Image by Patrice Audet from Pixabay
By
Lisabet Sarai
Happy
New Year to everyone! To help you celebrate this New Year’s Eve,
I’m sharing a short paranormal romance tale I wrote a while ago.
I
hope you enjoy it.
First
Moon
Copyright ©
2024 by Lisabet Sarai
I'm
good at being human. No one ever guesses the truth.
I
hold down a responsible, well-paying job as HR Director for an
up-and-coming biotech company. The ability to smell emotion and read
non-verbal cues gives me an advantage when working with tense or
angry employees. I have a handful of women friends, including Lyssa,
the hostess for tonight's festivities. I join them for coffee or
shopping or movies, just like an ordinary person. We complain and
gossip. We talk about men. Yes, I've even had lovers, occasionally,
though I have to admit they always leave me feeling unsatisfied –
not necessarily physically, but in some deeper sense. Lyssa and
Janine tease me, telling me I'm too much of a perfectionist, that I
should compromise, that these days nobody expects to meet her
soulmate. I laugh along with them, pretending to agree.
People
like me, are drawn to me in fact. I'm no anti-social loner, despite
the reputation of my kind. And yet, there's always a wall, keeping me
separate. Tonight especially, as the clock counts down to midnight
and my friends get progressively more tipsy, I'm aware of the
distance between me and my fellow celebrants. It's as if I'm looking
through one way glass. I sense their joys, their fears, their rising
excitement, the surges in hormones triggered by the closeness of the
opposite sex. New Year's Eve, a night to be a bit reckless, to take
chances one can blame in the morning on too much wine. No one really
sees or understands me, though. My weariness from the effort of
maintaining my mask. My longing for freedom. My unending, unalterable
loneliness.
Almost
everyone is dancing. The loud rock music stirs my body but hurts my
ears. Lyssa's condo suddenly feels stuffy and overly warm. Twenty
five or thirty humans give off significant heat. I'm sweating in my
velvet top.
I
slip out onto the tiny deck, closing the glass doors behind me, and
the noise mutes, though drum beats still vibrate the planks under my
heels. Gazing across the Cambridgeport rooftops to the river, I fill
my lungs with frigid December air. The cold, still night is as
delicious as Lyssa's champagne.
It
snowed earlier, so every surface is frosted in white, but now the sky
is clear as crystal, black as my ebony hair. The moon climbs above
the chimneys and my breath catches in my chest. It's barely
half-full, no real challenge to my self-control, but still, the beast
in my stirs and stretches. Moonlight glitters on the icy Charles. I
crave the sensation of that stark, pale light on my nakedness.
“Oh,
sorry! Hello!” A pleasant-voiced, even-featured man appears beside
me. “It's just too loud in there, isn't it? Do you mind some
company?”
“No,
not at all,” I'm forced to reply, though I'd really rather savor
the night alone.
“I'm
Brett,” he adds, then wraps his arms over his nicely muscled chest.
“Jeez, it's cold out here! Aren't you freezing?”
“Not
at all.” I let the awkward pause lengthen, refusing to pick up the
conversational ball and tell him my name as he expects. I stare at
the moon, so bright it practically burns. “I love winter nights.”
I
smell Brett's arousal, sense his frustration and confusion. “It's
nearly midnight,” he says finally. “Want to come in?”
I
can practically read his mind: his lips on mine as the year turns,
his big hands molding my hips and pulling me close. I'm tempted for
an instant, but I know how it will end - like every other encounter,
flat and empty.
“In
a minute. You go ahead.” He sighs, turns, leaves me to my solitary
vigil.
“Five.
Four. Three. Two. One.” My friends' voices are a million miles
away. The moon whispers to me. Why resist your nature? Why surround
yourself with strangers when what you want is the earth under your
feet and the night wind in your hair?
New
Year's Eve, a night to be reckless. I make my way through the crowd
of laughing, kissing humans, to offer Lyssa my thanks and regrets.
Nobody really notices me leaving.
My
coat swung over my shoulder, I head for the river, high heels loud on
the empty pavement. The deserted Esplanade gleams in the moonlight,
embroidered with the intricate shadows of the bare-limbed oaks and
maples.
I
manage to hold off the change until I'm under the trees. The brief,
familiar disorientation ripples through me, then the flavors of the
night deluge my senses. The faint rustle of a few crisp leaves
clinging to the branches above me. The pulsing blood-smell of a
rabbit crouched under a footbridge. Tar and car exhaust, blackberries
and rust, the damp, ripe scent of the ground, still unfrozen under
the thin carpet of snow.
