One Month Later

Matt twisted a quarter over his knuckles, chandelier lights glinting from the tip of George Washington's elongated nose.

"Just go already." Jaylin slouched over the back of his bar stool. His blond locks hanging from his head, the color of a sunrise in the red accent lights. A diamond piercing had been stuck into the left lobe of his ear—a drunken experiment with Tisper's piercing gun gone wrong. 

Fate had it, were-things healed too quickly, too fully for cheap metal piercing guns. Couldn't take it out once the flesh had mended. Matt teased him at first for the effeminate piece, but the diamond complimented him well. With those cornflower blue eyes to match, it was like a star on pale seas. 

Jaylin rolled his head to his shoulder and groaned, "Matt."

"I'm concentrating," said Matt, eyes scouring over a flock of beautiful women at the bar. A dark-skinned girl with thick thighs popped her bubblegum in his direction and grinned. Nothing. No fire in his cheeks, no tickle in his stomach. Man, two years ago, he woulda killed for a night with a girl like that.

Jaylin reached forward and a set of fingers snapped before Matt's eyes. "Focus on the game, dickhead. You've got a girlfriend." Jaylin's gaze laid heavy on him, slick in with the orange ambiance of the bar lights. Bein' a were had changed something in him. Jay had the gaze of a wild thing, as keen as a hungry fox. His eyes traveled over Matt's face and Jay straightened at the hyper-focused whiff of suspicion all the wolves seemed to get when you had the balls to lie to 'em. "Matt, everything okay?"

Matt flicked the quarter. It bounced once and landed in the empty shotglass at the center of the table. He raised his fists to the air and hooted over the music grinding through the raspy wall speakers. "Three to two! You pay."

"Three to two cause you've gone three times and I've gone two times." Jaylin tossed back a swig of his rum and coke, setting the glass down with an emphatic thud. "It was best out of ten and you know it."

Before he could reply, a set of warm arms slid around Matt's neck, sharp pointed chin nestled on his head. "Stop your fighting, Mummy's here." Her warmth left him and Tisper dropped down into an empty seat, purse slumping to the ground. She took Jaylin's glass and dumped it back, nearly drinking it empty before he snatched it out of her hands.

"Jesus, Tis."

"Sorry," she exhaled in a fiery breath, black silk hair sticking to her lip gloss. "Pretty sure I flunked my exams today. Tell me something good. How's Nadaline?"

"She's demon spawn. The dynamics of a growing warden are fucking terrifying." Jaylin poured back the last of his drink and let out a gruff breath. "I love her, but she's a walking nightmare. She can climb walls now, you know. Like a fucking spider."

Tisper sighed, chin cupped in her palm. "Still...I'm envious. This big happy family thing seems to be working for you."

Big happy family. Matt watched the quarter shiver in the shot glass, a painful prickle crawling up his stomach. Think about it, Jessica had said one night during a walk by the waterfront. Don't you want a big happy family?  He hated himself in that moment for not loving her. She was so beautiful when the wind picked up—when her coffee-colored hair went flyin' in a whip of cold ocean breath. She smiled at him with that straight smile, freckles that shimmied in the moonlight. He wanted so badly to want it. Yeah, he told her.

God, what a piece of shit.

As if she sensed he was thinking of her, Matt's phone came alive on the table. Jessica's name flashed on the screen and he hit the ignore button without a second thought. Jaylin caught a glimpse before the screen went black. He caught everything nowadays.

He gave Matt that look again. Like he could smell the misery in him. "Matt—"

"So you and Bushfire aren't bumpin' uglies yet?" Matt said to Tisper.

She sneered at him. "Bushfire?"

"Firecrotch was gettin' tired and I don't know any other insulting names for redheads."

Tisper looked as if she had words on the edged of her teeth, but she ground them down and slumped back in her seat. "Can we get some shots?" she called to the bartender. When her eye fell to Matt again, it held a smoldering grudge. The eye patch on the other had been decorated in tiny patterned needlework. "We're friends I guess," she said, a haunting defeat in the timbre of her voice. "Haven't seen him in a while."

"Ain't even kissed?" Matt asked.

Tisper let out a furious groan, hands fisting through her black hair. "It's totally obvious we're into eachother—or, at least I think it is. He seems into me. Doesn't he? He does, right?"

