Another Winter Solstice

**Content warning: physical violence and curse words.**

The flurries floated leisurely into delicate heaps, the snow a blanket of crystal ivory on the ground. The two watched from inside her tiny one-room cabin, in new sufficient snowsuits, as they stared out of the large bay window. Looking at her watch, she took a deep breath.

“10:33,” Lu whispered, biting her lip. She peered up at him with worry in her green eyes.

“Almost midnight,” Gar reassured her, returning her stare, “we’re almost there.” He started to reach a soothing hand to her copper hair, then, thinking better of it, returned it to his side, thankful the gesture went unnoticed.

To her left, she surveyed the extinguished fireplace, wishing for its warmth. She had smothered it a few minutes before midnight last night, her courage drifting up with the smoldering smoke and her nerves grating at every pop and crack of the log as the fire dissipated. Together for three years now, Gar and Lu completed the annual ritual flawlessly, as they had the past two solstices. This was a practice that her and her parents had performed for as long as she could remember in the 23 years before Gar came along. There were to be no sudden bright lights, no unexpected noises, no strong odors, including clothes- even laundry detergent. No triggers.

Only 24 hours, she thought to herself. Only 24 hours and we can get back to normal for another year.

She heard tales of the werewolf growing up. No matter how hard she tried, though, she always fell asleep during the 24-hour timeframe. But she always awoke, still wrapped only in a new blanket, thankful that her and her parents had survived another year. Knowing the legends, she had an idea of what the beast may look like. The rumor was sullied with different details from townspeople who claimed to have seen it: the size, and fur color, changed every year, though only slightly, almost as if it were an evolving creature. According to her parents, it took a few years before the residents figured out that it spawns during the Winter Solstice, when the day has the shortest amount of sunlight. It took a few years more for them to work out how to survive it; that is, destroying any extreme sound, or light, or scent that would attract it. Obviously, it hadn’t been killed yet, but legends stated sterling silver could at least hurt it, if not defeat it entirely.

Taking a breath, she brought herself back to the present and began a scan of the darkened room. She was vigilant as she conducted a full circle, taking notice of her senses: eyes sharp, observing the cluttered single room with ease; hearing superior, tuned in to the cabin’s every groan and creak; sensitive nose catching remnants of the still smoldering fire; acute tastebuds savoring the crisp cold spring water they kept stocked; and wily hands firmly cradling the shotgun loaded with two silver bullets. Thankful that her senses intensified as the moon continued its ascent, she prayed they would be kept safe from the wolf once again this year.

After finishing the rotation, her gaze landed upon Gar. Staring out the window, he appeared lost in thought as she admired him. His once caramel-colored hair had slowly darkened to a chocolate brown, thanks to the mostly sunless environment, matching his eyes and complimenting his tawny skin. His muscles, though hidden under the bulkiness of his snowsuit, were embedded in her mind; his stoic countenance countered only when desire crept up his throat in a growl. Instantly, she could feel the heat beginning to consume her body.

Gasping, she quickly turned back to the window, admonishing herself as she did, grateful that his stance hadn’t moved.

Clearing her throat, and the racy thoughts from her mind, she whispered, “Do you think we’ll see it this year?”

She jumped as his sharp inhale led to a loud coughing fit. She looked at him warily as he gathered himself.

“Ahem,” he stated when he was able to reply, “Let’s hope not.”

“Right,” she murmured as she faced the window again, observing him from her peripheral. Like her, he had never seen the beast. Or so he had said. The last two years were comprised of them falling asleep sometime in the last hour, as she always had, and awakening huddled together in the wee hours of the next morning, both always cold and unexplainably naked, but safe.

But now his nervousness was setting her on edge, transforming that feeling of safety into apprehension. She side-eyed him anxiously.

He’s just nervous about what night it is, her mind tried justifying.

But her intuition fought this defense, her body a bundle of nerves. The adrenaline was starting to course through her veins, every fiber of her being was electricity.

Or is he hiding something?... Is he…. Is he...? She didn’t dare finish the thought, dreading the answer.

Suddenly, her instincts were screaming. Her fight or flight rose with the moon, her senses illuminated with its glow, and the hair on the back of her neck amplified with its magnification.

The tension was palpable and, sensing this, he immediately whirled to face her, landing in a combat-ready position. Fear and adrenaline crystallized as she found herself reciprocating, spinning to face him. She stood agape as she glimpsed a gleaming object, a knife, she guessed, partially hidden in his broad hand.

Despite her disbelief, instincts reigned as she dug her heals into her defensive stance, a tremor seizing her body as she struggled to raise the suddenly weighty shotgun. Her eyes stayed glued to him as she surveyed the feral image: sweat sprinkled across his forehead, his massive chest heaving, veins strained, and his wild eyes unceasing upon her.

“Tell me it’s not true!” she gasped, hot tears streaming down her flushed face.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, “Calm down. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Calm down?! You’re the fucking werewolf, aren’t you?!” she snarled as she pumped the shotgun once, fear and grief consuming her.

Then, faster than a cheetah, Gar knocked the shotgun from her hands with one strong arm, sending the piece clattering across the wooden floors. Momentary shock froze her in place, giving enough time for his other hand to come across, the gleam of the weapon dazzling in the moonlight, as he struck a blow.

She roared in anguish and collapsed to the floor with her wrist burning like fire.

“What have you done?!” she wailed, landing in the fetal position, suddenly unable to move. Eyes closed, she was afraid to see her hand no longer attached to her body- afraid to see the hideous being that was once Gar.

Minutes went by with no words, no other attacks, no animalistic elements. She winced at her still burning wrist and her now sweltering snowsuit. With her eyes kept closed, her sobs had settled into quiet whimpers, the only sound in the room until he broke the silence.

“It’s almost midnight, Louve,” he soothed. His voice was strangely soft. “You're doing great. This will all be forgotten tomorrow.”

What? Her brows furrowed as she dared to barely open her eyes to catch a glimpse of the scene. Then, her mouth fell opened and her eyes widened to saucers as she beheld the sight.

Garrick was... fine. He was himself. He was... human. And he looked at her with love in his eyes, as he invariably did.

She had so much to say, so much to ask, but words escaped her.

What the fuck is happening, her mind boggled, trying to unravel the chain of events.

With this newfound circumstance unfolded, she braved a look at her hand, but instead of relief, comprehension and terror swallowed her.

Her soft delicate hand, the one she feared had been relieved of her by a knife, had a more terrible fate. Clamped with a gleaming sterling silver handcuff, the source of her wrist’s searing pain, was now a monstrosity with black curved claws on the tips and cloaked in coppery fur that matched the rest of her body.

In utter dismay, the tormented scream she released from the depths of her soul emerged as an exquisite howl.