Stretching
out my paws, I work the stiffness out of my spine. The moon beams
down on me. My snow-dusted jet fur sparkles.
I
have just enough human left in me to suppress my howl. Instead, I
run.
It's
effortless. I race through the shadows along the river bank, eating
up the ground. The power surging through me has me drunk as any
liquor. Sights, sounds, scents flash by, each one acute and distinct
despite its brevity. The world does not blur as I run; it sharpens.
I
head upstream, out of the city, the river winding westward into the
wealthy suburbs, conservation land on either side. The trees crowd
thicker here, but they don't slow me down. Sure-footed and strong, I
streak between them, bounding over fallen trunks and ice-crusted
tributaries that block my path. Now I let the joy rise in my throat
and ring out over the countryside. My howl echoes through the blessed
night. The moon approves.
The
chill winter air slices into my chest. I'm miles from home, but I
don't want to stop, not yet. This is too perfect, a glorious relief
from the endless, everyday effort of fitting in. I don't really think
about my human life, though. I don't think about anything. I merely
sense and feel.
Finally,
I slow to a trot, my heart pounding against my ribs. I'm exhausted,
close to spent, yet excitement still sings through my body.
Squatting, I loose a stream of urine to mark my passing. My nostrils
twitch at the ripe warmth of my own scent. I spring to the top of
snow-draped boulder, sink down onto my haunches and survey my
surroundings. Gradually my pulse drops and my breathing returns to
normal. A deep sense of peace steals over me.
“Grrr!”
The growl drags me out of my trance of weariness. I start and emit an
answering growl. A flood of maleness assaults my nose and my nether
parts swell in automatic response.
He
steps out of the shadows, all bristling red-gold fur and blazing
yellow eyes. He's easily twice my size. When he bares his teeth,
they're ivory-hued daggers that could crush me in a single vicious
bite. He doesn't attack, however. Of course, I have the advantage,
perched on the rock above him.
I'm
terrified, but thrilled, too. I know what he wants. I want it as
well. But there's a fine line between lust and violence when you're a
wolf. I've just enough human left in me for fear to hold me back.
He
paces back and forth below, his eyes riveted to mine. Finally, he
sits, patient as a pet hound, waiting for me. Then I give in to the
beast, leaping down to land in front of him.
His
voice, half wail, half growl, welcomes me. He circles my crouching
form, snapping playfully at my ear when I allow him to get close,
raking his claws across my flank. I know this dance; it's in my
blood, though I've never mated with another wolf. My body knows how
to bend, how to arch, how to open as he drives into me from behind.
Our
coupling is over in minutes, but feels endless. Pleasure pure and
sharp as moonlight pours through me as he launches his seed into my
depths. His teeth close on my shoulder. The pain simply amplifies the
intensity.
When
we're done, I'm shaking. The moon won't be full for two weeks and my
wolf-self is fading. The male trots off into a copse of beech,
obviously expecting me to follow. I limp after him, cold seeping
through my paw pads and up into my aching shoulders.
Thankfully,
it's not far. He leads me to a snug-looking cabin dug into a hill,
half-buried in the underbrush. A few yards before we reach it, the
change seizes me. My limbs liquefy and rearrange themselves. In an
instant, I'm sprawled in the snow, dizzy, naked and shivering. I
can't move.
The
male wolf nudges me with his snout. I force myself to crawl toward
the wooden structure, noting how awkward four legs can be. The door's
unlocked. Inside, embers glow gold and scarlet on the fieldstone
hearth.
I
collapse on the cot in one corner, lulled by delicious warmth, unable
to stay awake for an instant longer. The wolf crouches by the bed, as
if to guard my sleep.
Buttery
sunlight wakes me, streaming in the small window above the bed. The
fire has died. The room is cold, but there's smooth heat against my
naked back.
I
turn to find him curled around me – tall, well-muscled, his bronzed
skin dusted with red-gold down that matches the curls on his head. I
breathe in his scent, ripe male musk spiked with a sharp evergreen
edge. He's sleeping, but he wakes as I gaze on his beauty and pulls
my body to his. “Happy New Year,” he murmurs, nuzzling my ear and
sliding his hardness into my soaked cleft.
Joy
surges through me, almost drowning my lust. Almost, but not quite. As
a man, he's nearly as fierce a lover as when he was wolf. I let
myself go, let him see the animal that that is my true self. I know
he won't be disgusted or afraid. And I'm quite certain that
afterward, I won't feel empty.
