Silver, Montana

Chapter 6: The day after the night before.

Stretching in her bed, Emily smiled blissfully. She had such a weird, but great dream. Noises came from downstairs, followed by an appetizing smell, and her stomach reacted by grumbling loudly. Jumping on her feet she noticed that she was fully clothed: strange, she remembered undressing before going to bed.

She splashed her face with cold water, washing the sleep away, grabbed her coat and bag, then lifted the trapdoor, when she noticed her picks on the floor beside it. How was that possible? Could she have been sleepwalking? And if yes, could anyone do something as precise as picking locks in their sleep?

Puzzled, she reached the kitchen, finding Owen standing in front of the range in his boxers, a batch of bacon and eggs sizzling in the pan.

Emily averted her eyes, feeling that she was invading his privacy, although he didn’t seem to mind. He turned around, grinning, and greeted her warmly.

“Hi there, early bird. Did you sleep well? You hungry?” he said, pointing at the food with his chin.

“Hi too, not too bad and ravenous,” she answered.

“How is Sophie today? She wasn’t too well yesterday morning,” she added, taking a seat and grabbing the plate he was handing to her. And then she frowned. There was a scratch on her hand, just where the wolf’s tooth caught it. She must definitely have been sleepwalking, and her brain had made up an explanation for the stinging pain in her subconscious. Yep, it had to be that. Or she was just loosing her mind.

“Don’t worry for Sophie, she has been fairly tired recently and she is not a morning person. With a good bit of rest, she should be just fine.”

Emily nodded, unwilling to insist. If Sophie was indeed pregnant, she certainly wouldn’t appreciate her guest spilling the beans. She gulped down her breakfast, adding a mug of coffee on top of it. Once she was done, she washed her dishes and thanked Owen, getting ready to leave.

She stepped out of the door, squinting painfully in the bright sunlight bouncing on the snow. By the time her vision had adjusted, she was shivering in the chilly breeze. The ice wasn’t going to melt today, even if the snow filled clouds stayed at bay. She would have to spend at least another night here.

Rushing to close her coat, she struggled with the zipper that was stubbornly stuck half way up. She looked down, trying to figure out what was stopping it. There was a bunch of hair caught in the middle. Actually, there were more spread all over the front of it. Plucking them out, Emily watched them critically. Animal hair, no doubt; they couldn’t possibly come from the dog she had encountered the previous day, the color didn’t match. But they were fitting perfectly with the color of the wolf in her dream.

Shell shocked, she stared at them for a few minutes, consterned at the implication. Was her dream real or was she delusional? Did she really hug a wolf last night? No real wolf would let her do that, unless it was kept as a pet … or maybe raised by humans. Kieran! He would have the answer.

Taking off on the swept path, she hurried towards his cabin. She banged on the door, and luckily he opened, coffee in hand and hair in a mess, in a comfy tee shirt and tracksuit bottoms.

The idea that it was possibly a bit early for social visits crossed her mind, but it didn’t stop her. She was too upset to care.

She brushed past him into the living room, dropping on the sofa with her head in her hands.

Kieran raised his eyebrows, closed the door and came to sit beside her.

“Good morning to you too. Will you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked tentatively.

Emily hesitated. How could she explain herself without sounding crazy?

“I… I just had the weirdest dream, but now it seems like it wasn’t one or at least not entirely. Did I… meet you last night, or one of your pet wolves?”

Kieran remained strangely silent. She looked at him, wary of his reaction. She expected concern but there was embarrassment written on his face.

“And what makes you think you did?”

Emily lifted her hand.

“This scratch, and the hairs on my coat. They make sense with my dream as I was petting a wolf in it, but not with reality. And I remember he had your voice, and your eyes, so you might have been there. I guess I was sleepwalking, that’s the only logical explanation.”

She paused, feeling slightly relieved. Now she could only hope that he wasn’t going to tag her a barking lunatic.

But he didn’t seem to mind; he sighed and relaxed, leaning back in the cushions.

“Is that all? I can reassure you then. I found you last night, wandering in the snow, blabbering nonsense about enormous wolves and calling me ‘wolfie’. I must admit that I was wearing a wolf skin jacket, as I was out to observe the visiting pack. It’s a good trick to mask my scent. I directed you back to Owen’s cabin and suddenly you were all over me, stroking me as you would your favorite dog. Don’t get me wrong, I value your affection,” he added teasingly, “but it wasn’t going to take advantage of a sleeping woman, so I had to send you back to bed. I hope you won’t hold it against me…”

He winked at her and she felt her cheeks burn, cursing her redhead complexion. Where was your melanin when you needed it? Her freckles were doing little to hide her increasingly flaming color.

Ignoring her misery, he went on:

“Seriously, don’t pull that stunt again, will you? Who knows what could have happened if I hadn’t been there. We locked you in at night for your own safety. By the way,” he narrowed his eyes at her, “how did you get out of your room?”

“It… was open?” she tried, failing to sound convincing.

“No it wasn’t,” he pointed out coldly, all his friendliness gone suddenly.

“It was, I assure you,” she repeated, anxiety pointing out in her voice. She was getting scared, realizing that she didn’t really know that man. She had read his work and eaten his food, but in the past two days they had only discussed business. He could be a psychopath, and she wouldn’t have a clue about it.

“You are not very good at lying, you should try telling the truth for a change,” he challenged, and then stilled and took a deep breath.

“You are afraid of me,” he noted, his gaze fixed onto hers, smiling slowly.

Emily shifted uncomfortably, moving discreetly away from him. He was grinning widely at this point, and it was terrifying. A bizarre picture popped in her mind, of the wolf in the Little Red Hood tale. Who was looking remarkably more like Kieran by the second. She could swear that his teeth were growing, his canines, specifically. His ears too, they were becoming pointy and hairy.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, hands on her face. That was it, she was mad. Hallucinations were not a good sign.

The door was opened and banged closed and she peeked through her fingers. Kieran was gone, leaving her alone in the room.