The Night Has Teeth (8 page)

6. Eyes
Wide Open

M
y head droops and I wake, startled. Only then am I aware
that I dozed off. I’m not sure for how long. The train pulls into
the stop before ours and we all get to our feet shortly after. We
disembark and continue walking back to the flat. The excitement of
the club has completely worn off and reality has set in again. At
this hour, the streets take on an eerie, abandoned feeling. Shops
closed hours ago and their windows are dark. I thrust my hands into
my pants pockets. Amara doesn’t seem to feel the chill, despite her
backless top.

The three of us are wordless beneath the circles of
streetlights. Considering the conversational options of awkward and
hostile, I don’t particularly mind the silence. It’s the lack of
chatter that allows me to hear Arden curse under his breath behind
me. What is it now? I follow his eyes to the edge of a shadow,
where an animal, possibly a stray dog, appears. The creature’s ears
prick up as it turns its head toward us. Its eyes catch the light
of the streetlamp, making them appear to glow green. A low growling
emanates from it. Instinctively, I put myself between the beast and
Amara and scan the street for something to defend myself with ―
maybe a tree branch ― to keep it at bay.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

For just a second, I think about explaining going
all lion-tamer on the animal. It takes a lot to convince myself
that the creature is actually a common, ordinary dog of the
household pet variety. Everything about it screams wild animal.

“Keep walking,” Arden orders.

I do as I’m instructed and increase my pace to keep
up with Amara. Arden, however, begins to fall behind. When I glance
back out of concern, I slow my pace to watch him move toward the
beast.

“What the hell is he doing?” I murmur.

“He is taking care of the situation,” Amara says.
“Please, Connor, we must move quickly.”

“What do you mean?” I lower my voice further.
“That looks like a wolf. And don’t tell me it’s another
made-up-sounding dog breed.”

“It is not,” she says flatly. “It is much
worse.”

I stumble over the sidewalk curb.

“But Arden can take care of himself.”

“Are you insane?” I stop in my tracks
altogether.

Amara looks at me, genuinely alarmed. “What are you
doing?”

“Your boyfriend looks like he’s about to take on a
wolf, and you’re not even remotely concerned?”

“This is not the place to be discussing my
feelings.”

“We have to call the police, or animal control, or
something. Just because you own a big dog―”

“Listen.” Her dark eyes pierce straight through
me. “Believe me when I say that would be neither prudent nor
useful.”

I stare at her incredulously.

“What do I need to say to convince you to keep
moving?”

Arden, a good fifty paces from us, barks angrily,
“
Que
fait-il
?”

I turn to look. He appears to be squaring off
against the creature. “What the hell are
you
doing?”

“Listen, you fool, your life’s in grave
danger.”

Danger, grave danger at that, yet here I stand
firmly rooted to the ground.

“So’s yours.”

He curses in French.

“Please, Connor,” Amara implores.

The animal steps fully into the light, and then
there’s no question of what we’re facing. Through and through a
snarling, angry wolf. Suddenly a wave of panic washes over me, and
I find myself running by Amara’s side. It doesn’t even matter to me
at this point that we’re losing Arden in the distance. I glance
quickly over my shoulder, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Amazingly,
it looks like the wolf has gotten into a fight with another big
dog. I break my pace to watch. They begin circling each other,
hunkered down and snarling, two predators about to go head-to-head.
All I can focus on is the pure animal aggression in the flash of
their fangs and low growls. As one beast lunges at the other, the
light catches something gold glinting around the neck of one of
them. It’s Lou. I almost stop completely, but Amara urges me
ahead.

I’m winded in minutes. I can barely catch my breath
because of the painful stitch in my side, yet I keep running. We
eventually slow down as Amara leads me up the stairs to the flat. I
pant uncontrollably, and she’s barely broken a sweat. Her only sign
of exertion is slightly heavier breathing. Otherwise, I’d say she
just came back from a brisk stroll. I follow her into the
apartment, where I promptly collapse onto an armchair and close my
eyes, trying to will the pain away. Even my legs feel the
exhaustion from the sudden burst of energy.

