“Got it. Hey, tomorrow, can we get this plastic enclosure I saw on television? You can put it around the tree, and thenAri can go back to scooting on her tummy down here. She’ll be crawling soon. She’s trying to get onto all fours.”
“Sure, anything you need. So, this is her first Christmas? We need to get her a stocking! All those ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ ornaments!”
I nod, but my lips lose their smile. “We had those things for her. I knew I was pregnant last Christmas. She’ll be seven months old on the 19th. Knew she was a girl, too. My sister sent all these fancy ornaments from Germany. My brother and sister-in-law in California sent her a dress to wear for her first Christmas. Matt bought her a ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’ stocking.” I huff out a breath, as if it’ll cut off the sobs building in my chest.
Again.
“I’m so tired of crying. I know they’re just things. I just hate... I hate that I couldn’t take them with me. I hate that I now realize he’ll be too petty to give them back. I never knew he was like this, I swear,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “It makes me think that every person I know must be hiding the worst parts of themselves. I don’t even know what part I’m hiding. That I’m too dumb? Too naive?” I shake my head.
Jasper joins me to carry food to the table. “The reflection of that is too trusting. Maybe too idealistic. I’d rather meet someone too hopeful instead of too cynical. Here.” He raises his glass. “To finding out all the good things about each other.”
He always puts the smile back on my face. I raise my water glass and clink it to his. “I’ll drink to that.”
Chapter Twelve: Blood Moon
Ihave my phone with me in my “padded cell.” My online shopping cart is loaded. A plastic hexagon enclosure to put up around the tree. It’s a huge expanding baby enclosure that adjusts to give Ari the run of a whole room or just a chunk of it. I also have Baby’s First Christmas ornaments, stockings, onesies, and gifts for Ari to give to Loretta, like a mug that saysMy Favorite Person Is: Mommyand a silver pendant with Arianna’s birthstone.
But I can feel the moon rising, even through the layers of concrete and wood. I slip the phone onto the high shelf, chug water, and slide out of my clothes, finishing with them just as the pain starts. It’s not a bad pain, not horrific like some movies make it look. It’s a ripple, like a charley horse that touches each muscle in turn, and things are too tight, and then... They’re not. Muscles and bones shift and stretch, teeth push forward, and the fur... Let’s not talk about the manscaping that I’d need to do.
One and a half doses of my magic potion are making me alert, but relaxed. I pace the floor, unable to sleep and still surprisingly human in my thoughts, which doesn’t always happen. The second night is the worst, the most powerful pressure and pull on the Lycan form.
On the second night, I only think about roaming. Biting.
Except this time, I don’t. I only think about her. Running. In that little red outfit, heading to my cottage. Heading into the woods. Me bounding after her, crouching, lunging, catching. The wolf catching Little Red.
She’s down on all fours under me, but I don’t like it. I want her to face me. Know it’s me. Wantme.
I stand.
Sometimes I pace on all fours, but tonight, I stalk on two arched, furry feet, my tail lashing; Long, low snarls whistle past my lips.
I want my mate.
My pup.
I want to be outside, patrolling the perimeter of our den, of Loretta’s nest. I claw at the door, but it’s locked, and my brain, slipping further and further away from human thoughts, doesn’t think about how to open it. I just paw and punch, snarling louder.
I wish the tonic would kick in...
“IT’S GETTING LATE.I should let you get to bed,” Rhea laughs as I smother another yawn. “But I want to come back to capture the perfect Christmas Card pose for you and the baby,” she says, gesturing to the tree.
“I’d love it! It’s a huge tree, I’ve never seen an artificial one so big. Even with a stepladder, I couldn’t put the decorations on at the top when it was up.” I drop my voice to share my secret, “I decorated it in two sections, and then I put the top one on. If I’d had a taller step ladder, that would have been perfect.”
“You’d never know!” Rhea whispers back.
“Thank you so much again for bringing the pie and coming over. It’s been a week since I could talk to any of my friends back home, and I realize I sort of drifted away from most of them before I left, too.”
“I lived in Europe for a long time before finding my way to the States. Back to Manny. We had... We had a difficult start. An arranged marriage, you might say,” Rhea moves backher gorgeous, thick black hair, which is streaked with white. She reminds me of Lily Munster, or maybe the Bride of Frankenstein.
Her last name is Finklestein. Rhea Finklestein. Mother. Rhea and Gaia are symbols of womanhood—I know that much from my Greek mythology phase in middle school.
And her husband is Manny. Man and woman.
Like Frankenstein and his bride.
I look at Rhea’s face as she’s talking, but I’ve stopped hearing the words. Her skin is so, so pale. White, almost gray. She moves her hair again, gesturing with long fingers.
On a scarred hand.
