Claire clenched her fists. “How can you act like this is no big deal? First you tell me I’m a—that I’m not even freaking human. And now you want me to lie to everyone, and I’m not even supposed to care?”
“I do not appreciate that tone. I know this has come as a shock to you—”
“Well, that’s the understatement of the century.” The words came out soaked in sarcasm.
“Enough!” Marie’s calm exterior finally gave way. “This is not a death sentence. It is an honor. And if you cannot stop the sass long enough for us to discuss it, then this conversation is over.”
“Fine!” Claire slid off the stool with a thump. “I’ll just get out of your freaking space, then.” She slammed out of the darkroom and stormed up to her room.
Claire yanked on the first bathing suit she found and raced out to the pool, throwing herself into the deep end. The taste of chlorinated water pushed the flavor of salt tears out of her mouth, and she began to swim, clawing furiously at the water. She went back and forth across the pool, until she lost count of how many laps she’d completed. She swam until her arms ached—until exhaustion slowly overtook the rage that glowed in her chest.
When Claire finally crawled out of the pool, her legs shook underneath her. She collapsed, dripping, onto one of the lounge chairs and lay there panting. Eventually her breathing slowed and she drifted into a half doze.
*
A warm hand shook her awake.
“Claire?”
Claire opened one eye. It was her mom.
“What?” She sounded more sullen than she’d meant to.
“I want to apologize. I am so accustomed to things that it all seems—well. I should have been more prepared for your reaction. I am sorry.”
Claire squirmed. “I didn’t mean to freak out on you. But I am freaked out.”
“I know. And I am sure that you have many questions.”
Claire nodded, picking at the woven fabric of the lounge chair. “So, are there any others—you know, like us, around here?”
Her mother toyed with her watch. “No. There are no other packs nearby. In fact, Judith and Katherine come all the way from Rochert every moon, because we’re the closest to them. Occasionally, we can scent that une seule, a wolf without a pack, has traveled through. But they rarely stay more than a few days.”
All the images from the night before flashed through Claire’s mind. The memory of Matthew’s arm wrapped around her shoulders sent a rush of heat through her. It also sent a question sailing out of her mouth.
“So, how come there are no men werewolves in our—uh, pack?”
Her mother’s head snapped up. “Oh, chérie, I thought I had—” She sighed and leaned back against the patio table. “There aren’t any males of our species. Anywhere. There never have been. All werewolves are women.”
Claire’s eyes shot wide-open. “But—they’ve caught them before. I’ve seen it! Those Austrian werewolves that Dr. Engle tried his cure on were male.”
Her mother shook her head sadly. “Innocent, all of them. Everyone is so anxious to believe in a cure that they believe his claims. Have you never realized that he has no photos of his ‘patients’ in the form of a wolf ? He has evidence of misshapen teeth, of chests with enough hair that they seem furred.” She sighed. “Mortal men misunderstand the symptoms. They misdiagnose. People expect such strength, such … bestiality to be the realm of males. This ignorance has helped us to stay mostly hidden for so many generations.”
“But then how do we, I mean …” Claire felt the heat of blood rush into her neck, crawl up her cheeks, kiss her hairline. She stared at the ripples on the surface of the pool, unable to meet her mom’s gaze. “Werewolves must, uh, reproduce, somehow?”
Her mother laughed. “Do not be embarrassed. It is a normal question, one I asked my own mother. We mate with human men.”
Claire twisted uncomfortably in her seat when her mother said the word “mate.”
Her mother sighed. “It is a weakness. Because we need men to create another generation, we must live near them. It creates a great risk for us. Our, er, relationships are often short-lived. That is the safest way.”
Claire’s heart thudded in her chest. It took all of her willpower to ask the next question. “So, my dad … ?” The stories flashed through her head. All her life, her mother had told her that her father had been a kind man, a scientist, killed in a plane crash two months before Claire had been born.
“For that I must apologize. I had to explain somehow. I knew your father only a few weeks, but because of the morals, the beliefs of the human world … The depth of our relationship … It was a lie. In this world we werewolves are driven to lie a great deal, Claire. More than most humans do. I am sorry.”
Claire’s stomach twisted, and she tried to swallow back the bile that filled her mouth. She scrambled to her feet.
“Are you all right, chérie? You look pale.”