A Month with Werewolves (The With Werewolves Saga Book 1) Read online

  “Sounds exciting,” I replied. To be honest, I would much rather be documenting the trials than participating in them, though when in Rome. . .

  Emmett and Chris said their brief farewells and left me to my thoughts. I decided to document as much of the tour as I could remember before going to lunch. Afterward, I'd go back and take pictures of all the various facilities I had been shown. While I could have done it during the tour, I didn't want to interrupt Emmett or put him behind schedule.

  When I walked into the cafeteria, I found Emmett and Chris sitting together with a small group of werewolves. Chris looked as miserable as ever, keeping his face down in his plate and focusing only on eating while the other werewolves talked around him. As soon as I had collected my own tray, Emmett motioned at me to come sit with them.

  All eyes were on me as I strode through the rows of picnic tables, and I felt incredibly awkward knowing that they all viewed me as an outsider, someone who didn't belong. I took the seat opposite of Chris, sliding in next to a leggy blonde with her hair tied into a pony tail. She smiled warmly at me as I sat.

  “Ms. Raveen, this is Terry, female alpha.” Emmett motioned to the woman sitting next to him. “And this is Margaret and Rick, the betas.”

  Rick reached behind Margaret to shake my hand, displaying surprising enthusiasm at the introduction. “Nice to meet you, ma'am.” His gray eyes flashed sincerity.

  “Likewise,” I nodded, trying to remain ever poised.

  “I hear you're some big-city reporter,” Terry said, her voice as sweet as honey.

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  “It's nice for someone to come tell our story for once. Maybe it will get them to work on a cure faster.”

  My heart sank at her words, knowing that the government wasn't working near hard enough on it. “I certainly hope so.”

  “So, what all are you going to be doing while on the reservation?” Rick asked, leaning forward so that he could see me over Margaret.

  “Mainly taking photographs and documenting my findings. I'd like to interview you guys one on one later, if you don't mind. I'm interested in gathering your opinions on how the reservation is operated and your levels of contentment.”

  “She sounds so professional,” Terry guffawed, making me feel embarrassed. I was completely out of my element and didn't know how else to act. “You can loosen up around us,” she told me. “We're normal everyday people. We just have a little something extra special, that's all.”

  I admired her lightheartedness and decided that I liked her. Hopefully, most of the other werewolves would share her optimism and friendliness.

  Throughout lunch, Emmett and his group did their best to make me feel at home, avoiding talk about what was going on outside of the reservation. I was certain it wouldn't last for long though. Curiosity had a habit of getting the best of people.

  After lunch, I did a walk around the reservation, snapping photographs of all the places that Emmett had shown us. The pack members who were working towards earning job points were at their posts, tending to the garden, milking the cows, and doing whatever other assignments were available. There had been a decent list of them provided in the pamphlet left in my room, enough to keep most of the pack members occupied while they tried to better their lives inside of the reservation.

  When I returned to my room to wash up before dinner, I was surprised to find Chris sitting on the steps leading up to my suite. He dropped his scowl when he saw me approach, though his face didn't seem capable of picking up into a smile.

  “Hi,” I said, pausing on the steps for him to stand up.

  “Hey,” Chris replied, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

  “Come on in.” I pushed past him to open the door. There were no locks on any of the doors. Despite that fact, I still caught myself checking for keys out of habit.

  “That's probably going to take me a while to get used to too,” Chris commented in a friendlier tone than I had heard him use before.

  “It's definitely different.” I found my way inside and took a seat on the leather upholstered chair.

  Chris appeared to be all nerves while he slowly closed the door behind himself and then sat on the loveseat, staring down at his hands as if he might turn to stone if our eyes met.

  “How are you settling in?” I asked, trying to break him out of his shell.

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose.” He shrugged.

  “Everyone seems nice.”

  “Nice enough.”

  “So, you had something to ask me?”

  “Yeah,” Chris hesitated. “It's going to be a week before I can earn job points, and another week before I'll actually get them. I was wondering if I could borrow one of yours . . . for a soda. I'll pay you back before you leave.”

