Scent

Scent.1

      “That’s because my Mum was 19 years old when she had me and your Mum was 24 when she had you. I think it’s an age thing.” I shrugged.

      “Your family is cool.” Derik said for his zillionth time.

      “No they’re not.” I sighed for my gazillionth time.

      “You’ve got a pretty cool Mom and Dad, you’ve got a cool Uncle and Grandparents and Great Grandma.  Your Dad, Uncle and Grandfather are Werewolves…but they’re cool Werewolves. They’re not interested in hunting humans.  And your Dad and the rest of the tribe makes sure Declan doesn’t either even though he’s a different kind of Werewolf.” Derik went on.

      “Declan is an asshole – he would frickin’ eat Bambi if he saw it all helpless and alone in the woods.” I said unimpressed.

      “He’s not that bad, it’s just around a full moon he gets a bit tetchy.” Derik defended his older brother.

      “Your older brother is ‘tetchy’ even when there isn’t a full moon… which means every night of the frickin’ year.” I retorted.

      “It’s only because of this Werewolf business.”

      “Declan has been a Werewolf since he was 3 years old when he was attacked.” I arched an eyebrow back at Derik.

      “Yeah, but see? The Lokoti Werewolves don’t turn until they’re ten years old or older, when a male relative like a grandfather or a father dies, which triggers their Werewolf DNA.  Declan was turned into a Werewolf by the European Werewolf that attacked him and Dad, when our Dad died. Plus he’s a different breed of Werewolf, so he has different symptoms.  It’s not his fault if…” Derik went on but I cut him off.

      “He’s socially inept.”

      “No he’s not…” Derik tried to argue, but then I shot him a tired look and he stopped himself, “…well alright, so he’s a little on the defensive side and he keeps people at arms length.  But that’s only so he won’t accidentally turn anybody else in the tribe by biting them.  He hardly ever hugs Mom because he’s scared of hurting her.  How do you think that makes him feel?”

      “Oh poor Declan, he’s just misunderstood.” I whined in a funny voice.  Derik tickled me for that!  “Derik, cut it out!” I laughed and rolled away from him.  But Derik didn’t cut it out, he kept at it!  “Derik! Derik no! Stop it!” I squealed, rolling off the bed to get away from him.

      He cracked up laughing when he saw me land on the floor.

      “Are you OK?” he chuckled, reaching over and pulling me back onto the bed.

      “You know I hate being tickled!” I hit him hard on the arm.

      “Oow!” Derik guffawed, flinching.  “Your right hook has really been beefing up in the last month or so.  Are you working out or something?”

      “No.” I gave him a look as if he were mad for even suggesting it.

      “Hmm.” He squeezed my arms to check the muscles for himself. “I guess not, they still feel pretty flimsy.”

      “Hey!” I whacked him a second time.

      “Ouch!” he rubbed his sore shoulder where I hit him. “You may look like a pipsqueak, but you hit almost as hard as Declan.”

      “I thought you said Declan treated you and your mother with kid gloves or something.” I gave him a funny look.

      “He’s punched me now and then.” Derik smiled ruefully.