Wolfish Pt. 01

The following is a multi-part story that includes some build up to get to the heat. All French translations are my own; that's probably why they're so bad. Other than that, hope you enjoy part one.

~ ardentmusings

xXx

Don't answer it.

That was the first thought running through Hannah Hawthorne's mind when rapid knocking sounded on the door of her quaint bungalow. She paused in washing the coffee cup that bore the sticky evidence of a failed mug cake and glanced at the glowing green numbers on the oven. Almost midnight.

The urgent knocking sounded again. She mentally catalogued her stash; the gun in her bedside drawer, the smoke bomb in the hollowed-out base of her new couch, the dagger in the drawer of the console table in the small front hallway.

Maybe it was Mrs. Beacham from down the way. Maybe she needed a cup of sugar. She set the coffee cup and sponge down in the sink.

"Hannah! It's me." The voice that filtered through the stained glass in the center of the door was decidedly not Mrs. Beacham, a sweet, doddering older woman who had enough manners to leave people alone after a certain time of night.

Before giving herself another chance to ignore it, Hannah raced across the house, bare feet slapping on the wooden floors, and flung open the door. She stepped out onto the stoop. "What the hell, Matt?"

But it wasn't her brother's disheveled appearance she was drawn to. Rather, she balked as she took in the sight of the large man half-draped over Matthew's shoulder, sweaty and groaning, a mass of black curls obscuring most of his face.

Before she could screech at him in outrage again, Matthew held out a placating hand from where he stood on the walkway leading to her front steps. He looked weary, and older; the pleasant-enough features she remembered had thinned and hardened. What had it been? Two years? Three? "I know, okay? I know. You're out here in the damn wilderness so you don't have to deal with any of us, but I had nowhere else to go."

Mildly affronted at her brother's dramatics, Hannah frowned. "Rockford isn't the wilderness."

"It's ninety minutes from the city. It might as well be the wilderness."

The large man's head lolled on Matthew's shoulder, and he hunched over and groaned, clutching his midsection. He looked up and she saw hooded eyes the color of burnt umber, bloodshot and half-open. "Matty, this is the end of me," he said weakly.

His voice was hoarse and, to Hannah's surprise, accented in lilting French. "What's wrong with him?" she demanded, staring at the stranger, an odd feeling taking root low in her stomach.

"There was this like, really pissed off witch..."

Hannah briefly closed her eyes. Of course. He'd been working for the Lodge.

It was as if he'd read her mind. "Look, it's not what you think. It's a private job. He's my...associate." Matthew reshouldered his companion, who whimpered. "She threw some kind of dust at us. I think it's aconite, which, you know, sucked for me, but is really doing a number on this guy."

"Aconite? That's wolfsbane."

"Yes," Matthew nodded, patting him on the back.

Hannah took two large steps backward and considered slamming the door and engaging the three deadbolts. "You brought a fucking werewolf to my house?" she hissed as loud as she dared. Her neighbors were a good distance away, but she wasn't taking any chances.

"Well, I was hoping you'd have like, a tea or something to reverse the effects of the poison!" he said.

Hannah seethed. Before she could advise that while yes, of course she had a tea for that, he was breaching a boundary she'd worked very hard to build with her therapist, Matthew's friend proceeded to retch up a viscous black substance that splattered all over his dark gray t shirt, and her brother stumbled under his sagging weight.

The odd feeling in her stomach intensified to panic. "Well, he's probably going to die if you don't bring him inside," she snapped, waving the two men up the short block of stairs and through the door. Matthew moved to dump his large companion unceremoniously on the couch, and alarm suffused her. "Christ, I just got that delivered last week! The kitchen!"

"Oh, my fucking apologies," Matthew grumbled, dragging the half-conscious man along before shoving him into a chair at the small circular dinner table.

Racing into the hallway bathroom, Hannah grabbed a mop bucket before darting back into the kitchen. She placed the bucket between the stranger's long legs, taking note of the dusty residue on his combat boots and jeans.

"We're gonna need to get him out of these clothes," she murmured.

He sweated profusely, his breath coming in shallow pants, and his chin dipped against his chest. Ignoring the slimy feel of the black sick, she grabbed his angular, bearded jaw to keep him level.

"How long has it been since ingestion? How much?" she demanded of her brother.

"An hour? Hour, fifteen? We were up in Janesville," Matthew said. "I don't know how much. How do you quantify a damn cloud?"

