An hour later Misha and I were back at the Covenant house, a massive building where most of the werewolves I knew lived at. Once a plantation home, a sadly not uncommon sight in Virginia, a vampire had bought it out during the Great Depression and tried to turn it into a fortress. Destroying all but the main building, warding and cleansing the grounds like he was pouring bleach on a bug, and growing a small forest around it to dull any noise inside.

  Vampires were terrible gamblers though, and he’d apparently lost it in a bet to a werewolf in the seventies over the World Series. Making it a Covenant, a gathering of werewolf packs, it now served as home to a good chunk of those from Central Virginia. Three packs, nine wolves, lived under the roof. A smaller amount, I’d heard of Covenants being up to twenty or thirty werewolves, but I was used to these sorts of gatherings. Knives’ pack, even if they claimed to not be the leading voice, a pack run by Samuel that Misha had been kicked out of when saving my life, and my pack of two Misha and I had formed.

  Sadly, none of us (and no werewolf before) had been particularly good at keeping house.

  The outside was heavily patched, with the newest thing being a metal roof someone had put on a few decades ago. The walls were painted in a rough gathering of shades, which still looked peeling and sure to not last long, a few windows were fully boarded over rather than fixed, and the porch a messy gathering of boards and plywood forced together.

  The inside of the manor not that much better, it smelled dusty and old, no matter how much we dusted and cleaned (one the few group activities I was invited to) and most of the paint had started to fade and crack. A hole had formed in the floor of the main hallway that we’d thrown a piece of plywood over and nailed down, and the lightbulb in the hall hadn’t worked since before I’d come here a year ago.

  The various furniture in the living room had once been nice for the last decade I thought, though it was long ago aged and faded in this house. The tv and wifi router the only things particularly new there, it was still not much added comfort. To the other side of the open hall the kitchen wasn’t all that better, even if a newer addition from the nineties with an old table and chairs that might have been original to the house, a fridge from its renovation with obvious signs of repair, and a newer oven still on its last leg.

  I did have to give them credit though, the cabinets there were fresh and tough looking, and the two coffee makers set up both worked perfectly.

  Having not eaten since that morning I went to the kitchen to make myself a very late dinner. Options limited, the Covenant essentially just had a single food fund and bought a range of simple items every few weeks, though I also wasn’t that picky anymore. I rarely ate anything more than raw or unseasoned fire-cooked meat and cheap takeout in the Purists, and so even the most basic of meals felt like a treat these days.

  Tonight I made a tuna sandwich and tossed it on a paper plate beside some pretzels and an open can of tuna. On my way out I grabbed a can of soda, and walked to my basement room where I could rest.

  When I’d been granted a conditional pardon and ordered to move into the Covenant, no one had wanted me as a neighbor. In response, and to avoid any conflict, the basement had been converted into a bedroom, something I could hardly complain about. I had my own door to the outside, it had a bathroom of its own, and was relatively sound proof all things considered.

  There was a second hand bed frame Misha had found me, with a newer mattress The Lady had originally tossed on the floor, an old dresser from some lost corner of the home, a couch Misha found for forty bucks online, and a metal foldout table and two chairs.

  A shrine had been set up to the Wolf Gods on top of my dresser, a wooden idol of a wolf on a wooden block with a bowl I used for offerings. Subtle, but all I could manage without the others here questioning why I held to gods only the Purists still followed.

  Sure, the sink was constantly clogging, the shower had no pressure and was lukewarm at its best times, the door to the outside jammed half the time, and the third step of the stairs to the house was broken and gone, but it was home. It was still a five star hotel compared to the Purists, who preferred to live as close to the wolf as possible.

  At the moment there was a large black and white ball of fluff spread across my bed, nearly round as he was long. Snoring silently, not even noticing me while I entered and as I silently crept over to my table and sat down with my phone in front of me. For a brief moment I considered just letting him sleep, before I decided to tell him I was home by opening my drink with a small snap.