Matt exchanged a glance with Jaylin. Since Sadie had taken over the keep, Tisper's need for a female companion had become a barefaced issue. Matt never knew how to handle these situations and the same uncertainty echoed in Jaylin's eyes. The blond hoisted a brow as if he was saying, I don't know. Make something up.

At once, they both made awkward sounds of agreement. Tisper seemed to relax in her seat, a platter of shots set in front of her. "I miss Sadie."

Jaylin ran his fingers along the rim of his glass until it sang a soft trembling song. "I do too."

Matt didn't feel the need to pile on. There was an empty pit in his stomach where Sadie used to be. She was probably the only one who would understand how he felt, and he hadn't seen her in over a year. Hadn't spoken to her in months. He was too close to Jay, his past with Tisper too tangled to ever ask for love advice. Sadie would know just what to say, but who was he to dial a queen for free therapy? She had a life of riches ahead of her. They all kinda did, in a way. Jaylin, the prince of wardens. Sadie, the queen of wolves. Tisper, the princess of—well, pretty much whatever she wanted.

They all had futures. Bright, glittering, golden futures.

Matt swiped a shot from the tray and tossed it back, nose burning. What did he have? 

A hangover, if he was lucky.

-

Once they were well oiled, they left the bar for a walk, arms slung around one another like a six-legged mutant. Matt and Jaylin heaved Tisper up by the waist, catching her weight every time she scuffed the ground in her high heels. She sang as they walked—a song Matt had heard several times before, almost indiscernible under the weight of her inebriation. And when Tisper couldn't remember the words and her singing turned to confused babbling, they stopped at a children's park and took a seat on the grassy hillside.

"She out-drank us again," Jaylin said—the least intoxicated of the three.

Tisper rolled her head to look at him, long limber fingers squeezing at his cheeks. "I did what I had to do."

A warm, fuzzy feeling whirled in Matt's skull and he clung to it with all he had. It'd been a while since he was properly tipsy. Jess didn't like to drink.

He laid his head on Tisper's shoulder, eying the sharp edges of the crescent moon. "I promised Jess I'd be home an hour ago."

"Home?" Jaylin asked. "Are you two living together now."

Matt shrugged and the stars smeared across the sky. "She seems to think so."

"Jess is cute," Tisper said, "but I don't like her."

"Why not? Jealous?" 

A hard jab from her elbow made Matt wheeze out in pain.

"She doesn't make you happy. That's why I don't like her."

"Now hold on a minute. Who says she doesn't make me happy?"

Tisper turned her gaze to him, groomed brows tucked together. "You don't glow," she said, reaching blindly behind her for Jaylin's face. Her fingers clamped down on his cheeks and she jerked him closer, like a thing to be examined. "Like this, Matt. You should look like this."

Matt let out a sigh through his nose, cars passing in the distance, leaving bleary streaks of taillights behind them. Happiness had always been a thing outta reach for him, but it wasn't Jess's fault. There was something broken in him. He felt trapped in his own skin—always had, things were just worse now. With Sadie gone and Tis in school, and Jay taking care of a kid, it was just Matt. So often, it was just Matt and that wasn't the kinda company he ever wanted. Matt couldn't stand himself.

Sure, Jess was around. She was around so much, it was infuriating. But somehow, and on the deepest, most extreme levels, Matt was entirely alone. Always.

"Actually..." The tone to Jaylin's voice made Matt lift his head. His eyes beamed in the dark like luminescent moonlights. "There was a reason I wanted you guys to come out tonight." Both Matt and Tisper waited in silence as he tugged the collar of his jacket up over his ears and looked to the sky in a nervous, embarrassed kinda way. "I guess just—All I wanted to say was uh. Quentin and I are engaged."

Tisper let a high pitched screech out into the night, hands clapped over her mouth. Matt, on the other hand, felt a crack sliver down his heart.

"No," he sobbed, falling back into the cold grass. "This can't be happening. You said you never wanted to get married! What the fuck happened? How'd he con you into it?"

"He didn't con me into anything," Jaylin said, a tint of red gnawing at his ears. "I asked him."

Tisper made a squeak of admiration, arms lassoing Jaylin in. "I can't believe it, Jay!"

"Me either," Matt said, sick dread tilting his stomach. "This is it. This is the start."

"Start of what?" Tisper asked, still wrapped around Jaylin like a boa.

"He gets married and then you get married. Sadie probably already has a hot model fiance we don't know about and then it's just—" The stars above were taunting him—splayed out over the sky in gritty freckles. They danced while he died inside. Then it's just me.

