Chapter 1: Wolves in Waiting

I became a werewolf about three months ago, and I was as surprised as anyone. I’m thirty-two, and I thought that the world worked a certain way. I thought that I knew what was what, who was who, and all that goes along with it. Then, suddenly, it was like the world forgot that fiction and reality were different things.

You remember the big tragic stuff that happened that week, the horrible things that our government did that we all like to pretend never happened. It was a result of panic, a shock at the sudden reveal that things actually DO go bump in the night. All bets were off, all rules forgotten, and all secrets revealed. I thought it was the end of the world. I’m sure you did, too.

But, as usual, the end wasn’t entirely the end. Things calmed down, even went back to a semblance of normal. But that normal had a new definition.

For me, that new normal meant that I have a new resident inside myself, a bestial spirit that isn’t quite wolf but isn’t quite not-wolf. And that resident likes to take our body out for a spin every so often.

It took them a while to get organized, but I got contacted by someone called the Over Alpha (though he assured me I could call him Connor). He is the closest thing the wolves have to a high authority, and he arranged this little get-together.

All of the new wolves need packs. There’s never been an influx like this before, so this is all unprecedented. But what they decided to do was basically hold a convention of interviews where we can meet all the alphas and decide which pack we want to be in.

There are five of these going on, apparently. In the US, at least. They set it up regionally. I hope some of them go well.

The actual event starts in the morning. I live in Minneapolis, and the event is, conveniently, in Sioux Falls North Dakota. Only about three hundred miles away. I drove in today, checked in to my hotel, and immediately headed out for a drink. To settle my nerves.

One of the weird things about my new condition is that I can sense others like me. It’s hard to explain how it works. It’s not quite a smell, not quite a feeling, and not quite an itch. But if I look at a crowded bar, I can pinpoint exactly who here is sharing their bodies with a wolf.

So when I get myself a drink a the bar, opting for a Malibu and cranberry, I can tell that the guy standing next to me–Blue Moon with a slice of orange–is also a werewolf.

He looks close to my age and doesn’t seem to be dealing with the changes all that well. I mean, he might have naturally sallow cheeks, but the haunted look in his eyes doesn’t seem like it’s been there all that long. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, either because he is trying to grow a beard or he just forgot to do it. His hair is shaggy but stylish enough to look on purpose, and his clothing is high enough quality to be clear that he has money, but looks like it’s a bit worn out, like he doesn’t care anymore.

But there’s definitely a wolf there. I can almost feel it. And when he turns and smiles at me, I swear I can hear it whimper a little, ears flattening back against its skull and tail tucking down.

“You here for the event?” I ask him. I’m used to starting the conversation, used to asking the inane question that breaks the ice. It used to be part of my job. I guess it still is. Good to know at least one thing hasn’t changed.

He nods. Then he shifts his beer to his left hand and holds out his right. “I’m Greg,” he says. “Dr. Greg Broward.”

“Emily Constance,” I say, shaking his hand. He’s got a good firm grip, enough to show that he cares without trying to prove anything. “Doctor, huh? Academic or medical?”

He sighs. “I am–I was a pediatric surgeon,” he says. “Now, though. Now I suppose it’s just academic.”

There’s sadness there, and I find myself wanting to make him feel better. Not sure why, but I extend the offer. “You want to have a seat and talk about it?”

“I don’t want to depress you,” he says as we sit down. “But I can’t in good conscience continue to practice medicine now that I, um, you know.”

I nod. I understand completely. I had to change careers too. Though mine was kind of a lateral move, and ‘had to’ is a bit of a misnomer. I just changed my focus. “Is it the smell of blood, or do you still have trouble controlling your shift?”

He gives me an odd look. “You can control your shifting? I’ve been locking myself up for three nights a month.”

I nod. “A lot of people do that. But I’ve learned that you can come to an agreement with your wolf. So long as you let them out somewhat regularly, they stop forcing you to shift. It’s pretty common that people don’t know that, though, so don’t feel bad.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a blogger,” I tell him. “And I did a lot of interviewing with people who have been wolves a lot longer than we have.” I take a sip and lean closer to him, putting my reporter skills to use. “You didn’t say anything about the blood. Does it get to you?”

He looks embarrassed. “The smell of blood is difficult. Probably harder for vampires, I’m sure. But it makes my, um, my inner self a bit too excited. Makes my hands shake.”

I nod. “Yeah, that would be bad for a doctor. But maybe you can get control over that, too.”

“That’s what I’m hoping. Alphas are supposed to be able to do that. To help you control your wolf. A strong alpha is supposed to make it possible to live a normal life.”

“So that’s what you’re hoping for?”

“I just want to help people,” he says. The way he says it kind of makes my heart melt a little. It also excites me in a way that is kind of confusing.

I give Greg a better look. He’s a good-looking man. A shower, maybe an ironing board for his shirt, and a shave would make him downright sexy. I can see the curve of his collarbone under his shirt. He’s small, but he’s wiry, corded muscles that make me think that he either runs or swims. Brown hair, blue eyes.

Something about him just makes me tingle in that way that other men have been categorically incapable of doing, at least for the last few months.

Maybe this weekend will end up being more fun than I’m expecting.