My eyes opened to a figure standing beside me in the dark, reaching down towards me, his hand moving to cover my eyes, my mouth, grip my neck, something. I growled, lunged, tackled them with all my weight, and there was a scream and clashing of falling bodies and items as we slammed into my nightstand and on the concrete floor below. The figure went to throw a punch, and I caught the hand as I slammed my fist into its throat. Weight and aggression were the main advantages I had in a fight, I didn’t let them be ignored.

  They gurgled, gripping at their throat with their free hand, and I tilted my head, biting into the wrist of the arm I held, tasting strangely familiar blood as I tore through muscle and ligaments. Another hand was thrown up to grab at me, and I slammed my fist twice into their chest as a warning, feeling ribs crack with each blow.

  The lights of my room clicked on, and I realized I was on top of Andrew of all people, as I looked up to see Tara standing by my room’s push button switch. She looked unsure of what to do, and I noticed the faint hint of fur forming on her arms and neck from where she might have been about to attack me.

  Unsure of what the protocol was for this sort of situation, I held myself there for a long moment before eventually saying, “sorry, he surprised me.”

  “It’s fine,” Andrew grunted, loosely pushing at my side, “mind if I stand up? I think I’m healing from a concussion right now.”

  “Yeah, sorry,” I admitted, climbing off the man and quickly moving to sit on my bed.

  Andrew nodded, rising to his feet as he picked up a wet towel from the ground and quickly ran to my bathroom, followed shortly by the sound of vomiting. Tara and I sat there in silence for a long time, before eventually she smacked her lips and told me, “don’t break him,” before leaving us alone once more.

  I nodded, unsure of what she meant before realizing most of the werewolves here weren’t used to this sort of violence. After a little bit of Andrew’s vomiting continuing, though slowing down, I sighed and rose to my feet once more, taking stock of my room.

  My jacket, locket, and bracelet were all neatly sat on the metal, alongside my phone with a cracked screen. I was wearing a nightgown, something I didn’t own, of a bright pink fabric that looked like it'd been taken from a Barbie movie, something I definitely didn’t own. Lord was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Hunter nor Misha to help explain what happened.

  I walked over to the table, frowning as I slipped on my jacket over the nightgown and checked my phone.

  It was Tuesday

  I had missed two phone calls from an unknown number.

  I sighed in defeat, and slowly stepped outside, calling the number as I stepped away from the house. It was surprisingly cold out for an august day, and I let out a small shiver as I pulled my jacket tight and heard the ringing in my ear.

  The ringing stopped, a long pause, and someone I didn’t know asked, “have you finally awakened?”

  “Yeah, I think I did,” I muttered in confusion, “who are you?”

  “Retribution,” the man replied, immediately giving me a pretty strong hint about what was going on. Right, this was the guy trying to kill me for murdering Alpha, that sounded about right. “Last night you killed one of your own kind once more, a fellow Purist.”

  “Might be a bit of a surprise, what with me working with The Lady, but I’m not with the Purists anymore,” I admitted, looking around as I noticed a familiar ball of black and white in the distance. “You’re the one who’s digging up old memories, ambiguously threatening me. I would have thought you’d known this.”

  “Once you’ve sworn blood to your mentor, asked the wolf gods for their blessing and been baptized in the blood of the deer, you’re a Purist until your death. All you’ve done is hide from our ways, but you are still held to our laws,” the man countered, technically correct from how Purists saw it but wrong all the same.

  “This is a lot of trouble to go through for someone like Alpha,” I muttered in disgust, not fuckign sure what he expected of me. Disgust was building up in my chest, fear, and I nearly snapped, “What’s this even about? What the fuck is Alpha to you? Did you even know this prick, or are you just mad I left the Purists and digging up the first excuse you can to kill me?”

  “He was my son, you whimpering bitch,” the man said coldly, a new twinge of fear striking through me, “you have eleven midnights, I’m sure you remember enough of our ways to know what I expect if I’ve given you a fortnight's notice.”

  “You’re asking for a duel,” I muttered, realizing what the fuck this was about, “and you’re using Martin as my collateral.”

  “Settled in the old ways, I’ve chosen the time frame you have to respond and I’ve told you the blood cost for ignoring my request. You’ll choose the weapons we use and the time of our duel within the limit,” he explained as though I were a cub who had no idea how this worked. He was treating me like an infant, a child, it was a fucking insult. “You killed Striker, though I know you had help doing so and caught her off guard. From what I’ve heard, you were the best in your pack when it came to single combat, but maybe that’s been exaggerated if the scene was anything to go by.”

