Page 11 of A Kiss From a Wolfman
It’s far more modest than the castle I grew up in, but it’s mine. This was the first place I ever felt truly free and safe. Even as I hear the wolfman slide over the threshold and the door slam shut behind him, I still feel secure. While the danger he presents is obvious, I don’t fear him.
Turning towards him, I gesture towards the small table with the matching wooden chairs.
“Have a seat there while I go and fetch my supplies.”
Golden eyes narrow in on me, but he remains silent. His massive body settles atop the chair. It groans under his weight. Somehow he manages to suck all the air from the room and make my cottage feel ten times smaller. My eyes dip to the matted dark hair of his chest and the oily sheen of blood on his fur. Hanging my bag from a peg at the door, I open the cupboards in my kitchen to collect what I need.
The first place I found refuge after leaving my parents’ home was with an old healer. She taught me basic herbology and medicinal purposes for easy-to-grow plants. I’ve been honing this skill these last few years. I’m not an experienced healer, but I know enough to be useful. If I can get the bullets out, I should be able to clean his wounds enough for them to begin healing.
Plucking a box of matches from the drawer, I light the large pillar candle on my table to illuminate the space. I lay out a stack of clean cloth and a few herbs to slow the bleeding. Taking my small metal tongs, I dunk them into cleaning alcohol and turn towards the wolfman.
“Where did they shoot you?” I ask.
For a moment, I believe he won’t answer me. His human eyes swirl with a dozen questions. His lips twitch as if fighting not to snarl. Flaring his nostrils, he shakes himself before raising alarge hand. He touches two spots on his chest where his fur is the most matted, then drops his hand lower along his hip. Crimson stains the simple cloth covering his legs to just below the knees.
I nod, swallowing once and then slowly approaching with my tongs extended. He is just like anyone else—any other man—only a bit more hairy. Still, I have a job to do despite my racing heart. The scent of pine invades my lungs as I lean down. My hand tangles in the warm fur of his chest. It’s softer than silk, and I wonder how it would feel along my body.
My face warms at the thought, and I remind myself again to focus.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn.
With a steady hand, I locate the first bullet wound. The wolfman barely whimpers as my tongs lock around the silver and tug it free. The wound steams—his body rejecting the metal. Luckily, it wasn’t too deep of a wound. I drop the metal into a glass. My fingers are stained with blood as I gently part the hair over the other wound.
Locking my tongs around the piece of metal, I’m so focused that I barely register his soft voice.
“Why?”
I glance up at him and nearly melt from the intensity of his stare. The deep sound of his voice dances along my skin and sinks into my bones. It’s a pleasant sound, even if it is edged in pain.
Licking my lips, my eyes lower back to his wound.
“Why what?” I ask.
“Why help me?”
With a gentle tug, I remove the second bullet and drop it into the glass. Blood pours from the wound and onto my fingers. With the two on his chest removed, I douse a cloth in antiseptic and press it into the openings. He gives a muffled groan as I apply pressure.
Looking up, I meet his eyes once more.
“I can’t watch someone suffer when I have the means to help.” I remove the red stained cloth and apply a fresh one. “Someone showed me kindness when I needed it the most. This is my way of repaying it.”
Directing him to hold the cloth, I lower beside him and untangle the mass of dark fur at his hip. Blood makes my fingers slippery as I part the sodden strands. Finally, my fingers brush the hole. A few inches higher, and it would’ve struck his hip bone. This wound is deeper, and he squirms as I push my tongs into the opening.
“Have you always been like this?” I ask, trying to distract him and out of curiosity. It’s less tense when he’s speaking to me, and I want to know more about him.
His whole body tightens, and I feel his eyes upon me like a touch.
“A monster, you mean?” he snarls. “I know the stories you humans tell of my kind. Animals slain for our pelts, our heads mounted as trophies.”
I swallow as bile races up my throat.
“I’ve never much cared for animal pelts,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “Not when silk is so much nicer.”
My tongs lock around the final bullet and tug. A growl leaves his lips before breaking off in a whimper. I gently rock and tug the piece of metal before pulling it free. Fresh blood spills from the opening and soaks the cloth of his shorts. Setting my tongs down, I grab a fresh cloth and drench it with more antiseptic. Reaching towards his wound, his hand encircles my wrist, stopping me.
“There are more of my kind out there,” he says. “We are born—not made. My father was a wolfman. My mother was a human.”
I nod. His palm on my skin makes my blood heat. After a moment, he releases me, and I press the cloth to his wound. A low hiss leaves him.