  “Sure. Don't worry about paying me back. I doubt I'll use all the points they gave me anyway. If there's anything else that you need or want while I'm here, feel free to ask.” I smiled at him, a blush quickly warming my cheeks from being in his presence. Now I was the one averting his eyes, even though he wasn't looking at me.

  “Thanks.” I could hear the relief in Chris's voice, and when I looked up, our eyes met for a fleeting moment before he turned away. “If you want to interview me now, you can. I mean, since I'm already here.”

  “Oh, yeah, that would be great,” I stumbled over my words, feeling my own nervousness building the longer we were alone together. Haphazardly, I scrambled for my notebook, flipping it open to a blank page. “If you don't mind, I'd like to interview you now and also before I leave . . . to see how your feelings about the reservation change over time.”

  “I doubt they'll change much,” he grumbled.

  I watched the scowl return, hesitating for a moment before I began, “Let's start with your age.”

  “I'm twenty-two.”

  “How did you contract the lycanthropy disease?”

  Chris's face lost its anger, and I could detect a hint of sadness in his eyes. “My fiancé gave it to me.”

  Damn. I knew he was too good looking to not have a girlfriend.

  “Then, it was sexually transmitted?”

  “Yes. But like a lot of other werewolves, she didn't know she had it.”

  “She's not here on the reservation, is she?” I questioned cautiously, remembering how he hadn't seemed to recognize anyone while we were at lunch or on the tour.

  “No.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “It's a sensitive subject,” he said with tension apparent in his voice. Pressing the subject obviously wasn't a good idea.

  “Alright, well, let's move on then. We can come back to that whenever you feel more comfortable talking about it. What do you think of the reservation so far?”

  “It seems like a glorified prison to me. My fiancé had the right idea.” Chris's eyes darkened.

  “What do you mean she had the right idea?”

  “Can we get that soda now?” He looked away from me. “I don't think I'm quite ready to talk about all of this yet. It's a bit too soon.”

  “Sure.” I closed my notebook and set it on the coffee table, a bit disappointed. He had been the one that had suggested the interview, not me. It didn't seem right that he'd pull out of it. Still, I had to consider that this was all new to Chris and probably a bit overwhelming. Maybe we could try again in a couple of days.

  We walked side by side toward the cafeteria. It wasn't until I purchased his soda and we came back outside that he spoke again. “So, what made you want to cover this story, out of curiosity?”

  The truth was on my lips, but I knew he would hate me for saying it—him and the rest of the werewolves. How could I confess that I only wanted the story because it would elevate my career—that I hadn't given a damn about the werewolves plight until coming here?

  “I thought it was an interesting story that hadn't gotten enough coverage.” It wasn't exactly a li
e, but it wasn't the full truth either.

  “Do you think it will really make a difference?” Chris lowered his voice. “You know as well as I do that they're not actually working on a cure for the lycanthropy disease.”

  I was taken back by this. How did he know? I hadn't even known until John had told me, and I had researched the compound, medical journals, and history of the disease before coming.

  “Maybe they'll try harder once the report is out,” I said, hopeful.

  “I doubt it.” Chris twisted the top off his soda and took a long drink. “You know how people out there are. Hell, you're probably just like me . . . didn't give a damn about all of this until you had to become involved in it.” He gestured to our surroundings with the soda bottle before taking another drink. There was something really rough about the way that he was—something that I liked.

  “I have more work to do,” I stuttered, avoiding his gaze, which had landed on my face to gauge my reaction to his statement.

  “See you around, Mrs. Raveen.”

  “It's Ms. Raveen,” I corrected him before walking to my room, completely forgetting that it was dinner time. By the time I remembered, I was too embarrassed to go back, unable to face Chris again until my nerves steadied.

  My decision led to a night filled with hunger pangs, and the only thing that distracted them were thoughts of Chris's mysterious story. He had a fiancé, but she wasn't at the reservation. That could only mean one of three things. She had either escaped capture, been sent to a different reservation, or been killed. The last two seemed highly unlikely. Werewolves were assigned to certain reservations based on the district they were captured in, and if Chris had contracted the lycanthropy disease through sexual contact, then she probably lived in the same district as him.