  My heart felt like stone in my chest, and I felt my breath grow uneven as I held myself tight and struggled to not scream. That answered that question, and I squeezed the phone hard enough it might have broken in my hand if it were any weaker. The wolf let out a low growl, I told him, “your son deserved worse than we did,” as I hung up and turned my phone off.

  I stayed perfectly still, trying to calm myself as I stood unmoving for what felt like several minutes. When finally my breathing returned to under my control, I wiped my eyes on my jacket’s sleeve and started toward Lord.

  Werewolf bodies were generally burned, with how many died in a state of transformation. The Covenant was no exception, and at least a dozen had been buried here over the decades, each with their ashes roughly buried in concrete and their headstones roughly traced into its still drying surface.

  Lord was currently laying on one of them, kicking and mewling softly as he seemed to be in the middle of a nightmare. I creeped up to him, and looked down, reading the roughly traced letters of his rest. The only important information a werewolf cared about, their name, cause of death, and how many years they managed to live, trapped in stone for all who would one day see it.

  Annabelle Star, Heart Eaten, Age 30.

  I smiled sadly as I realized what it was, and crouched down, picking the cat up as he let out a brief noise of confusion. I held him close to my body, and he dug his claws into my jacket for support as he asked, Mary?

  “Yeah, it’s me,” I said, petting the cat with a smile, “I’m not going to die that easily.”

  Thank you, he said, and I watched as he climbed around my body, so he hung onto my shoulder as I walked, his head next to mine. I let out a small giggle, and started back toward the house as he told me, they wouldn’t let me in your room while you were sleeping. I tried sneaking in every time someone went in to check on you.

  “Probably were afraid you’d end up hurting me more, big and strong as you are,” I joked, kissing the side of his head, “sadly I’m gonna be away for a couple days soon, have a wedding to go to and I need something good in my life right now.”

  Oh, bring home a hottie, preferably blonde, Lord told me, making me roll my eyes as we entered the Covenant house, Weddings are prime real estate for desperate singles. Maybe bring someone home, have a bit of fun, I can sit in the corner and give any advice.

  “Not gonna happen,” I told him, rolling my eyes as I paused, realizing what I needed to do next, “that… does remind me, I should talk to Misha.”

  Him again, yay, Lord muttered, jumping off my shoulder and onto the ground with a heavy thump, I’m going to tear up his chair for a bit. You go tell the Patrick Verona wannabe I said fuck you.

  “Don’t know what that means,” I said in a sing-songy voice, stepping around the cat as I went looking for Misha and he called back at me, 10 Things I hate about you, Mary! Watch an American Classic sometime!

  I didn’t need to look far before finding the man by the front door where he was talking to two police officers. Both of them stood side by side in the entry hall, writing along on their notepads as Misha dictated to them.

  “Like I said, officer, no one here saw anything,” Misha said, shrugging as he leaned back against the wall, “I was out on the porch all night practicing guitar, and if I didn’t see or hear anything I doubt anyone else did. Why would we even know anything anyway? Property’s so big we hardly hear anything from that way.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Look, a few of the people in the suburbs through that way said they saw someone getting carried into the woods leading to your property,” the officer said, writing down something with a sneer. He looked up ready to say something else before he saw me and nodded his head asking, “how about you, babe? Night before last, did you see anything weird around here?”

  I was resisting the wolf’s urge to rip out his throat when Misha stepped between us, staring the officers down as he announced, “no one here saw anything,” in a tone I rarely heard him use. The man suddenly flinched to himself as a disgusted look crossed his face before he slipped back to a previous stoicism.

  “Yeah, we know that,” the officer snapped, the anger unhidden.

  “You’re going to forget you saw her,” Misha added.

  “Why wouldn't we?”

  “Now get out of here and don't come back, I’ll take those notes,” the werewolf finished, taking the notepad from the officers as they turned around and left the room.

  I watched on impressed, holding back a laugh as Misha closed the door behind them and rubbed his forehead. I walked up to him, smiling up at the man, muttering, “you know, wish I got lucky enough to get the mind control.”

  “It’s not mind control, and you’re better off without it,” the man said, shaking his head with an annoyed sigh as he looked through what they’d written, “I just…influence the moods, I can make sure they feel particular ways about certain ideas, but it’s more shifting how their minds register what I say. It only really works all that well on humans anyway, werewolves I can just push moods around, but not influence them. Besides that, it just…it feels wrong to use it, you know?”

