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Copyright © 2024 by Keiera Pearson

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical
methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and
products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by Rizza Untalan - fierizbookcoverdesign.com
1st Edition 2024
 The Story Thus Far

Book 1: A Wolf’s Mate Walks Into a Bar

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CNVFLGJT
Tony, a touch-adverse bartender/werewolf met Allison, a burnt-out recent transplant, when she walked into his bar (well, not
his bar, but you get the picture) on the night of a full moon. The moment they met, sparks flew unexpectedly for Tony. He’d
never reacted in such a way to anyone before.
The two were mates, drama ensued, and concluded with the opening of Neutral Ground, a private bar for the local magically
inclined community.
 Author's Note/Content Warnings

Note first, then warnings.

Same as last time, no AI was used in the creation of this novel. It's lame I feel the need to specify this, but besides using a
grammar checker to make sure I'm not missing all the commas or using the wrong form of a word, these are all my own words.
No generative text was used, no plot was bounced off chatgpt for ideas, etc. It'll remain that way, too. Thank you for reading,
and I hope you support other authors who likewise don't use AI in their creative endeavors.
Now for the content warning.
I didn’t include one of these in the last book since there wasn’t anything too out there, in my own opinion. This book,
however, contains some dub-con scenes that do warrant a warning.
Spoilers and chapters (so you can skip if needed) are listed below.
********
Spoilers
********
This why choose novel goes from MFM to MMF. These all occur between the three main characters.

Chapter 7 – Sexual assault of a sleeping victim (from assaulter’s POV). Action ends as soon as victim
protests
Chapter 15 – Cheating (it’s not really cheating since there was no discussion of exclusivity, but some may
consider a certain kiss to be cheating)
Chapter 41 – Male on male sexual assault (from the victim’s POV)
 Contents

Prologue
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
31. Chapter 31
32. Chapter 32
33. Chapter 33
34. Chapter 34
35. Chapter 35
36. Chapter 36
37. Chapter 37
38. Chapter 38
39. Chapter 39
40. Chapter 40
41. Chapter 41
42. Chapter 42
43. Chapter 43
44. Chapter 44
45. Chapter 45
46. Chapter 46
47. Chapter 47
48. Chapter 48
49. Chapter 49
50. Chapter 50
51. Chapter 51
52. Chapter 52
53. Chapter 53
54. Chapter 54
55. Chapter 55
Afterword
About the Author
 Prologue

Three Months Ago

Ethan

cannot believe those two got freaking married,” Sarah muttered during a pause in her table wiping. “I mean, what the
“I still
ever-loving heck?”
My bit back laugh came out a somewhat painful, amused snort. “I don’t know, I think it’s kind of romantic.”
“Romantic? Are you for real?” Sharp blue-gray eyes cut right to me, but her scowl turned less… scowly. “They’re nuts. They
knew each other for what, a month? And they didn’t even talk for like the vast majority of that. You don’t think that’s nuts?”
Maybe it was a bit nuts. It sure had been a huge shock when our long-time co-worker Tony and recent hire Allie showed up
claiming to have gotten married a few days after their first date. Our boss rolled his eyes and said they were probably made for
one another, that he didn’t know and he didn’t care, but he would put money on the two newlyweds being happily married for
the rest of their lives.
Sarah had been much more dubious. In fact, when she first found out, she thought it was some kind of prank. It took Tony
showing Sarah his new driver’s license before she finally believed them. Not only did he change his address to Allie’s, but
he’d changed his last name, too.
It was admittedly a bit weird, but I was happy for the two smitten lovebirds. Something clicked between the two of them. I
respected that. The newly budding romantic side of me even envied it.
“Nah,” I said with a bit of a laugh. “They seem happy together. Who are we to judge?”
Sarah went back to grumbling as she wiped down the table next to mine. We worked together to get the bar all cleaned up
after closing. She stayed silent for a while, quietly working within the same orbit, before she finally broke again.
“I mean, really? And now they’re opening some sort of private members-only club downstairs?” She scoffed and tossed her
cleaning rag into the bucket at her feet.
She knelt down to wring out her rag. When she stood up, I moved in behind her. My arms wrapped around her middle. She
relaxed against me and I set my chin down on the top of her head.
I knew better than to tease her about how adorable it was when she got all worked up. Instead, I asked, “You don’t believe in
true love, soul mates, fate? None of that?”
She held my arms with hers. “Relationships are hard work, Ethan. There’s no magic shortcut to a perfect happy life
together.”
The frown in her voice tugged on my heartstrings in a rather uncomfortable sort of way. She’d been having that effect on me
more and more, much to my own surprise. I kind of hated it. And I kind of liked it. It was a whole lot of confusing.
“Besides, I am not the type to want just one man for the rest of my life,” she continued, lifting her chin so she could smirk up
at me. “I like a bit of variety.”
My heart sank, but an offhand comment wouldn’t discourage me. “So you wouldn’t be all aboard the crazy train if someone
showed up and it felt all ‘love at first sight’ to you?”
“Lust at first sight, maybe, but love? Hell no. I prefer my relationships on the casual side.” Her dark pink lips pursed and her
perfectly filled-in eyebrows wrinkled. “You’re probably the closest thing I’ve had to a boyfriend since high school.”
There was my in, right there. All I had to do was finally blurt out, ‘then maybe I should be your boyfriend’, or something
much more suave and the ball would be in her court. Instead, what came out of my mouth was, “You want to come over after
work tonight?”
Her pensive expression evened out and she no longer craned her head back so she could see me. Instead, her gaze dropped to
the floor. She gave my arm a polite tap and I let her go.
“Sorry, I’m going for a run after this,” she said as she slid away from me.
“Ah.” Disappointment ran through me, but I plastered a smile on my face, anyway. “More like you’re going for a run so you
can justify stalking that guy you like at the coffee shop when you finish.”
Did I sound bitter? No, I didn’t sound bitter. More like… how we usually ribbed one another about our current, rather my
more recently former, pursuit of casual partners.
She snorted. “I just can’t find a good excuse to talk to him, is all. He’s like a brick wall, I can’t read him.”
“Just make a move already,” I said with a shake of my head before I could stop myself. She’d been crushing on the guy for
weeks. If anything, I wanted her to get him out of her system so she wouldn’t have any regrets when I finally got up the nerve to
ask her to be exclusive with me.
After all, I’d been exclusive with her for the past few weeks, which was kind of a big deal for me. Sleeping with a new
woman every week had lost its appeal. I thought I was just going through some sort of funk, that I needed time to focus on
myself, but I hadn’t stopped seeing Sarah. The more I thought about it, the more I didn’t want to stop seeing her.
How would she take it if I told her? She’d probably laugh, call me weird, and try to talk me up to one of her Saturday
morning run group acquaintances.
“I’ll move when I’m good and ready.” She bent down and grabbed up the bucket of cleaning solution. “But maybe I’ll try to
get his name after my run, just for you.”
 Sarah

With our cleaning finished, Ethan headed out to hit the gym while I pounded some pavement. I took my usual route, an eight-
mile loop of downtown neighborhoods. When I started at just after four AM, it was still pitch black outside. By the time I
finished a leisure-paced run, the sky lightened a few shades, but the sun hadn’t yet made an appearance.
My frustration at Ethan faded a little more with each strike of my foot against the pavement. I needed to put a bit of distance
between us. I couldn’t help but feel his pull. He’d been asking me to spend the night at his place more and more. More and
more, I’d been agreeing.
He never said or did anything to lead me on and neither of us wanted relationships, but I was getting too comfortable around
him. We were friends who slept together sometimes, nothing more. Maybe pursuing another man would help take my mind off
Ethan for a little while.
Warm air hit my face as I breezed on into the only coffee shop open so early downtown. It was less a trendy number and
more an old-school classic, though they did make all the fancy coffee drinks one could want.
I scanned the busy interior as I pulled out my card to pay. There he was, the man I had been crushing on for weeks, with half
an everything bagel smeared with cream cheese left on his plate.
My gaze lingered a moment too long. He glanced up from his laptop, the one he always worked on. Our eyes met and he gave
me a quick, soft smile of recognition.
He was handsome, for sure, even though he could have used a haircut two or three months ago. The mystery guy rated more
cuddly giant than potential underwear model, but he caught my attention all the same. I pegged him at close to my age, probably
late twenties, maybe early thirties. His amber brown eyes, unruly rust-colored hair, and scruffy not-quite-a-beard got me
fantasizing about what sort of physique the lumberjack of a man hid under those street clothes.
He didn’t seem all that eager to interact with me beyond that smile every time he saw me. Our relationship remained one of
mutual recognition, two strangers that rated as slightly less than strangers due to co-existing in the same space at the same time
so often.
The stranger went back to his laptop and I went back to waiting for my breakfast. I pushed him out of my mind, at least until I
stood at the counter with my food and drink in hand. Huh, no open tables for once. Maybe…
He didn’t notice me until I stood right in front of him.
“Hi, sorry,” I started, feeling suddenly awkward and rude at interrupting him, “can I sit with you? Every other table’s taken
this morning.”
Light brown eyes identical in color to some of the whiskeys, bourbons, and scotches we served at the bar first narrowed,
then widened as they lifted from his screen. His lips parted. He blinked at me as if confused, then raked a hand through his
tangle of hair.
“Oh, uh, yeah.” He did not maintain eye contact and his hand lingered on the side of his neck. His voice wasn’t as deep as
expected, but it had a rich, silky quality to it. “Sure, you can sit here. I don’t mind.” He motioned to the empty spot across from
him and moved his coffee cup closer to his side to make room for me.
“Thanks.” I pulled out the empty chair and climbed onto it.
“It’s no problem.” He glanced over the top of his screen with a small smile. “I’m Charlie, by the way. I guess we’re on the
same schedule. I see you in here a lot.”
“Sarah.” I returned his smile. “And I guess we are.”
He eyed me like he didn’t know what to make of me as I took a sip of my coffee and pulled out my phone. From the way his
eyes glued themselves back to his laptop and how he went right back to furiously typing, I got the impression he wasn’t really
up for a chat.
I popped a chunk of pineapple from my fruit bowl into my mouth. I didn’t want to impose by trying to strike up a
conversation while he seemed to be busy.
My shoulders sagged as my interest waned. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting. Awkward conversation over no
conversation, maybe? I settled for stealing glances at him, setting his face to memory.
He raised dark eyebrows at me, having noticed me looking at him.
My attention returned to the phone my fingers pecked at. Maybe he was gay. Maybe he didn’t find me attractive. Or was he
just shy?
So much for that Ethan distraction. After finishing my food and most of my coffee, I slipped my phone back into my jacket
pocket. I was done embarrassing myself. Where had my cool and confident usual self gone? That bitch had left me high and dry.
The moment I slid off the high tip chair across from him, he stopped typing. His brows furrowed as my chair skipped against
the floor when pushed back in.
 “Thanks for letting me sit with you, Charlie,” I said, grabbing my cup and bowl so I could drop them off on my way out the
door.
“W- wait,” he replied, catching me off guard. Conflict warred over his features. His lips parted as if he wanted to say
something, but it took him a moment to find the words. “You can sit with me again next time.” His quiet voice edged close to a
whisper. “If you want to, that is.”
“Sure. I guess I’ll see you around then.” A coy smile replaced my disinterested, neutral expression. Was he one of those shy,
awkward computer types who didn’t know how to talk to women? I could work with that.
 Chapter One

Charlie

A fter making it to the trailhead, I waited and debated, talked myself into and out of asking Sarah out over and over again.
The more time I spent with her, the more I liked her. The question was, did she like me, too?
It wasn’t too soon. I’d been single for over two years and for the past three months, Sarah and I had been hanging out at the
coffee shop every time we saw one another. She would still be sweaty from what I learned were rather long runs while I would
be neck deep in work.
A few days ago, she asked if I hiked. When I said I wasn’t really an outdoors person, she laughed and told me I needed to get
away from my computer screen for a few hours and spend some time outdoors. I agreed, especially after she made a comment
about not feeling safe hiking by herself.
That made perfect sense. Sarah was a slim, athletic woman and when we stood next to each other, the top of her head didn’t
quite reach my chin.
No one ever messed with me due to my size. She could have invited me as nothing more than a safety precaution. Of course
she wasn’t asking me out. Why would she? She could date any man she wanted.
Could I get a better read on her during our hike? We exchanged numbers a few days ago, finally, after she asked for mine
because I’d been too scared to ask myself.
Sarah showed up a few minutes after me in a little hatchback with a roof rack. Her car was older, well-used but well-loved
compared to my newer sedan that hadn’t driven over gravel before. At least not until that afternoon.
She came properly dressed for an early spring jaunt in the woods. Sturdy boots would protect her ankles over the uneven
ground, unlike my canvas sneakers. Her clothes could have been pulled off a mannequin at any sporting goods store, just like
the rest of the outfits I always saw her in. She even had a small backpack that must have contained her water and other
supplies, while I carried nothing but my phone in my jeans pocket and a single liter of water. Well, half-liter. I’d been
nervously sipping at it while waiting for Sarah.
“You look well prepared. I’m completely out of my depth here, aren’t I?” I asked as she climbed out of her car.
“You’re fine. This trail’s pretty flat,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You should probably get some more
appropriate pants, though, if you decide you want to hike more often. Jeans aren’t good at wicking sweat if you want to go more
than a handful of miles.”
“A handful is more than enough for today.” I raked a nerve-rattled hand through my hair. “Lead the way.”
We chatted as we walked. Nothing too intense, just enough for me to get a better idea of who she was. We had plenty of light
conversations over coffee, but being out in the woods alone with her felt more personal. I was still trying to feel her out, trying
to gauge if she had any deeper interest than just being friendly.
During lulls in our conversation, I tried to psych myself up for it. The woods were surprisingly peaceful, quiet except for the
brisk wind blowing through the trees. We only passed by another couple of hikers. For the most part, we were all alone out in
the woods on the far west side of town.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. The tail end of her dark braid rested just between her shoulder blades. Since she always
came from work, I’d only ever seen her with remnants of makeup that survived her runs. I hadn’t expected her to wear any
since we were doing a physical activity, but she still lined her blue-gray eyes with an enchanting smudge.
I warred with myself. Did I want to get involved? The way she talked, I wasn’t even sure if she was single. She had
mentioned a guy she worked with on more than one occasion, but maybe he was just a friend? Was I just a friend?
We’d been in the woods more than an hour on a trail she claimed was a nice big loop. Sarah kept up a steady pace. Nothing
gave her pause. It was like she belonged in those woods and I was nothing more than a trespasser. The further we went, the
more the fluffy clouds overhead blocked out the sun. Long shadows wavered to either side of the heavily wooded trail. Out of
the corner of my eye, one of those shadows moved.
My pace slowed. An uneasy feeling settled in my gut. Tension pulled the muscles in the back of my neck tight. Leaves
scattered as the wind blew, some birds chirped above, Sarah’s footsteps crunched over the ground as she continued on ahead
of me, but that was it.
“Hey, you okay?” Sarah asked when she noticed how far ahead she had gotten. “You need some more water?” She started
back towards me with a tiny little frown on her lips.
A rustle came from the underbrush a few feet from the trail. The questionable shadow disappeared. I squinted and scoured
the darkness where the shadow had been. I saw nothing, heard nothing, but the unease remained.
“Just thought I saw something, maybe?” Nature and I never really got along. Creepy crawly things grossed me out. Anything
could have been lurking out there.
“Probably a deer,” Sarah suggested. She gave the bushes to the side of the trail a half-hearted once over. “There’s a ton of
‘em out here.”
“Yeah… probably.” Except the shadow had been too low to the ground and I could have sworn there had been a long fluffy
tail. Could it have been an off-leash dog, or even a coyote, maybe? Whatever it had been, it vanished without a trace. “Sorry,
let’s keep go- shit!”
“Wha—?”
I lunged forward. My hand wrapped around Sarah’s upper arm and yanked. She let out a startled yelp and almost lost her
balance, but I both kept her upright and shielded her body with mine. Since Sarah was so much smaller than me, I stood a better
chance at being intimidating enough to make it lose interest.
A giant shadow of a dog slipped out of the actual shadows. Dull black fur covered the animal with one exception; a long
white scar bisected one side of its snout. Vivid eyes shone out from a dark face like some sort of spooky Halloween
decoration. It looked more like a wolf than a dog, certainly was the size of one, but wolves weren’t native to the area.
The dog, wolf-hybrid, or whatever it was, did not act like a friendly inquisitive canine. It held its head and body low to the
ground. Its ears lay flat back against its skull as it took a step closer. It did not wear any collar I could see.
Sarah and I went quiet as the animal drew too close for comfort. My whole body quaked with fear, but what good was I if I
couldn’t protect her?
A low growl became a menacing rumble. Lips pulled back off of huge, sharp teeth. I gulped down a panicked breath. If the
dog attacked, could I keep it distracted long enough for Sarah to get to safety?
Not that Sarah seemed worried about her own safety.
“Go home!” Sarah suddenly shouted. She shook my grip off her arm and stepped around me. “Go!” She clapped her hands
together as loud as she could. “Get out of here!”
“What do you think you’re doing?” I hissed at her in shock.
She completely ignored me. Her focus stayed on the terrifying dog. “Bad dog! No, go on, get!”
It didn’t like her bravado, not at all. The animal launched itself right at her. Without thinking, I shoved her as hard as I could
out of the way.
The animal’s weight hit me like a battering ram. My feet flew out from under me as Sarah stumbled out of range. Jaws closed
around my right forearm and tore through the thick sleeve of my hoodie.
My back hit the ground. All the air in my lungs rushed out with the blow.
The animal pinned me down with one huge paw. Overgrown claws dug into my chest. If it wanted to kill me, I got the distinct
impression it could have. Hell, it probably could have crushed my arm with its teeth, but the dog merely held me there and kept
me pinned down with its impressive weight.
I tried to get my legs under the animal’s body. If I could hurt it, it might let me go. With a grimace, I pulled back my left arm
to punch the damn thing, but before I could, a jet of red mist exploded above the both of us.
The animal cringed back and released me with a pathetic yelp. It turned tail and fled right as the aerosol cloud hit my face.
In an unexpected turn of events, my eyes burned with a fiery sting. My nose wrinkled up against the pungent spice as my
sinuses revolted with a flood of snot. Tears welled, spilled over, and ran down my cheeks. Retreating crashes through the
underbrush told me the dog fled but I couldn’t confirm it, not while freaking blinded.
I coughed and rolled in a futile attempt to escape the cloud, but if it was too late for the animal, it was too late for me.
Retching as the pepper spray entered my lungs, I managed to get to my knees and silently plead with whatever deity would
listen to stop the burning.
“Oh god, I’m sorry! I didn’t know what else to do! Stop flailing and let me rinse your eyes.”
Hands grabbed my face. Sarah tipped my head back. Ice cold water splashed down over my burning, snotty, teary mess of a
face.
My eyes opened against the water. A pathetic, pained, sort of half-moan, half-laugh bubbled out of me as I willed myself to
sit still so she could try to fix me. The dog bite barely registered compared to the chemical warfare attacking my face.
“Is it gone?” A sense of dread filled me. I couldn’t see the dog, couldn’t hope to keep it off her if it went after us a second
time.
“It’s gone,” Sarah said as she dug through her backpack and produced another bottle of water. “It ran off. Jesus, Charlie, your
arm.”
“It’s fine. What about you? You okay?” My lungs burned, breathing hurt, and I could barely see. With a clearing shake of my
head, I wiped at my face with the sleeves of my jacket in a desperate attempt to get some of the pepper water out of my eyes
and nose.
“I’m okay, but why did you push me like that?” she demanded.
“Better me than you.” Unable to breathe out of my nose, I took a bunch of deep shaky breaths in through my mouth. “I can’t
see, Sarah. Was that pepper spray? Why are you even carrying that?”
“I live alone and go for runs by myself at night! Of course I carry pepper spray!”
“Okay, I’m sorry, I get it, just… read the instructions, please?”
“It just says flush with water and I did that. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.” Her blurry form kneeled down
in front of me and a hand touched my shoulder. “Let me see your arm?”
I hesitated to let her see it. It didn’t hurt too bad, but shock could have lessened the pain. I wrapped my good arm around my
bad one and shook my head, but her fingers s traced over the sleeve of my hoodie.
“It’s okay, I’m not squeamish, let me see.”
“Does it look that bad?” I asked as my uninjured arm fell away.
“There’re holes in your jacket, but I don’t see any blood.” She took gentle hold of my injured arm and urged it out away from
my body. She gave my sleeve a tug. “I’m going to take this off real quick.”
Before I could stop her, she made short work on the zipper of my hoodie. One hand pushed the thick fabric off my shoulder
while the other pulled on my sleeve. Once she freed my arm, she took hold of my wrist and pulled the loose cuff of my t-shirt
sleeve up.
Fingers smoothed over the tender skin around the bite wound with a soft, careful touch. It ached, but it wasn’t anything I
couldn’t handle. An unexpected shiver raced down my spine at the feel of her fingertips. No one had touched me like that in a
long time.
“How’s it look?” My eyes squinted open. I could sort of see, but everything was still blurry. It also hurt a whole hell of a lot.
“It’s not that bad, actually.” Relief flooded her voice. “You’re bleeding, but it’s just a few small punctures. We should
probably get you to a doctor just to be safe, though.”
“Is this a bad time to mention I have really bad health insurance?” I asked with a faint little laugh.
She huffed out a chastising sigh. “We’re close to the trail head, maybe a ten-minute walk. Think you can make it that far?”
I nodded, got to my feet, and got my arm back into my hoodie. “I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few minutes, but I still can’t see all
that great right now.”
Sarah took my good arm and pulled it over her shoulders.
“Come on, it’s not that bad, is it?” I asked, not wanting to put much weight on her since she was so much smaller.
“It’s not, but you can’t see. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
After a minute or two of awkward shuffling along with my arm over her shoulder, I let it drop away. She didn’t let me go,
though. Instead, she took my hand in hers and took the lead. My cheeks grew all warm despite the cold air.
She made sure to go slow and pointed out tripping hazards as we went. My eyes still stung like hell, but by the time we made
it back out to the parking lot, I could actually see again.
“You think you’re okay to drive?” Concern wrinkled her brow. She didn’t release my hand. Her fingers tightened around
mine, her eyes dropped down the front of my open jacket. “Or maybe I should take you to an urgent care place?”
I smiled down at her and shook my head. “I think I’m good. My arm doesn’t even hurt. A few band aids and I’ll be good as
new.”
“You need a freaking rabies shot, Charlie. That dog might have been rabid,” she admonished.
“Yeah, maybe, but if they’re going to disinfect it and tell me to walk it off, I don’t want to end up with a huge bill.”
“I’m not a medical professional, but I really think you should get that looked at.” She let go of my hand and motioned to my
arm with a raised eyebrow. “They might want to put you on antibiotics just to be safe.”
My eyes lifted back up to her expressive and captivating ones. And had I ever noticed how her larger bottom lip made her
look a bit pouty most of the time? How there was a light spray of freckles across her nose but not her cheeks?
I swallowed. Renewed nervous jitters rattled me. “I’ll take my chances?”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and seemed to fight back a smile. “But don’t blame me if you get some sort of nasty infection and
your arm falls off.”
“The only thing I will blame you for is knowing what pepper spray tastes like.”
She laughed at that. At least I could make her laugh, but then we fell into loaded silence like we both wanted to speak but
couldn’t bring ourselves to.
What I wanted to say, what I wanted to ask, was if she wanted to try going out again? Not hiking, obviously, but something
like dinner, drinks, a movie? Like… a date? A real one, not another ‘meet up as friends is it or isn’t it a date’. I wanted to go
out with her and just sort of see where it could lead.
“So, you aren’t going to go get that rabies shot?” she finally asked, turning her head my way to meet my gaze again.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Seriously, Charlie, you should. Else I’ll—”
“We should go out this weekend.” A tiny spike of bravery had been all my mouth needed to act, but the words came out high
pitched and fast and maybe not completely coherent.
“—worry.” Her eyes went a little wide and suddenly I felt like an ass for interrupting her. “What?”
“This weekend, or sometime next week?” I fumbled. My brain felt like mush, but I pushed through. “I know your work
schedule is weird. I don’t know, the date’s not important, but like… as a date… maybe… if you want to? With, um, me?”
The corners of her lips turned up and her expression softened. Thank God she smiled instead of cringed or screwed her
eyebrows together or scowled. That was a good sign, right?
She lifted her hand high. I forced myself to stay still.
“I thought this was a date, but sure,” she said, giving my hair a ruffle. “We can do something more traditional.”
 Chapter Two

