Sunday, February 16, 2014

“You’re not going to be the last of the European Werewolves anymore.”


  (Small Fry Chapter 3)

However, the other symptom the pregnancy produced, was difficulty with getting out bed in the mornings.  I guess I shouldn’t complain, since I wasn’t experiencing morning sickness like other women in my condition.  But I felt exceptionally sleepy and sluggish.

BANG!  BANG!  BANG!

Huh?

BAM!  BAM!  BAM!

What was this, déjà vu?  Sleepily, I raised my head and looked about, to find Declan was missing from his side of the bed.   His digital alarm clock read as 9.13 AM, so that’s why.  I had slept in again.

BANG!  RRRIIIIIIPP!  BAM!

What the hell was going on here?  I stumbled out of bed in my negligee and meandered over to the doorway of the second bedroom.  I found Declan pulling apart our two single beds.  He was sitting on the wooden floor, with his tool kit open as he was unscrewing the wooden bed frames.  The mattresses had been taken off and were now leaning against the wall.

“G’morning sunshine!”  He sung.  “Man, after 273 years, your bed hair still cracks me up!  But at least I’ve gotten you out of those cartoon cow pajamas.”

“You’re full of it.” I said back.  “I still wear them, when it’s in the dead of winter and it’s minus thirty degrees.”

“That’s my B.”  He chuckled at my early morning language.  “Your coffee awaits, my lady.”

I slid down the doorframe to land on my ass before I reached over to pick up the cup, which sat beside his.

“Mmm.” I closed my eyes, as I savoured my first sip.

“You know with this pregnancy, you’re going to have to start drinking de-caff soon.”  He warned.

“Blasphemy!”  I almost choked on my drink.

“That’s what I hear pregnant women drink.”

“Yeah, but they’re just humans and I’m a Werewolf, so it’s allowed.”

“Let’s ask Ki the next time he’s over, shall we?”  He taunted.

“Do you want to wear this coffee?”  I threatened.

“Man, I love my wife’s biting mood in a morning.”  He laughed to himself.  “Maybe if Marcus had come across you first thing, he wouldn’t have been so quick to try to steal you.”

He was referring to nearly two centuries ago, when I was abducted by the few remaining European Werewolves left.  It was the occasion when Declan murdered his treacherous, man-eating breed and made himself the last of his kind.  That was until of course, he knocked me up.

I turned silent as I watched him pull apart the bed frame.  He unscrewed the end board, before moving up to undo the bed head.  He was wearing a pair of old jeans and his favourite blue-chequered, flannel shirt, but his supernatural muscles bulged underneath.  Once the bed frame was completely undone, he moved to our second single bed to disassemble it.

Then I sung teasingly, “You’re not going to be the last of the European Werewolves anymore.  So how do you feel about that, Mr. Sabre?” 

“I am still gonna be the last though, Mrs. Sabre.”  He corrected as he worked.  “Our daughters are gonna be half-breeds, which is fine with me.”

“Half-breeds?”  I screwed up my face.  “I don’t like that term.”

“And why not?”

“I don’t know, it just doesn’t sound right.”

“Then what are you gonna call our daughters?”

“Special.”

 
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