“You ― I ― need ― explain...”

Amara stands statue-still by the window. She doesn’t
respond immediately, and I wonder if the words were just incoherent
noise. Finally, she peers back at me and gently says, “I think the
best thing for you to do is forget about what just happened.”

I shake my head and lean forward. “Are you kidding
me?”

My brain races as quickly as my pulse while I try to
make sense of what just went down and piece the facts together.
What’s a wolf doing in the middle of the city? Are there even any
zoos near here? And then there’s the most troubling question of
all, one that manages to be said aloud: “What was your dog doing
out there?”

Amara’s shoulders tense. “What do you mean?”

“I saw him out there,” I continue, beginning to
regain my composure. “I noticed the chain around his neck when I
looked back, just like the one your dog wears.”

“It is not possible.”

No, of course, it isn’t. The oxygen must have left
my brain. Amara moves from the window to the small kitchen, where I
watch her set about boiling water and taking tea towels from
drawers. A rustle at the door causes me to tense up irrationally.
Of course, a wolf can’t open a door. It is Arden who enters the
flat. I feel myself go pale at the sight of him, all disheveled
hair and smears of blood on his face. It also looks like he’s
bleeding through his shirt, but I can’t say for sure because it’s
black. After closing the door behind him, he unbuttons and pulls
off the top, and there’s no question about it. There are
serious-looking scratches across the muscles on his chest and
torso. I watch as he takes Amara’s position at the window, staring
out as though expecting something. He glances over his shoulder at
me, but I’m too absorbed by the blood to fully notice.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks.

There’s even blood on his perfectly aligned teeth.
Amara emerges from the kitchen, and then they’re both staring down
in my direction. For a moment it’s as though I’m watching TV, and
none of this is actually happening to me.

“He looks worse than I feel,” Arden says to her in
French.

“I think he may be in shock,” she
responds.

A huff. “Should I slap him?”

“Arden!”

The sharp voice snaps me out of it.

“You need to go see a doctor,” I tell him. “That
animal could have been rabid.”

“It’s nothing.”

Amara intervenes. “They are just flesh wounds,
Connor.”

She returns to kitchen as the sound of boiling water
reaches us.

“I’ve never met anyone so squeamish,” Arden
grumbles.

Amara appears again, this time holding a tray with a
bowl of hot water, some tea towels and gauze. Arden crouches down
on the edge of a chaise longue as she wipes the blood off his body.
Their eyes meet, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that I
haven’t seen before. He puts a hand on her cheek and kisses her
gently on the lips. I instinctively look away in embarrassment.
That’s when I notice the tattoo on Arden’s upper arm. Much like
Amara’s, it features a wolf. This one is brown and stands below a
tree. The way the two of them are positioned, it actually appears
as though the wolves are looking at each other. Then, as he makes
another movement, I see the familiar gold chain dangling from his
neck. The ring attached to it glimmers.

“Where’s your dog?”

The two exchange a conspiratorial look.

“I saw that.”

“What?” Amara asks innocently.

“That look you just gave each other. What the hell
is going on here?”

They ignore my question as she winds gauze around
his torso. Blood immediately seeps into the first layer. I’m not
exactly planning on going to med school, so it’s hard for me to
gauge what a flesh wound really is versus injuries that should by
all rights require stitches. Regardless, if they’re going to play
hardball, I’ll just have to keep swinging.

“Arden, you’re wearing the dog’s chain, the one
with the ring on it.”

He shrugs as if to say,
What of it
?

“Where’s your dog?” I repeat.

“The best thing is for all of us to sleep,” Amara
cuts in. “It has been a long night.”

I nod numbly but not in agreement. “Just now, I
watched a dog ― that apparently wasn’t
your
dog ― save us from some kind of unidentified wild
animal.” Rising from the sofa, I move toward the door. “If that was
all in my imagination, I guess I’ll just go back out
there.”

Arden stands in front of me, blocking the only way
out. “You can’t.”

“Why?”

“It isn’t safe,” he insists in a tone that clearly
isn’t meant to be questioned.