Sarah

“H ow could he think it wasn’t a date?” I lamented with a groan. “I thought I’d been sending pretty clear ‘hey, I’m into you,
why haven’t you tried to bang me yet’ vibes, but apparently not.”
“Maybe he likes to take things slow?” Allie tapped her lip with a knuckle as if lost in thought. “Or maybe he’s
completely clueless when it comes to subtle signals?”
“Do I come across as a subtle person to you?”
The short-haired woman across from me let out a cute little snort laugh. “No, you do not. But seriously though, some guys
just don’t get it until you spell it out a single letter at a time.”
“This is why I don’t do the relationship thing. It’s too confusing.” I collapsed forward onto the counter I’d been trying to
scrub sticky cherry syrup off of. My forehead met the cool wood surface. I lifted my head maybe a half-inch and let it fall back
down a few times.
“Isn’t this the guy you’ve been semi-stalking for the past few months? The one from the coffee shop?”
“I have not been semi, or any kind of stalking him. We just happen to show up at the same place at the same time a few times
a week. And we sit together. And he’s like a freaking lumberjack, I swear he even wears flannel sometimes and I just…” I
turned my head to the side and stared across the counter. “Ugh, I don’t know. I’m being dumb.”
It was well after closing. I’d worked the late shift with Allie for the first time in a long while. We hadn’t had much of a
chance to talk in the last few weeks. She’d been too busy with her dumb husband working in their dumb new members-only
club, or whatever it was, to hang out with me recently.
We only met four and a half months ago when she brute force got herself hired, but I already considered us friends. She went
hiking me with almost every week and said she developed a newfound love of nature since she moved to town.
Allie leaned against the counter in front of me. “You aren’t being dumb. I think you just have a crush and it sounds like he
likes you, too. He did ask you out.”
“Yeah, but I’m used to only being in it for the sex, you know? This guy, he gives off major ‘not until… like, it’s somewhat
serious’ vibes. I don’t even know if I can do ‘somewhat serious’. I mean, I’m twenty-eight, you’d think I’d have done the whole
relationship thing by now, but no. I’ve been perfectly happy sowing my no-strings-attached oats. Now this guy comes along and
I’m like, maybe I should try the relationship thing? Ugh, it’s so confusing.”
“Have you broken it off with Ethan yet?”
“No.” A jolt of annoyance shot right through me. “There’s nothing to break off. It’s just sex with him. Like I said, no strings.”
“You two seem pretty close for it to be a no strings thing, Sarah.” An annoying, suspiciously sweet smile graced her lips.
“Are you sure you don’t have feelings for him?”
“Ethan’s not relationship material. Hell, I’m not relationship material.” I folded my arms. “Maybe I should just tell this guy
it’s not going to work. No way am I not going to screw this up in record time and feel hella guilty about it. I just don’t know if I
can do the ‘one guy for the rest of my life’ thing. Sounds boring. No offense.”
“None taken.” A hand pat me on the shoulder. “You know open relationships are a thing, right? Maybe that would be more
your speed. I mean, you aren’t opposed to the whole emotional involvement thing, are you?”
“Not in theory. I’ve just… I don’t think I’ve had anything like that before. The whole ‘butterflies and hearts in eyes’ thing
sounds nice, though. And this guy, I don’t know if he’s inexperienced or shy or just one of those guys that doesn’t get it, but he’s
got me intrigued.
“I want him. I’d sleep with him right now if he was down, but I’m okay waiting. Maybe the waiting will build anticipation?”
I propped my chin on my crossed arms to see her perched with her elbows against the counter right in front of my face. “It’s not
like we can all meet our freaking soul mates or whatever and marry them within a month, you total weirdo.”
“That’s fate for you.” She rubbed at the simple black band tattooed around her ring finger. “Unexpected as it was, it just felt
right.”
“You ever have second thoughts about it? I mean, Tony’s always been a little weird.” Weird was a bit of an understatement
when it came to her husband, but Tony had always seemed mostly harmless. He was a quiet, reserved kind of guy, but he was
hot, so he got a lot of attention he did not appreciate. Ethan and I ran interference for him all the damn time, at least until Allie
showed up and he suddenly showed an intense interest in her. The whole thing weirded me out, but whatever. It was their lives,
not mine.
“Tony’s mine and I’m his. That’s all there is to it.” Her dark eyes may as well have sparkled. “I wouldn’t change a single
thing.” She looked up as if in thought. “Except maybe the cursing. And his table manners could admittedly use a lot of work. No
one’s perfect.”
I cackled at that. “Ain’t that the truth.” I picked myself up and began wiping at the sticky spot again. We did need to get things
done so we could leave for the night. Allie and I continued with our cleaning while humming along to the music playing on my
phone.
“You think I should cancel?” I asked, wringing out my rag between tables.
“Cancel what? Your date Sunday?” She shot me a ‘come on now’ look.
“Yeah.”
“Why would you do that? You like the guy and you’ve been out with him before. You literally just said your hike together
was a date! Why the cold feet?”
“What if he’s not cool with my history? You’d be surprised how many guys get all bothered when they find out I’ve had more
partners than they have. One second, they’re all teasing and ‘come on, be honest, it’s cool’, and the next they act like I’m a
threat to their manhood or something.”
“So be up front about it,” she suggested, stopping momentarily to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “That way you
don’t waste your time if it bothers him.”
“I guess…”
“Don’t guess and don’t worry. You’re great. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. There’s no rush.”
I mumbled something that may or may not have sounded like, ‘I know, you’re right. You’re always right.’
“Oh, how did that jacket work out for you on your hike?” she asked, changing the subject to something lighter and more
casual, like the pink jacket she let me borrow for my hike with Charlie. She bought one I’d been eying for a few months and
offered to let me borrow it to see if I wanted to get my own.
“Worked great. I just need to wash it and I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.” At least, I would if I could get the smell of pepper
spray out of the dang thing.
 Chapter Three

Charlie

“Y ou ready for another round? I kind of want to check out that new place down on 5th,” I said, holding the door open for
Sarah as we exited the Irish pub we spent the last hour in.
“Oh, do they have onion rings?” Sarah positively beamed. “I could totally go for some onion rings.”
“We can find out.”
So far, so good. I got the impression Sarah actually enjoyed my company. She must have seen something in me, after all.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Sarah gave me a pat on the back as we fell into step together. “I got worried when you said
you were sick earlier this week. Sounded pretty bad.”
“Yeah, no, I’m fine now.” I shrugged a shoulder. “Whatever it was, I feel great tonight.” In fact, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever felt
so positively energetic. It had to be my nerves.
“How’s your arm, by the way?”
“Looks a lot better.” I tugged my right sleeve, pulled the cuff of my jacket a little lower over my wrist.
“Can I see it?”
“I’ve still got it bandaged.”
A total lie. There wasn’t a bandage over it because there was nothing left to bandage. By the time I made it home from our
hike, the bite wound had already scabbed over. By the next morning, the multiple puncture wounds were completely gone. It
didn’t even leave a scar. It made no sense. A wound like that should not have healed anywhere near that fast.
“You did go to the doctor for a rabies shot, right?”
“Yes, I did. Thanks for asking, Mom,” I teased. Lying to her sucked, but I was not eager to get poked and prodded and
questioned. Especially since I spent the day after our hike either half-delirious in bed or hanging over the toilet puking my guts
out.
“I’m just asking because I care.” Her cheeks flushed to a rosy pink unrelated to the cold evening air. She elbowed me in the
ribs for emphasis. “You don’t have to be so defensive about it.”
“I’m not being defensive.” Which just made me sound more defensive. I sighed. “Sorry, I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“I bet you’ll be avoiding large dogs for a while, huh?”
 “That is the plan.” I hadn’t been much of a dog person before, but that whole incident sealed the deal.
We meandered towards our destination in comfortable silence. She wanted to take the scenic route, so we cut across the
street to enjoy a leisurely stroll through the park. A small, fish-filled spring bisected the park that sprawled the length of a few
blocks through downtown. It made for a picturesque date night stroll.
A full moon hung in the cloudy sky overhead. Between the moon and the dim streetlights, we didn’t have any trouble
navigating the dark park. Beside me, Sarah crossed and rubbed her arms. She shivered. The temperature had dropped a few
more degrees while we’d been inside getting drinks and she wore only a light sweater over her arms.
“Here.” I unzipped my hoodie, shrugged out of it, and held it out to her. “It’s getting cold. You want my jacket?”
Her brows furrowed as she eyed my offering. “Won’t you be cold, then?”
“I’m a little warm, actually.” Under my hoodie, I still wore a long-sleeved t-shirt, so it wasn’t like I’d freeze. Besides, I
liked the idea of her wearing something of mine.
“Well… if you insist.” She tried to hide an adorable smile by ducking her head, but failed spectacularly. Her purse came off
her shoulder and she held it out to me. “Here, hold on to this for a second.”
We exchanged items, her purse for my jacket. In another few seconds, my hoodie hung loose across her shoulders. The arms
were so long they completely swallowed her hands. With a flick of each wrist, she pushed the sleeve cuffs up. The fabric
bunched up her forearms.
I fought back a laugh. She looked a bit absurd swimming in all that fabric. I liked my hoodies on the loose side and with our
size difference, she flat out drowned. Still though, she wore my jacket, my scent. The longer she wore it, the more she would
smell like me.
Once I handed her back her purse, she settled it over her shoulder and lifted her chin. Her eyes met mine with that beautiful,
sultry gaze of hers. She’d done her makeup up nice, more subtle than her usual dramatic work looks. Her eyelids shimmered a
pale gold and her cheeks blushed with either actual blush or the chill in the air. Soft pink lips pulled back with an amazing
smile.
We fell back into step with one another as we crossed through the park.
“Warm enough now?” I asked.
“Quite.”
“Good.” I drew in a deep breath to take in our mingled scents. She smelled fantastic on her own, but... My words came out
with an unfamiliar rasp. “You smell so damn good with my scent all over you.”
“What?” she asked, sounding confused.
“Uh…” I blinked. My brows furrowed and I slowed to a stop.
“Charlie?” Sarah paused and stared at me as if I’d gone mad.
Had I gone mad? That had been a weird thing to say. I hadn’t even thought about it, it just sort of slipped out.
I couldn’t parse what was going on in my head. None of it made sense. I wanted to stop and think, but instinct overrode the
confusion. My mind and body had fallen out of sync, but the instincts felt natural. Could the alcohol have given me an extra
dose of bravery?
My hand went to her chin. I used my knuckle to tip her head up and leaned down to meet her.
My lips met her shiny pink ones for a brief, barely there press. Her lip gloss tasted faintly of berries. I kept myself in check,
kept the press of my mouth against hers gentle, but I wanted more. So much more.
After a lingering moment, my hand dropped away from her chin. I swallowed hard and straightened up again. What the hell
had gotten into me? I wasn’t a ‘kiss on the first date’ type of guy. Certainly wasn’t a ‘sex on the first date’ guy, but with Sarah, I
considered asking if she’d forgo those onion rings and come home with me instead. A quick jerk of my head brought me back to
myself.
Curious eyes searched mine. I couldn’t tell if she wanted to deck me or to jump me. We spent an uncomfortably long silence
staring into each other’s eyes.
Sarah cracked a sly smile. “And I had the impression you wanted to take things slow.”
“I’m so sorry.” Embarrassment washed right over me. “I shouldn’t have done that without asking first.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
Sarah reached up and touched my face. The brush of her fingertips against the stubble across my jaw sent another wave of
frantic desire through me. I leaned into her touch for a single sharp breath and inhaled the fresh scent of her. She smelled
amazing all wrapped up in my scent, but it wasn’t quite right, not yet.
What the hell was wrong with me? Why did I feel so off? Why were my thoughts so… weird?
“That’s… I’m not sure what came over me,” I stammered as I dropped my eyes from hers. Confusion at my behavior
consumed me. Part of me wanted to run the hell away, but another wanted to pick her up and carry her into a dark corner of the
park so I could take whatever she was willing to give me.
She was mine. We were meant to be together. What was the point of waiting?
An ache began in my gums. It wasn’t pain, more like an odd tingling sensation where my canine teeth were. A wave of
nausea washed over me. My abs tensed against it and seized up tight. I clutched at my middle with a grimace.
“Whoa, hey, Charlie. You okay? What’s going on?” Worry painted her face. Her eyebrows hung low over those enchanting
gray eyes.
“I don’t know,” I managed to reply through gritted teeth. “Something’s wrong, I think?”
I wrapped my arms around myself. I didn’t normally have any sort of health problems. In fact, I was always a pretty healthy
guy. So why did my insides feel like they were trying to claw their way out?
“Come on, let’s sit down for a sec.” Her voice wavered. If she sounded worried, maybe I looked as awful as I felt. She took
my elbow and guided me to a bench off the path.
Whatever tore up my insides incapacitated me fast. Was it my imagination, or had I felt off all day? Hadn’t I been energetic,
jittery, and kind of horny? My sense of self shifted and slid in some new, unfathomable direction.
I collapsed onto the bench Sarah led me to. It was darker out of the light of the nearest streetlamp, but I had no problem
seeing with perfect clarity. I lowered my head towards my knees and tried to keep my breathing steady as my guts scrambled
themselves.
“Charlie?” Sarah squeaked out. “Your hair, it’s… it’s…” She fell back one single, wobbling step.
Her words barely registered over my focus on the blades of grass around her feet. They swayed with the crisp breeze.
Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke, ran through my head like a mantra. I really didn’t want to ruin her shoes.
“I- I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.” My words came out raspy like a lifelong smoker’s would. The ache in my gums
swelled and spread to the rest of my jaw. My tongue didn’t want to move right in my mouth anymore.
A slow burn ignited throughout my whole body. It washed over me in waves. I couldn’t take the oppressive heat. My skin had
to breathe or I was going to pass out. I pulled my shirt off over my head in one quick movement, let it drop to the ground as I
panted.
Why did I feel so hot? Like I was drowning in it, being dragged under. I could keep kicking and thrashing to stay above the
surface, or I could relax and let it take me. I wanted it to stop, wanted to stop feeling alien in my own skin.
What the hell was happening to me?
“Oh my god, Charlie, what the fuck?”
The rough way Sarah grabbed my shoulder brought me back to myself. It took effort, but I lifted my head and met her gaze.
Wide eyes shone with fear. Even her scent grew tainted with it, but she stayed with me.
With a gasp, I slipped off the bench. Hands and knees hit the ground, but nothing felt right anymore. My vision swam. Colors
distorted.
I distorted.
I wasn’t seeing things as they should have been. My regular old hands, light toned fingers with short stubby nails, contorted
into misshaped claws. I tried to scream, but my vocal cords refused to cooperate.
Sarah grabbed my face and pulled my chin up with both hands. Her eyes stayed glued to mine as she held my face tight
between her palms. She was mesmerizing. The scent of her made me swoon.
Why was she still there? Why hadn’t she run away?
“Stay with me, Charlie,” Sarah pleaded with panicky, clipped words. “Please, whatever’s happening, just… just stay with
me.”
Help me! I tried to scream. Nothing beyond a hoarse growl came out. My wavering sense of self assaulted me again. I jerked
away from her touch and fell backwards. The unending pain continued to claw at me. It got worse as each miserable second
dragged on.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped struggling and let it take me. My body, my mind, everything slipped away.
 Chapter Four

