Something About Harry(55)
She’d always wondered what it was like to not have the urge to shift. Or for that matter, to never have shifted at all. She’d been doing it since birth, with no recollection of her first time, much like a human baby doesn’t remember abruptly leaving the womb or the pain of teething.
But to have it occur, and actually remember the first time, was, if Marty and Harry’s descriptions weren’t an exaggeration, quite painful.
Mara winced at his description and made a mock pouty face, hoping to coax him back to the place where he wasn’t scowling at her. “Oh, c’mon, Harry. Was it really that bad?”
“Bad? Are your bones grinding together and your flesh splitting apart bad? Is feeling new follicles form under your skin, then sprout thousands of tiny hairs like they’re each individual razor blades bad?”
Mara put a hand up, resisting the urge to place it on his chest. Because here at home, he wasn’t her pretend boyfriend. “I can help with that, Harry. My brother helped Marty, and she shifts like a champ now. It’s just about breathing and focusing.”
“Sounds more like giving birth.”
Okay. So that analogy had been bandied about once or twice during Marty’s adjustment—or maybe it was a million times. It was Marty. Of course it was a million times. “Well, Marty did make that comparison.”
“Great,” he said between clenched teeth.
Carl mewled, reaching over Mara’s shoulder, putting his fingers on Harry’s lips.
Harry let his head drop; regret slashing his eyes just as his chin hit his chest. He sighed. “Okay, Carl. I get it. I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just a little tense.”
Carl reached out and ruffled Harry’s hair, lifting his chin with a grunt.
Harry gave his hand a quick squeeze before asking, “So is there anything else I need to know about the full moon thing?”
“Hoo, boy,” Darnell said on a whistle. “I’mma go make ya’ll some dinner fit to feed an army. C’mon, Carl. You can peel potatoes so you don’t have to hear what all goes on up in here.” Darnell held out his large hand to him. “There’s gonna be some outside voices.”
Harry glowered at Mara.
Funny that.
She shrunk against the wall. Okay, fine. So she’d left the part out about how his hormones weren’t just going to run rampant, but explode—maybe it was implode? Whatever. They were going to be hard to teach him to contain.
When a human was turned, not only did they experience the rush of hormones, exaggerated by their new inner werewolf, but according to Marty, it was magnified tenfold. Full weres were taught from a very young age to control their powerful urges—over time, and with much preparation.
It wasn’t always easy—sometimes it was like a sixteen-year-old in the backseat of a car with a willing girl times a million, but it was manageable when you knew what to expect.
If Marty’s account was right, for a human who hadn’t grown into their were status over time—it could be an all-out hormonal war.
Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “Outside voices? Hmmm, Mara—why does Darnell think we’ll be using our outside voices?”
She sighed, letting her shoulders sag. “Well . . .”
He glowered harder, the lines on either side of his mouth deepening as his lips curled inward.
Mara’s gaze upward was tentative. “So, orgies? What’s your take on them?”
* * *
“ARE you ready, Harry?” Marty asked.
Harry nodded. Hell no, he wasn’t ready. But he wasn’t going to share that with the group. Not out loud. Not if his life depended on it.
“Are you okay, Harry?” Marty tilted her head, her eyes concerned. “We have to do this soon, Harry, or it’ll happen anyway. Let’s make it as pleasant a journey as possible, yes?”
Harry heard Marty. Yet he couldn’t look away. He knew his eyes were wide with geek wonder, but holy shit. The land surrounding the Flaherty estate and Mara’s cottage was crawling with werewolves. Crawling. Small, short, burly, wide, all sorts of various shapes and sizes of people who’d shifted just like Mara had—right before his eyes, running, trotting, intermittently stopping in small groups to mingle. It was like a paranormal church picnic or something.
Jesus Christ. He was watching, from a distance, while tucked into a cluster of towering pines, actual people turn into werewolves.
The rolling hills and frozen landscape, dotted by stars and trees, were beautiful, leaving him irrationally angry. He didn’t want to appreciate this. He didn’t want to live this life thrust upon him because of some mistake. Yet, the call of it, the allure of superhuman power, and his newfound, almost cocky confidence tempted him, tempted him until he had to clench his teeth to stave it off.