King of Procrastination

Michael

I sighed as I stood up and stared out the double doors leading toward the forest, my forest. The sun was setting, casting pinks, purples, blues, and orange rays across the snow-covered trees, the forest floor thick with fresh undisturbed snow.

The wind covered up any of our tracks, keeping our secret safe. I could only hope I could do the same. I twisted back toward the room where a determined Diana eagerly awaited my history lesson.

She seemed to have slept well because she woke up on a mission. She played me a concert and allowed me to cook for her. After much persistence, I was tricked into giving her a tour of my house, and then after I once again fed her, she turned those eyes to me and asked me to tell her the history of the werewolves.

After such a day together, I could hardly say no. I could have but, she wasn't giving up on this idea and if I finally told her something, perhaps she would see just how crazy it all sounded and would accept the bear story.

Though I was normally at a good temperature at all times, I kept my house at what would be considered acceptable to humans, yet here was Diana curled up in a blanket with my stolen socks and my sweater I had lying around.

She spotted them during the tour and grabbed them almost instantly. When she realized what she had done, she blushed and told me her clothes, which I foolishly hadn't replaced, weren't super warm. I gave her a few more shirts and my most fitted jogger shorts, which ended up looking like pants on her. Those were given freely--my sweater and socks were definitely stolen. But I found I didn't mind it; I actually enjoyed seeing her cozy in my things.

"You can't stall by just staring at me and you can't tell me the story with your mind," she said, a smile on her shapely lips. If only she knew how many conversations I was able to keep up with using my mind alone.

"Of course. So I guess that's enough stalling," I said. I kept the distance between us; what happened in the living was too close to me doing something I wanted but shouldn't do. I could still feel her soft smooth legs on my fingertips. I cleared my throat and thoughts, now wasn't the time to let urges trick me into giving away details I wasn't ready for her to know.

"Every region has its own version of the origin of werewolves. You have the Greek mythology, The Legend of Lycaon, son of Pelasgus. Lycaon fed Zeus the remains of a boy who had been sacrificed, and this angered the god, so he turned not only Lycaon but his sons into wolves. Some say that werewolves are cursed people. In some tales, the moon is the reason for the shift and in other legends, it is a cloak or magic sash. Most seem to agree that being bitten or scratched by a werewolf means you've been marked and will become one as well," I explained, watching her for any signs of distress, but she seemed engrossed in my vague retelling, waiting for details.

"Michael." She said my name; it sounded both like a caress and a warning. "I've read many books, and the good ones even have movies attached to them. You haven't told me anything I don't already know," she said, calling me out.

I huffed out a breath and headed to my mini-bar. I prepared myself a drink, adding a few ice cubes before pouring a double size of brandy. I downed the drink, my insides matching my outer heat.

"Really?" Diana groaned, kicking the covers off and heading in my direction.

I told myself to keep breathing, her cute pouting face, attacking my senses.

"It's that hard to tell me a simple story?" She laughed, reaching over to the bar cart to grab herself a glass. She didn't wait to let me serve her and poured a single shot for herself. "If it is this hard to tell, then clearly I'll need some of this to hear it," she said, smiling up at me.

I swallowed as she laughed at my expense, perhaps I was making too much of this.

"It's just a long tale to condense, and even here there are two versions. Ok, here it is," I grunted as I prepared for my speech. I paused, caught her eye, then took a sip, then another. I started to lower it, only to sip it again. She understood what I was doing and threw her head back with laughter, her slender, long neck having me question my species--was I a werewolf or vampire?

"King of procrastination," she roared. "I bet your teachers told you the wrong date just so your projects ended up on time." She teased me, laughing as she reclaimed her seat. I followed blindly after her.

No one teased me. Alphas weren't teased. Francis, as my beta, tried his hand at it, and only because of how close we were doing it did not bother him. In the beginning, I could feel his uneasiness about being so laid back with me, but once he got over it, he was the only one ever to do it, until now.

She took the covers and got under them, turning herself into a grey taco, and then she patted the seat beside her. My resistance was down from the effects of her laugh, so I sat beside her. She licked her lips and sipped her brandy as she waited for me to begin.

"The legend I'm most fond of is the Nordic one. It tells of a father and son duo who find a wolf pelt that is able to turn them into wolves for ten days. During their time as wolves, they were almost in a blood rage and attacked any and everyone. The killing only stopped when the father attacked his son, nearly killing him. His life was saved, but only just barely. What they didn't know at the time was that the pelt fused with them, mixing their blood with that of wolves. They could change shape at will, their senses heightened, and their strength and speed doubled. They were emotional, and would sometimes shift during moments of intense fear and rage, but it was only during the full moon that they were unable to control the blood lust. They became wild beasts during the full moon, and in their haze of red, any person who was bitten during their most violent faze was turned. The mixing of blood takes time to seep in, but by the next full moon after being bitten, they finally shift. Newborn shapeshifters are stronger, as they are wilder and incapable of control and the loss of their humanity is frailest at that moment. The offspring of shapeshifters are better able to control themselves, but even they aren't able to stop the shift on the full moon. For some, the wolf gene is dormant and is only awakened after being bitten. At least that's what the legend says." I finished and hoped I didn't give myself away.

She leaned back and sighed as if taking in everything I told her. I wished I could be inside her head; I knew thoughts were racing around there, but if I were in her head, then she would be in mine and my mind was in chaos since I saw her on that cliff.

"So werewolf-born are peaceful?" she asked, wrinkling her brow in confusion.

"Shapeshifters and I wouldn't say peaceful," I stammered out.

"But more human, right? Like not attack a group of kids for fun? It was a full moon a few nights ago. Could it have been a newly turned one? What about..."

"I'm going to need another drink if we're going to open this up for discussion." I cut her off but smiled to soften my words.

"Bring the bottle," she said after me, raising her glass in the air.

Sunset turned to night as we finished off my expensive bottle of brandy, and I answered any question that entered that beautiful brain of hers. Talking with her was just as enjoyable as the activities my mind kept imagining.

With the excitement of having her questions answered and the effects of the brandy, she lumped onto me, mumbling a question I couldn't make out. I waited till her breathing was even before once again taking her into my arms. I placed her on my bed, brushing the few strands of hair from her face.

"Seems I failed at keeping my distance," I chided myself as I forced myself to leave the room.