The Last Werewolf

42

Jenny

"You're not a good girl anymore," Adam remarked as they drove, glancing sideways at Jenny, who was trembling in her seat.

Adam chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Relax, I didn't mean it like that. I mean... not in a killing way."

Even if it was almost a week, the memory of that 'strangle' incident was still fresh in her mind. To feel a little safer, she started to lock herself in the bathroom at night, sleeping on the cold floor instead of sharing a room with him.

"I..." Jenny hesitated, her voice small. "I'm doing everything you want."

Adam shrugged, his expression indifferent. "Yeah, but you're not... you. I kinda want the 'fun' you back."

"You told me to grow up," she replied, shivering at the memory of his words. "You said I was too naive and good and fun," panic began to creep into her voice.

"I did, right?" Adam chuckled again, a hint of mischief in his tone. "You can still be fun for all I care, but lose the naivety."

Jenny stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

"What?" he grinned, unfazed by her shock. "Tell me something, the ride is long."

"How long until we reach the Silver Moon pack?" she asked, desperate to be there as soon as possible.

"If you don't want to summon your she-wolf, it could take a two weeks. But since I do, we'll probably be there in about three."

Jenny nodded, falling silent for the rest of the drive.

Isabell

Isabell would certainly make a good actress. 

Becoming a madwoman was like slipping into a pair of well-fitted shoes. She wore the madness like a second skin, showing them exactly what it looked like when she had gained her "status" in her past life."

Talking to Peter, she asked him in a soft voice, "Do you hear it? The voices? The banging?" When he told her there was no banging, she'd just smile, nod him off, and then started dancing or singing, spinning around like a ballerina. "Can you see it too? Such a beautiful sea..."

It was liberating, freeing to do whatever she wanted.

She remembered when this all started, back in her teens, when she had begun to feel the shift. Strange echoes filled her head. She would lock herself away in her room for days, talking to herself, denying the voices. 

After a while, her father began to isolate her from the pack, keeping her locked up in the main packhouse.

The only friend she had left was Lily. She had confided in her once, and when she couldn't bear it anymore, Lily spend a few days with Isabell, just to calm her down.

No one in the pack really knew what was happening. 

So now, as Isabell exaggerated and replayed those scenes, she felt a strange satisfaction. It was almost wonderful to feel numb.

Peter kept trying to soothe her, coax her into calmness and if she was honest, if she really let herself slip back into that old version of herself, he might have succeeded.

Sometimes she wondered if it would all pass if she found her mate. 

But how could she ever find him in her isolation?

The years went by, and her condition only worsened.

Lily's father had once suggested that Isabell could come live with them for a while.
Maybe Lily's presence, their healers and even Olga, their witch, could help her.