  “Ever used that on me?” I asked, smiling with a bit of curiosity.

  “Couple times,” Misha admitted, finally chuckling at that question and surprising me a little, “only when you look like you’re about to murder someone, or were getting fur around the neck, I swear. You have to be careful with adjusting someone's mind, the farther you try shifting it from its current mindset the more likely it is to break. The mind can tell when it’s doing something it doesn’t want to do, why do you think I bothered with breathing exercises the other day?”

  “Well, glad you’ve never broken me,” I admitted, still curious how I’d never noticed. “So, what happened with The Lady the other day?”

  “Actually what we need to talk to you about,” Andrew said from the living room, surprising me slightly as Misha led me there.

  The living room was surprisingly sparse, with just Tara and Andrew in there already, sitting in the same chair with Tara playing some handheld console. Andrew’s wounds already healed more or less, with a little red in the eyes and a bit of a shaken look the only issues. They both looked up to me with a relatively tired stare, and I looked around confused even as Misha walked past and sat on one of the couches.

  “I am apparently no longer trusted as your parole officer,” Misha said, surprising me as I looked at him in shock, “The Lady no longer trusts my opinion on you to be unbiased, or for me to remain professional.”

  “She caught you two sucking faces,” Andrew specified, making me nearly choke on my own breath, “and well, she doesn’t trust Misha already, so you can imagine how that went…good catch though, Misha.”

  I’d known The Lady was probably keeping an eye on me, especially with the phone call from Chaser, but I didn’t think I’d be under that sort of constant surveillance. Even if I did though, I couldn’t exactly see how it made any fucking difference if me and Misha were kissing. Mentors and students being together wasn’t uncommon, I’d seen several relationships like that succeed in the Purists, and she was a vampire. She drank blood for fucking fun, what did she know?

  “So, what, I’m no longer on parole?” I asked, slightly hopeful.

  “Oh no,” Andrew answered, sighing as he pointed to himself, “apparently I got given that honor. As well as Knives, Tara, Basil — basically our whole pack. I think she was trying to allow some more flexibility, since none of us worked for her full time… also probably so she doesn’t need to do this again the first time you start climbing over someone. She did specify she thought you’d ‘need to be kept on a leash to stop you falling for someone, and even that might backfire’, no idea what you did for that reputation with her.”

  “She was asking us all for recommendations last night,” Tara interjected, looking up from her game for a moment, “his name came up a lot. She feels you’ve gained a bit more trust though, so we’re all supposed to just keep an eye on you. Andrew’s in charge of your ‘continued rehabilitation’ though, and she specified she wants you ‘socialized’ a little faster.”

  “Not sure why,” Andrew said in a tone that might have been sarcastic or genuine, “if it makes you feel any better, you got dumped on our front door while The Lady was still here. She said that it was just a further sign Misha wasn’t doing his job, and that she wasn’t going to hold your behavior against anyone. So, as long as you don’t run off and get in trouble again, we’re all in the clear.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” I said, realizing that holding off on ripping the bandaid wasn’t going to help anyone, “because I need to go somewhere tomorrow. Just for like, a couple days. I’d be back the day after tomorrow, maybe sometime in the afternoon. I promise I won’t get in any trouble, I could get picked up and dropped off and everything if you’d prefer that, but it’s a longer drive.”

  The room looked at me in confusion for a long while, and slowly Andrew asked me, “where the fuck are you going?”

  Well, honesty was the best policy (a bit hypocritical of me but the constant lying was starting to backfire), and as much as I hated to admit it there were worse things to say. At the very least it would look less suspicious if I was honest, and told him the more or less exact truth.

  “So, a couple of old friends of mine are getting married,” I said hesitantly, before slowly choosing to add on, “they’re Purists, but I swear it’s completely normal in terms of wedding events. No murder, human sacrifice, just normal lovey dovey stuff and ceremonies…they do ritually sacrifice a deer, but that gets done a couple nights before, I wouldn’t be there for that.”

  “So, you’re wanting to go to a Purist wedding,” Andrew said, leaning on the arm of the chair as he stared off in shock and confusion, “and you were, just going to go by yourself and all that.”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, realizing this was probably a mistake, “I mean, it’s just a wedding, like, they’re old friends I promise it’s not anything overly weird. I just…I want to be there, they’re people I cared about, and they wanted me to be there to celebrate with them.”

