The Reluctant (3 page)

He chuckled. “Ah, now we’re getting
somewhere. I knew you were smart. I need to ask you something,
Emily. What do you think about pedophiles? Especially the ones that
kill their victims afterwards?”

“They’re the lowest scum of the
earth,” I answered instantly.

“Do you believe in the death penalty
for those who are the lowest scum of the earth?”

“Yes,” I answered instantly. I had not
really considered political machinations at this point, so as an
abstract concept, the death penalty was fine with me. I may have
lived in California, but my liberal ideas hadn’t developed yet.
Now, I realize that I spoke with all the absolute certainty that
comes with being nineteen. I’m not sure I would answer that
question without a little forethought now.

He smiled. “Then I need not defend my
actions to you.”

The wheels in my head choked on this
one. “There’s no need to change the subject. This isn’t about child
molesters. This is about you not only kidnapping me, but also
imprisoning me, and then raping me! It has nothing to do with the
death penalty.”

He laughed. “No, but it has everything
to do with your evaluation of my character, which might influence
whether or not you stay with me.”

My temper shot up, mostly because in
the darkest corners of my mind, I suddenly thought it might be
exciting to stay with a handsome stranger. Oh God, was I an
adrenaline junkie? Now, I was the insane one. I ignored his
statement completely. “You talk like you’re rich or something.
Where did you go to school? Harvard?”

“Actually I attended Whitney in
Cerritos and did my undergrad at U.C.L.A, but now you’re changing
the subject.”

Oh my, educated and handsome—and older
than me. No wonder his words came out velvet and refined with that
delicious trace of accent. I shook my head violently to clear away
such traitorous thoughts.

“You’re a monster. You raped me,” I
said with as much anger as I could muster against his striking
smile.

Concern drowned the smug grin on his
face and I regretted my harshness. “Did I hurt you?”

I hugged my arms around myself. “Well,
no, but I told you to stop.”

“Your body told me yes. I could tell
you were turned on.”

I blushed. “That’s still
rape!”

He recovered some of his
self-satisfaction. “Well you’re certainly not afraid of me, nor are
you mad at me it seems. To be honest, I think you might have
enjoyed it.”

“You’re scum,” I spat, more
embarrassed than angry by his bulls-eye assessment.

He shook his head. “No, I thought we
established the definition of scum already. I, my dear, am not
scum. However, as you referred to me recently, I am a
monster.”

I rolled my eyes. “No need to be
dramatic. You just said you weren’t a murderer.”

“Are we going to run circles all day
around the real issue at hand here?”

“I don’t know that I know what’s
worse: that you raped me or that you kill people.”

“I only kill people who deserve
it.”

“No one deserves to be
killed.”

“Now you’re contradicting
yourself.”

I paused. My mouth had gotten ahead of
my brain again.

He reached out and put a calloused
hand on my shoulder and amazingly, I did not flinch. “I’m not
implying that you’re wrong about anything, Emily. I just need you
to understand that I interpret murder as a malicious act. There is
nothing malicious about protecting our young.”

His words made me think of female
animals defending their cubs, and I involuntarily softened towards
him.

“Who are you?” I asked, kindly pushing
his hand off my shoulder.

“As I said before, my name is Will,
and I am completely enamored of you.”

“You don’t even know me…Will.” His
name felt thick on my tongue as I said it for the first time, and
my body warmed in his proximity. There was none of the passion from
last night, nor any overt threat from him. He was simply a gorgeous
man being attentive towards me, professing his feelings. I suddenly
felt so flattered instead of violated. I knew that good looks did
not equal a good person, but he seemed so…nice…in the
light.

He chuckled, a deep low rumble. “I
know you much better than others do.”

I said nothing, for I knew he meant
carnal knowledge. I’m pretty sure I blushed, but a vivid memory of
the sparks between my thighs and what he had ignited shook the
words from me. My head was spinning a little, probably from hunger,
fatigue, and stress, but mostly from the proximity of
him.

He stepped closer to me slowly. I
could have stepped back if I chose; there was nothing impeding me.
But for some reason, I let him pull at the distance between
us.

“Will you stay with me, Emily?” he
asked earnestly.

I swallowed what little spit I had in
my throat. My mouth was suddenly dry and I felt the urge to lick my
lips—as if he would kiss me and I needed to be prepared.

“What are you doing to me?” I asked,
voice trembling.

He reached up and stroked my face,
leaning in to nuzzle my neck and kiss it. He pulled back just a bit
and stared into my eyes. Those emerald eyes, bright and alert,
looking at my boring brown ones for acceptance. My heart pounded
against my chest. He looked at me like he wanted to swallow me
whole, but protect me from the world by doing so.

His hands never stopped stroking me.
“Your body responds to mine, even if you haven’t accepted it in
your head yet.”

“But I don’t know you.”

His hand trailed down to my
collarbone. “Your body does.”

A calm awareness of my situation
overtook me amidst the confused state of enmity between my mind and
body. Yes, I was in the house of a stranger and I shouldn’t talk to
strangers. Yes, I had been raised to know that even the
best-looking men could have the worst intentions. And yes, of
course I knew that sex was not the answer to any
question.

But goddamn, he was so hot.

And as his mouth met mine and his
blistering breath filled me, I opened myself to his control and the
possibility that maybe, just maybe, everyone else was wrong about
the rules of the world—at least that’s went through my mind when he
kissed and caressed me. I may have freed myself had his hands been
not quite so liberating in their own right.

Will

You won’t believe that I never meant
to hurt you that first time. I had to have you right then or become
a monster from my anguish. I don’t know how you’ll ever understand
what drives me, but maybe this will help.