But I’m too fed up to be bullied around. “Why isn’t
it safe, Arden?”

He squares his shoulders and glowers at me. In
return, my brain goes into overdrive trying to think of a rational
way to get out of this situation. On the one hand, I don’t want to
face what’s out there. On the other, I don’t want Arden to think
he’s got the upper hand. Amara moves between us.

“Connor, it might be out there still.”

I look to Arden. “Is it?”

Again, he shrugs. I turn toward the door. Of all of
the irrational fears that I have ― heights and public speaking
among them ― animals with glowing eyes rank pretty high on that
list. All things considered, I can’t even imagine walking out on my
own right now. There are limits to what a person can deal with in
one night. But I don’t want to give in without an answer.

“Stay,” Amara urges, “and we will talk about this
in the morning after we all get some rest.”

She tugs at my sleeve, ushering me toward my
bedroom. Although Arden follows, he stops short of the door and
stands watchfully as she begins to pull up the sheets on my unmade
bed. I reluctantly agree to the compromise, but even after I shed
my shoes and jacket to crawl beneath the sheets, he still stands
like a guard dog at a prison.

“Goodnight, Connor,” Amara says, glancing at
Arden, who doesn’t budge.

“’
Night,” I reply, turning off the
nightstand lamp.

Finally, he shuts the door behind him and I see the
light go out in the hall. I toss around for what feels like an hour
before I’m finally able to shut down the anxiety in my brain.
Especially the fears that defy logic. I drift into sleep. When I
get up, the time on the bedside clock glows 5:08. As I crawl out of
bed, the memory of the night’s experiences seems distant now, and
I’m starting to wonder if I didn’t imagine everything after I left
the club. I’m still exhausted and consider changing into my pajamas
before getting back into bed. First, I need to pee. My bedroom
doorway is in the middle of the hallway. On opposite ends of the
short corridor are a bathroom and the master bedroom. My goal is to
creep quietly across the floor, making a minimal amount of noise,
so as not to disturb Amara and Arden. I think I’m successful.

When I turn off the bathroom light, it takes a
moment for my eyes adjust to the darkness. As I inch my way back, I
see their bedroom door is wide open at the end of the hall. I can
make out their forms in the pale streetlight coming in from their
window. Amara must be under the plush duvet, but her dog is
stretched out across the top of the blankets. I stop in my tracks.
The animal is not only wearing the same gold chain and ring as
Arden, it’s also bandaged in exactly the same way. All my questions
from earlier flood back in like a tide. Then, more horrifically, I
notice its amber eyes are on me. That is, Arden’s amber eyes are on
me, staring. And they are unmistakable. I race away, taking the
corner into the main living space too quickly, and bang into the
edge of a wall. The sharp pain doesn’t stop me from breaking into a
sprint. I skid across the flat, bounding toward the door as Amara
calls out my name. But I’m out the door. And I run. I run as though
the first time was just practice.

7.
Crazy

W
hen I get outside, I’m in a complete state of panic. My
mind still has a hard time believing what my eyes have seen. Arden,
a wolf? Really? It’s impossible. I consider calling someone, like
the police, but that’s crazy. Or at least that’s what anyone would
think of me if I tried to explain what just happened. What
did
just happen? And what is Arden,
exactly, some kind of tame werewolf? Can a werewolf so easily
control when he changes back and forth? And what am I thinking
anyway? That’s ridiculous! No, it’s totally insane! What else could
it be, though? Maybe someone slipped some kind of drug into one of
my drinks at the club. People do that, right? And maybe this is
just one really bad trip. Thankfully, I’m still wearing the clothes
from Club Cin-Cin, because it means I’ve still got my wallet in the
back pocket of my pants. Even still, I’d rather not be running
around Paris without shoes in the dead of night. Then again, I’d
also rather not have something deadly and possibly supernatural
chasing me down either. While I’m no stats genius, I figure my
chances of out-pacing a wolf on foot are somewhere in the range of
slim to none, so I flag down a cab and go to the only other street
address I can think of: Madison’s.