When she opened her eyes, she saw a white ceiling with a neon lamp. She slowly turned her head to the side and found Michael sitting in a chair at her side.
Alex raised an eyebrow. "I've seen this scene before."
Michael's tense face softened into a shy smile. "Yeah. I'm sorry. It's all my fault."
Alex looked at the ceiling again. The wound stung a little, the rest of her body was slightly sore but she felt nothing else. She sat up. She was on an examination table and the room looked like a doctor's office. It must have been Dr. Fredrik's. With a sigh, she looked back at Michael. "What am I?" she asked.
"You're still human."
She took a deep breath and felt a weight lift from her chest. She took the glass of water Michael handed her and drank eagerly. "I think you owe me some explanations. And this time I want to know the truth."
He nodded. He had expected that question, but the hour that had elapsed since they arrived at Fredrik's house and he injected Alex with the antidote wasn't enough to come up with a satisfactory explanation. He had never had to explain to a human what it meant to be a werewolf. But Alex didn't rush him. He waited.
"Werewolves have always lived in the shadows of men and the moon," he began. "The night, at least in the past, was our realm. The darkness protected us. It made us invisible to humans who thought we were creatures of the devil and hunted us down to kill us. But we are not demonic creatures; we are a race apart. We are neither monsters nor killers; we simply have the ability to transform into wolves. We are long-lived, have heightened senses, but we live like you humans."
Alex studied him for a moment. "How is it possible that your existence is not known?"
"We're good at blending in. At least for some time—I'd say for centuries. Legends, Alex, always have a basis in truth. However creative man's imagination may be, the myths rooted in the human soul have a basis in reality, which is why they have retained their value over the centuries. It's an atavistic memory that humans pass down so as not to forget, even if nowadays they are considered groundless."
"You said legends have a basis in truth... and all legends about werewolves describe them as bloodthirsty beasts..."
"We don't kill men and children to feed on them. A few centuries ago, however, we were a bit less integrated and also a bit more aggressive. Clashes between packs were more common and, above all, there was less control than there is now. As among humans, so among werewolves—indeed, all the more so given our feral nature—there are lawless elements. Even among us there are thieves and murderers, but we certainly aren't all thieves and murderers, just as not all men are."
"How does the transformation work?"
"It isn't triggered by the full moon, if that's what you want to know. Our ability to change shape is inherent in our very nature. We can become wolves even in broad daylight. But the full moon calls to our more feral side. The younger a werewolf is, the more they'll feel its influence, but with maturity one learns to manage one's instincts."
"You said you're very long-lived... How old are you?"
"One hundred and forty-seven."
"Oh."
"For a werewolf, that's not very old!"
"How long do werewolves live?"
"Several centuries."
"Centuries?"
Michael nodded. "We're immune to almost all human diseases. Our bodies heal very quickly, and we age very slowly."
"...But if you're a separate race, as you say, then you can reproduce."
Michael nodded.
"Then why do you turn humans?"
"Actually, this is very rare, also because the bite of a werewolf cannot always turn a man into a werewolf."
"Not always?"
Michael nodded. "Usually the bite of a werewolf is lethal to a human. But in the case of a particular predisposition in the recipient's DNA, transformation can occur."
Alex furrowed her brow. "What do you mean by special predisposition?"
"Well, you need to have some ancestor, even distant, who was a werewolf."
"Which I don't think is very likely."
"It's much more common than you think. Our races have coexisted on the same planet for millennia, and over that time many relationships have occurred between werewolves and humans. A mixed union can produce a werewolf or a human, but even the human will carry traces of the werewolf's genetic heritage in their DNA, often making them stronger, more aggressive, or longer-lived than an average human. And they pass this heritage to their children and grandchildren. Imagine how many relationships have interwoven over the centuries—you'll realize most people almost certainly have a werewolf in their family tree."
Alex looked at him, brows furrowed. Everything she was hearing seemed implausible... yet it was reality! She had seen it. She had been touched—clawed and bitten, to be precise—but that didn't make it any easier to accept. For a moment she wondered if vampires, fairies, and goblins also existed, but she decided to leave those questions for later… or maybe never. This taste of unreal reality was already more than enough.
Michael watched the subtle changes in Alex's face carefully. "Am I frightening you?" he finally asked. She held her breath as she looked at him. Then she shook her head. "Do you think I'm a monster?"
She looked at him. She remembered when he had been lying in his bed asleep, his hair shining golden in the sunlight. His smile. His eyes. His lips... the two times he had saved her life... no, she didn't think he was a monster.
She smiled at him. "No."
Michael finally felt the chill that had gripped his heart melt away. His eyes smiled back. "Good." He couldn't hide his relief.
"So I might have a werewolf ancestor and could have become one myself because of Sabrina's bite?"
"Probably. But it didn't happen. You don't have to worry, the antidote stopped and reversed the process."
"How are you?"
"The wound has already healed."
She reached out to his side and he lifted his shirt, showing her the now-closed wound.
"It's incredible..."
"One of the perks of being a werewolf." Michael smiled at her.
She looked up to meet his gaze. "What are the others?"
"Besides the ones I already mentioned? Well, our race has a different relationship with its environment. We are much more connected to the land, to open spaces."
"And the disadvantages?"
"Having to hide what you are." Alex waited for him to continue. "It's like always living in two worlds. When you're with humans you behave like a human; when you're with the pack, your pack behaviors come out."
Alex rummaged through her memory, recalling documentaries about wolves, wondering if werewolf packs worked the same way.
Michael seemed to read her mind. "We're a bit more evolved than a pack of ordinary wolves, but maybe not by much," he added with a smile. He stood up. "I'll go tell the others you're okay. Join us whenever you feel ready."
She nodded and watched him leave. She sat there with her feet dangling, staring at the opposite wall where a window showed a slice of dark sky. Werewolves. How the hell had she gotten into this? More importantly: what was she going to do now?
Fredrik entered. "Good. I see you're better."
"Yeah. Thanks to you. I guess you must be getting tired of patching me up, and I thank you even more for your patience."
Fredrik smiled. "If you work with werewolves, you get used to having them in the clinic often. Especially when they're pups."
He checked her blood pressure and irises, then nodded contentedly.
---
Christopher paced up and down the living room while Lucian and Natalie waited for him to finish the call. When the werewolf put his phone back in his pocket, he turned as his brother arrived. At Michael's questioning look, he replied, "He's fine and he took the explanation well."
Christopher nodded, then addressed everyone. "Raeg just told me they found the bodies of our dead men and the corpses of some werewolves who don't belong to the pack. The side gate of the estate had been opened—probably by Sabrina—and almost everyone was caught off guard, unaware of what was happening." His voice was heavy with bitterness.
"Now you're the alpha," Natalie said, looking at him with her big dark eyes.
Christopher nodded. "This isn't how I imagined it would happen." The pain was clear in his voice. "We will hold Eleanor Barclay's funeral at the castle in Scotland. I've called to make the arrangements," he continued, turning to Michael.
Michael nodded and added, "And there you will receive the approval from the other pack leaders."