That morning the sun had broken through the fog and was now shining in the clear sky. Alex opened the windows and looked at the park outside. The dew lingered on the leaves, making them shine like little stars that had fallen from the sky. A now familiar itch ran through her skin and she hurriedly dressed.
The air was cold and smelled of damp earth. She reached the edge of the forest, undressed and in wolf form began to trot through the trees. She knew she would not be alone for much longer. Someone would warn Michael that he would soon catch up with her. He would, however, keep his distance by watching her and reaching out to her - sometimes only in thought - to catch her up or explain something to her. He had told her that he would stay that way until she was ready: as her creator he had a duty to educate her about her new life, to protect her and protect others from her. A guardian of sorts, who would become her executioner if necessary. If she did not learn to master her instincts or become a danger to the race they would not hesitate to kill her. These were the rules, which had allowed their race to remain hidden from human eyes for millennia.
When he reached the pastures he threw himself into the race. She stuck her tongue out and let her muscles find their release. The feeling of freedom she felt was a hundred times stronger than when she travelled by motorbike at night through the countryside; it intoxicated her.
She passed the hills and pastures. Michael had advised her not to stray too far from the villa, but she still did not feel tired; on the contrary, adrenalin was flowing through her blood, giving her an endless reserve of energy.
When she reached the middle of the valley, however, she suddenly froze. The smell of wolf had alerted her nostrils. It did not belong to Michael or any other of the warriors. Over the previous days he had learned to recognise them, one by one. Of each one of them he knew the lupine form and smell, as well as the place they occupied in the hierarchical scale of the pack.
That smell was new. Sniffing better, he was able to distinguish two different ones. Her nose sniffed the air in search of the source and her ears were perked to catch the slightest noise. However, before her senses could catch them, the two werewolves stood before her. Their coats were brown on their backs and lighter on their paws and their brown eyes were focused on her. They were two males and on their snouts Alex read the lupine equivalent of a grin.
She planted her paws firmly on the ground and unclenched her teeth. She felt the fur rise up along her back and, for the first time, wondered how the hell she would defend herself if they decided to attack her: fangs and claws were not weapons she was familiar with, in fact she had no idea how to use them at all. Sure she had learned to hunt small animals, but werewolves were a different story, she had seen what they were capable of, and she was no match for one of them, let alone two. The important thing, she told herself, was not to let them know she was afraid. They would probably leave.
The rustling of the grass at her side was the only clue she had before she saw Michael stand in front of her. She heard his growl come low from his throat. It was a warning. But the two werewolves did not seem impressed. The one on the right, the larger one, lunged at him. Michael dodged by moving to the left and bit the wolf in the shoulder. With a yelp and a growl, the animal turned and clawed Michael with one paw, but he did not let go.
Alex stood motionless, observing the scene, not quite knowing what to do. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the movement of the second wolf, which had launched itself in Michael's direction. Without thinking, he charged headlong, intercepting it. The werewolf was thrown to the side and landed not far away. He was just getting back up when she came at him through gritted teeth and bit him in the neck. She felt the soft skin of his neck and fur fill her mouth, but not the metallic taste of blood. She still hung on, trying to figure out what his next move should be. A paw reached her chest but she did not let go. Then she heard the werewolf yelp and it was ripped from her mouth, leaving her with a tuft of hair. The wolf made a short arc and fell back to the ground. Michael was on top of him immediately and his fangs reached her exposed throat. Blood gushed copiously from the severed jugular and soaked the animal's coat as he let it fall inert to the ground.
Are you OK? he asked her, reaching out and squaring her.
Yes. You?
Back to the villa.
Who were they?
Strays.
Alex followed Michael as he walked slowly along. Then he saw the blood staining the grass. You are wounded!
It is not serious. But Alex sensed her distress. Worry and anxiety came strong, like a rush that pervaded her veins, along with a sense of guilt: if she had not turned away, he would not have had to fight those werewolves. She continued to follow him in silence, attentively watching his every movement. The journey back seemed to take an eternity. And when they reached the woods she breathed a sigh of relief.