Jaylin laid back, then Tisper, the three of them aligned beneath the night sky. Galaxies and galaxies were right there in front of them, comets and gases and planets they'd never reach in even their wildest fever dreams. Matt didn't know much about astronomy, but he assumed there were black holes out there. Ones that lead to alternate dimensions, where things never had to change. Where they will still small, broken kids with nothing to keep them tethered to this place but the sad, loose strings that made up one another.

The silence was just starting to grow bitter when Jaylin broke it. "It's not gonna happen. There's no way we'd go separate ways, Matt. I've tried for years to get rid of you." Matt wasn't amused—even when Jaylin flashed a humorous grin in his direction and bubbled out a liquored laugh. "I'm just kidding, don't look so serious."

"Why are you suddenly doomed to a life of loneliness?" Tisper asked, plenty of slurs sewn in. "You've got a hot cowgirl at 'home', remember? And even if things go south with her, girls smell you when you walk in the room. Like, in a good way."

"Yeah," Jaylin added. "That rescue could've been the best thing to ever happen to you. People recognize you from the news. I've never seen you this popular with the girls before." His moon-soaked eyes roved over Matt, perceptive slivers of blue in the dark. "Matt. What's going on with you? You haven't been yourself lately."

Lately had been a long time now. Since that day he woke in the forest outside Ziya's keep, covered in an inexplicable gallon of blood, Matt hadn't been himself. Maybe it had something to do with dying or turning into whatever the thing in him might be, but more than anything, Matt felt like a failure. He wished he could tell them, but he wasn't drunk enough to explain that he'd never loved Jessica. That they'd been together this long because he couldn't stand the thought of breaking her heart. He was a failure at relationships, he was a failure at sex. He somehow managed to fail the police exam with a sheriff for a father. And the only deed he'd ever done right was done by someone else, wearing his skin as a guise. How in the hell could he feel like himself when he didn't know who he was anymore?

The voice in his head spoke with a low, graveling inflection. "I hate to say it, but hell, kid. You're a werewolf who can't turn. Getting your dick up is the least of your worries."

A crow swooped down, perching on the edge of the swing set, its feathered wings spreading like a shadow in the night. Matt found its wet, black eyes and held them. They always came around when Raven made an appearance. Almost like they could hear him, too—like his voice called them, vultures to a dead, rotting thing. Another crow landed just beside it.

"Matt." Tisper nudged him and he tore his eyes from the birds.

"Just...work," Matt lied. "Pay isn't great and I didn't exactly expect myself to be working security at a community college for the rest of my life. Dad's been a piece of shit ever since I failed the police exam. Saving a kid from a burning car didn't change that." He folded his arms beneath his head, watching the clouds wrap the moon like gossamer. Tisper and Jay were goin' places, but there was no path in this world for Matthew Richards. He wasn't meant to be here, after all. He was a temporary band-aid for the gushing wounds Clara left behind.

He missed the days when it didn't matter who you were. How fat your wallet, how prestigious your degree. The days when marriage was a mirage on the horizon and sex was less of a problem and more of an afterthought. A time when he wasn't so afraid of who he was, wasn't so worried about who he was meant to be.

Matt missed feeling okay.

-

That night, Matt came home to the smell of Jessica's roasting candles. She drew him in by the curl of his pinkie, whispered things in his ear that would've made the veins of any other man boil bright. He was too tipsy and tired to find a way out, so when she reeled him to the bedroom and dropped her dress to her ankles, Matt pulled her in instead of pushing her away. It would be easier to get it over with now—satisfy her for a night and pray the next didn't come for a while.

The sex was okay.

Matt had gotten too good at faking. Used to be a breeze could do him in, but maybe he'd grown. Maybe his blood didn't pump the same anymore.  Maybe he didn't have enough of it to begin with. God knows Jess was probably faking, too.

As she laid there, curled in the cradle of his elbow, Matt watched the shadows on the ceiling swim, recalling the night that he died. It was the most peace he'd ever had, lying on the throne room of Ziya's keep, feeling the hot blood river down his skin. Knowing he'd done something with himself. Something that meant anything. Something that mattered in the end.

Sometimes, Matt wondered if he ever really came back to life—or if Raven wasn't the only dead thing inside of him.

an; if anyone is confused, the voice in Matt's head is named Raven.