Lanius was quite apologetic afterwards, adding a heated blanket to your bag of clothes on your way out. You were appreciative but still annoyed over the invasion of your privacy. Play nice, you told yourself over and over again on loop. Once you get back to Grandmother's house, you never need to talk to her again.
The ride home in the dark was mostly a quiet one. Lanius would occasionally try to strike up a conversation, but you only really engaged her when she asked you a question. Even then, you kept your answers short and sweet.
"Let me help you carry everything in," she volunteered once you finally arrived at your destination.
"That's alright. I've got it," you replied as you climbed out of the truck. You didn't want any more of her help.
"It'll go faster with the both of us." Ugh, fine. Whatever got her out of here as soon as possible.
She didn't immediately leave once all the clothes and groceries were deposited in the foyer. Instead, she lingered on the front porch, shifting her weight between her two feet. You'd never seen someone so large appear so nervous.
"Can I see your phone for a second?"
"Why?" The question came out of your mouth as more of a demand.
"I want to give you my number, just in case anything comes up."
"Thanks but no thanks. I have everything covered from here." At the end of the day, it was just a bit of cleaning and moving things around. You'd be fine.
Lanius sighed, ran her fingers through her hair. "Look, honeybun, it's awfully dangerous out here, especially for a beautiful young woman living alone in the middle of nowhere. If something happens, by the time emergency services arrive, it'll likely be too late. Let me be your lifeline."
Her words made you feel a myriad of complicated emotions, all of which spun around in your head like a tornado. You didn't know how to feel.
Without a word, you unlocked your phone and made a new contact before passing it off to her.
It took a couple of tries for her to enter her information, given how big her fingers were, but she managed. Afterwards, she sheepishly handed back the little device.
"It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Hope to see more of you soon," she murmured, words carried up into the heavens by a puff of steam coming out of her mouth in the dark and the cold. When you said nothing in return, just waved lamely, she nodded to herself and left.
...
It was a lot less difficult to be productive when you'd had a full eight hours of sleep the night before. On the opposite side of that coin, though, it was so tempting to laze around in your nice, warm bed rather than brave the cold and the rigor of cleaning out your grandmother's house.
But you had a few precious hours of daylight to work with, so you forced yourself up and at-'em.
After a simple breakfast of eggs and toast, you started going through the kitchen cabinets, getting rid of all those wretched cans and jars. You handled each one as if it contained hazardous waste. After all, each one was a potential stink bomb.
By lunchtime, all of the cabinets were empty and wiped out. Finally, you had somewhere to put your nonperishable groceries.
You moved on to the counters, wiping down the counters and testing the appliances. The toaster worked, but the stand mixer didn't. Which was a shame, seeing as one was much more highly valued than the other.
Your mother had made it very clear that, should you accept this job, the money from the sale was all yours. She just wanted to wash her hands of it without having to return to the grounds of her childhood trauma or to hire someone to do it for her.
And the holiday season in your household was... Uncomfortable, to say the least. Unbearable might be a better term for it, though.
Just as you were finishing up your first sweep of the kitchen, your phone rang. Turns out you did have some service out here after all.
Please don't be Lanius, you prayed.
It wasn't. It was your mother.
"Hi, Mom," you sighed as you answered.
"What's with that tone?" She demanded, right off the bat. "Aren't you happy to hear from me?"
Jesus H Christ, not already. You knew from experience there was no use arguing your perceived "attitude," so you just softened your voice and said, "I'm just tired. Hard day of work. Started by cleaning out the kitchen."
That didn't appease her, either, though. If anything, it just made her more agitated. No surprise. She was a very anxious woman. "Don't talk to me about that house. I don't want to hear it. I'm just glad I ran when I did, made it out without breaking down..."
You didn't bring up the fact that she had broken down. Multiple times throughout your childhood. She likely wouldn't want to talk about that stuff either.
"Okay?" You answered, not knowing where to go in the conversation from here. You didn't know why she called, then, if she didn't want an update on the property. Your mother wasn't the kind of woman to randomly check in on you. In fact, you learned pretty quickly, even as a child, that --in order to get your needs met-- you had to be independent.
After a beat of silence, she threw you a bone. "You didn't call to let me know you got there safely."
"Oh... I had no service that night."
"What about yesterday?"
"I..." Anything you said would probably be interpreted as backtalk or excuses. So instead, you just apologized. "I'm sorry."
The receiver let out a burst of static as your mother sighed over the phone. "How are you?" Her emphasis was odd. Not, "How are you?" Not, "How are you?" It was, "How are you?"
There was no correct option. If you said good, she would be upset that you were enjoying the holidays without your family. If you said bad, she would berate you for taking the job she offered. Either way, you were at fault.
"I met someone in town yesterday," you answered.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. A nice woman named Lanius. She took me grocery shopping, lent me some winter clothes and a heated blanket." Walked in on me changing, you thought but didn't dare voice that one, though.
She hummed. "I know the Lanius family. I went to school with Lea's daughter, Diana. She was a freshman when I was a senior."
"She didn't offer her first name..." Your brow furrowed instinctively. Why wouldn't she go by her first name? "I don't think that's her, though. She looked too young." Definitely not old enough to be your mother.
"I wouldn't be surprised if it was. The Laniuses were always freakishly pretty. It could be one of Diana's cousins or nieces, though, I suppose." There was a brief pause over the phone. As you were gathering your breath to respond, she continued, "It doesn't matter. I don't want you talking to her anymore."
"What?" You borderline squawked. "Why?"
"There's something wrong with that family that I could never quite put my finger on," she answered. "They're too friendly, too welcoming. And they collect people like strays. I don't want you becoming part of their collection."
You thought back to how aggressively neighborly Lanius was, how she was unable to take no for an answer. Then you remembered the way Lanius looked at you, in your state of undress, like she wanted to gobble you up... Which was especially inappropriate if the age gap between you really was that wide.
Nice was different than good. "You think they're a cult?" It was hard to talk given how dry your mouth was.
"Maybe. I don't know. I just know I don't like them. So you're not to go near them anymore. Understand?"
"Understood."
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Mr Wolf, Mr Wolf, what time is it?
Four o'clock...
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YOU ARE READING
The Work of Wolves || Yandere!Werewolf X F!Reader
Horror"People should be judged not by their outward demeanor but by their works, for many in sheep's clothing do the work of wolves." Based on Mr Wolf, What Time Is It?
