Seth had heard people say they couldn't believe their eyes, but for him, his nose was usually the problem. Even in human form, his sense of smell was stronger than the average person's, and he had never really learned how to develop it as well as his cousins had. Of course, they all had the advantage of growing up in a family pack. He, on the other hand, had just started finding his half-siblings and cousins within the past year, and any dreams he'd had of a big happy pack were quickly dashed. The relatives he found on his father's side might have been willing to answer the occasional phone call or text exchange about a werewolf matter—heavily coded, of course, in case a human happened to see or overhear—but they had never once invited him to a full-moon shift and any time he had tried to ask, subtly or otherwise, he was never given a definitive answer. The general, if unspoken, consensus was that if his biological father couldn't be bothered to teach him, it wasn't their responsibility to take up the mantle either.
For the most part, having never had one, Seth didn't miss being part of a pack. With the nomadic lifestyle of a wrestler, he wouldn't have been around to contribute much anyway. Packs were supposed to be like a family, and he had vowed that whenever he started a family of his own, they were going to be his first priority. Right now, fulfilling his dreams of wrestling came first, so it was easy to push everything else to the side, or at least that's what he thought. Then he had encountered another werewolf yesterday and suddenly his human thoughts were just as tangled and intense as his wolf ones.
He hadn't planned on stopping in that particular forest, but since the event had been relocated, he was forced to improvise. He hadn't even meant to stop in that specific stretch, but he had seen the car pulled over and the angle was awkward. If someone had just pulled off to the side to go for a hike, a piss, or a quickie in the forest, Seth would have thought they would have parked more carefully. When he had gotten out of his rental SUV to see if he could spot anyone, he thought he caught a whiff of a familiar scent, but with the full moon calling, he couldn't take the time to try identifying it. Instead he made a note of the make, model, and licence plate of the vehicle and then drove on further ahead, giving himself a healthy amount of space from the abandoned car, and headed out to welcome his wolf.
Except there was already a wolf there—a werewolf, not a natural one like he occasionally encountered in the more remote areas. He had tried to chase her down—he was absolutely positive it was a female werewolf, mostly because of the size—but he had lost her trail not far from the car. The arrival of two curious humans made him temporarily retreat, and by the time they had left and it was safe to resume investigating, the other car was gone as well, the female werewolf's scent fading by the second. It held a peculiar note, though, a distinctive scent he was used to smelling every couple of weeks backstage: hair dye. Specifically vegan hair dye, the one Becky used to get her trademark fiery orange locks.
At first he thought it was on his shirt, perhaps. He had talked briefly with her earlier in the evening and meant to catch up with her later, but Natalya said something about her not feeling well. Yet her scent was in the air, fresh though fading. He had tracked it as far as he could in several directions: back to the spot where he had spotted the wolf and completed his own shift, up the tree where the scent trail seemed to have stopped, down to where the car had been haphazardly parked. The singular scent lingered along each of the three trails, along with others he associated both with her and wrestling.
She can't be a werewolf. Wouldn't I have noticed before? He had thought it all the way back to his SUV, which he drove to an abandoned barn so he could have a power nap. It lingered in his head all the way to the hotel, where he asked the desk clerk if a distressed red-headed woman had arrived; he was given an evasive non-answer that was full of corporate jargon like 'client confidentiality'. When he caught a hint of her scent in the elevator, that question slowly fell away only to be replaced by another: Why hadn't she noticed me? All of it disintegrated as soon as he stumbled into his suite, set the alarm on his phone, and fell face first onto his bed.
Seth meant to get up early and check the parking lot for the car he had seen in the forest, but he had slept through the initial alarm and the first reminder fifteen minutes later. Promising himself a nice long shower and power breakfast later, he hurried down to the main floor and into the parking lot, but there was nothing matching the abandoned car. Maybe it wasn't her, Seth thought as he took the elevator back up to his room. Other people use that hair dye. Other people wrestle. But how many did both of those and would smell like Becky? It wasn't likely. Even to a werewolf's keen nose, there were only so many truly distinct scents in the world, and when he had smelled that particular combination, his mental image of Becky—red hair, Irish accent, great laugh, fun, friend—had flared in his head. Even after he had the luxurious shower he had promised himself and more to eat for breakfast than he should, he still couldn't shake the disconnect of such a familiar scent in such an unexpected place.
It bothered him all throughout his drive to the next event, and even though Roman must have figured something was wrong, he gamely avoided any potentially problematic topics—generally girlfriends and the McMahons. "You need me to drive, man?" Roman asked, glancing up from his phone. "I actually got a proper sleep last night, so I'm good to go."
