The Werewolf’s Wife

There is nothing worse than fleas, and I come crawling home covered in the buggers. Megan gave me that look as she stood at the counter fixing breakfast. The look that says, Oh, for the love of God! I know that expression well. The side eye roll, the firmly clenched lips that are going white about the edges, and the stiff shoulders. I slink by her sheepishly, straight to the shower, knowing she won’t appreciate fleas at breakfast.

In the bathroom, I transform. I have found that it’s the best place to do so, as I always emerge from my other self naked, vulnerable and cold. It’s so good to have a steaming hot shower to take away the icy chill after shedding a full, warm, winter weight coat. I suppose years of domesticated living have softened me, but oh how I appreciate the convenience and luxury of hot running water.

The soapy water sends the vile, bloodsucking bugs down the drain, and I wash my head three times to ensure there are none left on my scalp. As I dry off, I notice the bites have turned into welts. Most of them are surrounding my neck, running down my back and, most inconveniently, my groin. I strive not to itch them, but the urge is strong. With the towel wrapped around my waist, I emerge from the steaming bathroom. Megan is waiting for me, her face pinched tight, but she has a glass of water and an antihistamine.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice husky. I must have howled too much last night. I down the medication as she waits, staring at me with those condemning eyes. She says nothing. I don’t know if that’s a good thing. In the past, she would be screaming about now. The silence has me guessing, unsure of my next step. Apologising is always a safe course when Meg looks like this. “I’m sorry.”

She grinds her teeth and that muscle on the side of her face jumps and spasms. Her lips press harder together until I can no longer see their pretty plumpness. Her eyes are screaming, throwing daggers, cursing me, but she says nothing as she turns from me.

I know I have disappointed her.

I’m a disappointment to myself.

“Whom did you run with this time?” That’s the first words from her mouth as I sit down to breakfast. I’m starving, and she has prepared bacon, eggs, sausages, and tomatoes with toasted rye and black coffee. She knows what I need after last night’s excess.

“Cain Cruftwill and his mob,” I tell her. I know she will be upset. I shouldn’t have gone, but I also know better than to lie to her. She has a way of sniffing the truth out faster than any bloodhound.

“For God’s sake, Jeff!” She tries hard to regulate her tone, to not yell and scream at me, but I can see the effort that takes. “If you have to run with the wolves, why would you choose him?”

“Cain’s not bad.”

“Cain’s a bully. He doesn’t do anything for free. What does he want from you?”

“Nothing, we just ran.”

“And you came back with fleas!”

I scratch at the irritation around my neck; the bites driving me mad, despite the medication.

“Stop scratching!” she growls, snatching the soothing cream from the medicine cabinet and throwing the tube at me. Her aim is off, or perhaps it’s perfect, because it hits me in the head, nearly taking out an eye.

“You said you wouldn’t run anymore.”

I rub the ointment over the bites, unable to meet her eye. “It’s not that simple.”

“I fail to understand the complexity here, Jeff. Don’t run with Cain. He’s bad news.”

“I wasn’t planning on running with Cain. It just happened.”

“How about this for an even simpler instruction? Don’t run at all.”

That was the heart of the matter, the part she’d never comprehend. She would have me deny my wolf, the other half of me. She wanted me to suppress it, refuse its call, to embrace my human side completely. I wish I could do that. I really tried to. It’s been two weeks since I ran with the wolf, but last night, the call was strong. I didn’t have the willpower to resist and, well, here I was, apologising to Megan yet again. “I’m sorry.”

“Jeff, I can’t keep doing this.” Her eyes bore into mine. “Worrying about where you are at night, wondering if you will be delivered back to me in pieces.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry. It’s not helping.”

“I’m—”

She thrusts out her hand, halting my words. “No more!”

“But I am. So very sorry.”

“I’m sick of hearing it.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to promise me you won’t run ever again.”

“I could promise you that, but it would be a lie.”

“I don’t want to be a werewolf’s wife.”

