Page 13 of Mongrel
“Mongrels? I don’t think so.” I look at him in the darkness. Even in shadow, his features are attractive. He has a hand curled under his cheek. “I suppose there could be, but I’ve never seen another.”
“If I may be so bold as to ask, how did you come to be, Andras? I’ve never seen another either.”
No one has ever asked me this part because everyone in my life already knows my worst secrets. They spurn me because of them. Will Bowie?
I don’t ever want Bowie to view me the way Farkas does, but Bowie is a better man. I decide to risk it. For the first time in a long time, I think I could make a real friend.
But since I’ve never told this story, I’m unsure where to begin. I open my mouth, but the words don’t come.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” says Bowie in a soft voice. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
A laugh huffs from my throat. “Yes, you did.”
An answering chuckle comes from Bowie. I feel the puff of breath on my shoulder. “Only a little.”
“I’ll tell you. I just don’t usually talk so much. I’m not used to it.”
“Take your time.”
I collect my thoughts. I suppose it would make the most sense to start with my mother. Though I never knew her, Ava has since filled in the details. “Before I was born, my mother got into some trouble. Farkas’s uncle, Vuk, was the alpha then, and she disobeyed the rules. She left him no choice but to punish her.”
Sighing a breath, I tell the next bit faster, hoping that maybe if I rush through it, this time the story won’t be as painful. “She fell in love so deeply with a human villager that she chose to reveal her true nature to him. He didn’t take it well, told others, and panicked the town. Vuk was forced to take drastic measures to calm the rumors, for a while going so far as to relocate the entire pack. My mother was banished for her crime, driven east into the Carpathians to die or go feral, whichever came first.”
Bowie’s hand closes gently around my wrist. His cool touch is an unexpected comfort. He says nothing, so I go on. “Well, she didn’t die, at least not right away, but she must have succumbed to her wolf entirely because nothing else explains what happened next.”
I dread this part. “One winter’s night some years later, she crept into camp, naked and emaciated in her human form—holding me, a sick, wailing infant she couldn’t care for.”
When I pause, unsure how to spell the next bit out, Bowie’s whisper breaks the silence. “She must have loved you very much to let you go.”
I’ve never really seen it this way, but I suppose he could be right. Ava has explained my mother was too far gone to raise a son and that it was a miracle she managed to shift long enough to bring me to safety.
“She left me at the home of a girlhood friend of hers. A wolf with three cubs of her own and no time for another. I suppose the woman felt obligated to take me in, even though I was the obvious product of a forbidden union.”
“Your father is a real wolf, then, an animal?” Bowie guesses the truth of it. Or he already knew and says as much so I don’t have to. Either way, I’m grateful.
“Yes.” The word comes out like a weight falling from my shoulders. A confession. A burden from my very soul.
“What a remarkable woman your mother must be to go on living when she could easily have given up. And you, my dear”—he squeezes my wrist—“you are unique among millions.”
No one has ever interpreted the story this way before. Stunned, I flip my hand in order to take his, but immediately I worry mine is too hot or too sweaty or too gross to touch. If he thinks so, I can’t tell because he only gives another tender squeeze, then interlaces our fingers.
“You’re magnificent, Andras,” Bowie says with a confidence I wish I had. “The real crime in this tragic tale is that Ava seems to be the only one smart enough to know it.”
My heart thumps so forcefully I wonder if it’s trying to escape my chest. My whole life, I’ve been hated, an outsider, a freak, and in one night, Bowie has made me feel like I could be special. I’m used to people being mean to me; what I’m not prepared for is someone being nice.
My eyes water with unshed tears. I’m glad for the thick curtains and the enveloping darkness of the bedchamber. I don’t want him to see I’m crying, though I have a feeling his night vision rivals my own.
“Come, let me hold you,” says Bowie.
My body accepts the invitation before my mind can pose an objection. He shifts to his back, and I roll to my side to settle against him, my hot skin against the coolness of his. His arm circles my waist. Mine lies heavy on his chest, the other tucked beneath me. I curl into him as if we are lovers, and he accepts the embrace with that natural ease he has in all that he does.
“Sleep now,” Bowie whispers against my hair. “You are safe here.”
This is an entirely new experience for me. I’ve had lovers, mostly human, but I’ve never had anything like this. Never truth. Never acceptance. I feel whole in a way I hadn’t known was possible. Pressing my nose to his skin to better scent the sweet attar rose oil, I take a deep breath and relax my muscles. Already sleep nudges heavily at my senses.
Bowie’s hand caresses my back from the fur along my spine to the skin at my flanks. I think I let out a sigh; I’m not sure because I’m floating.
I close my eyes, wondering if this is what peace feels like and hoping I can keep it forever.