Seth appreciated the gesture, but shook his head. The day after the full moon, he found he regained control faster if he had to focus on tasks like driving. If his mind was left to wander, it was too easy to sliding into an in between state. This time, though, there was the added danger of something about Becky slipping out. No one on the roster knew about his lycanthropy—except perhaps Becky now; he wasn't sure how much she would have pieced together—and as much as it pained him to keep his nature a secret from one of his closest friends, he knew it was for the best. "Nah, man. I'm good. But thanks. You can get the next leg." Maybe. Even on his clearest, most human-minded days, Seth liked being the one in the driver's seat.
Roman reached over and tapped Seth's hand, almost white-knuckled with its tight grip. "You sure?"
"Yeah." Seth took one hand off the wheel during a straightaway and flexed it a bit before switching and stretching out the other.
Laughing, Roman leaned back in the passenger seat, stretching out his legs. "Must be the full moon, man. It's been fucking with everybody. Someone caught Charlotte and Andrade making out backstage, so I guess they're a thing now. Becky was sick—"
"She was?" Seth feigned confusion. "She seemed fine when I talked with her last night."
Roman shrugged one shoulder as he reached for his coffee. "That's what I thought. I chatted with her for a bit right after we got to the arena. But she must have a stomach bug or something, because I saw her leave not long after her spot with Nattie."
"Hope she's okay." Seth kept looking straight ahead, trying to sketch out a timeline in his head. If Becky had left not long after her spot, that would have given her enough time to reach that section of the forest and then shift and go for a run. He had left a while after she did—Roman had caught a ride with Drew—but she wasn't a confident driver, so she wouldn't have sped or taken the shortcuts he had. Circumstantial evidence, he could imagine his mother saying. "With WrestleMania coming up, this is a bad time to get sick."
"I'm sure she is," Roman said. "Probably just a twenty-four hour thing."
When they arrived at the arena, Seth lingered in the parking lot with his bag. "Go on and head in," he told Roman. "I thought I recognized my friend's car back there. I just want to go check it out." It wasn't entirely a lie. "I won't be long."
Roman nodded. "Cool. See you in there."
After Roman was out of sight, Seth walked back through the parking area, the wheels on his bag rattling every time they bounced over a crack or a piece of gravel. Normally the clatter annoyed him to the point of wanting to launch his bag into the stratosphere, but he was too busy reciting the make, model, and license plate he had committed to memory. He found and dismissed four likely contenders before he happened upon the right one—and peering in the passenger's side window, he noticed a few strands of flame-orange hair clinging to the head rest. "It was her," he thought, dazed.
Walking back towards the entrance, Seth wasn't sure what to think. Should he feel betrayed that Becky hadn't noticed what he was—or even worse, that she had noticed and didn't want to share her secret in kind, share the knowledge she had inevitably gained from her family? He knew for a fact that she had a close bond with both her parents, so no matter which side her lycanthropy came through, Seth couldn't imagine that Becky had been left to her own devices when it came to learning how to be a werewolf. She would have had a pack, allies—people to shift with and ask questions of and take solace in. Until she moved over to Canada and then later to the States, she likely never faced a single full moon alone.
He tried to dredge up some bitterness to wallow in, but the further Seth walked into the backstage area, he more he realized he couldn't blame Becky. Even if she had known, one of the key tenets of being a werewolf was secrecy; even he knew that. He could hardly be mad at her for guarding not only her own safety, but that of her family. She also hadn't exposed his nature, which was just as important. "Hey, Nattie." Seth slowed as he passed Natalya talking with some of the NXT women who had been brought up for a match with Nia. "Have you seen Becky? Is she feeling any better today?"
Natalya nodded. "Yeah, she was going to Catering when I saw her a few minutes ago. She looked a lot better, so hopefully it was just a flu or something."
Seth nodded and hurried to Catering, not bothering to drop off his bag. He had only missed Becky by a matter of seconds in the forest and he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. His senses were still heightened enough from the full moon that he heard her breath catch when she spotted him, and when she tried to quickly end her chat with Samoa Joe, Seth stepped up before she could leave. "Hey, Becks. Got a minute?"
Samoa Joe smirked. "My my, isn't our girl is popular today? That's a good thing, Irish. Means you're in people's heads. Go ahead. We can chat more later."
Becky looked like she wished she could go in reverse, but Samoa Joe headed off to sit with A.J. Styles, leaving her to face Seth alone. "Hey. What's up? I should really get something to eat. . . ." She gestured vaguely at the tables of food.
"Same. I find I'm always hungrier around a full moon. You?" Seth was mostly watching her eyes, which were darting back and forth looking for an escape route, but he heard her heart lurch like a missed drum beat in a song.
Becky attempted a laugh, but it sounded brittle. "Isn't that a pseudo-science thing? Just like how the emergency rooms are always busier on full-moon nights and—"
"I saw your car there." Seth leaned close to say it, more for privacy than anything, but he was sure she would have heard him if he had just mouthed the words.