Sarah

“S arah?” Owen, a slim, raven-haired man not much taller than me, regarded me with crunched up eyebrows. He paused
mid-wipe and set aside his cleaning rag. “I thought you said you had a date tonight?”
“I did.” I hung both my purse and the bag containing what remained of Charlie’s clothes on the hook under the bar
before I slid onto the seat in front of Owen. It was a lucky break I hadn’t taken my reusable shopping tote out of my purse after
my last shopping trip. I couldn’t just leave Charlie’s clothes for someone else to come across, not when most of them were all
shredded and covered in wolf fur.
The word shocked didn’t quite cover it. My concept of reality shattered to millions of tiny little pieces. Nothing would ever
be the same. I would never be the same.
And apparently, neither would Charlie.
It started with his eyes. The color brightened. Whiskey brown became a vivid, inhuman amber orange. His rust-colored hair
followed as I led him to a park bench. The color drained away strand by stand to leave behind a cold, steel gray. He stripped
off his shirt and gasped for air before he fell, groaning in pain, to the ground.
My hands cupped his face as he changed. Dark gray fur spread down the back of his neck and covered his contorting body. I
couldn’t do anything beyond sit there and watch in horror as Charlie, the cute, shy, sort of oblivious man, turned into a giant
freaking wolf right in front of me.
I had to help free that wolf from his pants. They hadn’t quite survived the ordeal. Neither had his shoes. Once free of his
clothes, wolf Charlie gave me one last glance, grabbed one of his shoes, and fled into the night like something straight out of a
horror film.
We’d been out hiking in the middle of the day, what, five days ago? Charlie got bit by a dog that, on second thought, did look
like a wolf. It had to be a werewolf, right? Could werewolves… change or whatever outside of full moons?
I had dozens upon dozens of questions and had no one to talk to about any of it. Who the hell would even believe me? I
wouldn’t believe me!
Was Charlie okay wherever he was? If anyone saw him, would they freak out? I freaked out, but I had seen him change into a
regular, though ginormous and kind of glowy-eyed, gray wolf.
 Charlie was a pretty beefy guy, both tall and thick in all the right ways. If I had to guess, the laws of physics still applied. A
large man equaled a large wolf, probably larger than an actual wolf. Anyone who saw him might consider him dangerous based
on size alone. If he had a collar on, would he look more like an escaped pet?
Was that a weird thought? That might have been a weird thought.
And all I could do was try to sort out my short-circuiting brain. Over a drink. Maybe quite a few drinks. There was no way I
wanted to attempt it sober. Of course, I had gone straight back to work. I needed a dose of sanity after, well, that.
Owen raised a black eyebrow. A curious expression lit across his pale face. “Are you okay?”
“Can you make me a drink?” I clasped my hands together and rested my elbows on the bar top. “A double, pretty please?”
“Was it that bad? It’s not even 10 yet.” He moved to start me a drink without even asking what I wanted. He already knew
what I wanted.
“You know, I’m not even sure.” I idly kicked the counter with my cute little ankle boot as my boss and the owner of The
Crypt poured bourbon into a mixing glass. I gave him a weary smile as he finished up my drink.
Owen set an old fashioned down in front of me. “This the coffee shop guy? He wasn’t a jerk, was he?”
“Yeah, coffee shop guy, and no, he wasn’t a jerk,” I said with a completely straight face because it was 100% true. I took the
drink he so graciously made with a double pour of bourbon and downed the whole thing in a few gulps. “Thanks for asking,
though. Just been kind of a weird night. Cheers.” I raised my empty glass to him in a mock toast before I sat it back down on the
bar.
Owen stared at me as if I’d grown two heads. Who knows, maybe that was possible, considering werewolves were
apparently real.
“Did Ethan already take off?” I asked on a whim.
“You just missed him. He left like ten minutes ago.”
I gave a quick thought to giving Ethan a call, but A, if Ethan just left, he was likely at the gym instead of home, and B, it felt
wrong. Charlie and I hadn’t had the fabled ‘are we exclusive’ talk yet, but he struck me as the type of guy who would not be
thrilled if I spent the night with another man the same night we had our first official date.
Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t have spent last night at Ethan’s place…
My fingers rocked the rim of my empty glass back and forth to make it dance a little dance on the bar top. My budding
relationship with Charlie may as well have crashed and burned right out of the gate.
“So…” Owen started, his tone over cautious, as if he spoke to an easily spooked horse, “you want a refill?”
“Yes. Yes, I would.”
“Okay, but maybe take your time with this one. I don’t want you walking home alone tonight completely blitzed.”
“Sometimes, I think you actually do care,” I teased.
He responded with a scoff and a roll of his eyes.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve made it home after worse.” Had I, though? Worse than two doubles after seeing a man turn into a wolf? Oh
my freaking god. How am I going to live with this?
“I’m sure.”
“Why thank you,” I purred as Owen sat a fresh drink down in front of me. He left me to nurse my drink and got back to taking
care of the few actual customers hanging around the bar.
I ran my finger around the rim of my glass. The first drink started to hit. Two were more than enough to make me pliable and I
had a beer with Charlie. I needed to savor the second cocktail.
A few minutes’ worth of quiet but crazy contemplation later, the front door opened. Curious who would wander in so close to
closing time on a Sunday, I gave the newcomer a cursory glance. Upon recognition, I turned right back to stare at my drink. I
kind of hoped he didn’t notice me.
The put-together, handsome, and always dapper blond wore one of his many tailored, likely bespoke suits. I had a bit of a
thing for the guy back when we first met, but realized quick he was way too odd for my taste. That, and it became rather
obvious I would never be his type. Owen sure seemed like he could be, though.
He talked with Owen a lot and for the longest time, he was the only one Tony ever said more than a few, not strictly
business-related, words to. He also, on occasion, spouted some weird shit. The stylish blond took the seat to my left and didn’t
leave an empty seat between us.
“Unusual to see you on this side of the counter, Sarah.” D said in his laid-back Australian accent. “What are you up to this
evening?”
“What’s it look like, D?” Gripping my glass between my fingers, I brought it to my lips and took a careful sip.
“Your aura looks different today. Something’s changed.”
I gave him a bit of a side eyed glare and raised an eyebrow in his general direction. If Charlie was a werewolf, could auras
actually be real? Could D actually see them?
I really didn’t want to think about that, especially not with D saying mine looked different. If anything could make an aura
look different, an existential crisis of the paranormal variety would probably do it.
 “I’m the same as I’ve always been, I think?” Thanks to the alcohol, the lie sounded more confident than it had any right to.
“See anything strange this evening?” he asked in a lighthearted, non-accusatory way.
My blood ran cold. There was maybe a fifty-fifty chance he noticed the slight pause as my heart skipped a beat.
“The only thing strange I’ve seen this evening is you.” I tipped my chin up and raised my glass to him before I took another
sip.
D chuckled. His light laugh that told me he knew as well as I did he was kind of weird.
“D, what brings you in tonight?” Owen asked, hopefully saving me from further conversation.
“There’s something we need to discuss. Do you have a minute?” D’s attention turned to Owen, which freed me from the odd
sense D could stare straight into my soul and dissect it piece by piece.
“Yeah, you can come on back.” Owen gestured to the employees-only door behind the bar before giving me a nod. “Keep an
eye on the place for a sec, would you, Sarah?”
“Sure, whatever. I’ll be here.” I waved my glass at him and intentionally slurred my words a little. “I’m not making any
drinks, though.”
D laughed and dismounted his stool. He shot me a sly smile, then went to join Owen at the door.
“You should keep an eye on that one, mate.” D didn’t bother keeping his voice low. It wasn’t like there were more than a
handful of other people in the bar to overhear him.
“Don’t be dramatic. She just had a bad date,” Owen replied as they both disappeared behind the door.
I nursed my drink and stared into space. No one else came in, though I jumped up and tabbed out an antsy customer for
Owen. It took a surprising amount of time before D and Owen emerged from the back room.
“See you again soon, Sarah,” D said. He came around behind me to head to the front door but paused to lay a hand on my
shoulder. “Be careful walking home tonight.”
“Psh.” I waved a dismissive hand and rolled my eyes. “I’ve got pepper spray and know how to use it. I’ll be fine.”
He laughed at that, said his goodbyes to Owen, and vanished out the door. A cold breeze blew in before it closed behind
him.
A shiver shook my shoulders at the rush of cold air. I wrapped Charlie’s huge jacket tighter around myself and Owen went
back to tabbing the rest of the customers out for the evening. One by one, they filed out until Owen and I were the only ones left.
“Hate to break it to you, but the bar’s closed.” He set a cleaning bucket down on the bar in front of me. “You can either head
on home or you can help me close up. Take your pick.”
“Okay, okay, fine,” I grumbled, throwing back the last dredges of half-melted giant ice cube and old fashioned. The empty
glass hit the counter with a loud clank. I hadn’t meant to do that and certainly hadn’t meant for my words to sound so viscous.
My coordination was just too messed up because of the booze.
Owen’s judgmental eyes narrowed at my ungraceful stool dismount.
I caught myself on the counter, recovered my balance, and took a wobbly step towards the door. “I’m out.”
“On second thought, stuck around for a few minutes.” Owen slid around the counter and grabbed my shoulders before I made
it another four steps closer to the door. “I’ll drive you home. I’m opening tomorrow, so I’ll just come in early to get the rest
done.”
I blinked. My eyelids already felt all heavy. “Really?”
He heaved another one of his usual begrudging sighs and guided me over to one of the plush couches in the back corner. “I’d
really rather you not try to stumble your way home tonight. Sorry, I forgot you’re such a lightweight.”
“Psh.” I waved a hand and collapsed down onto the comfortable couch. “I needed it. It’s been a night.”
He took a seat next to me. “Date that bad, huh?”
“I wouldn’t say it was all bad.”
“You want to talk about it?”
I shook my head.
“Is that his?”
“This?” I tugged at the sleeve of my giant new hoodie. It sported the logo of a brewery from a few towns over. Charlie was
definitely a craft beer kind of guy instead of a cocktail drinker. “Yep.”
Would Charlie come back? Would I see him again? I wanted to see him again. Mainly to ask ‘what the ever-loving fuck?!?’
but I also didn’t want to abandon him.
It was kind of my fault a werewolf, if that’s what it was, bit him. I’d been the one to ask him to come hiking and I was the one
that tried to scare the wolf away. Charlie pushed me out of the way. It could have been me that turned into a wolf in the park
had things gone differently.
And… I still kind of wanted to finish our date. Even with the whole ‘turning into a wolf’ thing, I still wanted Charlie. Was
that insane? Maybe that was insane.
“That place makes a mean oatmeal stout.” Owen got to his feet, put his hands on his waist, and stretched his back. “Think you
can you sit tight for a few minutes while I close up?”
“Sure thing, boss.” I pulled my feet up onto the couch. “I’m not going anywhere.”
 Chapter Five

Ethan

A hard after work workout hadn’t done a thing to calm my mind for once. Why did things have to be so complicated? Why
couldn’t I just tell Sarah I didn’t want her going out with some other guy, that I wanted her all to myself? Since when had I
actually fallen for her?
I could have confessed my feelings, but knowing Sarah, she would end things with me instead of fall into my arms. We’d
been screwing around for over two years. It was never supposed to be more than screwing around, but then I had to catch
feelings.
I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and kept moving. Stupid is what it was. Why did I have to start thinking so much
about relationships and love and all that crap?
Could it have been because of my age? My twenty-sixth birthday had come and gone a few months ago. By my age, all three
of my older siblings had gotten married and had a kid or two. I didn’t talk to any of them or my parents more than the required
social niceties of a birthday and a Christmas call, but each call they all asked when I would stop messing around and settle
down.
I heaved a sigh so forlorn someone somewhere might have written a poem about it. At least it’s a nice night, I thought as I
crossed through the narrow neighborhood alley leading back to my apartment. All I wanted to do after my workout was go lie
on the couch and eat a pint of low-calorie ice cream. With a bit of imagination, it tasted close to the real thing. I could play a
game, too. Maybe blowing up a bunch of virtual stuff would help me feel less irritable and just a little heartbroken.
An intuitive prickle ran across the back of my neck. I paused and glanced around. A few token floodlights broke up the
darkness in the narrow alley. The full moon overhead barely shone through the giant tree in one of my neighbors’ yards. I saw
nothing but the prickle refused to go away.
I continued forward, hyper aware of every little sound. The quiet scuff of my sneakers against the asphalt, a few leaves
blowing in the wind, a low growl from somewhere nearby.
Wait.
I startled back a step.
A huge animal prowled out from behind an SUV. Did wolves live up in the woods? It certainly didn’t look much like a dog.
The dark gray and amber-eyed animal in front of me had to be twice as large as the largest dog I’d ever seen. It wouldn’t have
shocked me if the thing weighed more than I did.
The animal lifted those bright eyes up to mine. Neither one of us moved a muscle, but we stared at each other, silent and
unmoving.
Just his presence freaked me right out. His nose worked as he sniffed the air. He cocked his head to the side and took one
slow step forward, then another. Lowering his head, his ears laid back with a soft whine.
“Shoo, Fido,” I muttered at the mutt with a wave of my hands. “Get out of the way so I can go home.”
Could I take on a dog that size if it attacked me? Probably not. While I could bench press the thing for sure, a wiggling,
snarling mass of fur and teeth did not strike me as something I wanted to tangle with.
The dog did not shoo. He inched closer and closer, one cautious step at a time. His nose lifted higher in the air. The closer he
got, the more his stiff movements relaxed. His tail twitched back and forth.
“So what? You’re friendly, is that it?” I asked as the animal closed in on me.
That tiny tail twitch became a full-on happy wag as he drew close enough to sniff at my sweatpants.
At a distance, I hadn’t had a good idea of just how big he was, but up close, his shoulders were damn near even with my
upper thighs. The last thing I wanted was to turn my back on an animal whose nose could have butted right into my navel. You
weren’t supposed to look weak to animals like that, right?
“Are you lost, maybe?” I didn’t see a collar around his neck. Could someone own a wolf? Was that legal? Or could he have
been some sort of gigantic mutant husky?
Whatever he was, he got too close for comfort. I tried to slowly back away, but he wasn’t quite ready to let me go.
The wolf-dog’s tongue lolled out. He jumped up and hit me in the chest with his giant paws.
Under his massive weight, I staggered backwards. Off balance, my feet slid out from under me and my ass hit the ground. I
threw an arm back to catch myself but still wound up bowled completely over.
With a curse, my back hit the ground. I raised my arms up to protect my face and neck in case he went for my throat.
Instead, that fluffy tail of his kept right on wagging. His tongue lashed against my arms with reckless abandon. He must have
just been overly aggressive with his affection.
“Wow, you’re really friendly, aren’t you, big guy?” I relaxed with a laugh. My arms fell away from my face. What the hell,
why not pet the strange, friendly animal standing over me? I liked dogs. I would have probably adopted one already if my lease
allowed it.
“Who’s a good boy?” I reached for his neck and ruffled the coarse fur there.
He leaned in, whined, and licked at my mouth in response.
“Eww, gross.” I shoved his muzzle away, but he came right back. “No, no licking. Down. Off.” I jerked my chin up to get
away from that warm pink tongue.
He had other ideas. He lunged forward again. Sharp teeth nipped at my neck. He didn’t miss.
“Ouch! Fuck!” I pushed the dog as hard as I could and jerked away. It had not been a gentle nip, especially not with teeth as
big and sharp as his.
The dog took a bounding leap back, dropped into a deep bow, and huffed at me. His tongue lolled out in a happy doggy grin
and his tail wagged so hard his whole back half shook. He had the audacity to look smug.
With a groan, I sat up and wiped at the slobbery spot where he bit me. “What’s your problem?” I asked the dog as if he could
answer me. “I thought you were friendly.”
The dog straightened up again. His tail drooped but didn’t stop wagging. He pawed at the ground and tilted his head to the
side.
“Thanks for that, asshole.” I glowered at the dog as my wet palm rubbed against my thigh. An unexpected smear of red
appeared on the light gray fabric. Being on the receiving end of a love bite from an overgrown, over affectionate fuzzball had
not been how I expected my day to end.
The wolf-dog let out another happy huff, then turned tail. He trotted off into the night with his head held high and his tail
making lazy sweeps back and forth.
I heaved a sigh, rubbed at my aching neck, and got to my feet. I’d have to wear my shirts buttoned all the way up for the next
week if I wanted to cover the stupid mark.
A wave of exhaustion hit me like a truck as soon as I made it through the door. I tossed down my gym bag, kicked off my
shoes, and stumbled across my tiny apartment to collapse face first onto my mattress. I didn’t even bother to shower before
waves of weariness carried me away.
 Chapter Six