Hannah rolled her eyes. "What's his name?"

"Gerard."

She gave the side of his face a quick, sharp slap, regretful of inflicting just a bit more discomfort. "Gerard, can you understand me?"

His eyes popped open, and the deep brown of his irises had her stomach somersaulting when he spoke. "Incroyable. Your eyes are bluer than the Ile Vierge."

Her cheeks heated at the unexpected compliment even as her brother scoffed. "What the hell? He's lost it," he said from somewhere behind her.

Hannah ignored him. "Hey, listen to me. If you feel like you're going to be sick, just let it happen," she said. "The only thing you cannot do is fall asleep."

"Okay," Gerard said, his voice oddly serene as he leaned down to heave up the black substance again.

"Watch his eyes," Hannah said. "We need his wolf to come out and fight this off. If I remember correctly, they should start to glow when it's present. Take his clothes off and make sure he stays awake."

Mercifully, Matthew didn't comment on the odd instructions, and the siblings busied themselves with their respective tasks. She flung open the cabinets above the counter next to the stove, grabbing carefully packaged herbs and wildflowers. Straining on her tiptoes, she reached into the back of the top shelf and felt around for the small, smooth vial she sought.

After setting up the electric kettle, she got to work grinding the herbs with the pestle and mortar next to her aging coffee machine.

At the table, Gerard retched again, but little came out. His eyes fluttered shut and he began to lean forward.

"Matthew!" Hannah snapped as she filled the kettle with water.

"Oh yeah, fuck," he muttered, and whacked the back of his companion's head.

"Merde," the man groaned, snapping upright.

She almost felt sorry for him, having ended up in nothing but his boxer briefs in a stranger's house, but the situation was pretty on-par for working with someone like her brother, which he'd seemed to willingly have chosen.

Once the steaming water had been poured over the ground concoction, she uncapped the stopper from the unlabeled vial. Carefully, she measured exactly one drop, and it made a satisfying sound as it plunked into the brewed tea.

Almost immediately, Gerard tensed, and his voice dropped to a growl from the other side of the kitchen. "That...what is that?"

Hannah brought the steaming mug closer, trying her best to keep her voice nonchalant. "Something to make you feel better. Please drink it."

Gerard looked at Matthew, who shrugged and nodded.

He reached a huge, shaky hand out, and she couldn't help but notice that it would completely engulf the small mug. She made no move to hand it to him. "Best to just take it all at once, okay?"

As he took the mug from her, the rough pads of his fingers slid over the back of her hand, and she almost shivered. He watched her, eyes narrowed, and she took a moment to take in his other features, from his high cheekbones to his straight, dominant nose, the dark hair that decorated his bare chest. When he brought the tea to his lips and then paused, gaze locked on hers, she knew he'd realized what was in the small vial.

Like Matthew no longer existed, Hannah continued to watch the werewolf, and he continued to watch her, his shallow breathing the only thing breaking the uncomfortable, tense silence. She put a hand over her chest and, though she meant the words sincerely, didn't quite know why he took her at face value. "Trust me."

Gerard tipped the contents of the mug down his throat. Almost immediately, it slipped from his hand and shattered at his feet as he doubled over and wheezed, sweat breaking out over his brow anew. Black sick erupted from his mouth like some cursed waterfall, splashing into the bucket.

"Shit, what'd you give him?" Matthew demanded, watching in a sort of fascinated horror.

She couldn't help the sympathy that rushed through her as she took in the wretched figure of the man at her kitchen table. "Lobelia flower. Chamomile. Some mint."

Matthew stared at her.

Hannah sighed. "And just a drop of concentrated silver."

"You gave a werewolf silver?!"

"I knew it would override the aconite in his system," she said defensively. "His wolf should take care of the rest."

A loud thunk sounded as Gerard slid sideways off his chair and fell to the ground, leg shooting out to kick the bucket. It wobbled precariously but didn't tip over. Gerard began to twitch, eyes rolling back into his head.

"Oh my god, Hannah, you fucking killed him!" Matthew yelled, sinking to the floor beside his friend.

"Would you stop being so dramatic? Here, stuff this dishtowel between his teeth so he doesn't bite his tongue off. Make sure he doesn't hit his head on anything."