  When the fuck did you get home? Lord Whiskerton the First, or Lord as he preferred his title, asked, before jumping down and jogging over, leaping on the chair across from me and then onto the table. Adopted as a kitten by Annabelle, who I gathered was a girlfriend of Misha and Knives’ before she died five years ago. One of my only friends at the Covenant he had proven a rather…unique individual.

  Able to get away with a lot, any other cat I would have worried about getting into my food, swatting me when I was in a bad mood, just plain making a mess. Having something of a friendship though, he actually listened to what I said and I didn’t get on him for his behavior even as he said. So, beautiful, sexy, cutiepie, sweet pea, babygirl, princess, glorious goddess. Are you going to eat that tuna?

  “Oh, this tuna?” I asked, holding up the sandwich with a half hidden smirk, “I mean, I was planning on it, it’s a good sandwich.”

  The can! He cried out, rolling on his back and looking up at me in an attempt to be cute spoiled by his personality, please please please, my beautiful bitch, I want the tuna.

  “Fine,” I relented, taking the can off my plate and setting it down in front of him, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

  I’m fucking beautiful, Lord told me, rolling back onto his paws and starting on the tuna can. Groovy, babe, this made my day, moonbeam, really. None of my other partners do this sort of thing for me.

  “I’m not your partner,” I corrected, rolling my eyes as I sipped my drink and checked my phone for messages from Calliope or, well, no, she was the only one I could think who'd message me. “Also what do you mean other partners? You spend half your day sleeping around the house, and the other half acting like a pervert.”

  There’s a nice suburb about a half mile from here, through the woods and a way, that most of my polycule are at, Lord explained happily, I’m seeing five cats, two dogs, and a particularly brave rabbit. Why, jealous?

  “No, confused, once again how do you have time for this?” I asked, letting out a snorting laugh at his overconfidence, “Also, two dogs and a rabbit?”

  I do not make distinctions based on anything, Mary, love is love, Lord told me, sitting proudly, also I like guys too, and Toms aren’t that fun to date. You ever fucked a Tom? Only like, three out of ten I do not recommend.

  “That was more information than I ever needed, ” I admitted, honestly not sure what I was supposed to do with any of that, “I mean I get like, the not caring about gender part; I don’t really either. That’s about the only thing you’ve ever said that makes any sort of sense though. The rest just feels really weird, I’m not going to lie.”

  Oh damn, really? Lord asked, seeming almost excited by the news as he declared, Pansexuals represent!

  “How the fuck do you know so much this shit?”

  Mother and Knives did a podcast for a few years in their spare time, Lord admitted, purring happily at the memory. I used to sit in their laps and listen, it helped me sleep.

  “Sounds like it must have been pretty good,” I admitted, smiling as I leaned back in my chair. “You know where I can listen to it? I don’t really know a lot about like, that sort of thing at all. Never really got around to learning, before the Purists. Purists didn’t care what you were doing as long as you were following tradition.”

  You’d need to ask Knives, Lord told me, before seeming to think on it a moment and admit, well, might be hard to explain since you’re for some reason paranoid about people finding out you talk to animals.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “They’ll think I’m weird…even weirder,” I said, trying to think of how to explain it. “Look, I just, I can’t look too weird around them or they might trust me even less. Like, being unique is for when people like you, otherwise you’re the weird person in the corner who has an obscure hobby everyone knows about.”

  Boo, you whore, Lord sighed, laying down and looking at me for a long moment as I stared at him, surprised at the insult. His expression turned confused, and he asked, Mean Girls? God, Mary, we’re having a movie night, you can not be this blind to pop culture living in my home.

  “I was in the fucking Purists since fifteen, and my dad barely watched anything and let me watch even less on my own,” I tried to defend myself.

  Oh I’m putting together a list for you then, or you ask Knives for fucking recommendations. There’s no reason for you to be like this.

  “Why do you care so much about what I’ve seen?” I asked, needing to hold back a laugh even as Lord continued to work on his food.

