Wanda and Marty’s heads popped up in simultaneous acts of curiosity.
Marty sent a question to Nina and Mara with nothing but her eyes. They all knew each other that well after five years of friendship.
Mara pulled out the pencil holding her hair up and brought it directly to her mouth to have something to nervous-chew. “You’ll never believe it.”
“Mara Flaherty, did you just use those words in front of us? Us?” Wanda squealed. She tucked the lab coat under Harry’s square jaw and gave his shoulder a pat before climbing over the debris left from the debacle of his first werewolf shift.
Marty followed, her silver bracelets clinking together in jarring fashion, her boots clacking against the toppled steel lab chairs. She gazed at Nina expectantly. “Up to speed, please.”
Nina tilted her head in Mara’s direction. “Talk to werewolf junior here.”
Three beautiful women, on a sliding scale of ghetto/military chic to Audrey Hepburn classic, waited.
She took a shuddering breath before she began. “So before any of you say anything, before you judge, before I rationalize, let me just give you the basics. I wanted to have a baby. No one seems to want to mate with me. That hurts. It hurts when a single pack member isn’t interested in you—even after you’ve watched your sister-in-law turn on the charm and woo everyone from here to Albany just because she smiled, then try to do the same thing, and experience epic failure. And yes, Marty, I’m looking at you.”
Marty’s brow furrowed, but her eyes held a flash of hurt. “So what happened to Harry is my fault?”
Her stomach churned. No. She loved Marty—even if she wanted to be a little more like her, and the way she’d gone about that was to spew her envy in an unfavorable fashion. “No. I love you. I’m just telling you what led me to this place. It isn’t just you, it’s everyone like you. Women who flirt with ease.”
Marty pursed her lips. “I’m a married woman. I absolutely no longer flirt.”
Mara shook her finger. “You always respect your boundaries, and I know you love Keegan. What I mean is you have a charisma, a way of sucking people into your vortex without even trying. You do it all the time. With everyone. Not just men, but women, children. You could run a cult. Women like you should bottle that kind of charm for women like me.”
“I’m not sure if I feel complimented or insulted, Mara.”
Mara sighed. Saying this out loud for the first time just didn’t sound like it had in her head. “It’s a compliment. A huge one. Here’s what I mean. I’m dreadful at playing the vixen. I couldn’t seduce a fifth-grader out of some Chiclets. I’m just not sexy enough. I don’t have that ‘it’ factor. I don’t have any factors. I’m also not getting any younger.”
“What does this have to do with what happened to Harry?” Wanda asked, her face riddled with her confusion.
Mara’s voice grew husky, her eyes straying back to the floor. “Just listen. Anyway, after discovering I was probably always going to be single, I watched a lot of TV about single women, lesbian couples, and so on. People just like me who wanted children, but didn’t necessarily have a partner or a vagina to achieve it. Documentary style, of course. And I decided I didn’t need a baby daddy, but it’s not like they have paranormal sperm banks just waiting to offer up good DNA. I knew it would be hard enough to have a baby alone, because the pack frowns on that without mates, and you all know they encourage us to keep the lines of the breed strong.”
Wanda cocked her head at Mara. “They do have your average, everyday sperm banks, Mara. Did you skip that documentary on Netflix?”
Mara nodded, holding up a hand. “I know that, too. But who really knows how well the sperm donor is screened, Wanda? Did anyone know Charlie Manson was Charlie Manson until he was Charlie Manson? Also, how do we know a human’s sperm and my eggs would gel? I know we have Marty as an example, but she was already turned when she and Keegan conceived. Plus, you hear all sorts of stories about men looking for their babies because they regretted donating sperm and want to see their creation. How would that work if the guy showed up at my door? Do I just say, ‘Surprise! The sperm you donated made a nice little bundle of werewolf joy. Thanks for the swimmers, dude!’”
Silence. Lots of disapproving silence.
There was nothing left to do but plow ahead. Mara twisted her hands together, her chest tight. “So I decided I’d make the baby daddy myself. All I did was concoct a potion that would get me pregnant. That’s it. Swear.”
“Of course. You made baby juice. That’s it. Swear,” Wanda mimicked Mara’s minimalistic take on her baby-making. “Argh, Mara! Do you have any idea how serious this is?”