When it came to telling people that you were a werewolf, there were varying degrees of reactions. Panic was a big one. Anger was likely second. Awe and a morbid sense of curiosity fell somewhere in the middle. Acceptance was rare. Even with the level of supernatural activity in Ashkent, it wasnât often that someone heard âwerewolfâ and thought anything other than giant killing machine. Expressing that he was a werewolf was dangerous, especially when he was vulnerable and completely at someone elseâs mercy.
From everything he had seen from Tad thus far, he didnât think it was that big of a risk. And instead of shove Cahillâs unmoving, large body off of him and run away, he was asking a question instead. Are you going to be safe? It made Cahill smile a bit, and the easy answer would have been, of course. But the more detailed one meant maybe. Usually. Itâs not me Iâm worried about. It was never himself that he worried about. Shifting during the full moon was easier than it was any other time; a compulsion that was nearly unavoidable. But the hunger that came with it? That could be controlled, especially after having his whole life point towards the practice necessary to keep it under control.
But others? The younger wolves and those bitten? The didnât have the same level of control, and it was them that he worried about when the full moon rolled around. He worried about Noah. Gabe, who still occupied the loft in his shop and still has little to no idea how to handle anything about his new life. There were a lot of reasons that the full moon and safe did not belong in the same sentence. âIâll be alright,â he finally said, dismissing the concern that hovered over him constantly.
Instead, he was focusing on the fact that he could feel his hands. And the fact that, despite being able to feel them, he refused to move, because Tad started to scratch at his scalp in a way that made him close his eyes for a second in contentedness. He probably shouldâve been a lot less willing to sit on the sidewalk and enjoy the fact that he couldnât move, but he wasnât about to argue with what his body apparently wanted, which was a head massage. âYouâre like the Robin Hood for frogs, then.â If he was allowed to hoard all the cats in Ashkent, he wasnât going to begrudge someone for keeping all the frogs. Someone had to do it, after all.
âNot really. But Iâve been doing it for years. But I would think taking care of frogs the right way was hard, so itâs pretty relative.â He huffed, a slightly better laugh than before, and smiled. Apparently he could also feel his face again, rather than just having a bunch of loose muscles that refused to show expression. âDonât worry. Itâs my first time. Youâre still special.â
âThat was a long pause.â Of course, he couldnât know exactly what was making Cahill hesitate, but he got the feeling it was more than the things he worried about on his nighttime hikes.Â
There was always an element of danger in being a nonhuman, especially one that interacted heavily with the outside world (which was just about every nonhuman out there). He was at risk every time he walked through the forest at night and slept in the creek. It wasnât absolutely necessary, but when he was tired of his bathtub, heâd put himself at the mercy of the forest, and he never let himself stop being aware. There was also the ever-present worry that heâd lose a toe or eye (or his skin, or his life) to anyone who realized that Naiad parts sold for top dollar in the black market. And, worst of all, was the constant threat of Wardens.
He couldnât know what the other experienced, if he felt hunted and watched and unsafe constantly, or if it was different because he- presumably- had a pack of friends to watch his back. But being a big, scary werewolf probably put a target on his back. Was there a non-creepy way to say âI hope you donât turn up dead in the woods in a few days?â Probably not, so he stuck with shooting a concerned glance at the head in his lap.
But he couldnât maintain it for long, because the quip about being Robin Hood sent him into a cackling fit, his hand flying up to cover his face before it warped into the fourth dimension.Â
âThatâs a new one,â he said, clearing his throat and fighting back a force of giggles. Right. Focus.Â
âDo you have a shop in town, or are you more of a freelance bike builder?â Only after he spoke did he realize that he was asking just the sort of question heâd been hoping to avoid. âOh! You donât need to answer that if it was too much or something. I donât want you to be worried Iâll turn up at your workspace and... I donât know. Find you. Pet your cats.â
He resumed the scritches, gently shifting his thick hair so he had a clean shot at the space just behind his ear, working at it with gentle fingertips. Now that his friend was smiling with most of the proper muscles, it was good. Very nice to look at. He couldnât help but echo it. âGood. Iâd have questions if you did this a lot.â
