Page 20 of Feral

Instead of a meek nod of her head, Daphne’s shoulders straightened, her chin lifted in a clear act of defiance. To my further surprise she looked square in my eyes, holding me in her vibrant green pools as she shook her head.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, not looking away. “If he’s uncomfortable, he may of course leave, but it needn’t be on my account.”

Strong willed and beautiful.

My lips curled up into a smile in spite of myself and I nodded.

She nodded back, smoothing her hands down the front of her black skirt as she turned back to the director, who had a smirk on her lips that I didn’t want to know the meaning behind.

The director laid out the problem while I simply watched in fascination as the woman’s face went from flustered to thoughtful. The skin above her nose developed a tiny wrinkle and she sifted through the notes Director Dearborne had taken during our conversation.

“Fascinating,” she murmured. “Not all artifacts can affect supernatural creatures. Especially not Werewolves. So, we’re looking for something very potent, likely with ties to passion turned sour…or perhaps ancient cults of Inanna…or even Kali. When did this start?”

“Two weeks ago,” I answered.

She nodded and tapped the end of a pen against her full lips. It made not looking at them damn near impossible and it was only with the most strenuous tug on my will that I stopped myself from imagining what they would feel like on my body.

“And has anyone else exhibited any desire to go back to prior lovers, or has any other unusual behavior of a sexual nature occurred?”

She asked the question without a trace of shame or shyness, something I hadn’t seen very often from humans, if that was what she was.

“Not that I know of,” I said after a moment.

“And has the violence been escalating, spreading?”

“To some degree, aye.”

She nodded again.

“Do you have any idea what could cause this kind of disturbance?” Director Dearborne asked.

“Well, desire and upheaval aren’t really mutually exclusive. Most ancient cultures equated sexual passion with acts of aggression and war. It could be any number of things. A statue of Astarte, or perhaps one of the jewels from Mata Hari’s head dress, we only have half of those. Of course, some of these artifacts are only able to be used by women so…hmmmm…”

Her voice drifted off as she scribbled somethings down in a notebook the director had given her.

“Any other insights?” Director Dearborne asked.

But the lass kept murmuring to herself, which would’ve been adorable if it wasn’t also doing strange things to me. Her mouth was hypnotic, I wanted to find out if those pink pillows were as soft as they looked, what she tasted like, if she’d return my kisses in my true form, or be horrified by it.

I need to get a grip. Or maybe visit the boxing ring tonight, get some of this frustration out.

“Ms. Reynolds?” the director said, snapping both myself and the woman back to the present.

“Hm? Oh sorry, got lost in my thoughts.”

“Can you narrow down what we might be looking for?”

“I don’t know honestly. What you’re describing could be attributed to about half a dozen possible artifacts, none of which we currently have in my department. In order to say with any certainty, I’d have to know more, observe the people affected perhaps. I can make you a list of the possible items, if that would help.”

“You say that you need to see the effects, is that correct?” the director clarified.

“Well…I mean it would help but—”

“And you passed your field fitness test, correct?”

Daphne swallowed.

“Just barely.”

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