realm of males. This ignorance has helped us to stay mostly hidden for so many generations.”
“But then how do we, I mean …” Claire felt the heat of blood rush into her neck, crawl up her cheeks, kiss her hairline. She stared at the ripples on the surface of the pool, unable to meet her mom’s gaze. “Werewolves must, uh, reproduce, somehow?”
Her mother laughed. “Do not be embarrassed. It is a normal question, one I asked my own mother. We mate with human men.”
Claire twisted uncomfortably in her seat when her mother said the word “mate.”
Her mother sighed. “It is a weakness. Because we need men to create another generation, we must live near them. It createsa great risk for us. Our, er, relationships are often short-lived. That is the safest way.”
Claire’s heart thudded in her chest. It took all of her willpower to ask the next question. “So, my dad … ?” The stories flashed through her head. All her life, her mother had told her that her father had been a kind man, a scientist, killed in a plane crash two months before Claire had been born.
“For that I must apologize. I had to explain somehow. I knew your father only a few weeks, but because of the morals, the beliefs of the human world … The depth of our relationship … It was a lie. In this world we werewolves are driven to lie a great deal, Claire. More than most humans do. I am sorry.”
Claire’s stomach twisted, and she tried to swallow back the bile that filled her mouth. She scrambled to her feet.
“Are you all right,
chérie
? You look pale.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Claire ran into the house.
She stumbled into a seldom-used bathroom. Hunched over the toilet, Claire reeled. All the lies her mother had told her spun through her head. That there weren’t any pictures of her father because he couldn’t stand to be photographed. That his family had disowned him, and wouldn’t speak to Claire or her mother. None of it had ever been true. The hole in her heart every Father’s Day, the little ache she felt every time she saw Emily’s dad joking around with her—it had all been for nothing.
The reality settled around her like a cage. The silky grayfur on the back of her hands last night, the warm blood of a fresh kill—this was her identity. And, really, it always had been. Claire leaned her head against the cool marble of the bathroom wall. Nothing she’d believed about her life had ever been true.
So when I was with Matthew last night, was that just another lie?
Still shaking, Claire crawled back up the long staircase to her room. She flopped down on the little cushioned bench in front of her vanity and stared in the mirror. The wild, freaked-out look in her eyes just made her feel more like an animal.
Which I am,
she reminded herself.
I’m a werewolf.
She couldn’t get enough air. Her heart started to race as she struggled to fill her lungs. Sweat beaded her forehead and slicked her palms. The itching she’d felt yesterday came back worse than ever and she stared in the mirror, horrified to see fur slowly pushing its way out of her skin, covering her ears and the backs of her hands.
“Oh, no. Nonono,” Claire moaned.
This can’t be happening. It’s not even night!
Anger surged through Claire as she stared at the thick fur.
I will not let this happen. I don’t care what family I was born into, I’m not doing this.
She leapt to her feet, knocking over the bench. Her mother had never shown up to dinner covered in fur—there must be something she hadn’t told Claire—some way to hide it.
How could she leave out the fact that I might randomly turn into a fur-covered freak? It’s not the full moon anymore! Oh my God, this is going to happen to me all the time, isn’t it?
Fine. I’ll go back down there and
make
her tell me exactly what I’m supposed to do about this.
Claire spun around and headed for the door.
“Claire?” Lisbeth knocked gently. “Everything okay in
“But then how do we, I mean …” Claire felt the heat of blood rush into her neck, crawl up her cheeks, kiss her hairline. She stared at the ripples on the surface of the pool, unable to meet her mom’s gaze. “Werewolves must, uh, reproduce, somehow?”
Her mother laughed. “Do not be embarrassed. It is a normal question, one I asked my own mother. We mate with human men.”
Claire twisted uncomfortably in her seat when her mother said the word “mate.”
Her mother sighed. “It is a weakness. Because we need men to create another generation, we must live near them. It createsa great risk for us. Our, er, relationships are often short-lived. That is the safest way.”
Claire’s heart thudded in her chest. It took all of her willpower to ask the next question. “So, my dad … ?” The stories flashed through her head. All her life, her mother had told her that her father had been a kind man, a scientist, killed in a plane crash two months before Claire had been born.
“For that I must apologize. I had to explain somehow. I knew your father only a few weeks, but because of the morals, the beliefs of the human world … The depth of our relationship … It was a lie. In this world we werewolves are driven to lie a great deal, Claire. More than most humans do. I am sorry.”
Claire’s stomach twisted, and she tried to swallow back the bile that filled her mouth. She scrambled to her feet.
“Are you all right,
chérie
? You look pale.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Claire ran into the house.
She stumbled into a seldom-used bathroom. Hunched over the toilet, Claire reeled. All the lies her mother had told her spun through her head. That there weren’t any pictures of her father because he couldn’t stand to be photographed. That his family had disowned him, and wouldn’t speak to Claire or her mother. None of it had ever been true. The hole in her heart every Father’s Day, the little ache she felt every time she saw Emily’s dad joking around with her—it had all been for nothing.
The reality settled around her like a cage. The silky grayfur on the back of her hands last night, the warm blood of a fresh kill—this was her identity. And, really, it always had been. Claire leaned her head against the cool marble of the bathroom wall. Nothing she’d believed about her life had ever been true.
So when I was with Matthew last night, was that just another lie?
Still shaking, Claire crawled back up the long staircase to her room. She flopped down on the little cushioned bench in front of her vanity and stared in the mirror. The wild, freaked-out look in her eyes just made her feel more like an animal.
Which I am,
she reminded herself.
I’m a werewolf.
She couldn’t get enough air. Her heart started to race as she struggled to fill her lungs. Sweat beaded her forehead and slicked her palms. The itching she’d felt yesterday came back worse than ever and she stared in the mirror, horrified to see fur slowly pushing its way out of her skin, covering her ears and the backs of her hands.
“Oh, no. Nonono,” Claire moaned.
This can’t be happening. It’s not even night!
Anger surged through Claire as she stared at the thick fur.
I will not let this happen. I don’t care what family I was born into, I’m not doing this.
She leapt to her feet, knocking over the bench. Her mother had never shown up to dinner covered in fur—there must be something she hadn’t told Claire—some way to hide it.
How could she leave out the fact that I might randomly turn into a fur-covered freak? It’s not the full moon anymore! Oh my God, this is going to happen to me all the time, isn’t it?
Fine. I’ll go back down there and
make
her tell me exactly what I’m supposed to do about this.
Claire spun around and headed for the door.
“Claire?” Lisbeth knocked gently. “Everything okay in
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