Tender Mate

Countdown to Loving You

1 AM 

          I roll over, restless from the day. I'd slept for two hours before my subconscious woke me with doubts about the coming harvest moon. It hadn't done me any good last year or the year before or the year before that one. I'm 27 and mateless. There aren't many wolves this far north in the territory, but it wasn't like I didn't make the effort to go into town and attend the social events, not to mention the pack link with the alpha. But it was still unheard of to be without a mate after twenty-five. Pups often find theirs' even before the change at 16 though the mating is only lawful at eighteen. I'm fed up with this wait and growl into my pillow as I attempt to clear my mind and sleep once more.

3:47 AM

          "Two years past my expiration date," my subconscious wakes me. "Someone up there must hate me."

           I shake off the thin residue of tumultuous dreams and splash my face and neck with the temperate water from the old fashioned wash basin. My cabin in the Northeastern Forest, east of Gillam in Manitoba, runs on gas and a generator, but at the end of a very good Summer for the Nelson Pack and Harvest Social later this evening the generator's fuel would need to be stockpiled for the coming Winter. As well as a spare tank of natural gas.

           My rough hands grip the edges of the nightstand with a barely steadying fervor. The days grew hard. A mated pair could live to be 130-ish and age as gracefully as two 70 year olds who regularly attended a spa and gym, but a lone wolf... Life isn't all champagne and roses.

           "You can't die of loneliness, Everette," I smirk to myself, "You just talk to yourself until you hate your own conversation enough to put an end to it."

            Things like that didn't even show traces of beginning until late 40's, but that was with wolves in tight-knit communities that watched each others' backs. Everette lived ten miles from the pack border and didn't see anyone without a reason. It wasn't that he disliked his pack, or the Nelson pack him, he just had a very strong personality with a bold energy that could be taken as a threat to the Alpha. Of course, Owen Lavada was a great Alpha and one that Everette would never cross out of sheer respect and an overwhelming sense of duty at hearing a command, but talking logistics with the man caused them both headaches. So, naturally, with Everette's disposition and their mutual respect, it was decided that it would be best for the pack if he lived a little outside.

           "I need a run." I leave my two bedroom shakes cabin for a shift to feel the night air through my fur. It's 5:20 AM by the time I get back, but my sweat can't mask the slight tremor I feel in my spine and fingertips. Almost a tingle.

           The hot shower steams up the small en suite, and I smear away the fog on the mirror almost expecting to see deep age lines breaking my features.

            Like any werewolf, my build is strong if not slightly more bulky than the average male, yet far more dexterous and unimaginably coiled tight to spring into action. Skin is warm and ruddy with a youthful flawlessness that will last me into my 50's if not 60's. Hair is dark with a slight curl that just goes past my ears and brushes at my stubble, and eyes by contrast are bright as cool light reflected off a lake. My own eyes startle me. They are glossy with sleeplessness yet hold an all too keen sharpness. Eyes of a predator. Though that is what I am, I hate the underlying connotations that come with it.

            Faded work jeans, a flannel shirt, coffee brown leather boots...and speaking of coffee, a camping mug in hand, I'm ready to watch the sunrise. First light barely peaks through the trees before I'm in my truck though. Not that there's so much to do I can't stop and smell the roses, but I feel that if I even sit down my mind will be invaded by thoughts I'd rather not deal with.