Sarah

O wen dropped me off right in front of my house. He even waited until I waved him off from inside before he drove off into
the night.
I hung my purse on the hook next to the door. At least I got to come home to a clean house. I picked up before my date on the
off-chance Charlie spent the night, but then… well, that happened.
The shopping tote full of Charlie’s clothes got thrown on the counter. I’d figure out what to do with his stuff in the morning.
To hell with everything else. Werewolves were real.
Allie would be thrilled if she ever found out. That girl loved a good paranormal romance novel. I doubted I’d ever be able
to read one again.
Another fifteen minutes later and I’d scarfed down a microwavable burrito and had a few frozen onion rings cooking in the
oven. While waiting, I figured I might as well water the plants out on the back porch. I had neglected them for at least a week
or two. It was no wonder I never managed to grow anything more needy than a succulent.
I grabbed the watering can from its spot next to the back door, filled it at the sink, and flicked on the porch lights. Before I
could take two steps, the watering can fell from my hand.
It clattered to the deck planks. Cold water splashed all over the bottom half of my jeans and the wolf I almost tripped over.
The wolf startled to his soggy feet with a surprised yelp.
“Holy shit!” My hand flew to my instantly pounding heart. “Ch- Charlie?”
The dark gray, amber eyed wolf shook the water off. He lowered his head, laid back his ears, and lifted pleading eyes up to
mine. He let out the most pathetic sounding whine I’d ever heard.
I stood there like an idiot. “H- how did you find me?”
Oh, right, he couldn’t speak. At least I didn’t think he could. If he started speaking as a literal wolf, I might have keeled over
dead right then and there.
He answered with another whine, but his ears perked up. He took a tentative step forward and kept himself low. Was he
trying not to spook me? Too bad. I felt pretty damn spooked.
With a whimper, I took a step back. What the hell was I supposed to do? Would he bite me if I let him get too close? I didn’t
think he would, but I couldn’t trust my own instincts. Not when it came to something so unknown and alien.
Back in the kitchen, the oven timer chirped. Charlie and I both jumped, me with a yelp and him with another low whine as
his ears went all the way back again.
I darted inside to rescue my onion rings and to silence the timer. The wolf followed right on my heels until I tried to close the
door in his face.
He pushed right through it with one hearty headbutt.
“No, not in my house!” I whisper-yelled as the giant wolf barreled into my kitchen without a care in the world.
He paused long enough to cast me a glare, then trotted off to the living room to sniff my couch. He huffed at it and rubbed his
huge head all over the cushions.
“You have got to be shitting me,” I grumbled, pushing the door closed before rescuing my onion rings from the oven. I stood
there, staring down at the single serving of greasy junk food without a freaking clue of what to do.
Charlie, meanwhile, jumped on the couch and furiously licked my favorite throw pillow.
That broke me out of my reverie. I stomped across the small space to the living room, reached over the back of the couch,
and yanked the pillow away from him with a harsh, “No!”
He lunged. His front paws pressed against the back of the couch as his jaws closed around the pillow. He tugged back with a
playful wag of his tail. Standing on the couch with my pillow in his mouth, he was taller than me. His size scared the hell out of
me, but I wasn’t about to let him wreck my house.
“Let it go, Charlie!”
He didn’t listen to me at all. All two hundred plus pounds of six-foot five man had become two hundred plus pounds of wolf.
On the back of my couch. Playing tug of war with my pillow.
The couch lost the fight before either of us did. It rocked once, then tumbled over backwards with a crash, sending Charlie
careening straight into me.
I tried to dart out of the way but only managed a pivoting half-step before his weight hit me. He drove me to the ground and
tumbled off to the side into the wall.
I lay there on my side, stunned, staring at my flipped over couch with a slobbered-on pillow clutched in my hands. Behind
me, Charlie groaned. His nails scrabbled against the hardwood as he found his feet.
I hugged the pillow to my chest and burst into tears. I curled around it as the gravity of Charlie’s situation cast a shadow over
everything. Charlie, the adorable shy guy I’d been getting breakfast with a few times a week for the past three months, was
gone. Instead, he was a wolf twice my size who had no respect for my things or my space. He wouldn’t listen to me. He did as
he pleased.
A soft whine sounded behind me.
I ignored him in favor of bawling my eyes out. Alcohol made me weepy, not that I didn’t have perfectly reasonable reasons
to be weepy. I didn’t even care about my onion rings growing cold on the stove.
What might have been a nose poked my shoulder.
I ignored that, too. A few hours ago, I’d been on a promising date and the universe made sense. Not so much anymore.
The wolf sniffed at me, whined, and pawed at me with one of his giant feet. He nipped at the soft fabric of his jacket, the one
still enveloping me, then licked my tear-stained cheek.
“I’m sorry.” I wiped at my eyes with oversized sleeve cuffs. “This is just… it’s a lot. I don’t know what to do.” I rolled over
onto my back and clutched the drool-covered pillow tight to my chest.
Charlie stood over me with his head low and his ears high and forward. He ducked his head, not to lick me, but to whimper
quietly. He didn’t lift his eyes to meet mine.
“Are you still in there somewhere?” I asked the wolf, lifting a cautious hand.
A breath caught in my throat. I dared to touch him. Cautious fingertips brushed the side of his muzzle.
He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch as I stroked his snout, his cheek, then the fur around his neck. I really thought he
could have used a collar so he didn’t look like a stray.
He seemed to appreciate me petting him. He sat down but kept his head lowered so I could keep it up.
I couldn’t help but smile. Charlie made a handsome, expressive wolf. He kept his head low and wouldn’t look at me as I sat
up. I could tell he was apologetic. At least, I hoped he was. I could have been reading too much into it.
I gave the top of his head a pat. “What am I going to do with you, bud? I don’t even know if you’re going to turn back.”
He let out a quiet whimper.
“Do you even know?” I asked the wolf, getting to my feet. “I mean, shit, Charlie, what happens if you don’t? Are you just…
going to stay here or something? I can’t… fuck. I don’t even want to think about that.”
Standing on all four feet, the top of Charlie’s head came near about even with my freaking boobs. Beautiful, bright amber
eyes met mine. He shuffled on his feet and let out a hearty yawn.
“Tired, huh?” I rubbed at the thick ruff of fur around his neck. “Me too, bud. Guess I can’t kick you out, either. I don’t want
you running off and causing any more trouble.”
 I threw the pillow back on the overturned couch. I’d deal with it in the morning.
Charlie watched the pillow land on the couch. He took a cautious step forward, opened his mouth just the tiniest bit, and
gently mouthed at the bunched-up fabric around my wrist. His teeth didn’t get anywhere near my skin, but a shiver wracked me.
If those teeth pierced my skin, it might not be just Charlie getting all four-legged and furry.
Was that what happened to the wolf that bit Charlie? Would he not turn back? I shook off the thought. My Charlie had to be in
there somewhere. He had to come back to me.
Charlie tugged gently on my sleeve and looked up at me with pleading eyes.
“Okay, okay, fine. Maybe… maybe if you go to sleep or something, you’ll turn back? That’s what happens in movies, right?”
He let my sleeve go. His tongue lolled out as if in answer.
I trailed into the kitchen, turned off the oven, and sighed at the sight of my cold onion rings. I packed them up and put them in
the fridge before turning off all the lights and locking up for the night.
Charlie stayed right behind me, but kept a respectful distance. He paused at the door to my bedroom.
I only had the one bed. My home was a small two bed, one bath affair. The second room I used as a second closet slash
makeup room so there wasn’t exactly a great place for a guest to sleep. Or a wolf. He could have slept on the couch if he hadn’t
overturned it, but no, and somehow, I didn’t think he’d settle for sleeping on the rug.
I left him standing inside the door to my bedroom as I went and brushed my teeth. My place may have been small, but it was
all mine. Thanks to an inheritance from Grandma, I had been able to make a generous down payment. I did have guests over
from time to time, but none ever stayed more than one night. Besides Ethan. Ethan didn’t count.
Charlie glanced up at me when I came out of the bathroom wearing a pair of soft sleep shorts and an old, soft tank top. My
nipples showed through the thin fabric, but it wasn’t like I cared if he saw my body. Hell, I’d been ready for him, well, human
him, to see my body for weeks.
He watched with rapt attention as I flicked the bedroom light off and climbed into bed. Only the light of the full moon
peeking in from behind my drapes illuminated the room with a soft glow. Charlie’s ethereal eyes almost glowed in the near
darkness. He rested his giant fuzzy head on the mattress.
“God, this is so stupid,” I muttered to myself even as I pat the bedspread next to me. “Come on. Get on up here, I guess.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. He jumped up onto the bed and curled into a ball at my side. His weight settled
against my hip. At least he didn’t try to lick me or lie on me. Maybe knocking my couch over had knocked some well-needed
sense into him.
My hand reached down to stroke the fur along his back. “Good night, Charlie,” I said to the wolf in my bed. “I really, really
hope shit doesn’t get more complicated tomorrow.”
 Chapter Seven

Charlie

M y head ached. Everything ached.

What happened?
Loud. Everything was too loud. The hum of a fan, the rumble of a heater, birds chirping outside, the quiet breathing of the
woman in bed next to me. I heard everything.
And smelled everything. Smelled Sarah’s rich, familiar scent. Something herby, heady with a lingering scent of booze.
Mine.
What happened last night? There was nothing, just a blank spot where a memory should have been.
Don’t care. Not important.
Sarah’s breath came deep and even. She was still asleep. My head lay on her hip. So close to the core of her. I wanted to
bury myself in her, to never let her go.
I lifted my head and gaze down at her. She was so beautiful, but she should have been naked under me, panting and begging.
My leg slid over hers to straddle her thighs. My nose dipped to her chest and captured her scent, the one I’d never forget.
Hands found their way to her middle and smoothed up her covered belly.
Under me, Sarah stirred. She let out a tiny moan. Her back arched, her body sought my touch, though her eyes didn’t open.
Eager hands trailed up her sides. I wanted to pull everything off of her, to throw it all over the side of the bed. Our bodies,
our bare skins, belonged together. I bit at the bedspread still covering her up to her chest. It had to go.
I moved up over her. My nose brushed over the fabric barring the rest of me from her.
She smelled so damn good. Her head turned to the side, exposing her neck to me. Long brown hair spilled out over her
pillow like a halo. A loose hair tie kept most of it together.
I didn’t hesitate at the invitation. My tongue traced over the quickening throb of her speeding pulse. She tasted divine. Would
every inch of her taste so sweet? Would she let me find out?
A gasp escaped her. She moved against me. One hand found my arm and slid up to my shoulder. The other wound its way into
my hair.
I trailed my mouth up to just below her ear. Fingers traced back down her sides, taking the blanket down with them. I wanted
her out of her clothes. I wanted to spill everything I had inside her, filling her with my scent. She was mine and mine alone.
Under my touch, her scent shifted. It was such a subtle change, but it just made me more desperate to taste her. I wanted to
devour her until she begged me to stop. Her quiet little moan as my fingers slide up inside her shirt drove me wild.
“Charlie…”
I could listen to the way she purred my name all damn day. Forever even. My lips, my tongue, explored her exposed
shoulder. If she lifted her hips for me, I could push off her shorts. Or I could do it for her.
No, wait.
“Oh. Oh, god. Y- yes…”
I covered her mouth with mine, hard, eager. There was still fabric in the way, but I didn’t care. My hips dropped to hers. I
ground against her. There would be no mistaking my intentions, not when she could feel how badly I wanted her.
Sarah moaned against my mouth. Her hips moved with mine. The scent of her building need drove me feral. Her fingers
twisted in my hair. She pulled me harder into her and opened her lips for me.
What the hell are you doing?
My tongue invaded her mouth. Her moan pitched higher in surprise. A hand pressed against my chest and tried to push against
me. I grabbed that hand and pinned it down next to her head. She made another noise high in her throat, a whimper.
My mouth trailed across her jaw.
“Charlie?”
I loved how breathless and needy she sounded when she whispered my name. Aching teeth scraped against her neck. She let
out the sexiest little gasp. It would be so easy. All I had to do was bite her.
“Charlie, we should…” She let out another moan. “Maybe we should slow down.”
No.
She tasted so good. I would be deep inside her when I claimed her. Using one hand to support my weight, my other smoothed
down her side. I took hold of the edge of her shorts and had every intention of ripping them off.
Stop. This isn’t you. This isn’t right.
A growl rumbled deep in my chest at the intrusive thought.
Stop thinking, this is meant to be, this is…
I… stopped. I gave my head a clearing shake, pulled back, and stared down at the stunningly beautiful woman below me.
Sarah regarded me with wide eyes and parted, swollen lips. She breathed hard through her mouth. The scent of her lust and
fear mingled together into an intoxicating blend, but… fear?
What… the hell was I just doing?
And where the hell were my clothes?!
The sudden and unexpected emotional whiplash scared the shit out of me. I didn’t see my clothes, but there was a knit blanket
down at the edge of the bed. I grabbed it, fumbled my way out of bed, and wrapped the blanket tight around my waist. I
overflowed with shame and embarrassment and so much regret.
What did I just do? Even worse, what did I almost do? Ice cold fear flooded my entire body. Why would I do that? I
wouldn’t do that! What the hell was wrong with me?
“I-I am so sorry.” I couldn’t even look at her. Instead, the shiny white dresser against the far wall got my full attention. I’d
been grinding so aggressively on her it was a wonder I hadn’t blown a load all over her bedspread. At least the overwhelming
shame cooled the uncontrollable lust from an inferno down to mere embers. “I don’t know what came over me. What… what
happened last night, Sarah?”
“I don’t know,” came her breathy reply. “I don’t even know how to start, but I’m really glad you’re back.”
“Glad I’m back? What?” I dared to face her as she sat up and crossed her legs under her. I kept my eyes fixed well above her
collarbones. That shirt of hers didn’t leave much to the imagination and as much as my dick wanted me to ogle her, it was
beyond inappropriate.
She tugged the strap of her tank top back into place and clutched at the bedspread pooled in her lap. She stared down at it
instead of up at me.
“Yeah.” She rubbed her eyes, pulled out her hair tie and combed through her mess of hair with her fingers. “Something, uh,
sort of happened last night. To you.”
“Where are my clothes?”
“In a bag in the kitchen.”
My eye twitched. That made no sense. “Why are my clothes in a bag?”
“How much do you remember from last night?” She covered her face with her hands and rubbed her forehead.
“We… we didn’t have sex, did we?” I asked, wide eyed.
“No!” Her hands dropped away from her face. “No, we did not, though that would be a whole lot easier to explain.”
“I don’t remember anything after kissing you yesterday. My memory is just- just blank, Sarah. There’s nothing there.”
Her shoulders drew up towards her ears. She opened her lips as if to speak, but closed them again after a moment’s
consideration.
All I could do was stand there with a blanket wrapped around my waist, waiting for some sort of answer.
After a pregnant pause, she took a deep breath, wrapped her arms around her middle, and lifted her eyes up to mine.
“We… we should probably talk.”
 Chapter Eight

Sarah

C rapI dug
crap crap, what do I do?
through my closet for a pair of Ethan’s sweatpants. He kept a pair or two at my place over the last year. None of my
clothes had any hope of fitting Charlie, but Ethan would be about Charlie’s size. Ethan had a smaller waist for sure, but the pair
I found had a drawstring. They had to be better than trying to explain why Charlie’s jeans were in tatters and covered in fur.
Charlie patiently waited outside the bedroom door with my crocheted afghan still wrapped tight around his waist. He had
quite the nice body. I tried not to be too obvious, but I couldn’t stop staring. And I’d felt him grinding against me.
His body was both hard and soft in all the right ways. He didn’t have anywhere near the muscular definition that required
endless dedication and time spent in the gym like Ethan, but Charlie was visibly strong even without a six-pack. His middle
was a bit soft, but he had a slimmer waist compared to his broad chest. His thighs and ass were on the thicker, more muscular
side, not surprising since he mentioned playing hockey back in college. And his cock was sized rather proportional to the rest
of him. That had been a bit of a shock, but one I wasn’t about to balk at.
Not to mention the way he’d come at me. How I’d woken up with his mouth on me. The sexy growling noises he made
against my neck. How he pawed at me, all rough and desperate…
My head needed a dunk in a cold bucket of water. Just thinking about it got me all hot and bothered.
“How about you take a shower and I’ll go make us some coffee?” With my cheeks burning hotter than the sun, I shoved
Ethan’s pants and a random t-shirt into Charlie’s arms before practically shoving him into the bathroom.
“Uh… o- okay?” He wore a bewildered expression, as if he didn’t quite know what was going on, but didn’t protest when I
closed the bathroom door behind him.
With him out of my hair for a few minutes, I had time to freak the heck out and throw on a bra. On the plus side, he was
human again! On the downside, I had no idea how to explain what happened and he obviously didn’t have a clue.
I mean, I could have just gone for it, just blurt it out and let the truth stand for itself. But would he believe me? I wouldn’t
believe me!
In the meantime, I promised him coffee. I desperately needed some myself. Especially after waking up like that.
I couldn’t lie to myself. I’d been into it. How far would he have gone if he hadn’t snapped out of it? Would I have been a
horrible person if I went along with it? Let him rip my clothes off and have his way with me however he wanted to?
The bathroom’s water cut off as the kettle whistled. I needed some sort of plan of attack. How would he take the news? How
would I even find the nerve to tell Charlie he wasn’t human?
 Chapter Nine

Ethan

T herolled
heat of a fever engulfed me. My sweatpants and gym shirt stuck to sticky, sweaty skin. I blinked against the darkness,
over in the tangled nest of blankets, and gave my face a rub.
A wave of nausea washed over me. I almost puked right there on the sheets. I threw myself out of bed, across my tiny
bedroom, to the one toilet and heaved. Everything I ate over the past twenty-four hours must have come up. It just kept on
coming until dry heaves were the only thing left.
Dragging in rough, shaking breaths, I hung weakly to the toilet bowl. I may or may not have drifted in and out of
consciousness.
During a brief stint of lucidity, I managed to get to my feet and wash my face off and mouth out. My hands landed on either
side of the sink. I braced my weight against it to keep myself upright. Somehow, I lifted my head and dared to meet myself in
the mirror.
I looked like absolute shit. Sunken, exhausted eyes stared back at me. Short blond strands glued themselves to the skin of my
pallid forehead. I turned my head to the side and lifted a hand to my neck. A chill wracked me with a full body shiver. The
wolf-dog certainly left his mark on me.
The bite didn’t look infected, or bad at all, really. In fact, it looked mostly healed. Just… just how long had I been out?
I stumbled back to bed, removed my sweat-soaked shirt, and dropped it to the messy floor. I barely remembered to dig my
phone out of my pocket before kicking my pants off. My finger mashed the power button, but it wouldn’t turn on. Not surprising
since I hadn’t charged it in more than a day. Without the strength to find a cable and plug it in, I dropped it onto the mattress and
passed right back out.
 Chapter Ten