***
Michael watched the slow approach of the oaks with increasing fatigue. Every step cost him fatigue and concentration. He could feel the blood flowing away, taking the last of his strength with it. The only thing that kept him going was his determination to get Alex to safety, to the villa. There she would be safe. He did not know if other strays were out in the countryside and hoped he would not have to find out. She would not have had the strength to face them. When they finally reached the forest, the tension suddenly left him. The adrenalin dissolved, and after a few steps his paws gave way under his own weight. With his eyes he searched for Alex as his vision began to blur. Search for Christopher, she said. He waited until he saw her sprinting forward towards the villa, then closed his eyes, concentrating on the immense effort to breathe.
***
Her paws barely touched the ground. Her snout leaned forward, her eyes attentive to the path. She had to hurry. She reached the bush where she had left her clothes and put on her jeans and T-shirt on the fly, then ran towards the villa. Her bare feet left traces of blood and dirt as she ran through the hall, down the corridor and into the study. She entered without knocking. "Michael!" she said panting. "He is wounded, in the woods!"
Christopher was immediately on her feet, at her side. "Lead me!" And he followed her as Alex resumed her run towards the woods.
Alex ran without caring about the thorns and branches scratching her bare arms and face, or the stones hurting her bare feet. She could hear her own laboured breathing and her heart roaring in her ears. Her thoughts were focused on Michael and silently she prayed that they would arrive in time.
When she finally saw him, she knelt at his side and her eyes looked hopefully at Christopher. The leader of the pack bent down beside his brother and briefly studied the wound that lacerated his side, then gently took him in his arms and started back towards the villa.
Alex watched Michael's head dangle inertly without daring to ask Christopher what his condition was: she did not want to know.
***
Arriving in the infirmary, Christopher laid his brother on the cot, then placed his hand on his forehead. Michael resumed his human form, but still remained unconscious. Alex was roused from his stupor as soon as he saw the bleeding gash on his bare chest. She went to the cabinet and took the necessary items to disinfect and dress the wound. Approaching the bed she looked at Christopher, who nodded silently and stepped aside slightly. Alex cleaned the wound, then began to stitch it up by stretching the two edges of skin with his free hand. Christopher opened a cabinet and took out the necessary supplies for a blood transfusion. He prepared the needles and inserted one into his own forearm. Alex watched as ruby red blood flowed into the small tube and dripped from the opposite needle. Then Christopher inserted it into the vein in his brother's arm. He glanced at Alex, and she resumed her suture work.
Thirty stitches later her eyes were stinging from the concetration. She blinked them several times to moisturise them and lifted her gaze to the leader of the pack.
"She will be fine," he told her reassuringly. "Get some cotton wool and disinfectant." She handed him what she had asked for and he interrupted the transfusion. Michael's face had already regained colour and his breathing had become regular again. Christopher dabbed at the small hole in his arm, then threw the cotton into the basket as he stood up. "Go and get some rest. You'll recover quickly now."
She nodded but did not get up. Christopher smiled understandingly and walked out.
Alex heard the door close and silence fill the room. She looked at Michael's serene face but it was not enough to dispel the sadness she felt. The sense of loss growing in her chest made her feel lonely already. She realised that she did not want to leave. She did not want to leave Michael. She wanted to stay with him even though he had transformed her and turned her life upside down. Ever since she had been with him she had felt what it meant to be part of something. Whether it was a family or a pack didn't matter: it was pleasant. It gave a strange feeling of comfort and warmth. And now she didn't want to give it up. Above all, he didn't want to give up Michael. She couldn't: she loved him.
It was a revelation. She had never loved anyone, perhaps not even herself, but now she loved that wolf-man, and if she thought of her life without him she imagined it devoid of all colour, grey and strewn with shadows.
"I hope that look doesn't indicate that I am dying."
"No," she told him, smiling. Then she added: "I love you.
Alex saw her eyes open and fill with emotion. Then Michael reached out a hand, pulled her to him and kissed her. "That doesn't sound like such terrible news," he whispered softly in her ear. "I love you too." And again his lips closed over hers in a slow, soft kiss.
When he let her go she felt her cheeks warm and her breathing slightly quickened. She was aroused. She sat back down, trying to ignore her instincts. He smiled as if he guessed her thoughts. Then his gaze became almost serious. "I think it's time I taught you how to fight when you're in wolf form."
She raised an eyebrow and smiled. "You did not appreciate my technique."
"How original I would say: I have never seen a wolf charging like a bull. Mostly I think it's... you know, inefficient," he finished, laughing.
Alex feigned offence and smiled at him.