Mistress of the Werewolf

MOTW entry 3

It was nearing the end of the work day when Angela showed up unexpectedly at the werewolf’s office.

The werewolf was talking on the phone when she walked past his door.

Angela. In the flesh after more than a year. He would have been more surprised if he hadn’t had some kind of inkling that she was in the city already. She was casually dressed. Her hair was again in the ponytail. Her pants were forest green, her shirt the palest grey. Her reddish short hairs had fallen loose into curls around the nape of her long, white neck. Her delicious eyes were shining.

"What are you doing here?" He asked calmly, though a genuine smile illuminated his face. He didn’t mind looking at her with a kind of indulgent amusement, while wondering what the clothes were hiding.

She took one look at him and at his smile which she knew was so rare and also so welcome to her. And, overcome by a sense of panic because she knew she had surprised him after a year of silence had elapsed between them, she started babbling. Babbling uncontrollably a lot of nonsense about being in the city for a job interview and staying with a friend and wanting to drop in and see how he was doing.

The werewolf just stared at her like she was a piece of luscious fruit. He was amazed and excited that fortune had dropped her into his lap once more. For it was clear from her nervousness that she had missed him since she left the city a year ago; more even, that she had grown to care for him at some point. He had never thought she did. But she did! That must have been why she had gone out of her way to return to the city and to drop in on him today. She had to see him so badly she couldn’t hold back a moment longer!

Good. He had no intention of letting her escape this time. And miraculously, it seemed pretty clear she herself had no desire to escape this time. He felt a sense of elation. She had thrown herself entirely into his power, and in so doing had put herself completely at his mercy.

Such a thing he had in short supply.

Angela blinked uncomfortably, wondering why he wasn’t talking. The longer he stared, the more she fidgeted. She shifted her feet a little, apologized for the intrusion, asked if he was busy that evening and if she should better go.

"How did you get in?" He asked, in a subtly commanding voice mixed with cold curiosity; he had sensed intuitively that for whatever reason, her appearance and behavior put him entirely in charge of the situation, but now he wanted to test out his theory. He already had work plans for the evening, but he kept that to himself at present.

"I told the receptionist I was your old friend and came by to surprise you." She replied nervously. "We are still friends, aren’t we?" For some reason, it mattered a great deal to her. She listened intently for his answer.

He laughed inwardly. She already knew his position on that matter. Men and women could never be friends as long as the man was attracted to the woman, and if the man was single. Naïve girl-woman insisted on believing otherwise. She insisted that friendship was sometimes possible. He couldn’t figure out why she wanted to be his friend. Or was it that she wanted everyone to be her friend? Was she that needy? He had thought she was usually discriminate, but not in this, it seemed.

Werewolves didn’t have friends.

"Sure." He said easily, with a slight, assenting shrug.

He was thinking about ripping her clothes off there and then in the office, but there were still other people around, and he had the meeting to go to. But they could finish this conversation some other place, some other time. Finish it the only way it could be finished. And that meant that there wasn’t going to be much talking. What did they have to talk about, anyway? She couldn’t teach him anything, and she was too silly to comprehend his world. Friends? They could only be one thing. Yet if that was the word she insisted upon using for what "they" were, let her. He had a feeling that she was his to conquer if he pursued her this time.