  The murder option wasn't very probable either. It was extremely rare that werewolves were killed by the authorities. Most of the cases of werewolf murder occurred when a shifted wolf winded up on the property of a gun owner. Otherwise, the authorities did their best to tranquilize the beasts.

  The most logical explanation was that she had escaped. Chris said that she had the right idea. Perhaps she had begged him to come with her and he had declined, which led to her escape and his capture.

  The morning came too soon, and with no alarm clock, I had to rely on my wristwatch to wake me up on time. I didn't even have to wait for it to go off before there was a knock on my door. Groggily, I dragged myself out of bed, surprised that the bed wasn't a fraction as uncomfortable as it looked.

  As quickly as possible, I pulled a yellow jumpsuit over my undergarments. With no night clothes provided, I slept in my bra and underwear. I could only assume that was what everyone else had to do as well.

  When I opened the door, a scrawny Hispanic man greeted me. His entire torso couldn't have been any wider than one of my thighs. Beneath a pair of thick rimmed glasses, his large brown eyes brightened at the sight of me, and an ear to ear grin spread across his thin lips.

  “Good morning, ma'am. My name is Devon Linkenshire. I'm the omega of the Blackfoot pack, and I'll be your guide for the remainder of your time here,” he said with a heavy accent.

  Linkenshire. That name doesn't sound Hispanic at all. My eyes landed on a massive scar covering his right forearm. A moon of pink raised flesh left no question in my mind as to how Devon had contracted the lycanthropy disease. Good God, the beast must have been huge.

  “Wait here,” I muttered, not wanting to be bothered as I gathered my things.

  From the second I stepped out of my front door, Devon seemed absolutely fascinated with everything about me. From my camera, to my notebook, to my jumpsuit, he wanted to touch and examine it all. He was jittery and overly hyper, buzzing around me like a bee to a flower. By the time we reached the cafeteria, I was completely annoyed with him and never happier when I was invited to sit with the alphas and betas while he was forced to sit elsewhere.

  “How'd you like Devon?” Emmett asked, cocking a half-smile. It was obvious he knew the answer without me having to speak it.

  “He's a nice guy. A bit hyper, but nice,” I replied, throwing a glance in Devon's general direction.

  He sat with the misfits of the pack. Scrawny and unkempt, the other werewolves in his group listened to eagerly while he told the short tale of our introduction.

  “How did you sleep last night?” Rick asked, pulling my attention back to the group.

  “Well, thank you. And you, Chris, how did you sleep?”

  Chris was busy scowling at his eggs. He had given me a nod of acknowledgment when I first sat down, but since then had ignored everyone, the same as he had the day before. It appeared that a good night's sleep did nothing to improve Chris's mood. Then again, maybe he didn't sleep well at all. Who was I to know? He glanced up at me for a moment, muttering something inaudible before returning his attention to his food, scarfing it down as if he hadn't eaten in weeks.

  “Tonight you guys will be introduced to the rest of the pack. We'll be having a celebration of sorts in the rec. room,” Emmett told us.

  “Sounds fun.” I smiled as genuinely as possible. “Will all the pack be there?

  “They're supposed to be, but I'm sure one or two will stay behind. They always do.”

  “Is going to the celebration mandatory?”

  “Yes. Some don't care though.”

  “If it's mandatory, are there any repercussions for those that do not attend?”

  “Not so much for the ones at the base of the reservation. When the lone wolves don't attend, the compound usually sends a guard out to check on them the following day.”

  “Lone wolves?”

  “Yes. Some werewolves choose to live deeper inside the reservation, away from the main pack.”

  “And why is that?” My curiosity was piqued.

  “Mostly because they can't accept our way of life. They'd rather be alone.” I could tell by Emmett's furrowed brow that he was dissatisfied with the behavior of the lone wolves.