After a fairly normal childhood in
Mexico with my mother, we moved to California so, as she told me, I
could attend a better school. I learned later it was to keep me
away from the Clan. At this point, as a ten-year old child, I was
human and in constant danger from my mother’s violent family. My
father was Lycanti and my mother Lycanthrope: my father, a
Changeling forced into the order by my pure-blooded mother to serve
as a mate. The gene is carried only by males, but my mother was
breeding before she changed him, hence a very human Will as a
child. I always wondered if she planned it that way.

Unlike my best friend, I did not grow
up in the Clan. The Lycanthrope stay clear of North America because
of the overreaction by law enforcement. You’ll probably never meet
one here. Even the murder of the most base human being is
investigated, it’s ridiculous. In South America and Mexico, things
are much more lax. Police down there have even taken to
affectionately calling them “bounty hunters.” They don’t know what
the Lycanthrope really are, of course. They only know that the
marked victims die with much blood, and are always guilty of past
crimes. Most of the Clan makes their living collecting rewards for
turning over the bodies of rapists and murderers. Perhaps my mother
did not want that life.

Of course, my father knew none of this
when he went to Mexico with some friends and seduced what he
thought was a dark-skinned beauty who loved him equally
possessively. When she became pregnant, he was overjoyed at the
thought of taking her home to California and having a normal life.
Imagine his surprise when she began disappearing for days at a time
with strange men for long runs as their true selves. She can change
at will, except for when the full moon calls to her, of course. She
is much more in control of their emotions. As you’ve seen through
me, Lycanti cannot control it. It is a talent I am often envious
of. Then maybe I wouldn’t hurt you so much. Our children will be
born Lycanthrope, and luckier than us by far. But I digress, again.
I’m sorry. I just want you to understand. There’s so much for you
to learn.

When my father confronted her about
taking up with other men, she Changed him. She could have killed
him, but according to her, knew that I would be human and wanted as
normal a life as possible for me. Now, I think she wanted someone
to leave me with when she was ready to leave and wander as her kind
are known for doing—someone who, even if he Changed, would not harm
me because of his love for me.

And my father did comply for the first
few years of my life on the banks of the Gulf of California, taking
care of me and repressing as much of his newly-acquired nature as
possible. He was naturally a passive man, I remember that much. He
had a wonderful smile. My mother had not changed that about
him.

Lycanthrope will choose a weaker human
mate, no offense Emily, to take as his or her own. Apparently the,
well, I guess it’s brainwashing, but Lycanthrope scientists insist
it’s pheromones—anyway, Imprinting will not take place if the
potential Lycanti does not have a weaker will. And the Lycanthrope
always demand absolute obedience. My mother broke my father
emotionally and physically. He was dead of his wounds inflicted by
her during a mating by the time I turned five. I never knew what
happened to him until a few years ago. He just quit coming to the
house. Instead of his loving caretaking, I was left with often
inattentive friends of my mother who had children my age—normal
friends of hers, not Clan. Like I said, my childhood was very
normal except for my father’s abandonment crushing me.

My mother hid her condition very well.
She told me the truth about herself before I graduated. I did not
believe it. I thought perhaps it would be a kinder thing if she
went back to her family in Mexico so they could take care of her. I
asked many questions trying to get her to see reason, and she
became angry during many of her terse answers. I think she
regretted raising me away from the Clan. Every Lycanthrope child
knows the history and mannerisms of its pack. But I, an ignorant
human adolescent, had no idea about any of this. She thought I was
mocking her, or worse, thought her insane. She was not far off from
guessing my thoughts. I dismissed her careful explanations of
Halflings and Pure Bloods, and it wasn’t until much later that I
learned the genetic facts and far more than I ever wanted to know
about my condition from Luka.

After revealing all of this to me, she
fled back to her Lycanthrope pack, presumably to finally find
another mate. I was alone. And suddenly, I found myself as prey for
a society that I knew pitifully little about—but who knew
everything about me thanks to a mother who would not stop bragging
about her very human son. Soon, one sought me out.

Emily

The next few days cycled as if Will
and I had never been strangers. We hadn’t had sex again since that
night of lovemaking after rape, and Will was polite, courteous, and
more than willing to not touch me until I acted like I wanted him
to—which I must admit I rubbed against him at every chance
possible. We hung around his house, which was nothing fancy, but
which indulged every summer whim I had. We spent hours talking
about books, movies, music, and even discussed politics, always
quietly and noncompetitively. He told me funny stories about his
best friend Luka, and I told him about falling when I accepted my
diploma the previous summer. This surreal state was achieved mainly
by my newly-acquired mood of composure. I had never been this
docile. Was he drugging me? He certainly fed me enough, always
insisting that I allow him to show off since he rarely had anyone
to show off for.

“Will?” I asked on the third night
before forking some spaghetti into my mouth. I swear that I gained
five pounds that first week with him.

He finished his own mouthful before
answering. “Yes?” For some reason, he sounded
apprehensive.

“Are you drugging me?”

He laughed nervously. “What makes you
think that?”

“I’m comfortable with you,” I answered
carefully. “I shouldn’t be. I know I shouldn’t be, yet I’m here
with you, playing Xbox and eating spaghetti like we’ve been dating
for years. I haven’t even wanted to call my parents to let them
know that I’m alive.”

He smiled shyly, an increasingly
endearing trait since he had no problem touching my body at any
time I felt like it. “I tried to tell you before that there are
things you should know about me.”

Before when I asked him about his job,
he had coyly danced around not answering me. I dropped my
fork.