Happy Halloween! Welcome to Juniper's House. Last Halloween I promised my blog hop winner she'd be a character in a story. So here's Cathy MacDonald in...
WEREWOLVES DO IT WILD
“I won’t be a stupid ghost! I won’t, I won’t!”
Cathy MacDonald gave up with one final eye roll of
frustration. Of course her obstinate son Dylan would turn down the easiest
costume, the one she’d already made in the five minutes between work and Trick
or Treating.
“Fine, then. Pick something else. But make it quick. Kids
are already hitting the streets.”
Dylan uncurled himself from his facedown sprawl on his bed.
“I’ll be a…” His glance zeroed in on his favorite stuffed animal, the one he’d
slept with every night since the age of two. “Panther. A black one.”
“I do believe they’re all black, except for that goofy pink one,”
Cathy murmured, mentally calculating the time it would take to stuff a black
stocking with newspaper to make a tail. At least he hadn’t chosen something
really complicated, like Picachu or Angry Birds Rio. “Get your black jeans and
black sweater. Whiskers, ears…piece of cake.”
She wanted to say, “Good choice,” but was afraid that might
make him change his mind. He’d been so difficult lately, not her normal
sweet-natured boy at all.
“Thanks, Mom.” He smiled, a brief flash of his old self.
Minutes later, completed tail in hand, she hurried into the
kitchen. Dylan, all in black, had the refrigerator open and was glugging milk
straight from the carton. “Dylan! You know better than that!”
Dylan raised his head quickly, giving her a shock. The
pupils of his normally green eyes were so dilated they looked black.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you, honey.”
“That’s okay.” He put the carton back in the fridge. “Sorry,
Mom.” But he didn’t look sorry. He looked annoyed.
“Turn around, I’ll pin this to your butt. Then I’ll draw you
some whiskers with my eye pencil.”
“I don’t need whiskers. I’m not five.”
“Eight year old panthers don’t have whiskers?”
“Okay, whatever. But what are you going to be, Mom?”
She drew whiskers on herself. “A panther’s mom, of course.”
They joined the kids and parents roaming
the neighborhood amid gusts of wind and swirling autumn leaves. At the first
house, the woman who answered the door smiled down at Dylan.
“What are you, young man?”
Dylan made his hands into claws and roared. Cathy stepped
back and put a hand to her throat. She’d never heard a sound quite like that
come out of her son’s mouth.
“He’s a panther,” she said, when she could. “And I’m a
panther’s mom.”
“I see.” Shakily, the woman tossed him a granola bar. Dylan
caught it in the wink of an eye, gave it a scornful glance, and turned away.
“Dylan!”
“Thank you.” He snarled over his shoulder.
As the evening went on, and the streetlights made spooky
shadows from the motley parade of costumes, Cathy became more and more shocked
by her son’s behavior. He snatched the offered treats and buried them in his
plastic pumpkin. He shoved other Trick or Treaters out of the way with a harsh
hiss. He ignored her completely, pacing ahead of her or off to the side.
By the time they reached Mr. Gideon’s house, she was nearly
in tears. Ben Gideon was Dylan’s third grade teacher and, truth to tell, Cathy
had a secret crush on him, the first since Dylan's father had left them. Dark, virile, magnetic – his sex
appeal wasted on a bunch of eight-year olds. He was thoughtful too; the only
teacher she’d been able to approach with her concerns about Dylan, and the only
one able to control him.
But why had he chosen to dress as a werewolf? She shuddered
as his deep, dark eyes smiled at her from behind glued-on fur. He wore a
Medieval-looking leather gherkin over bulging muscles and lots of fake black
chest hair. At least, she assumed it was fake. If not, he sure was…manly. She
had to admit he wore it well, with a sort of Hugh Jackman flair.
“Happy Halloween,” he growled. “Having a beastly
night?”
“Yes,” Cathy said, nearly bursting into tears, until she
realized he was referring to Dylan’s costume. “I…I think he’s taking his
costume a little too literally.”
Ben Gideon’s sharp gaze focused on Dylan, now standing a few
feet behind Cathy. Standing? More like skulking.
“Dylan,” said Gideon sharply. “Can you hear me?”
“Of course he can hear
you. Whether he chooses to listen, that’s another issue.”
But Gideon ignored her. He brushed past her. Her nose
prickled at the unexpected, gamey scent of wild thing. He loomed over Dylan,
who crouched on the ground.
On all fours.
“Dylan. Get up,” she pleaded, mortified.
Dylan’s whole body quivered. In the light of the open door,
his shadow blackened the concrete driveway. Wow. Distracted for a moment, she
congratulated herself on her handiwork. Her son’s shadow looked exactly like a
cat, the way the tail swished back and forth, the way his hindquarters
twitched, as if he was getting ready to pounce…
And then he was leaping through the air toward Mr. Gideon’s
throat, claws extended, mouth open on a long yowl.
Claws? She hadn’t given him claws. Everything went black and
she crumpled to the ground.
***
When she woke up, she was inside Ben Gideon’s house, on his
couch, and his worried dark eyes were staring into hers. “Are you all right?”
“That depends.” If everything was a weird dream, then sure.
Otherwise…She glanced around the room. In the corner, a young, sleek, black
panther lapped milk from a bowl. “No. No. No.”
“I’m afraid so, Cathy.”
“What? Afraid so what?” Someone needed to spell this out, because…what
the fuck?
“I’ve been noticing the signs but didn’t know how to tell
you. Dylan’s a…well, you can see for yourself.”
“No, I can’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut to make it true.
“I know this is hard. And strange. But you’ll get used to
it. Your son’s a shifter. A were-cat. There are worse things to be, Cathy. He’ll have
amazing powers, when he learns to control them. I can vouch for that."
She inched her eyes open and let his dark glance steady her.
God, he was sexy. But what a time to notice that.
“And you know this because…what, you’re a werewolf?” She
laughed to take the edge off the absurdity of it, all the while knowing the
truth.
“You know what they say,” he said, with a devastating hint of a smile. “Werewolves do it wild.”
She stared at him. The panther finished his milk, sat on his
hind legs and licked his chops. With one paw, he swiped a drop of milk off his
whiskers. Dylan had never been that tidy. Then he trotted over to the couch,
jumped up and curled in the nook between Cathy’s hip and the couch cushion. Contented
purrs filled the air.
“My sweet boy,” whispered Cathy, touching him gently on his
glossy head. The purrs doubled in volume. She smiled. The boy Dylan rarely let
her cuddle him anymore.
“Now that he’s shifted for the first time, his behavior will
improve, I promise. If you let me, I’ll help you both through this phase. Teach
you what you need to know.”
He lifted her chin in his lightly furred hand. Intense heat
radiated off his body, along with a dizzying, primal sexuality.
“It would be my honor and pleasure,” he added in a husky whisper. "I can't get you out of my mind." The
promise in his eyes brought all her latent lust for this man boiling to the
surface. She leaned in and their lips met. Wildfire cruised through her veins.
Whatever Ben Gideon was, she wanted him. Whatever Dylan was, she’d take care of him. She was a panther's mom, after all. Why not a werewolf's mate?
"Do werewolves really do it wild?"
"Only one way to find out."
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Have a Beastly Halloween!