Becky's eyes went wide. "What are you doi—"
"Let's get some food," Seth suggested, "and I'll drop off my bag, and then we'll talk."
Becky nodded shakily, doing her best to keep up friendly chatter with anyone who approached her at the self-serve tables, and she put a travel lid on her coffee so it couldn't slosh over onto her shaking hand. When Seth paused at the men's locker room door, though, she rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to run off, okay?"
"Not like last night?" Seth noticed that her gaze dropped when he set his plate beside her. "Just give me a minute." As soon as he entered the locker room, he was greeted from all sides, but he took his phone from his bag and excused himself. "Sorry, guys. Gotta return a call I missed." He half-expected Becky to be long gone when he stepped back into the corridor, but she was still there, spearing food with her plastic fork but not really eating it. "So where can we talk?"
"Outside might be best," Becky suggested, gesturing to the bustle all around them. So close to the beginning of the show, crew members were everywhere, double-checking electrical connections and running safety tests on equipment. "But it could be chilly, so just let me get my—"
"Take mine." Seth shrugged out of his hoodie and handed it to her before grabbing his plate. "Okay, let's go."
Seth was trying to stay focussed, almost business-like, but the smile that lifted Becky's cheeks as soon as she shrugged into his hoodie and zipped it up melted his resolve a bit. "This is really nice." She reflexively dipped her head and inhaled through her nose, then froze.
"It's okay," Seth said softly. "I'm not going to tell anyone."
Becky squared her shoulders and started walking faster, heading for an exit that would lead out to the arena's dumpsters, not any of the parking areas. Neither of them would appreciate the aromas, but it would mean they wouldn't have to worry about being spotted by fans either. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder, Seth caught another layer of scent: the post-shift smell that was like a blend of petrichor and, strangely, lemons. It had confused him the first few times he had smelled it on himself until he made the connection. After looking around to make sure no one was nearby, Becky rounded on him. "What do you want? I'm not worth blackmailing. If that's your angle, you'd be better off finding someone who saw Charlotte giving Andrade a handjob last night."
Seth flinched a bit. This wasn't going as planned. He had anticipated a bit of apprehension, a little mistrust, but then eventual camaraderie—maybe even wonder that they didn't have to be alone on full-moon nights anymore. "I—I don't follow. I don't want anything . . . well, maybe some advice, but—" He stopped and looked at Becky closely, her face partially veiled in steam from her coffee. "Did you know? Before last night, I mean."
He could see a dozen different lies flickering in her eyes, making her lips twitch and purse. "Seth, I can't just . . . talk about this. I have my family to think about."
And I don't? The unspoken barb didn't sting long. If his paternal family couldn't be bothered to help him beyond the occasional phone call or text, he was hardly going to put them at the top of his priority list. "Just answer me." It came out more pleading than he wanted, but he let it stand. Maybe he was reading too much into Becky's posture, the way her gaze couldn't settle on anything for long, but he thought she might feel as lonely as he did—probably even more so; missing something could be worse than never having it in the first place.
"No. I didn't know." She sounded vaguely ashamed by that. "I should have, but I was on SmackDown for so longand I usually plot out my shift sites, but—"
"Same. But the venue change meant we needed to find a new place." Seth stopped suddenly. He hadn't meant to say we. Just because they shared a condition didn't mean they were instantly connected. Becky either didn't notice the slip or didn't mind, because she didn't comment. "Was that why you were sick yesterday?" he asked next.
Becky nodded, finally succumbing to her hunger and nibbling on a carrot. The arena staff had assembled a makeshift bench from old crates and boards from a pallet, and she sat gingerly on it. "Yeah. Normally I'm fine until after the show, but I was so worried about finding a place. . . . " She stole a glance over at him as he sat beside her. "Have you met many other werewolves?"
Seth shook his head. "Just some members of my dad's family, but I don't have anything to do with them. They've . . . never been inclined to include me, so I stopped trying a while back."
"I'm sorry." Becky's posture softened somewhat as she sipped at her coffee. "I grew up with my dad and my brother and cousins; other family too. I always had a pack. It made leaving that much harder, but I needed to wrestle and there were no opportunities in Ireland, so I had to go. I've meet a few random werewolves here and there," she added, voice almost indifferent, "but shifting with them is almost lonelier than doing it solo." She stopped so suddenly that Seth knew there was more she wanted to say, but something made her hesitate. Fear? Embarrassment? He couldn't tell. Her post-shift energy was starting to tangle with his and it was making it hard to focus on anything but his breathing and hers, slowly synchronizing in the deepening dark.
