Lunar energy

"Hurt?" Denzel asked, his eyebrows furrowed. He adjusted on the seat, and Nira approached the couch to sit by him.

Nira put her arms around him and stared longingly into his eyes.

"Yes, Denzel, hurt," she repeated.

"I fear for her safety."

Witches and werewolves had quite an exciting relationship. While they were not exactly the best friends or comrades-in-arms, they relied on each other sometimes.

Witches understood the earth, every essence of the fabric that held it together, and so could manipulate it, bend it to their will;

Werewolves looked up to the moon, used the lunar energy to charge themselves up, and significantly increased their strengths. But they each had weaknesses, and the need arose sometimes to seek the other's help.

So when Ezrianna showed up on their doorstep, needing a place to stay and protection, Denzel knew what she was immediately and, by his lupine nature, felt a need to render help as he could.

He assigned a cabin that was within the boundaries of their territory and promised her safety. He rarely saw her, but he made sure some of the wolves in the pack kept watchful eyes on her.

"Well, what could happen?" Denzel said.

"I don't exactly know. I can't tell."

"I'll check in on her myself one of these days," he said.

"You should."

Nira turned to the television, her eyes fixed on the romcom Denzel had been watching.

As a banshee, she felt a constant aversion to specific technological devices, like a TV; it was a wild itch in the back. But this morning, disturbed by her suspicions, she kept her eyes on the TV, trying to keep her mind from running wild.

Later that morning, after breakfast, Denzel decided to visit Ezrianna's cabin. He had also been bothered by Nira's warnings. Of course, she was right — she was always right.

But what made him even more disturbed was that Ezrianna was in the Blackmoon territory, and if she was in danger, it also meant that they all were in trouble.

Without telling anyone, he got into his truck and drove the craggy, uneven path to Ezrianna's cabin.

Within minutes, the cabin came into his view. He stopped at a distance from it, not just because he couldn't drive his truck very close to the cabin because of how narrow the path that led to it was, but also because he did not want to startle the witch.

As he walked, dried leaves and pebbles rustled and crunched under his shoes. The place was verdant, and all around were shrubs and trees. Birds cooed and cawed in the distance, giving the site a spooky feel.

"Exactly like a witch would like," Denzel said to himself.

If he had not been a werewolf, he would have been put off by how the place seemed to inspire fear. But he forged on. He climbed up the steps that led to the front porch and knocked on the door.

There was something like a bag hanging on a nail in the door. It looked like a magic potion, and Denzel groaned inwardly.

"Of course," he said, knocking again.

The door opened swiftly, and standing before him was Ezrianna.

They locked eyes for more than a few seconds, with a surprise that he barely concealed behind a veil of contrived authority, and she as if he was bothering her.

He had almost forgotten how young she was — probably nineteen or in her very early twenties — and seeing her rosy cheeks, her eyes wide and bright with youth, and her slender frame, he was reminded.

Even though she had a sure defiance in her posture, as if ready for a confrontation, he was still acutely conscious of her young age.

"To what do I owe this pleasure this morning, Alpha?" She said, bowing slightly.

Denzel did not know if what he heard in her tone was mockery or how she spoke with deference. He did not care either way, though.

"Good morning, Ezrianna," he said, his voice thick with command.

Almost the way it was when he addressed the pack.

"Good morning," she said.

There was a brief silence. Denzel had his hand interlaced behind his back, and Ezrianna's head was tilted as she watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

"Well, aren't you going to invite me in?" He said.

"Ohh, sure," she said, her eyes lighting up for a fleeting moment as she stepped away from the door and waved him in.

"You're more than welcome to my humble abode."

He took a tentative step inside. Before Ezrianna moved in, the cabin had been his, sort of like a hideout, a place to go where he needed some peace and quiet, away from the bigness of the mansion and the noise of the werewolves, a place to be where he could hear himself think.

It had been empty then, a small space, but walking in now, he was pretty surprised — and maybe even impressed — by how much Ezrianna had made it hers.

Denzel had had some members of the pack help her with some furniture — a small bed, some chairs, and some tables.

Now, looking around, from the potions and poultices that hung in small sacks from the wall to the pots and pans near the stove in one corner of the cabin to the bed and the bedside lamp, Denzel felt impressed.

"I see you've made the best of this place," he said.

"I'm a witch; witches are handy," she said in a matter-of-factly tone.

"Nice," he said, nodding.

She waved him to a chair close to a table, and when he was sitting, she sat in his front, her hands folded in front of her.

"So, you haven't answered my question," she said.

"What?"

"To what do I owe this visit," she repeated.

He looked at her as one would look at a piece of art that hung on the wall in a gallery — with vague recognition and admiration.

She did not avert her eyes for even a second; the girl had guts.

"Your cabin is in my territory, Ezrianna," he said after a long sigh.

"Hence, it is mine. I can't just check in on what is mine?"

"Well, yes, except I don't think you're just checking in," she said.

"I've lived here for quite some time, Alpha, and not once have you checked up on me. I know some members of the pack that have come here. Once in a while, they do, and I know them. So forgive me if I don't believe you."

Denzel shrugged.

She was a little fierce, he had to admit to himself, but also, he was in a dilemma — he didn't know if to tell Ezrianna of Nira's premonitions or ignore it. He looked at her face, saw the way she cocked her head, the rosy color of her lips, and the unwaning brightness in her eyes, and decided that he was not going to scare her.

"Ezrianna," he said, his voice light this time.

"I came to check up on you. Now, I know I have not been the nicest, but I do care. At least to a certain extent."

"Mmm," Ezrianna said, leaning back.

"I see."

Denzel looked around. The cabin wasn't the most secure. When he knocked earlier, he had felt the lightness of the door, had measured it, and he knew if he gave it too hard a push, it would snap off of its hinges.

Now, inside, he looked at the two windows and saw they were not impenetrable.

"So, Ezrianna, do you feel safe?" He asked.

She squinted her eyes suspiciously.

"Why do you ask?"

"Still checking in," he said with seriousness.

"We don't often get intruders, but it won't be a surprise if we did. I want to know if, being in the cabin, you feel a sense of safety."

"Well, I do," she said, shrugging, her upper lip curling in a sly smile.

"Besides, you shouldn't worry much about me. I'm a witch. Anyone that attacks me may not live to tell the tale."

Denzel looked at the smile on her face and smiled, too. He thought she looked cute issuing threats.

"I'm certain they won't," he said.

"I mean, you can't blame me for bothering you. You don't ever leave the cabin."

"Ohh, I do sometimes," she said, getting on her feet.

"I go to the bushes, gather herbs and flowers, and catch animals for a meal. You know."

"Excellent," he said, standing up too. He decided he would leave.

"I appreciate your hospitality."

"You're most welcome," she said without turning around to face him. It was apparent she felt intruded on, so he picked up pace as he walked towards the door.

Just as he touched the doorknob, he heard a knock.