  Mary, lovely, you’re never going to get anyone if you don’t know anything about the world, Lord told me, sagely looking up to me as though this were a universal truth spoken by a prophet. Look, have you ever dated anyone? Come on, spare no details; I have a terrible imagination.

  I was ready to lie, before deciding that Lord was a good enough friend that there was no reason for me to. Instead I sighed, and took a bite of my food before admitting, “two people, one when I was a half-one, one when I was in the Purists.”

  Oh, please give me the details, Lord purred, perking up at the news.

  He was probably being a fucking pervert, but he was lucky that I was more than willing to rant some emotions out after the night I’d had.

  “I went to Homecoming with this half-one girl when I was the same,” I said, smiling softly at the memory, more a vague sense of shapes than faces or events, “nothing serious, just a school dance and she was cute so I asked her. I don’t really count that though, I thought I was a guy at the time.”

  You thought you were a guy at the time?

  “Yeah, before I became a werewolf I thought I was a guy,” I admitted, gesturing down at my body. “Your body changes to what represents your soul instead after your first transformation. The transformation put aside the idea that I was a guy really fast when I saw my real body.”

  I do like the new body, Lord agreed.

  “Other one was…” I hesitated, not sure how I was supposed to explain or describe the relationship, before I decided to keep things simple. “There was a guy, Hunter, when I was in the Purists. We were a couple for a long while — most of my years there.”

  How long are we talking?

  “Four, four and a half years out of five, depending on how you count it,” I admitted, even just talking about the relationship bringing a small flush to my cheeks, “we were a good couple, rarely had a fight we couldn’t settle in a couple hours. You would have liked him, I think, he was joking all the time, really nice, definitely liked my body as much as you. We used to do everything together. I still remember when we finally came around to liking each other."

  Lord tilted his head at the idea, and hesitantly asked, came around to liking each other? What, was this like a 10 Things I Hate About You situation?

  “Still don’t get that reference,” I said.

  Utterly cultureless, Lord interjected.

  “We just…We were forced to hang out a lot,” I half lied, rising to my feet and walking over to my dresser. With a small smile, I opened the top draw and dug through my socks for a few moments, before pulling out a bracelet I held up to him.

  It was a chain of iron, with a clasp on one end and the rounded links open but long. One of the chains in the center was a solid oval, and bore a golden rune I had made myself as part of the ritual. I hadn’t worn it since I left the Purists, and for very good reason.

  “We each received one when we became mates,” I explained, walking over and holding it out for Lord, who looked over it with some curiosity. “It let us know where the other person was, and experience each other's thoughts. I…I haven’t worn it since I left the Purists, for obvious reasons.”

  I’m surprised you still have it, Lord said hesitantly, lightly slapping at it with one of his paws.

  “I…”

  Fuck, that was a hard thought to finish.

  ‘Still probably love him and hope one day we can be back together’ was probably the right answer, but even I knew that wasn’t the full story. In truth I wasn’t exactly sure, and it was more that it felt wrong to throw away, like I was trying to erase a time in my life I didn’t know how to feel about. Sometimes it was just tempting to put on the bracelet and see if he was still thinking about me, though chances were he had long ago tossed his own bracelet aside and other times it was more tempting to throw it in a fire.

  “It’s just something I haven’t got around to yet,” I lied, holding the chain close for a long moment. “I know it’s silly, sorry.”

  Kinda sweet, in a weird ass way, Lord admitted, sitting down and watching as I sat back in my chair and slowly tried to finish my meal. I mean, it’s fucking weird, but at least you know love I guess. Was kinda concerned you spent all your time in the Purists talking with animals and being depressed. Really would have meant your life hadn’t changed at all.

  “I was happy there, believe it or not,” I chuckled, nodding absently to that fact, “they did a lot for me no one else ever had.”

  We ended up falling into silence for a bit while we finished eating, and I let Lord lick my paper plate clean before I tossed it in the overflowing trash. I ended up sitting up a while longer, and the cat fell asleep on my bed while I waited for midnight. Needing to pass a little time, even if it was already late, I walked over to my dresser and retrieved some clothes.