  “Can't you call them back to the pack, since you're the alpha?”

  “They don't answer to any alpha. They don't even much follow reservation rules.”

  These lone wolves were sounding more fascinating by the minute. “I should like to interview them.”

  “Good luck with that.” Emmett let out a short laugh. “They're not the friendliest bunch of guys either.”

  “So, they're all males?"

  “Yes, there are three of them, all claiming their own territory towards the back of reservation.”

  I thought for a moment. “Does the reservation provide them with housing?”

  “No. They build their own. They also hunt off the land, do their own farming, and make their own weapons. All things that are supposed to be prohibited. I think the compound just lets them get away with it because they tend not to bother anyone else. As long as they stick to themselves, the compound doesn't seem to care.”

  Even more fascinating. I would definitely like to see how these lone wolves lived and discover the reasons why they chose to be solitary. “Do you think you could take me to meet them in a few days?”

  “That's Devon's job now,” Emmett told me, and I could hear a twinge of annoyance in his voice, as if escorting me around was now beneath him.

  I decided to begin my interviews later that day. With fifty-three werewolves to interview, I would be able to take my time. If I interviewed two a day, I would be doing good.

  Since it was easiest, I decided to start with Devon. He was going to be trailing me like a shadow for the rest of my stay anyway, so it was probably a good idea to get to know more about him first.

  I decided to conduct the interview in Devon's room. As Emmett had informed me it would be, the room was bare bones, the same as Chris's.

  “Please, make yourself at home,” Devon said, his big eyes as excited as ever.

  I sat on his loveseat and flipped open my notebook. To keep things easy, there were a few basic questions that I plann
ed to ask all the werewolves. Anything else that came from their responses would be icing on the cake for my report.

  “How old are you?” I began.

  “Nineteen, ma'am,” Devon replied before taking a seat on his bed and fidgeting with his fingers. Whether it was because he was actually nervous or just had too much built-up energy, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that the boy could not sit still for the life of him.

  “How long have you lived on the reservation?”

  Devon looked up at the ceiling in thought for a moment. “About three years now.”

  “So, you were sixteen when you contracted the lycanthropy disease?”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “How did you contract the lycanthropy disease?”

  He held out his arm, showing me the gnarled pink scars where teeth had torn flesh and muscle all the way down to the bone. I scooted forward for a better look, instinctively reaching for my camera.

  “Do you mind?” I asked, holding up the camera.

  “No, ma'am.” Devon shook his head. “Let me know what you want me to do so that you can get the best pictures.”

  I maneuvered his arm so that I could photograph the entire wound. The sheer size of it never ceased to amaze me.

  “I bet you were absolutely horrified when you got attacked,” I commented.

  “Oh, I was. Scariest moment of me life, ma'am. The damn thing was huge. It still blows my mind that I transform into something that hideous and menacing. I mean, can you imagine, lil' ol' me, a big scary mean werewolf?” Devon batted his eyes in exaggeration, and I found it a bit disturbing.

  I leaned back, releasing his arm to him. “So, tell me exactly what happened the night you were bitten. It did happen at night, did it not? Werewolves can only transform during the full moon.”

  “That's correct, ma'am,” he said and then quickly cleared his throat before beginning his story. “I was watching a Big Bang Theory marathon.” Devon snorted as if he thought I'd find his geekiness amusing. “The dogs were making an awful racket outside. I was home by myself. You see, my parents were out to dinner. It was a Friday night.” A nervous look crept across his tanned face as he backtracked over the details he thought I wanted to know. “I tried to ignore them. You see, we lived out in the country, so the dogs tended to fuss anytime a raccoon or a possum would come into our yard. Finally, I heard one of the dogs yelp. It was Bessie. She was my favorite.” Concern filled his eyes as he stared blankly at my notebook, reliving the event in his head. “I ran to the backdoor to peer outside, and this ginormous wolf had her in its mouth. I can still remember the bastard. All white, with glowing red eyes, huge bloody fangs . . . and my dog, crying in its jaws, being crushed to death.”