Charlie

T heAhotswipe
shower didn’t help clear my head, but the dense wet air and the overbearing rattle of the fan helped dull my senses.
of my hand cleared the steam from the mirror. Rubbing a towel over my dripping hair, I stared at myself and
wondered what the hell had happened to me.
Dark red stubble covered my jaw and I really needed a haircut. I still had the same arched eyebrows, the same dark reddish
hair, the same nose I always thought was too big for my face. Something had to be wrong. I wasn’t some sex-starved horn dog. I
didn’t behave like that. That wasn’t me.
But if it wasn’t me, who the hell was it?
I narrowed my eyes at myself in the mirror. Some gentleman you are. Way to go. She probably hates you now.
Once finished with the self-chastising, I checked out the clothes she gave me to wear. The T-shirt was too small, but the pants
would fit. With a frown, I brought the pants up to my nose and sniffed.
They smelled clean, but the fabric had worn thin. Why did Sarah have a pair of men’s well-used pajama pants in her house if
she lived alone? Had some random guy left them there and she kept them, or did they belong to someone special to her?
The strong scent of coffee hit me long before I left the steamy air of the bathroom. It carried a rich aroma with fragrant notes
of honey. Once I entered her living room, my eyebrows rose.
“What happened to your couch?” I asked.
“Um, it, well, uh,” she started, her stammering voice coming from the kitchen. “You. You happened to it.”
“I knocked your couch over?” I sort of stared at the overturned couch. It was an actual couch, not just a love seat, and it
looked rather heavy. “I don’t remember it.”
“Why does that not surprise me,” she muttered under her breath before raising her voice again as if I couldn’t hear her clear
as day. “It’s fine. I’ll, uh, I’ll explain.” She added quietly to herself, “Though I don’t freaking know where to even start.”
I didn’t think much about righting the couch. It was easy. I got my hands up under the back and heaved it up. Were couches
really that light, or was it just hers?
Next, I grabbed up all the scattered throw pillows and set them back in place. One of them smelled a little weird and the
fabric was all damp. There were also a few bits of what looked like fluffy gray fur scattered around. Strange. She told me she
didn’t have pets.
Sarah kept her back to me as she fidgeted with two coffee mugs. She still wore what she’d slept in, that thin, almost see-
through tank top and a pair of short cotton shorts that showed off her distractingly sexy legs, but she had put on a bra. She’d
also pulled her hair back in a messy, low ponytail at the nape of her neck.
The urge to move behind her, grab her hips, and kiss her neck struck. My cock twitched at the enticing thought. I wanted those
hips to grind against me, wanted to lift her up onto the counter and fuck her right there.
Calm the fuck down! This isn’t you!
“Thanks for making coffee.” I decided it would be safe to start with that.
“Oh, of course,” she replied, her attention still on the mugs. “I’m usually just getting to bed around this time of morning, so
sorry if I’m a bit off. Here.” She held a mug out to me.
I took the offered mug and sipped at it. It was good coffee, but I was more interested in the way the strong smell kept me
from getting too distracted.
Sarah leaned back against the counter and held her mug loosely in both hands. She stared at me, not in a rude way, more like
she studied me. She gave off contemplative but nervous vibes, like she didn’t know what to make of me.
I took the spot next to her, leaned against the counter, and sipped at my coffee. “I’m sorry again for this morning,” I said,
bowing my head. “That was… that was inexcusable.” I could have made excuses, but what sort of excuse was ‘you smelled so
good I couldn’t control myself’?
My aggressive behavior towards her disturbed me, as did my morning nakedness in her bed. Her clothes hadn’t magically
vanished. She didn’t seem to be missing hours of her memory.
“It’s okay.” Her cheeks flushed. “I thought it was kinda hot, actually, but it seemed like you were, uh…” She paused. Her lips
mashed together and the hands holding her mug trembled. “Like you weren’t really you? I was just surprised, is all.”
“Oh, uh, yeah.” I rubbed my face and sighed. “I’m still sorry and you’re right. I don’t feel much like myself right now.” I
wouldn’t ever move that fast, yet I’d woken up enamored with only one thing on my mind.
“I mean, after what happened at the park, I was shocked you showed back up.” She turned her body to face me, set down her
coffee, and leaned her hip against the cabinet. Her voice went up half an octave as she continued, “I thought I was going crazy
yesterday. But no, apparently I’m not crazy. Apparently, this world is just a lot more complicated than I thought.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
She hesitated, then took a step closer to me. She lifted a hand and rested her palm against my bare chest. The brush of her
fingertips, the weight of her hand, sent a pulse of desire right through me.
“Charlie…” Her voice shook as she spoke, as she lifted her eyes up to mine. “You… you have no idea what you are, do
you?”
“Uh…” I blinked. An uncomfortable tightness wound around me. Something really was wrong.
“You don’t remember anything about last night? Anything at all?” Her gaze dropped to the hand planted against my skin. I
didn’t like the way she trembled.
“I don’t remember making it out of the park, much less how I got here.”
Something about her touch, her scent, eased me. I covered her hand with mine, set a knuckle under her chin, and directed her
gaze back up to mine. She shouldn’t have feared meeting my gaze.
“What happened to me last night, Sarah?”
She swallowed. The color drained from her face. “I don’t know how to explain without sounding completely crazy.
Maybe… maybe we should sit down.”
Her hand slid out from under mine. She grabbed her coffee and held it in both hands as she meandered to the little four-
person dining room table in the corner of the kitchen. As soon as she pulled out a chair, she sank down onto it. Her shoulders
slumped. The cup shook in her hands even as she set it down on the table.
I joined her at the table, reached across it, and set my hand over one trembling wrist. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, you can tell
me.”
“Um, so, the thing is…” Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath and let it out again. The coffee in her mug rippled and
danced between her hands.
I gave her all the time in the world to compose herself. Curiosity ate me alive but as bad as my behavior had been, I thought
it best to not push her.
“Have you noticed anything weird in the past week?” she finally asked. “Maybe let’s start with that.”
My brows knit together. “Uh… maybe a few things? I’ve felt kind of off ever since I was sick last week.”
The dog bite healing crazy fast hadn’t been the only thing I noticed. Over the past few days, my nose had grown oddly
oversensitive. Same thing with my hearing. Every little sound was a new distraction. Maintaining focus on work had been a bit
of a problem, one I chalked up to nervous impending date jitters.
Except that all sort of changed when I woke up with Sarah. Those sensitivities didn’t feel like sensitivities anymore. It was
more like… for the first time, I saw the world as it should have always been. Not to mention the mess going on in my head or
the completely out of character sexual aggression. That counted as weird, didn’t it?
“Since after we went for that hike, right?” Her eyes lifted from her mug and met mine. A frown pulled at her lips. Those gray
eyes of hers hardened.
“Uh, maybe, yeah.”
She took a few quick breaths, as if trying to psyche herself up for pulling off a band aide. Her hand trembled so much, I
tightened my grip on it.
“Sarah, just tell—”
“You’re a werewolf.”
She just sort of blurted it out and I… had no idea what to say to that. I let go of her hand and sat back in my chair. The word
‘stunned’ didn’t quite cover it.
Which didn’t matter because she barreled right on ahead. Her words grew more sure of themselves with each additional one
that fell from her mouth.
“You’re a freaking werewolf, Charlie! You changed right in front of me last night. Oh my god, I said it out loud! I know I
sound so crazy, but it’s true. I saw it, saw you.” Her eyes burned straight through me. She did not sound like she was joking.
She lifted her hands away from her mug and held them in front of her as if holding something between them. “I held your face
in my hands as you turned into a freaking wolf. You ran off, but then you showed up a few hours later on my back porch and
sort of wormed your way inside. I let you sleep in my bed, that’s why you woke up there. It’s probably why you can’t
remember anything from last night, either.”
She breathed a little hard after all that. Her lips trembled. She buried her face in her hands.
“Uh…” was the only sound I could get out as my brain short-circuited.
“I’m so sorry,” she cried into her hands. “I just…” Her hands fell to her lap and her shoulders slumped. She looked so
completely defeated. “I didn’t know what to do after it happened and then you came back, tried to eat my throw pillow, and
knocked over my couch. It was just… it was a lot last night, okay? I’m doing the best I can here, and I swear, I’m not crazy.”
Silence hung in the air for several long beats before my brain rebooted enough for me to ask, “You, uh, have any way to
prove… that?”
“There.” She pointed to the bulging flower-patterned cloth bag on her counter. “You managed to get your shirt off, but I had
to help with your pants. You kind of shredded them.”
My brows furrowed as I got out of my chair. In another second, the bag handles were untied and the contents dumped out on
the counter. My long-sleeved t-shirt was there along with what obviously used to be a pair of jeans. My boxers survived mostly
unscathed, but…
“Are these my socks?” I asked, holding up a few tiny scraps of soft white fabric.
“What I was able to gather of them.”
“What happened to my other shoe?” In the pile, there was only a single black tennis shoe.
“Um… you kind of”—she cringed and stared down at her hands fisting against the tops of her thighs—“took it with you.”
On a whim, I brought the shoe up to my nose and sniffed. The pants received the same olfactory scrutiny. They definitely
smelled like me, but as soon as I brought the pants to my nose, bits of white fluffy undercoat caught my eye. I didn’t have a dog.
I hadn’t been anywhere near a dog.
“Huh.” I set the pants back down on the counter and stood there at a complete and total loss. “So… I’m a werewolf?”
“Yep.”
“You think that dog that bit me…”
“Pretty sure it was a werewolf unless you’ve always been one and just didn’t know about it.”
“But that was during the middle of the day.” My brows scrunched up again.
“Don’t look at me for answers because I sure as hell don’t have any. You want more proof? My comforter is covered in wolf
fur. I checked while you were in the shower just to make sure I’m not completely bananas.” Her hands still fisted against her
thighs, but her mouth set in a hard, determined line. She may have been a bit pale.
I felt kind of bad for her, but I had no idea what to say to, well, that.
“I know I’m not crazy. I saw what I saw. There’s physical evidence. Honestly, I don’t know how to handle this at all.” She
bit her lower lip and stared down at her clenched fists. “I have so many questions, same as you, and I have no idea how to go
about getting any answers.”
“You… you saw me turn into a wolf—”
She nodded her head but wouldn’t look up at me.
“—and instead of running away, you stayed?”
“I wasn’t about to leave you. You looked like you were in so much pain. It was awful and then you were just… you were
gone.”
I abandoned the pile of scraps on the counter and took a tentative step towards her. “Well, that would explain the utterly
incomprehensible mess going on in my head right now,” I muttered. “And maybe why I assaulted you this morning.”
 “Yeah, why did you do that?” she asked. A small smile played across her lips. “Not that I’m complaining.”
I looked down at her bare feet. Her toes were painted a pastel orange. “It was like I wasn’t in control. Like the part of me
that was, it wanted you. Bad.”
Her thighs pressed together, as did her lips. Something changed in that familiar scent of hers. It grew richer, more enticing.
The set of her eyes changed, sharpened. But then her shoulders slumped again and her head bowed.
“I want you, too, Charlie, but we really need to have the whole pre-sex disclosure conversation before we get all hot and
heavy.”
“Uh, okay?” I don’t think I’d ever had any conversation of the sort in any of my relationships, but then again, I’d never slept
with someone on the first date, either. I could count my prior sex partners on one hand with fingers to spare. “Is that something
you wanted to do already? What do you want to know?”
“It’s more about what you would want to know about me, about my history, if that matters to you.” She kept her head bowed
and wouldn’t look at me.
“Should it matter to me?” My head tilted to the side. Something about the way she carried herself made me want to comfort
her.
Dropping to my knees beside her chair, I covered her hands with mine. I didn’t know if I believed the whole ‘werewolf’
business, but we apparently moved right past that and back to normal relationship stuff. I could handle normal relationship
stuff.
“Does it matter to you?” I asked.
She smiled, but it was tense, a brief flicker then gone again. “Some guys get all weird when they find out I’ve slept with
more people than they have, so I’d rather get it out of the way. I’m sort of getting the vibe you aren’t the hit it and quit it type.”
“You’re right, I’m not,” I agreed with half a smile of my own. “I normally don’t even kiss on a first date, much less spend the
night. That’s more of a three to six months thing to me.”
“I don’t do relationships,” she blurted out, cringed, then tried to recover by speeding right along. “At least, I haven’t before.”
She unclenched her hands and turned them over to take mine in hers. “I’ve been with a lot of men, Charlie. I’ve had one-night
stands, no strings attached arrangements, friends with benefits, but not relationships.”
“Oh.” I swallowed, unsure how to navigate the minefield she dropped on me. Was she saying she didn’t want to have a
relationship with me, or was she saying she wanted me to be her first relationship?
No matter what she thought, she was mine. Or maybe I was hers? My feelings for her ran deep, like a brand stamped across
my heart.
I crushed on her for weeks before she introduced herself and I had been so excited for our date. Hell, I fantasized about what
our kids might look like, but my attraction was… Intense didn’t come close to describing it.
That was strange. It usually took me quite some time to fall in love, to let my guard down, to really connect with a woman I
cared for. Not in Sarah’s case. As far as my heart was concerned, Sarah and I were soul mates.
“I’ve been with significantly less than a lot, but that’s not going to be a problem for me,” I said. To hell with it, even if she
was crazy, because calling me a werewolf definitely came across as pretty crazy, I wasn’t about to turn my back on my
emotions, no matter how intense. “Your past is your past. It’s not your future.”
She was my future and I was hers. It was simply fate.
A cautious smile pulled at her lips. “You’re not worried about just being another notch on my bedpost?”
“That’s not what I’m going to be for you.”
Her hands in mine trembled. “Then what are you going to be for me?”
“Yours.”
 Chapter Eleven

Sarah

C harlie said that one simple word and I went all gooey inside like a marshmallow over a campfire. His hand slid up my arm,
past my shoulder, to my cheek. He started leaning in as if he wanted to kiss me.
To hell with it. I met him before he made it halfway.
Charlie let out the sexiest growl as soon as my lips met his. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I held him to me as if I
wanted to devour him alive. I wanted more than anything to drag him back to bed so he could finish what he started.
Even if the sheets were still covered in wolf fur.
Was I insane for still wanting him? Who knows, maybe I’d slept with a werewolf before and had no idea. The thought sent a
bubble of laughter through me. Either way, if Charlie and I slept together, there would be no turning back.
He took hold of me by the waist and with a tug, pulled me to the edge of my chair. I opened my knees so he could get
between them, but then he stood while still holding onto my waist. Suddenly, my butt was no longer planted. He lifted me as if I
weighed nothing at all.
I squeaked out a surprised protest and wrapped my legs around his waist. He held me flush against him. His mouth never left
mine as he carried me across the house.
“How are you so strong?” I asked on a breathy exhale.
“Don’t ask me,” he murmured against my lips.
My legs relaxed around him as soon as we got to the bedroom. He set me back down on the floor but herded me right to the
bed. I let myself flop over backwards and grabbed the waistband of his pajama pants as I went, taking him with me.
I’d seen Ethan in those pants countless times. They were a plain cotton number. There wasn’t anything special about them at
all, but on both men, they highlighted their best parts. Ethan always wore them low on his hips, leaving his picture-perfect
Adonis belt on display. On Charlie, those same pants fit snug around his ass and thighs and left less to the imagination with
each passing second.
His hands landed on either side of my shoulders and his knees hit the bed between mine. “You sure you want this?” he asked,
pausing just long enough to meet my eyes.
“I’m sure I want you.”
 “I won’t be just another one-night stand, Sarah.” His voice came all low and rough and with it came aching desperation deep
inside me.
“I never thought one night with you would be enough.” I twisted on the mattress under him, stretched out to reach for the
nightstand, and drew up onto my knees to see what I was doing. “You don’t have a problem with condoms, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“Good.” I dug around in my nightstand. It took a second and I had to focus on the drawer, but I quickly produced and dropped
a shiny square package on top of the nightstand for easy access.
By the time I turned back to him, he held a corner of the bedspread in his hands. He wore an utterly bewildered expression.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting down on my ankles.
Charlie sniffed at the sheets. He frowned. Lines appeared between his eyebrows. “There’s dog hair in the bed.”
“Yeah, yours.” I clasped my hands together in my lap and bowed my head. “You don’t believe me,” I sighed. “Of course you
don’t. I wouldn’t believe me.”
“No, I-” He cut himself off with a shake of his head. “I’m just surprised you’d still be into me if it’s… true…” His trail off at
the end there led right into the mattress bouncing as he flopped down face first. His head ended up near the pillows. He lay
there for a second, then flipped over onto his back and turned to look at me. “I’m going to be honest, I’m pretty confused here,
Sarah.”
A bark of an awkward laugh fell from my mouth before I could pull it back. “You think I’m not confused?”
Without warning, he sat bolt upright. Those lines between his brows smoothed out, then his brows drew low. His mouth set
in a hard, determined line.
“What is—” I started, but he lifted a hand and put a finger to his lips.
“I heard something outside,” he said, quiet but sure. “Stay here.”
Before I could react, Charlie jumped out of bed and stalked across my bedroom on the balls of his feet, as silent as a cat.
How a man that large could make almost no sound as he moved kind of freaked me out. Especially in my creaky old house.
Ignoring his order, I climbed out of bed after him. He glanced back over his shoulder as I pattered down the hall, but he
didn’t try to stop me or tell me to go back. I didn’t ask questions. I trusted his judgment. Well, that and the tightly drawn tension
across his broad shoulders.
He paused in the living room. His eyes narrowed, but didn’t focus. He turned his head this way and that before continuing to
the kitchen. He went right to the back door, grabbed the knob, and threw the bolt open, but he didn’t immediately go through.
“Don’t come outside after me,” he ordered.
“What do you think you heard?”
“Someone in the backyard.”
“Charlie, my neighbor’s cat gets out all the time.” I kept my voice down, but I relaxed and smoothed a hand across the tense
muscles of his back. “She comes into my yard sometimes to check the bushes. It’s probably not anything to worry about.”
His reply came in the form of a low, rumbling growl. His attention never strayed from the back door. I thought it best to take
a step back.
That growl of his didn’t once falter. He yanked the door open and bolted right out it.
“Charlie, no!” I called after him. To hell with it, I did not want him accidentally mauling an elderly widow looking for her
escape artist of a cat. I flew out the door after him and pulled it closed behind me.
Charlie did not run, he stalked across the yard with heavy footfalls. He held himself tall, chest forward, looking every bit as
intimidating as a man could with his fists clenched at his sides. Thank god he was on team Sarah. I did not ever want him
coming at me like that.
Halfway across the yard, Charlie stopped. He stood straight, but kept his feet slightly apart as if ready to throw down. I
didn’t see anyone or hear anything. Charlie’s growl grew louder.
I trailed right after him across the yard and grabbed his arm. “Get back inside. You’ll freak out the neighbors,” I hissed,
swiveling my head back and forth to scour my exceptionally empty yard.
Instead of acknowledging me, Charlie snarled in a terrifying and mean new voice, “Show yourselves. I know you’re there. I
can smell you.”
“Damn,” an unfamiliar masculine voice said from right before the tree line. “That was fast.”
My eyes snapped right to where that voice should have been coming from, but there wasn’t anything there. At least there
wasn’t until a pale blue glow lit the air from out of nowhere. A glowing circle with a bunch of squiggly text or symbols or
whatever appeared, then shattered into glittery blue sparkles. Almost instantly, a short-haired man barely taller than me and a
petite woman sporting a long, white-blond braid over her shoulder appeared as if they’d been standing there all along.
My mouth fell open. I had no idea where to even start.
Charlie growled, a rather simple, but effective, warning.
“Stand down,” the woman, who couldn’t have been taller than five feet even, said with a roll of her eyes. “We’re not here to
cause trouble, we’re just here to talk.” Inexplicably, she dressed like she was ready to head into an office and sit in on a bunch
of business meetings for the next eight hours. The only thing off about her young business professional outfit were her shoes.
She wore sneakers instead of something more in line with the rest of her attire. Not surprising, since she traipsed through my
muddy backyard instead of down an office hallway.
“Yep. We just want to have a nice little chat.” The guy carried himself in a relaxed sort of way, as if he knew he wasn’t in
any real danger. He looked a lot more casual than his partner in a pair of khakis and a polo under an open, camel-colored
leather jacket. His short sandy brown hair could have easily been military issue. “How’d you notice us so fast? Was it sound or
smell? Obviously, that concealment ward could use a few more tweaks.”
“Fuck you,” came a voice I barely recognized as Charlie’s. It was too rough and mean. “This is my territory. Leave.”
What the hell?
“Um, no, Charlie. This is my house,” I said to correct him. “If anything, it’s my territory, not yours.”
“Huh?” Charlie seemed to snap out of whatever mode he’d been in. His brows crunched together. He looked down first at
my hand on his arm, then at my face. “What… what did I just say?” Poor guy, he sounded so confused.
The blonde woman let out a quiet laugh. “He sure marked it as his last night.”
Charlie’s attention jerked back to her. His intensity ramped right up again. “Who are you?” he demanded. “You both… you
both smell weird.”
“Yeah, no shit.” The guy heaved a heavy sigh. He turned to address me. “Ma’am, can we come in? We really need to have a
conversation with Cujo there.”
“You know what he is?” My grip on Charlie’s arm tightened. I didn’t know if I should be trying to protect Charlie or
appreciative of the help. The only way I thought I’d know is if we heard them out.
“We do,” the woman replied, but her tone stayed guarded. “I’m like him, at least to one degree. We’re here to get him up to
speed and fill out some paperwork.” She turned her calculating gaze up to Charlie. “You’re new, aren’t you?”
“Um… I… guess?” Charlie’s aggressive stance faltered.
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly very aware I wore only a thin tank top and a pair of quite short shorts outside
when it must have been somewhere in the mid-forties. I’d been so hopped up on adrenaline I hadn’t noticed the cold.
To the two strangers, I nodded. “Come inside. I guess we should talk.”
 Chapter Twelve