  Simple sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt, I carried them to my bathroom and made sure the door was firmly closed and locked behind me before stripping. My body largely covered in tattoos, as I liked calling them, they were a detail I had thought beautiful until recently. Well…they were beautiful, if rough and amateurish, though undeniably Purist in design and needing hiding from most people.

  Normal tattoos didn’t work on werewolves, the body rejected the ink and tried to heal them away whenever it got the chance. What did work though, and lasted just as long as the real thing, were scars, and there were only two ways to do that on a werewolf. Neither of them were pleasant, and I had experienced both in marking myself.

  A silver knife dragged along the skin would be forced to heal as normal, though could leave you sick and in need of care if you weren’t careful. Most of my tattoos were done that way — traditional purist designs of vines and roses and swords, covering my arms to the wrists, legs to the ankle, and my torso up to the sternum. Those were painful, and slow to do as the silver needed to be regularly washed, but I was used to pain.

  Burning was the other way, though the sort of pain you never got used to. Several hours with a woodburner, a leather strap clamped between my teeth, and some careful tracing of a marker drawing, and my entire back had been done that way. A large display of a wolf howling at the crescent moon, our old packs symbol, my name before I left the Purists “Bloodhound” written across my shoulder blades.

  Each one crossed my body in a series of slightly-raised scars that acted as a constant reminder of the life I had before. The main upside being my normal clothes covered them all, and no one was really interested in me enough that I was worried about how to explain them. Just another thing to mark me as different from all those around me, though I luckily kept well covered. Even Misha I wasn’t sure remembered I had them, as quickly he’d tossed me a blanket and coat when we first met and I’d kept myself covered before trial.

  A long shower later, mostly spent half-heartedly trying to work water into my matted hair and suffering the lukewarm drizzle, I dried myself and changed into my sweatpants and shirt for sleeping. Not anything that looked good or I actually liked wearing at all, but which had let me sleep in some comfort.

  I had used to sleep in wolf form when I was in the purists, though after rolling onto Lord in my sleep three times too many I’d stopped. It was weird sleeping in human form again, but I turned around less and it was marginally easier to find a comfortable position on a bed. Not much to sleep in as a secondary issue, I was sure Lord wouldn’t have complained if I slept naked, but I got too cold at night without fur. It was easier for me to grab the cheapest and warmest stuff I could find that was comfortable to lay in and crash like that for the night.

  Going back into my room I checked my phone, and seeing it was finally just past midnight took up the package and sat with it at my table. Ripping open the brown paper and fumbling with the tied twine, I revealed a small cardboard box I snapped open and poured onto the table.

  A platinum locket came out, on a long chain that had let me look at the contents without ever needing to take it off. The decoration of a howling wolf on the face, I took it up with a sad smile even as I wondered why I’d gotten it. I’d left it behind in the Purists, I hadn’t had it on me when Misha had spared me after our fight. Hunter would have had it, and after out last conversation I couldn’t have imagined him happy enough with me to send it.

  Clicking it open, I was ready to be greeted by the mix of emotions within when I was met with an unexpected sight.

  Inside there were two pockets, in one was a picture of me, wearing a purple dress, and Hunter, wearing old flannels and jeans, sat together holding one another. The other was empty, a spot that had once held something more, and with a torn piece of metal marking the clasp that had once been there, and a drop of dried blood on the spot.

  “That’s not how I left that,” I muttered, and not sure what else to do I scraped some of the blood onto my shaking finger and flicked my tongue against it. The taste of deer blood brought a surprising comfort, but all the same I couldn’t imagine why it was like that.

  Checking the box again I noticed the white plain of a strip of paper, caught up and unable to come out when I shook it. My finger struggling for it, I finally slid the strip out and was greeted with a simple three letter message in blocky handwriting.

  14 Midnights Bloodhound.

  Right, this was either a threat, or Hunter was pulling the world’s worst attempt at courting on me.

  Why didn’t I feel like it was the latter?