  “You should go with her,” Tara quipped, surprising probably all of us as she looked up once, “The Lady said she’d get you a couple weeks off at the bar to settle into your work, and we’re all getting a little extra money for the new gig. I mean, come on, it’s a wedding, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  “A Purist wedding,” Misha sneered, sounding almost disgusted at the idea Purists got married too, “I mean, it’s going to be filled with the exact sort of things you’re supposed to keep her away from.”

  “It’s a wedding though,” Tara stressed in an overly joyful tone, “besides, it gives Mary and Andrew time to get to know each other. They hardly talk, and that’s something that needs to change if she’s getting socialized.”

  “You sound overly happy about this idea,” Andrew pointed out.

  “Maybe I am,” Andrew’s girlfriend teased, poking Andrew’s nose, “I was at least one of the people who recommended you to be in charge of helping her. Knives and I have been trying to get you two to hang out for like, two months now and couldn’t figure out how.”

  “Since when were you two trying to even get us in the same room? I barely know the cannibal,” Andrew asked in defeated confusion.

  “Two months ago,” Tara answered, returning back to her game as she leaned into Andrew, “neither of you have noticed. You know, as I just said a few seconds ago.”

  “I don’t think you were,” I said hesitantly, frowning as I looked them over, “and besides, I’d hate to be a bother. I get if you don’t want to come with me to this sort of thing, Andrew wouldn’t even know anyone there.”

  “No, I find myself forced to,” Andrew admitted, letting out a several second long sigh at thought, “you got dumped on the porch with your intestines wrapped around your spine last time you snuck out. I think I’m forced to keep an eye on you, and I…don’t really have an excuse, as much as I’m trying to come up with one. You want me to come to your book club tomorrow night, love?”

  “No,” Tara quipped with a smile.

  I nodded, not sure what I could say before slowly looking down at my clothes and asking, “whose idea was it to put me in the all pink nightgown?”

  “Your idea, believe it or not,” Misha said, looking up with a half smile half-hidden behind a fist as he explained, “you were waking up in twenty minute bursts all of yesterday, after your back had finally closed up and your body was still trying to get you enough blood to live. You started trying to get dressed, fell down twenty times in five minutes, kept saying you wanted to wear a pretty dress.”

  “I have plenty of dresses,” I said, thinking about it for a moment, “okay I have like, three dresses. I have dresses though.”

  “Yeah, and you fell onto the floor ten times trying to get one of those on,” Tara said, giggling as she leaned on her boyfriend, “you kept saying how you wanted to be pretty and girly, and all your dresses were ugly and hard to put on. I grabbed one of my nightgowns, since I could just drape it over you and it got you to lay down and drink water.”

  Oh yeah no, that made sense. That sounded like me.

  “You did have pretty much no blood left in your body when we found you, and half your organs were still trying to pull themselves back into place,” Misha pointed out, further explaining it.

  I couldn’t be surprised, the brain did weird things when there was a limited amount of blood inside but it was still forced to work. One time Hunter had severed a few of my arteries and took out a chunk of leg during training, and I’d spent a few hours talking like I was a princess ordering a knight around while I recovered.

  “Thanks for setting my stuff out for me,” I said hesitantly, not sure who I was supposed to be thanking. I had a strong idea who would have brought it over, but I also doubted he would have risked that. “I was a little worried you were going to just toss everything out as bloody as I must have been.”

  “Your jacket and jewelry got dropped off early yesterday morning,” Andrew said, making me smile as I realized Hunter had come back just for that.

  “And I did try washing your jacket,” Tara said, sighing as she rubbed her eyes, a shiver running through her body, “try being the keyword. I didn’t know what to do other than soak it in soapy water and spray it off with a garden hose a few times. It still smells vaguely like blood, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t exclusively use brownish-red thread for sewing on those patches.”

  “Oh that’s fine, it’s always like that,” I brushed off the concern, before trying to follow it up with a joke, “my dad was a smoker, and it used to smell like that, so if you really think about it it’s an improvement.”

  No one laughed, and I made a mental note about that not being the correct structure of a joke. I was going to land a joke one of these days.

  “So no avoiding it then, you’re going with me to the wedding?”

  “I’ll get packed,” Andrew admitted, chuckling for a moment, “what time are we leaving and where are we going, Cannibal?”