Charlie

O netoldsecond, everything was fine. Then a strange noise outside got my attention and some dormant part of me sprung to life. It
me what to do, how to act, what to say, and it all made perfect sense. I went right along with it. New instincts guided
me. At least I did until Sarah rebuffed me claiming her home as my territory.
Sarah shivered, wrapped her arms around herself, and I wrapped my arm around her. I wanted her close to me so I could
protect her.
The two strangers, the ones that wanted to talk, both smelled off. A strange sort of spice overlaid their scents. I waved them
on ahead of us after Sarah gave them the go ahead.
Neither complained, though the woman, the one who wore the unmistakable scent of fur under her skin, kept a close eye on
me, on how close I held Sarah. I wanted the strange small woman to know, in no uncertain terms, that Sarah was mine and I
would protect her if I had to.
The woman merely raised a light eyebrow in my direction, then turned away. Somehow, I knew that scent of spice on her
meant even if I could physically beat her in a fight, she had some sort of secret weapon. There was no point in attacking first
and asking questions later when I didn’t know what exactly I was dealing with.
“Door’s unlocked,” Sarah said from my side. “We can talk in the living room.”
“I’ll need to speak with him alone,” the blond said as she reached for the door.
“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say to her,” I snapped back, already on edge. Her scent… I didn’t know what to
make of it. I trusted her, but didn’t understand why. It bothered me. The not understanding made me not want to trust her. It was
all so very confusing.
“No, I can’t,” the woman corrected as she stepped into Sarah’s house. “Don’t worry, she won’t have to be out of your sight. I
can put up a silence ward.”
We filed into the house. I took my arm off Sarah but grabbed her hand to keep her close. I didn’t want her separated from me.
“Kitchen, then?” I asked.
“Sure.” The woman spoke to her partner. “You want to give her the rundown in the living room, Zed?”
“Can do,” the guy replied with a nonchalant tip of his head. Of the two of them, he was obviously older. While the woman
looked to be in her early twenties, he had to be mid-thirties. He gave Sarah a polite nod, then lifted his chin to look up at me.
I liked that he had to look up to meet my eyes, though I sort of got the sense he wasn’t near as weak as he appeared.
“Gonna need to borrow your girl there. Mind letting her go for a minute?”
“I actually do mi—”
Sarah let go of my hand and took a step forward. She didn’t pay me any mind like she should have. “Lead the way.”
She grabbed her still warm coffee from the table before trailing after him to the living room. She motioned to the couch for
him to sit and once he did, she took her own seat on the ottoman.
A red light behind me drew my attention. I spun and saw another one of those impossible, glowing circles in the air, red
instead of blue.
My eyes went wide. I took a step back. “What the hell is that?”
“A silence ward,” she explained in a calm, even voice. “It only works within a small radius and is location locked, but it’s
extremely effective.”
“A ward?” I gaped at her. “Li- like magic?”
“Yes, like magic.” She waved a hand at the seat Sarah occupied not even ten minutes ago. “As a matter of fact, you setting off
a ward last night is why we’re here. Sit. Let’s talk.”
From behind me, blue light shone in my peripheral vision. I turned to see a similar circle in blue appear in the living room.
Sarah’s face paled. Her mouth moved, but I didn’t hear a word she said.
“Sorry, privacy and all that,” the woman said with a hint of a laugh. She stuck her hand out. I briefly shook it as she spoke,
“I’m Registry Officer Charlotte Caine, but just Caine is fine. My teammate is Officer Zimmerman. He goes by Zed. We
represent the Registry, which I’ll explain as we go over your paperwork. I take it you have some idea of what happened to you
last night?”
“Uh…” My eyes narrowed, tension drew tight between my shoulders. “Can I put on a shirt first?”
“Be my guest.”
It only took a few seconds to grab my shirt off the counter and throw it on. No longer half naked in front of two strangers, I
sat as Caine indicated.
She sat across from me but pulled her chair to the side, just enough that I had a better view of Sarah from my chair.
“I actually don’t remember anything from last night,” I said, trying to keep calm under such strange circumstances. “I was out
with Sarah and then my memory blanks until this morning.”
“But she did tell you what she saw, right?”
“She did,” I said, my tone guarded. “But that can’t be true, can it?”
“Oh, it’s quite true, unfortunately,” Caine said with a sigh. “We’ve got a lot to go over, but first things first. What is your
relationship with that woman?” She waved a hand towards the living room to Sarah.
“She’s my girlfriend.” I didn’t hesitate to say it, though Sarah might have protested if she heard me. Good thing she couldn’t.
“For how long? Your scent isn’t strong here. I’m going to take a guess and say last night was your first time here. Am I
right?”
“Yeah. We got together pretty recently.”
“Charlie, that is your name, right?” She leaned forward, set her elbows on the table, and clasped her hands together. She
continued once I nodded my head, “Look, I know how absurd this probably seems to you, but I need you to be honest with me.
What did she tell you happened last night?”
I blew out a hard breath. I really did not want to say it out loud. “She, uh, she said I… changed.”
Caine raised her eyebrows expectantly and waved a hand at me to continue.
“Into a wolf,” I finished, lowering my eyes to the table. “She told me this morning I’m apparently a werewolf. So that’s…
that’s true?”
“Sure is, though we don’t use that term. We’re shifters, Charlie.” Her tone went all gentle, as if she expected me to protest.
“Wolf shifters are the most common variety, though there are other types out there. Most of us prefer to call ourselves whatever
animal we are. You and I are wolves.”
Out in the living room, Sarah sat with her legs crossed up under her. She conversed with ease with the short-haired guy
Caine called Zed. He had his arm up on the back of the couch and looked perfectly at home across from her. I didn’t like it, but
Sarah wouldn’t have been happy to hear me say that. Her having a polite conversation with another man shouldn’t have
bothered me. I needed to get a freaking grip.
I sat back in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. “I take it since last night was a full moon, this is going to happen
every month?”
“Yes, and you might have the urge to shift between full moons, too. Some people are closer to it than others.” She pointedly
looked me in the eye. “I’m willing to bet you’ve noticed a change in some of your thought patterns since you woke up? Maybe
even before last night?”
“Is that normal? They feel like my thoughts, but they’re different.”
 “Different how?” Her fingers laced together. She set her chin on top of her clasped hands.
“More… aggressive? Like this morning when I first woke up, I, uh—” I paused, dropped my chin, and looked down at the
table. I sank into silence, not wanting to admit to my misdeeds out loud.
“You what?” she prodded.
“I behaved”—my voice squeaked into a higher register—“inappropriately.”
“You were sexually aggressive?” she asked, completely deadpan. “So not just that show outside of you trying to intimidate
us?”
I sank down further in my chair.
“I can’t help you if you aren’t honest,” Caine said with a sigh.
“Then yes.” My head bowed even further. “I basically assaulted her this morning. I’ve never acted that horribly before and I
feel awful about it. I only snapped out of it when she told me to slow down.”
“Did you have the urge to bite her?” she asked. Cornflower blue eyes bore hard into mine.
“M-maybe?” I stammered. “I don’t really remember.” I got the distinct impression that wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear.
“That would be bad, wouldn’t it?”
“Unless she’s your mate, yes, that would be bad.”
I wrung my hands together in my lap. “What’s a mate?”
She audibly groaned, sat back in her seat, and tilted her head to stare up at the ceiling for a long moment before she looked at
me again.
“Shifters… we’re different when it comes to love and relationships. Even humans can have soul mates, but with us,
supposedly when we meet ours, we sort of just know. It might be a scent thing or a feeling, I’ve heard all kinds of stories. It
seems like every couple is different.”
“Um, so Sarah might be my soul mate?” A smile pulled at my lips and a pleasant warmth spread throughout my chest. Was
that why my feelings for her were so intense, because Sarah was my mate? I liked the sound of that.
“You’re supposed to know the answer to that, not me. If she is your mate, you’ll start wanting to claim her. That would mean
biting her, which would make her a wolf like you. You should be able to ignore it for a little while, but likely not forever. You
want my advice?”
I swallowed and nodded my head.
“Take some time to figure yourself out first. Get away for a few days. Go camping or rent a cabin out in the woods without
anyone else around. It can be horribly overwhelming at first.
“It smells… stronger on you than on other wolves. I’m not sure what the implication of that is. Every shifter has a different
experience. Some are mentally present in both human and animal form, while others won’t ever remember a thing. Some can
change back and forth as easily as putting on or taking off a coat, while others only change when they’re forced to under a full
moon. You may or may not be able to control it all that well at first. The absolute last thing anyone needs is you shifting in
public again.
“You are extremely lucky no one else saw you. The Registry does not take lightly to unregistered shifters running around
causing problems, especially not here. When and where were you bitten? You were out of town when it happened, right?”
“Uh, we were out on one of the hiking trails on the west side of town, actually.” My brows furrowed. That was a lot of
information she just gave me. I didn’t quite know how to process it all. “It was Tuesday afternoon, around three, I think?”
Her lips pressed together. That obviously wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “There’s only two other wolves in town besides
me and I know it wasn’t one of them. What did the wolf look like?”
My arms crossed over my chest as I told her everything I remembered about the wolf that bit me. I mentioned the scar across
their face, how dirty their fur was, how they growled at us and lunged at Sarah, and how I pushed her out of the way.
“Are you going to go after them?” I asked, perking up. “Since you’re an officer with this Registry or whatever, I assume
that’s something you guys handle since you’re here talking to me.”
“We will be looking into it, yes.” Her expression hardened and her glare turned downright challenging. “You, however, will
not go anywhere near those trails or that wolf’s territory. Let us handle it. We’re professionals, we do this sort of thing all the
time. We’ve never had a problem with rogue shifters here in town before, but the wolf that bit you isn’t the first to have popped
up out of nowhere recently.”
“So… this Registry…” I trailed off to let her pick up the thread.
“The Registry governs anyone or anything tangentially related to magic. Officially, that’s why we’re here. You shifting in the
park set off a few recently placed detection wards over downtown, which is why the two of us were sent to track you down
this morning and give you a warning. Since you’re new, you have to be registered. Based on your description, my best guess is
the wolf that attacked you is feral, so that’s how you’ll be registered.
“Unofficially, I will say you are insanely lucky you didn’t stray into another wolf’s territory last night. While she’s pretty
friendly, her mate would not have taken kindly to it.”
“What do you mean when you said the wolf that bit me was feral?” I asked, getting stuck on the word.
 She crossed her arms over her chest. “Feral shifters are shifters who have lost themselves. They don’t tend to turn back. It’s
entirely possible the wolf that bit you doesn’t remember having ever been human.”
“That’s possible?” I sat forward again with alarm. “That won’t happen to me, will it?”
She shook her head. “It shouldn’t be something you have to worry about. It only happens in extreme cases, basically only to
people who don’t want to be human anymore.”
My hands relaxed again. What would it take for someone to want to live as an animal instead of as themselves for the rest of
their life? I shuddered at the thought.
“What will happen to them if you find them?” I managed to ask.
“If they really are feral, they’ll be trapped and relocated,” came her emotionless reply. “There are a handful of large shifter
packs spread across the country. One of them would likely agree to take a feral wolf in.” Her gaze cut to the window
overlooking the backyard. I almost missed how her shoulders tensed. “I’m supposed to mention that’s an option for you, too, if
you think you’d be more comfortable being with your own kind.”
“My life’s here. I’m not going anywhere.” But the thought of there being actual packs of people like me and Caine blew my
mind. Did they behave like actual wolves, with an alpha and ranks and stuff? I had so many questions.
“Good.” Caine visibly relaxed. “Then I’m also going to let the other two local wolves know you’re here. They run a bar
downtown that’s Registry sanctioned. If you’re interested in checking the place out or in speaking with them, call me first. I’ll
handle the introductions.”
“I can’t just walk in on my own?”
“You could, but wolves can sometimes get a little weird when it comes to others who aren’t pack. It’s an instinct thing. Don’t
take it personally.”
I nodded and reached for the coffee cup in the middle of the table. Without any sort of warning, the exterior of the cup lit with
a pale blue light. The cup glowed for half a second, then faded from existence, as if it hadn’t been sitting there at all.
I startled back from the table with a yelp. Caine spun in her chair. The one she called Zed held the displaced coffee cup in
his palm out towards Sarah with a huge grin across his face.
I still couldn’t hear a single word they said. Sarah caught my eye. She threw her head back with a laugh I couldn’t hear. She
mouthed what might have been ‘sorry’ before she turned back to the guy across from her.
“What the hell is he?” I demanded, forcing my fingers not to clench into fists again. “You and him kind of have the same sort
of weird scent over your regular ones.”
The mean glare Caine must have shot Zed slid off her face as she turned back to me. “We’re mages, and before you ask, no,
you won’t get magic powers now besides being able to shift. People capable of using magic are born, not made. Zed’s a
construction mage, but his specialty is conjuration. I’m a destruction mage, specifically a pyromancer.”
To demonstrate, she held her hand palm up. A bright orange fireball flickered to life out of absolutely nothing. She closed her
fist and the flame disappeared as if it had never been there.
“And I thought I was weird,” I muttered under my breath. “This is… this is completely insane. I’m supposed to continue on
and pretend everything is normal? Just- just how?”
“You take it one day at a time,” she explained, setting her elbows on the table again. “You’re still you deep down, you just
have a wolf’s instincts competing with your own now. What you make of that is up to you.”
Another random document with
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 “Perhaps not, sir, perhaps not,” replied the Major, pityingly. “Do
you never read the ‘Evening Planet,’ sir, when you are at home?”
I winced. The truth was, that I did take in the ‘Evening Planet,’ and
heedfully perused therein the valuable dicta of its eloquent
proprietor, a celebrated parliamentary and platform orator. And I
had been accustomed to give credence to the confident assurance of
this gentleman, that we were miles behind the Northern States of the
American Union in all that was useful and good, and that we could
not do better than copy so shining a model in all things. I had read
and heard the bold statement, made in defiance of statistics, that
America was floating peacefully on the tide of prosperity into the
haven of universal empire—an empire won by bloodless means, of
course; for what nation, unsaddled with an aristocracy, would dream
of war, while Britain was sinking into decrepitude and decay! All this,
and much more, had I heard and read, and I had believed that
Britannia ought to sit at the feet of her flighty offspring for
instruction, and to remodel her old institutions after a republican
pattern. But, as not seldom happens, a nearer view of the United
States did not precisely confirm the loud assertions of the
Americanising party in the British press and senate, and I was
gradually losing my ideal admiration for transatlantic liberty and
customs. After the rapid dinner, and the more leisurely supplement
of juleps and brandy-cobblers imbibed in the bar-room of the hotel, I
asked a coloured waiter if my waggon and mules were forthcoming,
as I was desirous of reaching Nauvoo before dark.
“Iss, massa!” answered the negro, and whisked off with his napkin
to inquire after the lingering equipage.
The Major said he was going to Nauvoo too, and begged the favour
of a lift, which I willingly conceded.
The mules and waggon, with their whipcracking teamster, soon
rattled up to the door; my bill was promptly paid, my baggage
transferred to the vehicle; the Major and I climbed into our places,
and we started.
“How comes it, Major,” said I, “that there is no line open to
Nauvoo?”
The Major knocked the ashes off his cigar as he replied, “Wall, I
suppose it wouldn’t pay. Rail to Fort Madison is all right and spry,
because Uncle Sam has property there; but I guess not a dime could
be drawed from Washington treasury to make a line on to Nauvoo.”
“And from Nauvoo, westward through Iowa, say to Nebraska,”
observed I, with affected carelessness; “what should you say to the
prospects of a railroad in that direction?”
My heart throbbed audibly as I spoke, for all my feigned
indifference, and I listened with anxiety for the Major’s reply. I had
not long to wait.
“That depends,” said my fellow-traveller, with sagacious
deliberation, “on the sort of rail you talk about. Is it a line to go no
farther than Wall Street, and perhaps your London Capel Court, that
you are speaking of, mister?”
“Wall Street and Capel Court! Upon my life, I hardly comprehend
you,” returned I.
“Moonshine, flummery, make-believe, sleepers, rails, stations, all
of paper, that’s what I mean, stranger;” rejoined the Major,
somewhat impatiently.
“But I spoke of a bona fide concern—of a real railway, honestly
made and fairly worked,” answered I; “what would you say to that?”
“Say!” replied the Major, with infinite contempt, “say! Let me see
the gonies. Trot ’em up to me, sir. Just let me have a look at the
simple ones that are at the head of the business, and I’ll tell them
what I think, fast enough. No, Nauvoo is a rising place, a neat
location, but it can wait for a rail one while, unless every sage plant
on the prairie turns to silver dollars.”
After this I asked the Major no more questions. We reached
Nauvoo, and through the dusk I espied the shingled roofs of its
houses, the bold bluffs of limestone, the rushing coffee-coloured
river, and the unfinished building-lots with their heaps of wreck and
rubbish. We put up at the General Jackson Hotel. I had a letter of
introduction to Squire Park of Nauvoo, a gentleman in the flatboat
interest, who owed his title of Squire to his being in the commission
of the peace. But on repairing to his house I was doomed to
disappointment—the more vexatious because Mr Park had been
eulogised by Judge Tips as a man who knew the West thoroughly.
Squire Park was gone to Cairo on business, and was not expected
back before the end of the month. On consulting the map I carried, I
found that a place called Keosauque was the nearest of the few towns
in Iowa to the line of railway, real or imaginary, in connection with
which my name, and those of other men of respectability and
substance, were flaming, in advertisements and on the broadsheets
of a prospectus, throughout the British metropolis. I set off to
Keosauque, mounted on an Indian pony, and accompanied by a
guide in the shape of a wiry backwoodsman, in an enduring costume
