Page 20 of Blind Date with a Werewolf
Someday soon, he was sure, these runs would not be enough. His wolf would break free and start a killing rampage that only the Marrok who ruled them all could stop.
He wished that he was certain the Marrok could stop him. They thought it vanity that he had come here for his death. He owned that vanity was one of his sins. But he knew, and theMarrok knew, how deadly he was. How old he was. Just because he was vain did not mean he was wrong.
Surrounded by mountain wilderness, his home allowed him privacy for the brutal change from wolf to human. When he stood once more in human skin, Asil wiped off the excess snow and moisture with the towel he left on the porch swing for that purpose.
Without his wolf’s fur, the night’s chill bit at his skin. Unlike someone wholly human, he could have stayed out all night without ill effects, but that didn’t mean it was comfortable. When he was dry, he folded the towel neatly and returned it to the swing, drew in a deep breath of the cold air, and waited.
And waited.
But the usual weight of depression, of an apathy that hindered his control of his wolf, did not burden his soul as it had daily the past few centuries. His old enemy was not vanquished, he could feel its touch, but for now, it only lingered on the edges of his mind.
Inside his house his computer sounded the reception of an email. It could be an advertisement for potting soil from his favorite gardening site or a note from his son, who ruled Asil’s old pack in Europe. Or it could be from his Concerned Friends, who had given him a peculiar gift for the Christian holiday season. It was, should he care to admit it, the reason that his usual ennui was not currently weighing heavily on his soul. In the words of Sir Arthur, there was a game afoot.
He opened the door and walked naked into his home. There might have been, had he cared to admit it, a spring in his step.
The email awaiting him was disappointing. He was the lucky recipient of a hundred-dollar Amazon gift card if he would participate in a survey by clicking the provided link. Asil deleted that email and another from a Nigerian businessman with bad grammar who would give him money, doubtless in return for his banking information. Asil rose from his computer desk and put on the clothing he’d taken off before his run.
Fully clothed, he went into the kitchen to brew himself tea in the hopes that the task would lend him some patience, which he should only need a smidgen of. They had given themselves—and him—very little time: five dates from online dating sites chosen and set up by them, all to be completed within three weeks. He had finished two of them and there were still nearly two weeks left. Time that he intended to use to identify the “friends” who were so intent on him accepting their “gifts.”
The first email from his Concerned Friends had read, in part:
You should know that all of these people think they have been talking to you and are looking for you to bring a little romance into their lives. We have carefully chosen people we think would be very hurt to find out they were unwitting participants in a game. Some of us believe that you would not hurt a stranger just to avoid a little discomfort. Others think that knowing that we have informed the whole pack (via email) and instigated a betting pool will be better incentive. Especially since no one, so far, has bet on your attending more than one date.
As blackmail, it was pretty effective. They (or possibly he or she, because Asil wasn’t convinced two or more people could keep themselves secret from him, and he had not been able to discover who was at the heart of this) knew what moved him. Most people wouldn’t have thought he would care that people’s feelings would be hurt.
Even so, he was pretty sure that no one but him knew the biggest reason that he’d decided to step into this game.
Asil had, in his very long life, accepted that Allah sometimes made use of his most disobedient servant. This game had, from the first date, felt like one of those times. The last date had done nothing to disabuse him of that notion.
The water had barely come to a boil when his computer chimed again. He waited until his tea had steeped before going back to his desk.
Dear Asil,
He smiled and sat down.
We admit your second date did not turn out quite as we expected. We had no idea that the Must Love Cats woman meant loving cats in the biblical sense. Or that what you were actually attending was not a party for people who love their pets but a magical ritual intended to end with your death.
“I hope not,” murmured Asil. “Or we really will need to have a talk when this is all over and I find out who you are, my friends.”
To be fair, the dating site (when we contacted them) also had no clue that someone was using them to hunt for prey—not to imply that you are anyone’s idea of prey. We had a nice chat and we feel certain that, in the future, they will actually do the background checks that their website promises.
May we say that while we owe you apologies (again) for the unexpected way that one turned out, you once more managed to stay within the bounds of our bet. Mostly. You were with your assigned date for four hours and twenty minutes. It did expose a loophole in our rules; we did not state that your date must be conscious for any of the time.
There were some people who felt that the number of dead bodies involved should mean that you failed. Wiser heads decided that our rule implied that you should not kill anyone (with our previous exception for vampires due to their undead status). Somewhat to our surprise considering the number of dead bodies, none of them were directly attributable to you! Congratulations on successfully completing your second date.
The Seattle Zoo accepted our anonymous donation for the care and welfare of the lioness and informed us that you had done the same. We trust she will thrive in her new home. Someday you will tell us how you managed that drive with an unhappy lioness in your backseat.
Asil smiled. Maybe he would tell them. Maybe not.
And that brings us to your next date.
We will restate the rules you have agreed to. You must complete one date with your next victim…er, our selected person from an online dating site of our choice. That date must be at least two hours long—and you must spend at least an hour and a half of that with your date. No dead bodies—that you kill (except vampires)—and neither you nor your date can run screaming into the night.
After the last date, we canceled the dates we had organized earlier, feeling that more care was in order—which is why it has been a few days since you heard from us.
For your third date, we found a person who sounds very normal on PlatonicPlantophiles.com—A Meeting Place for Friends Who Garden (emails exchanged between you and her are attached). There were only two people listed on the site who were within a reasonable distance of your home. After the oddities involved in the first two dates of our bet, we did our own thorough background check on both and chose the one we thought would be the least trouble. We trust that your evening with Tami will be less dramatic than your last date.
Tami Reed tapped her foot nervously and looked around the restaurant she had picked. Spokane was a foodie city. There were literally dozens of good restaurants that she could have decided upon; this one had probably not been the wisest choice.
