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"That's not true!" Vivian cried.
"You know it's true," Esmé said. "In his wolf-skin he was as strong as any of them, but he was a gentle person in many ways. He'd feel so bad about failing he'd probably step aside for someone else without a fight."
Esmé was right, but for a moment Vivian hated her mother for saying it.
Esmé didn't see Vivian's anger; she was absently shuffling the photos around on the rug as if she could read the future in them like Tarot cards. "Maybe Rudy's right. We need a different kind of leader now. One who doesn't hesitate to hurt if he has to, for the good of all." She reached out a trembling finger and touched the lips of a face that would be nowhere now, ever, except on a square of Kodak paper. "But for his time," she whispered, "oh, he was the best.">"Not real magic," Aiden said. "I wish it was. Life is a drag most of the time - birth, school, work, death - you know. I wish something magic would happen."
You want magic? I could give you magic, she thought. "What kind of magic?" she asked. "Like finding a door to a magical country? Or a coin that grants wishes? Or meeting a witch?"
Aiden laughed. "All of the above."
"What if she's a wicked witch?"
"Maybe I'd find the good in her."
"What about vampires?"
"I dunno. Maybe there's some good ones, too."
"What about horny werewolves?" Vivian said.
Aiden slid his arms around her. "Now you're being silly."
They sank into the long fur of the river meadow, entwined with each other. The smell of sweet crushed hay filled the air.
"You're wild," Aiden mumbled woozily into the cleft between her breasts before he kissed the mole there.
"Um-hmmm." Vivian stroked his hair, reveling in the way she'd made him drunk with wanting her.
He kissed her mouth, and she returned his kiss fiercely, pressing hard against him, holding him tight by his shirt. Her fingers found a circle behind his pocket - the rolled rim of a rubber encased in foil. A thrill ran through her so sharp and delicious that for a moment she thought she was changing.
With trembling fingers she unbuttoned Aiden's shirt. She smoothed her hands up his firm abdomen and across his chest. His flesh was burning hot and oh so sleek and alien to her touch. She tested his neck with her teeth and tried not to bite too hard. His breath became ragged.
A chorus of howls echoed down the river. A cherry bomb burst in the distance.
Or was it a gun?
Vivian froze.
"Ow! Your nails." Aiden pulled back.
She quickly sheathed her claws. "I'm sorry. I . . ."
Aiden laughed wickedly and reached for her again. "You wild woman."
Vivian felt a vibration in the ground. She struggled to her knees while Aiden held on and murmured in protest. Out in the night a dark mass swept though the grass, coming their way.
"What's wrong?" Aiden asked and rose to kneel beside her.
"It's nothing," she said, and flung her arms around him and carried him to the ground. That can't be the pack, she thought. They wouldn't run in town. But there were too many to be only the Five.
Aiden rolled over on top of her, and she tried to fake interest. She had to keep him occupied. If he saw what hunted tonight, he might panic and run; if he ran he was prey.
The grass hissed louder and louder as if a storm approached. Voiceless they came - many paws softly thundering.
They passed to the right.
"What the . . ." Aiden sat up.