of leather, and who gave accommodation to my portmanteau behind
his saddle. For some miles we rode in silence over the apparently
boundless sea of grass, mottled with weeds and flowers, and
occasionally studded with lone farmhouses and maize fields, or by
herds of grazing cattle. Those half-reclaimed mustangs are not the
most pleasant mount for a timid rider, nor am I, George Bulkeley of
Stamford Hill, a very adventurous horseman; and before we had got
far, I began to wish the brute I rode would desist from what seemed
an alternation of starts and stumbles. My guide, a good-humoured
wild man, observed my embarrassment, and undertook its removal.
“See here, Colonel,” said he—strangers in the West are usually
decorated with visionary epaulettes—“you mustn’t keep the rein so
slack as that, nor yet hold your hand up level with your cravat, or,
scalp me, but you’ll be spilt! Mustangs want a tight grip on the bit. So
—steady now. Stick in your knees, Colonel, and scorn to ketch hold of
the pummel—so. Do as you see me do; give him a touch of the spur,
but mind his kicking—for mustangs can kick, they can. You’ll do
nicely, now.”
Ichabod was a skilful riding-master, by instinct, I suppose; and,
thanks to his forcible instructions, I was soon on better terms with
my refractory quadruped. On we rode, over the waving grass,
through the rank weeds, through the belts of cottonwood timber and
maples that skirted every streamlet, and past the swampy bottoms
where sluggish waters wound like wounded snakes. We dined on
dried venison, jerked beef, parched corn, and hominy, at a farm
which did duty for an inn, and slept at another house of the same
character. Next day we resumed our route; and as we rode towards
Keosauque, I ventured to ask Ichabod if he had ever heard of the
Great Nauvoo and Nebraska Railway. I had been hitherto averse to
propounding this query; for how could I tell whether the interests of
my informant might conflict with mine?—but with this rough
frontiersman I felt I was safe. He, at least, was no rival speculator—
no shareholder in a competing line—no steamboat proprietor, or lord
of many stage-waggons. But his first answer was not satisfactory. It
was comprised in the one word, “Anan!”
“The Railway”—asked I again—“from Nauvoo to Nebraska: not a
finished thing, of course; but you surely must have seen or heard of
the works—the bridges, the embankments, and the rest of the
preparations?”
Ichabod shook his head. “You’re talking Greek to me, Colonel, and
that air a fact.”
“How is it possible,” cried I, in an agony, “that there can have been
a railway begun in this country, and the settlers unaware of it? Surely
you must be a stranger to this part of the State yourself!”
“You’re wrong there, Colonel,” answered Ichabod; “I’m Illinois
born, but I’m Iowa bred. In this State I was raised; and I don’t
believe there’s a thing happened over the border sin’ I could mount a
horse, be it buffler or deer, loping Indian, runaway nigger, or Yankee
pedlar, without my hearing on’t. Stop” (and he smote his knee with a
palm as hard as iron)—“I’ve got it. You’re talking of Harvey’s Folly.”
And I thought the young backwoodsman would have tumbled off
his horse in the extravagant burst of mirth which this discovery
produced. “Who-whoop!” cried he; “I’ve seen queer sights, but never
did I think to see a stranger come out in a bee-line from the old
country—no offence, Colonel!—to ax about Harvey’s Folly. I’d nigh
forgot that the thing existed at all. Wah! but it beats coon-catching!”
With some trouble I got an explanation. It appeared from the
borderer’s statement that, years ago, a speculative individual of the
name of Harvey had undertaken to construct a railway from
Nebraska to Nauvoo, with a branch linking it to the Central Illinois
line. He had obtained the usual charter and grant of land from the
State, and had actually commenced operations between Keosauque
and New Buda, two little towns not far from the Missouri boundary.
But he had soon desisted from the Sisyphean task, ruined,
disheartened, or disappointed of the aid on which he had somewhat
sanguinely reckoned; and thenceforth no more had been said of the
scheme or the schemer. “But the property,” groaned I, “the works,
surely they must remain?”
 “Why,” said Ichabod, meditatively, “I kinder think there’s rails laid
down a bit—yes, for some miles I guess, and they’ll be there still. The
cussed Indians can’t have stampedoed them, like they do the cattle.
There’s a tidy bridge over a creek or two Harvey built, and some
sheds and scantling; and that’s about all.”
“All,” said I, “think again, Ichabod. Surely there must be more
plant than that, and then the rolling stock?”
The frontiersman laughed. “We know more about gunstocks than
rolling stocks, out here on the pararas,” said he; “and I never heard
of plants, onless ’twas hickory or sumach. But I’ve kinder catalogued
the hull fixings for you, Colonel, without ’tis a pile of rusty iron, or a
few waggon-loads of logs—neat bits of oak timber they were,
trimmed and dressed, and shaped mighty like a saddle-tree, that
Harvey left on the ground.”
“The sleepers, I suppose,” returned I; “are they there still?”
“Well, Colonel, mebbe some of ’em are taking a nap there still,”
replied Ichabod, “but parara men often camp thereabouts, hunting,
cattle-tending, or prospecting, and firewood being mortal scarce on
the plains, ’twasn’t to be expected the bhoys wouldn’t make free with
some chips to cook with. I may have had a chop at those logs with my
tomahawk, when I wanted a broil, onst or twice, myself.”
I groaned again. The Great Nauvoo and Nebraska Railway was
evidently as brittle a speculation as Alnaschar’s basket of glass. I
finished the ride to Keosauque in moody reverie. There was no other
guest to share such rugged plenty as the wooden tavern, called by
courtesy the Eagle Hotel, could afford; and as the landlord was
absent, and the landlady busy in the management of her children
and Irish helps, no one talked to me, and I sat sullen and dejected the
whole evening. Next day, tired as I was, I set out again, under
Ichabod’s guidance, to visit what he persisted in naming Harvey’s
Folly. We reached the spot at last. A swampy level, intersected by
runlets of water, and with a good deal of thorny brake, and here and
there a clump of cottonwood poplars diversifying the scene, had been
selected by Mr Harvey for the site of his preliminary operations. Why
he had chosen that wet ground at all, when so much dry prairie lay
beyond, of very tolerable smoothness, it is difficult to conjecture; but
perhaps the more accurate level had tempted him. There were rails,
certainly there were rails, half-hidden by the growth of hemlocks and
rank grass; but on dismounting I discovered that, for lack of proper
metal trams, the rails had been constructed of wood, covered with a
thin slip of iron—not an unusual device in out-of-the-way parts of
America, as I was afterwards told. The fastenings were very defective,
the sleepers loose, and the whole concern had a crazy haphazard
look. Such as they were, these precious rails were continued for
about 5 miles—5 miles out of 350!—and then they terminated in a
mass of ruin and confusion. There were roofless sheds, scantlings
and screens blown down by hurricane gusts, heaps of rusty iron,
broken tools, damaged wheelbarrows, and a shattered truck with
only one wheel left. Also there were a quantity of sleepers of dressed
oak, and the fragments of many more, split by the axe and charred to
coal, as they lay around the blackened spots of burnt turf, where
many a camp-fire had been lit by the frontiersmen. That was all the
valuable property left at the disposal of the directors. The sight
sickened me. “Harvey’s Folly,” muttered I between my teeth, “say
rather Bulkeley’s Folly—Bulkeley’s credulity, idiocy, weakness! And
not only mine, but Tom Harris’s, and that of all of us. What a long-
eared pack were we to be lured by the crafty piping of such a
dissembling knave as that glib Colonel!” I rode away, sad and
careworn. Ichabod’s quaint talk was unnoticed. I had another
companion that claimed my undivided attention, and that was Care,
Black Care, which sat crouching behind my saddle. I was haunted by
a ghastly phantom of impending bankruptcy. The London Gazette
spread its ill-omened sheet before me, and in its fatal columns I read,
in flaming characters, “George Bulkeley, of Cannon Street in the City
of London, and Stamford Hill, Middlesex, to surrender at Portugal
Street on Monday the 14th inst. Official Assignee, Mr Wilks!” That it
should have come to this! Ruin, ruin, ruin. Ruin and disgrace to us
all, the duped directors of this wretched swindle. Were we not
responsible for the debts of the undertaking? Was not the paid-up
capital in the treacherous hands of our Yankee cashier, Dr Titus A. C.
Bett, and could there be a doubt that it was lost for ever? Plainly the
whole business was a fraudulent trick from the first—a net to catch
gold-fish! Ah! already with my mind’s eye I saw the broker’s men in
possession of Magnolia Villa; I saw my costly furniture, the cellar of
wines I had been so proud of, carriages, pictures, everything,
submitted to public competition by a smirking auctioneer. I heard
the hammer fall, knocking down my Lares and Penates to the highest
bidder. Going, going, gone! the accursed formula rang in my ears
with baleful clearness. Magnolia Cottage to let! My family hiding in
poor lodgings in Boulogne! George Bulkeley, a moody bankrupt,
slinking about the pier of that refuge for insolvency, and afraid to
face the Stock Exchange! Even though the Court might declare me
blameless, even though the commissioner might whitewash me into
commercial purity, my conscience was less complaisant, and sternly
refused me even a third-class certificate.
I might have had the right to ruin myself and family, but what
right had I to make desolate the hearths of many helpless and
confiding people? How about those shareholders ignorant of
business, those pinched vicars, needy widows, poor old half-pay
officers, and the rest, who had been dazzled by our prospectus, and
had invested their savings in the pocket of Dr Titus A. C. Bett? It was
my respectable name, in common with those of my fellows in the
Direction, which had baited the hook for such poor prey as these. My
heart—even City men have hearts sometimes—was heavy and
mournful with a grief not wholly selfish. Plump! fluff! down went the
mustang on his knees, his feet having plunged into the holes that led
to the dwellings of some “prairie-dogs”—interesting little brutes that
burrow all over the plains—and over the animal’s head I flew with the
force of a sky-rocket. Lighting with a great thump on the hard turf, I
ran no trifling risk of a broken neck; but my hat saved me, at the
expense of its own demolition, and I was only stunned. But when
Ichabod hurried to the rescue he found me bruised and faint, and
with a sprained thumb that caused me exquisite pain for the time. So
stupified was I by the shock, that I did not hear the beat of hoofs
upon the green carpet of the prairie, nor the sound of friendly voices,
and was surprised, on looking up, to see that I was surrounded by a
large party of equestrians, who were surveying me from the saddle
with every appearance of interest. Riding-habits and side-saddles
here in prairie-land! hats and feathers, too, of most ladylike elegance,
and a pair of pretty, rather pale faces under the shadow of those
plumed felts. Besides the two girls, there were a grey-haired elderly
man, two younger gentlemen, and three or four mounted blacks in
suits of striped cotton, one of whom led a couple of hounds in a long
leash, while another had a buck strapped behind him on the horse.
 “Is the poor gentleman much hurt?” asked one of the young ladies
in a sweet kind voice. Ichabod, as bold as a lion in general, was
awkward and bashful when addressed by a lady, and seemed to be
weighing the words of his answer, when I felt it necessary to reply for
myself. On discovering that I was a stranger in the land, General
Warfield insisted that I should accompany the party to his house,
just across the Missouri border, where my injured thumb should
receive every attention, and where he and his family would gladly
welcome me. Yielding willingly to this hospitable persuasion, I
permitted Ichabod and one of the negroes to help me to remount my
mustang, and we rode towards the Missouri boundary. The family
whose acquaintance I had just made in so singular a way, bore no
similarity to the travelling Americans whom it had previously fallen
to my lot to encounter. General Warfield, his son, daughters, and
nephew, had the well-bred air and unobtrusive demeanour which I
had hitherto deemed exclusively insular. They asked me no abrupt
questions as to my station or errand: they indulged in no diatribes
against my country, nor in any extravagant laudations of their own;
and I might have fancied myself the guest of some long-descended
family at home, but for the wild scenes and unusual objects that met
my eye as we rode along. It turned out that General Warfield, a
retired military officer, not a militiaman, was of an old Virginian
family, and had migrated to the newer soil of Missouri six years ago.
There his children had grown to be men and women, in the hardy
habits of that wild country, a mere outpost of civilisation; and indeed
they were returning from a hunting expedition into Iowa when they
stumbled upon me in my prostrate condition. Three hours’ ride
brought us to the General’s house, a large building of mingled wood
and stone, with a pretty garden on one hand, and on the other the
farm-buildings, the corrals for horses and cattle, and the negro huts.
Within I found furniture of old-fashioned dark mahogany, partridge-
wood, and bird’s-eye maple, old family pictures, pretty knickknacks
picked up during a three years’ residence in Europe, and the massive
silver plate which had been handed down from father to son ever
since the ancestral Warfield settled in Virginia in the reign of Charles
I. I never knew anything so un-American, in respect to the usual
standard of comparison, as the mode of life, the bearing, and tastes,
of General Warfield and his high-spirited and amiable children. Here
was no exaggeration of sentiment, no outrageous national vanity, no
rude indifference to the feelings of others, no prying, no pretension. I
felt, as I conversed with them, how wide was the gulf that severed the
North from the South. It was not diversity of interest alone, but
diversity of habits, principles, and aspirations. Wide apart in heart
and mind as the poles from each other, the citizens of the opposite
ends of the Union had but the feeble Federal bond to delay that
violent disruption and severance of which, even then, the signs of the
times gave fearful warning. But it is not my purpose to linger on the
happy days I spent beneath the roof of my kind hosts. Let me rather
relate the information I received from General Warfield, when his
friendly hospitality had caused me to confide to his ear my errand to
America, and the ruin I had too much reason to anticipate.
“My dear sir,” said the General, “I am glad you have told me of this
—very glad. I can help you in this matter.”
The General then proceeded to tell me that, in the first year of his
residence in Missouri, Harvey, a notorious speculator, had begun the
railway whose miserable wreck I had visited. He had given it up for
want of funds, had become insolvent, and was reputed to have died
in Texas. That he had received a real concession of land and
authentic charters from the State legislatures, was undoubted. But
the concession had been clogged by the express stipulation, that in
two years Harvey should have a hundred and fifty miles in working
order, and that the whole should be completed in four years. The
condition not having been complied with, the concession was null
and void. The Great Nauvoo and Nebraska Railway Company, had no
right to a corporate existence.
“But,” said I, “I of course perused the papers. I saw no mention of
such a conditional clause.”
The General smiled.
“Depend upon it, Mr Bulkeley,” said he, “that erasure and forgery
have been practised to make the old deeds sufficiently tempting to
effect the only purpose their present holders have in view—that of
raising cash in the London market. Colonel Sling—who, by the way,
is no more a colonel, even of militia, than black Cæsar there—is no
novice at fraud. He was convicted at Jefferson city of a like offence,
and I was present at his trial, and heard some of his antecedents;
indeed, I was a witness in the case. But if you will take my advice, you
will hasten back to England, and, if possible, save the funds in the
hands of this confederate of his, this Bett, before the pair can
abscond with their gains. Do not parley, but apply to the police at
once, if, indeed, it be not too late.”
Finally, General Warfield was so good as to accompany me to the
chief town of Iowa State, where he introduced me to the legal
authorities, by whom his statements were fully confirmed, and the
Nauvoo and Nebraska declared a transparent swindle. In this town
we suddenly came on “Colonel” Sling, who had come out by the next
packet, and was tracking me, no doubt in the hope of hoodwinking or
silencing me in some mode or other. But when he saw the General,
his swaggering air collapsed, a guilty crimson suffused his yellow
cheeks, and he slunk away and entered a tavern without accosting us.
And yet when, after giving hearty thanks to my kindly Virginian
friend, I hurried to embark at New York, I had the honour of finding
Colonel Coriolanus Sling, my fellow-passenger. He now ventured to
address me, but by this time I was on my guard against his specious
eloquence, and he retired with an air of mingled effrontery and
shame. At Liverpool, as I took my seat in the train, which I did
without the loss of a moment, I saw Colonel Sling dart into the
telegraph office. So busy was my brain with what was before me, that
I did not, during the principal part of the journey, attach any
particular meaning to this proceeding of my treacherous ally. When I
did think of its probable object, I struck my forehead, and could have
cursed my blind stupidity, my dulness of conception. After all my
haste, scampering as quickly as possible to the station at Liverpool,
was I to be too late, after all? Was this Yankee rascal to be permitted
to warn his brother knave in London through my inattention, and
was the paid-up capital to fatten the two harpies whose tools we had
been? Heavy misgivings filled my heart as I arrived in London,
hurried to Scotland Yard, and requested that a detective policeman
might at once be ordered to accompany me to the residence of Dr
Titus A. C. Bett, cashier to the Nauvoo and Nebraska Company.
Luckily I was a man of credit and character in the city; my request
was granted instantly, and off whirled the hansom cab, as fast as
hansom cab could be impelled by the most lavish bribe, on its way to
Piccadilly, bearing me and a quiet man with a resolute, thoughtful
face, in plain clothes. Ha! there is a cab waiting at the door as we
jump out—I hot and breathless, the policeman cool and steady. The
gaping servant-girl belonging to the lodgings comes quickly at our
knock. It is morning yet, early morning, from a London point of view
—not much after nine.
“Is Dr Bett in?”
“Yes, sir,” replies the girl, “but he’s just a-going. He sent me out for
the cab five minutes ago, and he’s called away so sudden he won’t
take breakfast.”
“Ah, indeed!” says the detective; “telegram, I suppose, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the maid, “and he swore hawful because I hadn’t
woke him up directly it came, two hour ago, along with the milk, but
I didn’t dare, ’cause he always stops out late, and always swears and
scolds if I bring up his hot water before nine o’clock.”
I could have hugged that maid, Mary Ann, Eliza, or Susan, no
matter what, for she was my preserver—a most valuable but
unwitting ally. I did give her a sovereign as I bade her show us up.
We found the Doctor, unshaved, half dressed, tugging at his boots,
and with a leather dressing-case weighty with gold and notes lying on
the table at his elbow. We rushed in with scant ceremony. The
detective tapped him on the shoulder and took him into custody with
the magic formula of uttering her Majesty’s name. The bubble burst,
but the funds were saved; and after some expense, ridicule, and
trouble, we were able to return their money to the shareholders, and
I washed my hands most gladly of my American investment.
 THE LANDSCAPE OF ANCIENT ITALY, AS
DELINEATED IN THE POMPEIAN
PAINTINGS.

