Red Moon Rising

~ interim ~

Chapter Song: Hell and You - Amigo the Devil

XX

The man in the armchair is the better part of his way through a bottle of honey liquor, the last few drops of which have landed on his suit jacket instead of in his mouth. This shit doesn't come out of clothes easily, but he figures it doesn't matter now, that he won't be needing many suit jackets in the future. His phone rings again and he listens absentmindedly to the way it fills the room, as if the space had never been quite this empty before. He never realized how much the feeling of 'home' resided in his wife, and not these walls.

"Miles?" He doesn't want to talk, but he does want to hear her voice. Fuck it all, if he could hear her voice again that would be enough. But it isn't his wife. It's her. "It's Andra. Please pick up the phone. I'm coming over and I need you to be there. We have to talk this out."

"Like hell you're coming over," he says to the room, taking another swig of the honey liquor. It's too sweet of a drink, and it feels like it's rotting out his mouth even while he drinks it. How long before he empties the liquor cabinet? Would it be inappropriate to ask a secret service member to buy him more booze? No, he decides, they're operating under special circumstances now, and that would definitely be within their contract. In the event of public scandal, be sure to get the Vice President as shit-faced as possible. It's critical that he is completely nonfunctional at this time.

Andra has threatened to come over at least five times now, but she's never fucking shown up, and he's beginning to realize that she isn't going to. What would the press say if they caught her meeting him at his private residence? There's already enough talk that she only chose him as her running mate because she was getting wolf dick. Fucking disgusting. He regrets not coming out as a wolf earlier and lunging at one of the many sleazy 'journalists' who have questioned the nature of his relationship with the president. The worst part is, people are more forgiving of Andy if they think she's fucking him. Then she's just a weak-willed woman—hey, we all knew what would happen when we let a woman into the White House. It's the idea that she knowingly collaborated with a werewolf that makes people angry, even murderous.

But she didn't know, she never fucking knew. And still she stands by him and vouches for him when even his own wife and two boys have left him. He doesn't blame Marissa for leaving. The boys are getting bullied at school, and some kids even threatened to kill them. Someone pinned a picture of a leg hold trap to Jason's locker. And Marissa's losing all of her friends, even some of her family. That was the one condition when she married him, that no one would find out about him. And he had tried, he'd really tried. You should have just let her die, Miles. That's what Marissa had said to him. You chose her over all of us. Marissa's a human, and both boys are adopted, but that doesn't stop the rumors from spreading, the demands to see all of their birth certificates.

His phone buzzes again, and again it's Andra. It would have been easier for all of them if she'd just denounced him and called him a traitor. She's setting a match to her political career right now—maybe even her entire future, if the next assassin hits his mark. After the attempt, they'd sat in a panic room together, just the two of them, a couple of aides, and too many secret service members. And then Andy broke down in tears, and she slapped him across the face, harder than he'd ever been slapped in his entire life.

What the fuck was that for? He'd asked.

What were you thinking? Jesus fucking christ Miles, what were you thinking?

Saving your ass. Dammit, you have a helluva swing.

You shouldn't have done that. Why did you do that? He wrote it off as the adrenaline still coursing through her, but she'd thrown her arms around him and held him so tightly, crying into him until he started crying too. If they'd been alone, if the black-suited men and the aides were gone, he would have kissed her then, and he's pretty sure that she would have kissed him back. It's a bad thing to be in love with someone like that. It's the kind of love that can break a country in two.

It hurts somewhere deep inside his chest, to think of Andy, to think of his wife and kids. Where the hell did things unravel? In the 80's, probably, like everything else. Back when the public learned about the wolves that lived among them. Back when they started killing anyone they thought might be one of them. When the packs formed and took land for themselves, he was still only a teenager, living in a white, middle-class family that was doing all right for itself. They weren't going to make a stir, not when they had friends and neighbors, not when their lives were comfortable.

It was always easier to just pretend, to be human. He used to forget, every now and then, about this disease that lived within him. But not anymore. Now he can feel the fangs hiding beneath his gums. He's aware of fur itching just below his skin. He understands the wild trying to creep inside, as much as he tries to wash it away with alcohol. If he could divide himself in two, he would.

"Andy?" He murmurs as a set of footsteps approach the living room. But she couldn't have gotten here that fast. When he looks up, there's a strange shadow standing in the arch leading to the dining room. It's a man's silhouette, bent at an angle to allow for its eerie height to pass beneath the arch. He isn't wearing a uniform, but street clothes, and he isn't anyone he recognizes.

"Hey," he grumbles, pushing himself upright. Fuck it's been too long since he drank this much. The room spins unsteadily and he slumps back into his seat. "Who let you in here?"

"No one."

"What the hell do you want?" He watches as the stranger smiles, and he has the peculiar feeling that it isn't a man smiling at him, but an animal baring its teeth."Hey! Anyone out there?" There's no sound from outside the room, no shuffling from his guards or whisper of a response.

"They can't hear you, Miles."

"What do you want?" He can't remember if he's already asked him that question. The stranger walks toward him, and as the alcohol makes the room swim, the stranger's form seems too long and twisted in front of him.

"I have a proposition for you." The tall man holds out a hand, and without knowing why, Miles reaches for it. Something in the cool, dead touch feels like he's being pulled forward from his body, and he shakes the man's hand and quickly lets go. "My name's Paul. I think I can give you what you're looking for."

XX

Paul gets arouuuunddd!