’t argue, so Nathaniel knew he’d hit the truth.

Satisfied the worst was over, Darik dropped his arms to his sides. “I wish one of you had been the pizza guy instead of this.” His joke hovered in thick air.

With hazel eyes flickering, Dontae carefully chose his words. “We came to this city to have lives amid culture and diversity. To see the theater, build things, expand ourselves! And you want to tear it all down.”

“I want to do no such thing,” Nathaniel stepped forward with fury. “I was the first one who said yes when you wanted to leave Maine for here. What I did last night has no reflection on that! What was I supposed to do, let him rape her? Would that have made you happy?”

Dontae’s jaw tightened. “Of course not,” he grunted.

“You stopped that robbery a month ago when that old lady was tied up in her house! How is this any different?”

“I didn’t…finish the job.”

The room went silent.

“Yeah. Well, I did.” Nathaniel flipped around and made for the door.

“Nate. Come back,” Darik called after him.

“Fuck him.” Nathaniel slammed the door. As he strode to the stairs, he paused. Inside, with a voice so low only a werewolf could hear, Darik confessed, “You’re still hung up on Catherine, that’s your problem. Not every woman cheats and lies, Dontae. When are you going to make room for that?”

There was only silence. Nathaniel headed down the stairs, realizing they were probably listening to his exit. Or at least Dontae would be; he was no fool. He’d been one for Catherine, and Darik was right, he wouldn’t let it go. Now he was on high alert for anyone doing anything they couldn’t say aloud and with pride. Nathaniel didn’t have to explain himself for wanting to see Michelle today. Last night’s actions were his pack’s business, but he didn’t see how seeing her had anything to do with Dontae. The mere implied power he tried to exert over Nathaniel was offensive and out of line. They were their own wolves, equals. A fact that all four understood.

Fuck Dontae.