“Und aber nach zweitausend Jahren

Kam ich desselbigen Wegs gefahren.”

“Et puis nous irons voir, car décadence et deuil

Viennent toujours après la puissance et l’orgueil,
Nous irons voir....”

We are so much accustomed to depend on the four great literary

languages for the whole body of our information and amusement,
that it occurs to few to consider that ignorance of other European
dialects involves any inconvenience at all, except to those who have
occasion to visit the countries in which they are spoken. Yet there is
much of really valuable matter which sees the light only in the minor
tongues, especially those of the industrious North, and with which
the world has never been made familiar through translation.
Joachim Frederic Schouw, the Danish botanist, is one of the writers
of our day who has suffered most prejudicially both to his own fame
and to the public from having employed only his native language. For
his writings are not only valuable in a scientific point of view, but
belong to the most popular order of scientific writing, and would
assuredly have been general favourites, had not the bulk of them
remained untranslated. His ‘Tableau du Climat de l’Italie’ has,
however, appeared in French, and is a standard work. A little
collection of very brief and popular essays, entitled ‘The Earth,
Plants, and Man,’ has been translated both into German and English.
One of these, styled ‘The Plants of Pompeii,’ is founded on a rather
novel idea. The paintings on the walls of the disinterred houses of
that city contain (among other things) many landscape
compositions. Sometimes these are accessory to historical
representations. But they often merely portray the scenery of
ordinary out-door life. The old decorators of the Pompeian chambers
had indeed an evident taste for those trivial tricks of theatrical
deception, which are still very popular in Italy. Their verdure, sky,
and so forth, seem often as if meant to impose on the spectator for a
moment as realities; and are, therefore, executed in a “realistic”
though sketchy style. “Consequently,” says Schouw, “the observation
of the plants which are represented in these paintings will give, as far
as they go, the measure of those which were familiar to the ancient
eye, and will help to show the identities and the differences between
the vegetation of the Campanian plains a hundred years after Christ,
and that which adorns them now.”
We propose to follow the Professor through this confined but
elegant little chapter of his investigations. But by restraining
ourselves to this alone, we should be dealing with only part of a
subject. In most regions, two thousand years have made considerable
changes in the appearance of the vegetable covering of the earth; but
in that land of volcanic influences in which Pompeii stood, great
revolutions have taken place, during that time, in the structure of the
ground itself. Sea and land have changed places; mountains have
risen and sunk; the very outlines and main landmarks of the scene
are other than what they were. Let us for a moment imagine
ourselves gazing with Emperor Tiberius from his “specular height”
on precipitous Capri, at that unequalled panorama of sea and land
formed by the Gulf of Naples, as thence descried, and note in what
respects the visible face of things has changed since he beheld it.
The central object in his view, as in that of the modern observer,
was Vesuvius, standing out a huge insulated mountain mass,
unconformable with the other outlines of the landscape, and covered
then, as now, with its broad mantle of dusky green. Then, as now, its
volcanic soil was devoted to the cultivation of the vine. But in other
respects its appearance was widely different. No slender, menacing
column of smoke rose perpetually from its summit. Nor was it lurid,
at night, with that red gleam of the slow river of fire,
“A cui riluce
Di Capri la marina
E di Napoli il porto e Mergellina.”
 It was an extinct volcano, and had been so for unknown ages. Nor
did it exhibit its present characteristic cone, nor probably its double
top; Vesuvius and Somma were most likely one; and the deep half-
moon-shaped ravine of the Atrio del Cavallo, which now divides
them, is thought to be a relic of the ancient crater. That crater was a
huge amphitheatrical depression, several miles in circuit, filled with
pasture-lands and tangled woods. Spartacus and his servile army had
used it not long before as a natural fortress. But this feature was
scarcely visible to the spectator at Capri, opposite the mountain, to
whom the summit must have appeared as a broad flat-topped ridge,
in shape and height very similar to the Table Mountain at the Cape of
Good Hope.
At the time in question, scarcely a few vague traditions remained
to record the fact that the mountain had once “burnt.” The fiery
legends of Magna Græcia related to the country west of Naples,
where volcanic action had been more recent: the Phlegræan fields,
the Market-place of Vulcan (Solfatara), the cone of Gnarime (Ischia),
through which the imprisoned Typhœus breathed flame, from
whence he has been since transferred to Vesuvius, as a Genoese
monk informed us when we and he first looked on that volcano
together. Vesuvius awoke from his sleep of unknown length, as every
one knows, in A.D. 79, when he celebrated his resumption of authority
by that grand “extra night” of the 24th August, which has had no
rival since, in the way of pyrotechnical entertainment, except on the
distant shores of Iceland, the West Indies, and the Moluccas. His
period of activity lasted nearly a thousand years. Then he relapsed
into lethargy for six hundred. In 1631, he had resumed (as old prints
show), something nearly resembling the form which we have
attributed to him in classical times. His top, of great height, swollen
up by the slow accumulation of burning matter, without a vent, was a
level plateau, with a pit-like crater, filled with a forest of secular oaks
and ilexes: only a few “fumaroles,” or smoke-holes, remained here
and there to attest his real character. Even the legends of his
conflagrations had become out of date. The old “Orearch” or
mountain-spirit, Vesevus, is portrayed by the local poet Pontanus in
the fifteenth century, as a rustic figure, with a bald head, hump back,
and cincture of brushwood—all fiery attributes omitted. Even his
terrible name was only known to the learned: the people called him
the “Monte di Somma.” The suburban features of a great luxurious
city, convents, gardens, vineyards, hunting-grounds, and parks of the
nobility, had crept again up the sides of the mountain, until they
almost mingled with the trees on the summit. The approaching hour
was not without its premonitory signs, many and strange. The
phenomena which Bulwer makes his witch of Vesuvius recount, by
way of warning, to Arbaces, are very closely borrowed from
contemporary narratives of the eruption of 1631. Nor were the omens
of superstition wanting, accommodated to the altered feelings of the
times. At the Plinian eruption, the people imagined that the old
giants buried in the Phlegræan fields had risen again, and renewed
their battle with the gods: “for many phantoms of them,” says Dio
Cassius, “were seen in the smoke, and a blast, as of trumpets, was
heard.” In 1631, carriages full of devils were seen to drive, and
battalions of diabolical soldiers to gather in marching array along the
precipitous flanks of the mountain. The footsteps of unearthly
animals were tracked on the roads. “A peasant of the name of
Giovanni Camillo” (so we are informed by the Jesuit Giulio Cesare
Recupito, a contemporary), “had passed Easter Eve at a farm-house
of his own on the mountain. There, without having taken a mouthful
of anything, he was overtaken by a profound slumber, from which
awakening suddenly, he saw no longer before his eyes the likeness of
the place where he had fallen asleep, but a new heaven, a new soil, a
new landscape: instead of a hill-side covered with wood, there
appeared a wall crossing the road, and extending on each side for a
great distance, with a very lofty gate. Astonished at this new scene,
he went to the gate to inquire where he was. There he found a porter
of the order of St Francis, a young man in appearance. Many
conjecture that this was St Antony of Padua. The porter at first
seemed to repulse him, but afterwards admitted him into the
courtyard, and guided him about. After a long circuit they arrived at
a great range of buildings breathing fire from every window.” In
short, the poor peasant was conducted, after the fashion of such
visions, through the mansions of hell and purgatory, where he saw,
of course, many of his acquaintance variously tormented. “At last, on
the following day, he was restored to himself, and to Vesuvius: and
was ordered to inform his countrymen that a great ruin was
impending over them from that mountain: wherefore they should
address their vows and prayers to God. On Easter Day, at noon, he
came home, and was observed of many with his dress sprinkled with
ashes, his face burnt black, as if escaped from a fire.” This was two
years before the eruption, and during the interval Camillo always
told the same story; wherefore, after passing a long time for either
mad or drunk, he was finally raised to the dignity of a prophet. At
last, on the night of the 15th December, the ancient volcano
signalised his awakening by a feat of unrivalled grandeur. In forty-
eight hours of terrific struggles, he blew away the whole cap of the
mountain; so that, on the morning of the 18th, when the smoke at
last subsided, the Neapolitans beheld their familiar summit a
thousand feet lower than it had been before; while its southern face
was seamed by seven distinct rivers of fire, slowly rolling at several
points into the sea.
Since 1631, the frequency, if not the violence, of the eruptions
seems to have gradually increased, and Vesuvius is probably more
“active” now, in local language, than at any former time in his annals,
having made the fortunes of an infinity of guides and miscellaneous
waiters on Providence within the last twelve years, besides burning a
forest or two, and expelling the peasantry of some villages. But his
performances on a grand scale seem for the present suspended.
Frequent eruptions prevent that accumulation of matter which
produces great ones. Indeed, the late Mr Laing, whose ‘Notes of a
Traveller’ show him to have been that identical “sturdy Scotch
Presbyterian whig” who visited Oxford in company with Lockhart’s
Reginald Dalton, “reviling all things, despising all things, and puffing
himself up with all things,” deliberately pronounced the volcano a
humbug, and believed the depth of its subterranean magazines to be
extremely trifling. Still, the curious traveller, like that fabulous
Englishman who visited the lion-tamer every night for the chance of
seeing him devoured, cannot help looking with a certain eagerness
for the occurrence of those two interesting catastrophes, of which the
day and hour are written down in the book of the Fates—that
combination of high tide, west wind, and land-flood, which is to
drown St Petersburg; that combination of south-east wind and first-
class eruption which is to bury Naples in ashes. This finale seemed
nearer in that recent eruption of December 1860, which spent its
fury on Torre del Greco, than perhaps on any former occasion; but
once more the danger passed away.
 To return, however, from this digression, which has nothing to
excuse it except the interest which clings even to often-repeated
stories respecting the popular old volcano. Other features in that
wonderful panorama, seen from Capri, have undergone scarcely
inferior changes since the time of Tiberius. Yonder rich tract of level
land at the mouth of the Sarno, between Torre dell’ Annunziata and
Castellamare, did not exist. The sea has retreated from it. Tiberius
saw, instead of it, a deep bay washing the walls of the compact little
provincial city of Pompeii. But the neighbouring port of Stabiæ is
gone: not a vestige of its site remains. Above it to the right, Monte
Sant’Angelo, and the limestone sierra of which it forms a part,
remain, no doubt, unchanged by time. Only that marvellous range of
Roman villas and gardens which lined its foot for leagues, almost
rivalling the structures of the opposite Bay of Baiæ for magnificence,
has disappeared, no one knows how or when. The diver off the coast
of Sorento can touch with his hand the long ranges of foundation-
work, brick and marble, which now lie many feet beneath the deep
clear water. It was a strange fit of short-lived magnificence, that
which induced the grandest of millionnaires, the chiefs of the
Augustan age, to raise their palaces, all round the Gulf of Naples, on
vaulted ranges of piles laid within the sea, so that its luxurious ripple
should be heard under the rooms in which they lived. Niebuhr, who,
with all his curious insight into the ways of antiquity, was not
superior to the temptation of finding a new reason for everything,
asserts that they did so in order to escape the malaria. But that
mysterious evil influence extended some way beyond the shore. The
country craft will, to this day, keep as far as they can, in the summer
nights, off the coast of the Campagna, while the quiet land-breeze is
wafting death from the interior. The real causes were, doubtless,
what the writers of the time disclose. The land close to the shore was
dear and scanty, and ill-accommodated for building, from its
steepness. The first new-comer who set the fashion of turning sea
into land, was imitated by others in the mere wantonness of wealth,
until the whole shore became lined with palatial edifices, like the
Grand Canal of Venice; but not so durably. These classical structures,
frequently delineated with more or less detail in the Pompeian
frescoes, were as beautiful and as transitory as those of our dreams;
or like the vision which Claude Lorraine transferred to canvass in the
most poetical of landscapes, his ‘Enchanted Palace.’ Judging from
the singular phenomena exhibited by the ‘Temple of Serapis,’ and by
other topographical records, geologists have concluded that land and
sea, in this volcanic region, wax and wane in long successions of
ages. Thus the sea rose (or rather the land sank) on the coast of the
Bay of Naples for about eleven centuries previous to A.D. 1000; then
the reverse movement took place until about A.D. 1500: and the land
is now sinking again. If so, these marine palaces must have gradually
subsided into the sea, and their owners may have been driven out by
the invasion of cuttle-fish and sea-hedgehogs, and other monsters of
the Mediterranean shallows, in their best bedrooms, even before
Norman or Saracen incursions had reduced them to desolation. But
whatever the cause of their disappearance, they had vanished before
modern history began: nor has modern luxury, in its most profuse
mood, ever sought to reproduce them. Their submarine ruins remain
as memorials of ages when men were at all events more daring and
earnest in their extravagance, and the “lust of the eye and the pride
of life” were deified on a grander scale, than at any other epoch of the
world’s history.
Naples herself, the “idle” and the “learned” (for the ancients called
her somewhat inconsistently by both epithets, nor had she as yet
acquired her more recent soubriquet of the “beautiful”), formed a far
less conspicuous object in the view than now; it was a place of some
twenty or thirty thousand souls, according to Niebuhr’s conjectural
estimate; confined between the modern Mole on the one hand, and
the Gate del Carmine on the other; and nestling close in the
neighbourhood of the sister city Herculaneum. The lofty line of the
houses on the Chiaia—of which you may now almost count the
windows in the top storeys from the sea-level at Capri, through that
pellucid atmosphere, while the lower storeys are hidden by the
earth’s curvature—did not then exist. But instead of it there extended
the endless terraces and colonnades, the cypress avenues and plane
groves, of that range of fortress-palaces erected by Pollio and
Lucullus, enlacing island, and beach, and ridge, even to the point of
Posilippo, with tracery of dazzling marble. Here, however, the mere
natural changes have been small, except that an island or two (like
that of the Castel dell’ Uovo) has since been joined to the continent.
But farther west, round the Bay of Baiæ, fire and water have dealt
most fantastically with the scenery. Scarcely a prominent feature on
which the Roman eye rested remains unchanged. Quiet little Nisida
was a smoking semi-volcano. Yonder level dun-coloured shore, from
Pozzuoli to the Lucrine, was under water, and the waves dashed
against a line of cliff now some miles inland. That crater-shaped Lake
of Agnano, now the common resort of Neapolitan holiday-makers,
did not exist; it must have been formed by some unrecorded
convulsion of the dark ages. Yonder neatly truncated cone, rising five
hundred feet above the plain, seems as permanent a feature in the
landscape as any other of the “everlasting hills;” but it was the
creation of a few days of violent eruption, only three centuries ago—
as its name of Monte Nuovo still indicates—whether by “upheaval” or
by “ejection,” philosophers dispute. But the beautiful Lucrine Lake,
the station of Roman fleets and the very central point of Roman
luxury, disappeared in the same elemental commotion; leaving a
narrow stagnant pool behind. Only yon slight dyke or barrier of
beach, between this shrunken mere and the sea, deserves respect; for
that has remained, strange to say, almost unaltered throughout. It is
one of the very oldest legendary spots of earth; doubtless the very
road along which Hercules dragged the oxen of Geryon; the very
“narrow shore” on which Ulysses landed, in order to call up the
melancholy shades of the dead. Farther inland, again, Avernus
remains unchanged, in shape at least; but many and strange are the
revolutions which it has undergone in other respects. We first hear of
it as a dark pool, surrounded by forests; the bed, doubtless, of an
ancient crater filled with water, and retaining much of volcanic
action; but not (as commonly supposed) fatal to the birds that flew
over it. That notion is not classical; or rather, it is founded on a
misconception of classical authorities. The pool is not called by the
best writers “lacus Avernus” but “lacus Averni,” the lake of the
Avernus. What is an Avernus? Lucretius tells us that it is a spot
where noxious gases escape from the earth, so that the birds which
fly over it fall dead on the earth or into the lake if there happens to be
a lake below them.
“Si forte lacus substratus Averno est.”

And Virgil’s description, accurately construed, gives exactly the

same meaning.
“Spelunca alta fuit....
....tuta lacu nigro nemorum que tenebris,
 Quam super” (not quem super, over the cavern, not the lake)
....“haud ullæ poterant impune volantes
Tendere iter pennis....
Unde locum” (not lacum) “Graii dixerunt nomine Aornon.”

It was the exhalations from the mysterious cavern that were

deadly, not those from the lake. Such an “Avernus” is the “Gueva
Upas” or Valley of Death, in Java, to which condemned criminals
were formerly sent to perish; whence the romance about the Upas
Tree. And such an Avernus, on a small scale, still exists on the shore
of the peaceful little Lake of Laach in Germany, also an extinct
crater: there are spots on its beach where bird-corpses are to be
found in numbers, killed by mephitic exhalations. But—to return to
our lake—it must at that time have lain at or (like some other extinct
craters) below the level of the sea; for Augustus’s great engineering
operation consisted in letting the sea into the lake.
“Tyrrhenusque fretis immittitur æstus Avernis.”

Fifteen hundred years afterwards, and just before the Monte

Nuovo eruption, the place was visited by that painful old
topographer, Leandro Alberti, the Leland of Italy. The channel made
by Augustus was then gone; but the lake was still on a level with the
sea, for he asserts that in storms the sea broke into it: and the water,
as he expressly affirms, was salt. Now, its level is several feet above
that of the sea, and the water is fresh. The upheaval must have been
gradual and peaceful, for the outline of the lonely mere is as perfectly
rounded now as the poet Lycophron described it;—but a portion only
of that bewildering succession of changes of which this coast has
been the theatre: the latest vibration of that vast commotion figured
in the legendary war of the Giants. Nor is it quite so wild a conjecture
as some have deemed it, that the tradition which peopled this bright
coast with Cimmerians—then dwellers in the everlasting mist, on the
border-land between the dead and the living—had its origin in the
tales of primeval navigators, who had visited the neighbourhood
during some mighty and prolonged eruption, covering sea and shore
with a permanent darkness which “might be felt:” like the coast of
Iceland in 1783, when for a whole summer continual eruptions arose
from the sea as well as the land: when “the noxious vapours that for
many months infected the air, enveloped the whole island in a dense