“You’ve always been a werewolf’s wife. I was a wolf when we met, a wolf when we married. Nothing’s changed.”

“You lied to me. You never told me you were a wolf, not until after we married.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop saying that!”

“I never thought it would be a problem.”

“You never told me. How was I to know how I felt about it when you failed to tell me?”

“Its just who I am, Megan. I don’t get a choice in that.”

“But it’s not who I am. You never gave me the choice.”

“I could give you a choice now. I could change you.”

“What?”

“You could be a wolf, too.”

She visibly recoils from me, her face twisting with revulsion. “You’d change me?”

“I could.” I let the words hang in the air, my gaze never leaving hers. “But I’ve never asked you to change. I love you as you are.” What I don’t say is that changing someone is a revolting process and there is no guarantee the changed person will be the same as they were before. Occasionally, change can result in such a drastic shift in personality that the original person is unrecognisable. “You’re the one who wants me to change completely,” I remind her.

Her mouth opens and closes without sound for a few moments, and she blinks rapidly to chase away the sheen of tears forming on her bottom lid.

“I just want you to be normal. To be by my side at night, not out with any random—”

“I need to run.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls back sharply.

“You’ve been up close to God knows who, and you’ve brought back fleas!”

“I just ran, Megan. I never got ‘close’ with anyone.”

“You were covered in fleas! You don’t get fleas by running, Jeff. I’m not that stupid. You get them by body contact, by sleeping in the same bed as someone.”

“I got them from running with a pack, a family. We run together.”

“Family! Cain Cruftwill is your family now!” Her tone rose in shrill displeasure.

“No!” I try not to shout. My throat is still too sore to raise my voice, but it comes out louder than I intended. “Wolves need packs. A lone wolf is a dead wolf. I need the community.”

“You’re not a lone wolf. You have me. We’re family.”

“But you don’t want my wolf.”

“Your wolf will get you killed. What if someone had spotted you last night? What if the patrol was out, and they shot you?” Her eyes filled with tears as she glared at me. “I can’t live like this.” 

#

Fleas are a small price to pay for being a wolf. Losing my wife is a much higher price, yet as I watch her pack her bags, load them into the car and drive away, there is nothing I can do or say. My inner wolf is stronger. In the empty silence of our kitchen, I sit with my head in my hands. Alone. A wolf needed a pack. It shouldn’t be on its own.

As the sun sets for the day, my phone rings and I answer without checking the number, hoping to hear Megan’s voice.

“Hey, pal.” It is Cain, his distinctive growl echoing down the line. “Gotta run planned to Kingsley market tonight. You in?”

Kinglsey market was a treasure trove for a hunting wolf. But there would be no chase, no hunt, just a bloodbath of chickens in a pen. Easy pickings without expending effort. It felt like cheating.

“Nah, mate. I’m busy.”

“Jeff, my boy. You either run with us, or you don’t. It’s that simple. You can’t keep picking and choosing.”

“Sorry Cain, I’m out, then. Thanks for letting me run last night.”

“You’re making a mistake, lone wolf.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Maybe. Or perhaps we’ll plan a different run tonight. Maybe we’ll go after that little bird that flew from your house today.”

My heart skids to a halt. “You leave her alone!”

“Oh, buddy. You left her alone. We will just have to find her. Could be fun.” He hangs up, and I curse, slamming my phone down, almost breaking the screen with the force. Oh God! Where was Meg? Without her, I really was a lone wolf. The urgent need to protect her rises in my soul, raising my hackles, throbbing through my blood. I can hear the howling in my soul as the wolf within me cries in anguish.

A shiver ripples over my skin, the tremor of imminent transformation. Without hesitation, I shred my clothes, letting my inner wolf out, as I burst into my other form. I take off at an urgent run into the dusky evening light. How would I locate her? How would I protect her? Nothing is more important than my family, and I vow to reach her first, before Cain or any of his wolves can find her. 

Nose scenting the air, I run, hoping against hope that I’m not too late.