"Why did you run from me?" Seth's voice was small, but he didn't hate so much this time. Now it fit the moment, quiet and earnest. "I wouldn't have hurt you."
Becky shot him a quick look. "Don't say that. You don't know that for sure. You never know what might trigger you. That's why I always go alone. I could probably tell Charlotte and Sasha and Bayley, but I don't want to risk hurting any of them." Then she relaxed a bit. "But I ran because . . . because you startled me. I heard someone call out before. Was that you?"
Seth nodded. "I saw the car pulled over and thought someone might need help." His head dipped as he added, "And I wanted to make sure I wasn't going to have an unintentional audience either."
"I was running and I heard you," Becky continued, "so I went to investigate. But I was confused, because I could smell . . . well, you. So I thought Heyman might have sent someone to check on me. But then. . . ." She stayed silent for a few moments. "Then when those other people came, I took advantage of their distraction and took off. I had no idea what to say. I still don't. This . . . isn't a conversation I'm used to having. In my family, we're always told it's a possibility right from when we're young so we know what signs to watch for. Some people get the gene, others don't; there doesn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to it."
"What's it like to shift with a pack?" Seth turned towards her—gaze, body, focus, everything—and she blushed a bit under the sudden attention. "Or even just one or two others, but . . . not like those werewolves you met here. What's it like with people you know and trust?"
"It's . . . the way it's supposed to be." Becky drew her hands up into Seth's sleeves and he couldn't help but think about how her scent would linger on the fabric when she gave the hoodie back. "I don't know a better way to say it. I mean, shifting solo works; it gets the job done and then you don't have to worry until the next full moon. But it's like the difference between eating whatever food's available because you're hungry and having your favourite meal in the world."
Seth edged a bit closer. Becky still looked vaguely cold—he knew they should go inside soon anyway, before people noticed they were gone and, after the Charlotte and Andrade debacle, gone together—but there was an aura of energy around her that called to him. "Is the next full moon by a show?" He looked it up on his phone while Becky squirmed, clearly knowing what he was going to ask. "No, it's on a Wednesday. I thought maybe we could—"
"Shared shifts with non-family can be . . . awkward. You know, the nakedness and everything." Becky didn't elaborate, but Seth wondered if she craved contact after shifting back. He always did, to the point he would occasionally ask Roman or Dean if they wanted to do some late-night practice just so he could grapple.
"I'll be a perfect gentleman, I promise. And don't say Don't say that," he added quickly. "I know how to control myself."
Becky actually seemed to be considering it, to his surprise. "It's months until we go back to the UK," she noted. "It would be nice to shift with someone before then. But if it's on a non-event night, we'd have to meet up, and if anyone got pictures of us together, they're going to assume—"
"We're friends," Seth pointed out. Maybe that was what made it all sting the most: He had considered Becky a friend for years, and he had never even suspected. "We hang out. We've worked out together. We'll just have to do something normal during the day, like go to a movie or hit the gym."
Draining the last of her coffee, Becky stood abruptly. "I'll think about it and let you know. We should really get back inside."
"Yeah." Since they were already by the dumpsters, Seth tossed their garbage directly in the bin before they went back in the arena. If anyone noticed their disappearance, no one mentioned it. Before they reached the main area, though, Becky shrugged off his hoodie and held it out. "It's fine," he told her. "You can wear it until you're on."
But Becky shook her head. "People will talk." There was a strange note in her voice—not quite sadness, but something from the same neighbourhood. "And if I agree, then we want to give people as little to talk about as possible so they don't jump to conclusions, right?"
"Right." Before Seth could say a more meaningful goodbye, Charlotte appeared, looking frazzled, and she swept Becky away in a tide of ranting. Seth watched them both go until they detoured to Catering and then he headed towards Creative; he still hadn't read his notes for the night, but he knew he had a match against Sami Zayn. As he pulled his hoodie back on, waves of scent washed over him: the stale chill from outside the arena, a bit of coffee from when Becky's hands were shaking, the post-shift he now knew wasn't exclusive to him. More than that, though, he could smell Becky—the hair dye as well as her shampoo, her sweat, all the hundreds of little things that combined to make her personal scent. It made him think of how she had instinctively smelled the hoodie as she put it on, and he was so busy trying to read into her scents that he didn't realize Sami Zayn was calling him until he was near enough to touch. "Hey! Hey, sorry." Seth rolled his shoulders and straightened up. "Just got lost in thought for a moment. I was headed to Creative. What do they have for us?"
"It looked like you were smelling your own clothes." Then Sami laughed. "Is it laundry day for you?"
Seth chuckled too, following Sami to the office. "Yeah, as soon as I get home." Stuffing his hands into the pockets of the hoodie, though, Seth knew he might leave this particular one until next week, after Becky's scent had faded away.