Matthew did as he was told, and Hannah took a moment to ponder how her huntsman brother had ended up partnering with a man - a creature - he had taken a solemn oath to eradicate. He quite obviously felt some sort of responsibility for this...Gerard. She supposed that would have to be a question for later.

As the strange man seized on her floor, his eyes sprang open, irises fully suffused with that lupine glow. Hannah sighed and sunk into the chair he had recently vacated, watching him like a hawk. After a short while, his body relaxed until the twitching came every couple of minutes, then once every five, then not at all. Color returned to his face, giving his skin a swarthy richness.

Gingerly, Matthew pulled the dishtowel from his mouth.

"Water," Gerard rasped weakly, and Hannah let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Here, man," Matthew said, cradling the back of his head so he could tip the glass down his throat. "You're good. You're okay."

Sensing her work completed, Hannah grabbed the heavy bucket of the dubious substance and stepped over Gerard, sliding open the glass door that led to her backyard. Motion sensor lights lit up as she stepped onto the small porch. She'd dump this stuff at the tree line that bordered the edge of her backyard, thankful for the six-foot hedges on either side that granted ample privacy.

After several minutes, Matthew stepped out onto the porch, and Hannah took a moment to look at her older brother again for the first time in years. Though he had more lines at the edges of his eyes and mouth, he still looked strong from his hunts, and stood a few inches taller than her at just under six feet. A new scar, jagged, slashed a line through a tawny brow.

"Hey," he said.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Hey."

"Thanks for tonight."

Hannah nodded. "So yeah, I have to ask - "

"How did I end up working with him? He saved my life."

She arched a brow. "Care to elaborate?"

"Vamp nest. Apparently, a pack he'd been staying with had been hunting the same nest we were trailing. Some feeding territory dispute. This bloodsucker had me by the throat and was trying to get a good taste. Next thing I know, that giant furball was on top of the fucker and biting his head off," Matt said, lighting a cigarette.

She wrinkled her nose at the smell and wondered when he'd picked that up. "Jesus. And Kevin was just okay with this? You working with a werewolf?" she asked, referring to her brother's by-the-book, longtime mentor.

Silence. Then, "Kevin's dead," Matthew said, his words blunt.

Hannah's mouth fell open. "Since when?"

"Two years now?"

"Two years?"

"Oh, don't act all distressed," he laughed, ashing his cancer stick into one of her potted plants. You're the one that said you didn't want anything to do with this stuff. Plus, you never liked Kevin." He looked around the spacious backyard. "I see you do like the trust fund, though."

The words were like a punch to the gut. "Okay, fuck you." She turned on her heel and stomped back into the house.

She was surprised to find the kitchen area mostly cleaned up, Gerard's stained shirt and jeans bunched up in her sink and a half-naked Gerard splayed across her couch, feet clad in woolen socks dangling off the edge. He snored like he hadn't slept in a hundred years.

Hannah opened her mouth to argue, valiantly ignoring his lithe, athletic form. "Absolutely not - "

Matthew darted ahead of her, turning on his heel with his palms facing up, and motioned for her to lower her voice. "Hey, he almost died. He needs rest."

She dreamed of acquainting her fist with her brother's nose, but knew she was out of practice. "He can rest somewhere else. Both of you can. Goodnight." Suddenly she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to faceplant into her bed.

He grimaced. "Uh...can I get, like, one more favor?"

"I am calling the police."

"Hannah! We don't do that."

Before she could answer him, a small noise interrupted their tirade. Gerard awakened, pushing himself up on one elbow. He sat up for a moment, eyes closed and swaying slightly before taking a deep breath and speaking with some difficulty. "If the lady does not want me in her house, I will not trouble her. Come, Matty, help me up."

Well. Now she felt bad.

When neither sibling moved, Gerard scoffed and shot to his feet.

"Whoa, hey!" Hannah said, embracing him without thought as he began to careen forward.

Christ, he was deceptively heavy. And he smelled like stale sweat. She staggered back, trying to support his weight, and Matthew came behind her to assist in setting the Frenchman down again. He groaned miserably and slumped against the cushions.

"All right, fine," Hannah said, defeated. She wanted to crawl under the covers and never come out. She wanted to go back in time and never answer the door. "You guys can stay. I'll get some pillows and blankets."

Matthew winced and began collecting his things; she hadn't noticed he'd set his stuff down in her foyer, recognizing the leather sheath Grandma Hawthorne had made for his favorite knife decades ago. "Appreciate it, but I can't. I have to head back up to Janesville to finish cleaning up the mess. I'll come back for this guy in a day or so?"

She balked. "The hell? You're leaving me alone with him? I can't babysit some fucking werewolf; I have a business to run. In fact, we open in - " she glanced at the clock on the oven - "six hours!"

"Oh, right, your little flower and tea shop. You on Forbes' 30 Under 30 yet?"

"It's an apothecary, Matthew." Irritation flared at his dismissiveness, knowing their mother's vitriol laced his words.

"Han, a day or two. I promise. You're safe. He's good people," her brother said, his words firm.

Hannah stared at him. "Actually, he's not people at all, so."

"A face carved from the angels with a tongue like a pitchfork," Gerard wheezed from the couch in a sound that took her a moment to figure out was a laugh. "Hard not to appreciate."

Again, her stomach flipped, and she tried to ignore him. How was he in such good spirits after almost dying? Also, why was he flirting with her?

Matthew gestured towards him. "See, the man is obviously out of his mind. It's not safe for him to travel. So, I'll come back for him, then?" His tone was hopeful.

"Only if you promise it'll be at least another couple of years before I hear from you again," she said, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

"I'll try to make a few," her brother smiled back at her.

"You will not even notice me, cherie," Gerard said from the couch, already half-asleep.

Hannah very much doubted that.

Several minutes later, she watched from her doorway as Matthew roared away in his sleek black Jeep. She slammed the door harder than was warranted, but her unwanted guest only twitched in his sleep. Sighing, Hannah leaned forward until her forehead rested on the cool wood of the door. She threw all three deadbolts before shutting her house down for the night.

In her private bathroom, she gripped either edge of the porcelain sink and stared into the mirror, her breaths even, deep, and slow. Her hair, the color of burnished wood, was thrown back into a bun, half of it straggling about her face and neck as a result of the recent events. Her skin was pale - then again, it always was - and a bit sallow looking; she needed to drink more water. Her eyes were wide open and red-rimmed, deep-set in her heart-shaped face.

Keep breathing. Three in. Three hold. Three out. She could almost hear Dr. Patel's encouragement.

Then, she sat down on the toilet lid and screamed into her plush bath towel from Homegoods.

She screamed again.

And again.

Standing, Hannah refolded the towel and hung it from its designated hook. She flicked off the bathroom light and latched her bedroom door, including the deadbolt she'd installed herself for good measure.

From her bedside table, she removed her Beretta and made sure the safety was on before sliding it under her pillow. And then, at nearly three in the morning on a work night, she dozed off into a fitful sleep.

xXx

Gerard Hadi had gotten himself into a lot of strange situations before, and a lot of dangerous ones. Waking up feeling like he'd been hit by a Mack truck wasn't an unusual occurrence, but the bright autumn sunlight filtering in through the blinds and the smell of pancakes permeating the air, a woman's voice humming gently in the background, rendered him immobile, his senses on high alert.

From his position - flat on his back on the most uncomfortable couch he'd ever laid on - he listened to the lilting melody and her throaty voice. He felt warm and achy, like he'd just fought off a long sickness, which was a bit ironic as he wore next to no clothing. A soft throw blanket provided some cover, and he had to restrain himself from burying his face in it to revel in the notes of lavender and vanilla.

He started at the shrill sound of a ringtone.

"Alina, hey," the woman said, continuing to clatter around. "Did you get my text? Are you okay with running the store on your own today? Something...weird...came up."

A pause. He tried not to snort.

"Yeah, no, I'm okay. I'll fill you in later. Remember, that shipment comes in at three this afternoon."

Another pause.

"You're a lifesaver. Anything you want. Bye, babe."

He tried to remember the events of last night as he flexed his limbs, relief flooding him when they displayed full movement. His head pounded as he tried to remember the events of the night prior, remembered inhaling something foul, and then lots of pain, and lots of bitching from Matty.

Matty.

Where was his wily American partner? As a matter of fact, where the hell was he? He sat up, gaping around the quaint living room chock full of green plants, walls draped in decorative tapestries, and overstuffed bookshelves in every corner. There was a medium-sized wooden desk where one would usually place a television. It held a laptop and two monitors, but Gerard's eyes were drawn to the US map that hung above, crisscrossed with various colored threads.