Werewolf

Azalea.
There were time-worn poster ads plastered against the metal walls inside the rocky elevator and debris of food wrappings scattered across the floor. Bright overhead lights flickered inside their plastic panel covers, and I couldn’t help but note the fact that the emergency button was broken.
I clutched my single suitcase containing everything I owned tighter to my chest, staring at the numbers flickering on the panel above the door, my heart inside her ears.
Next time I would take the stairs.
I didn’t care if I had to climb nine stories up with all my groceries or take twenty trips to haul everything into my apartment.
This was the first—and the last time—I would ever take the elevator in this place.
The building of Black Bill was in Ketchikan, Alaska—a few miles away from the massive Tongass forest.
The location was breathtaking, but I had my doubts as it was literally in the mi

Azalea.
“What do you mean?” Dante’s gaze narrowed on me. My cheeks warmed, and I pretended to find the food on the tray rather interesting.
“Exactly what I said,” Mrs Lockwood persisted. “Use that and give the poor girl a hand massage. Goodness knows she needs it more than I do.”
My eyes bulged as I turned to face Mrs Lockwood. “Oh, wait, what? No. That really isn’t necessary. I—”
“Nonsense, dear,” Mrs Lockwood tutted. “Your hands are in a terrible state, and I hate to say it, but there is no way you can give your own hands a proper massage.”
My lips parted in protest, but Dante’s large form already filled the space beside me. He cracked a smile as he stared at her. She stared back, her lips pursed and her expression ridden with warning, and no matter how hard he grinned or blinked his eyes in her direction, that glare of hers remained unwavering.
If I wasn’t mistaken, I’d have sworn the

Dante.
“Please put it over here for me,” Grandmother requested, her eyes following the young woman’s movement. “These look delightful. Oh, and you’ve added flowers.” She threw a wink at me.
Aware of my grandmother plotting something, I narrowed his eyes. “You always get flowers, grams.”
“From you, yes.” Her gaze remained focused on the beautiful blonde. “Never the nurses. Thank you, dear. The food looks scrumptious.”
“You’re welcome,” the nurse straightened after placing down the tray of food. “I’m so sorry about the mix-up. I’ll make sure this never happens again.”
Grandmother patted her on the hand. “It’s alright, dear. Like I told Dante over here, it gets busy during the colder months in this place. Do you know how Clark is doing? I haven’t heard much of him after his weak heart issues.”
The woman’s face dropped. Her wide, blue eyes flicked my way, a question ridden in them. Aware of what she was asking, I returned a curt nod of approval.
The porcelain skin on her face had a slight kiss of freckles, and pink blossomed her cheeks. Her luscious lips drew down as she glanced back at my grandmother. “You were a friend of his?”
“Were?” My grandmother gave her the kind of look like she already knew the answer. Just like me, she could tell the woman didn’t want to inform her of the news that clearly foreshadowed her expression. “Dear, I’m turning hundred in a week. I’ve lost more people than you can count.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lockwood.”
“It’s the circle of life,” she sighed. “I’m lucky to have known that man. Oh, well.” Grandmother casually reached for her plate but missed it, nearly spilling over the contents. The nurse and I ducked to grab it before it became floor food.
This resulted in me accidentally grabbing hold of the nurse’s tiny hand in the process and standing way too close to her to be deemed appropriate.
My god, I thought, not only did she look like something I could eat, she smelled like it too. Strawberries and apples? I couldn’t resist the opportunity to lean in closer, sniffing her hair.
The nurse turned to face me, her lips slightly parted with surprise. She cleared her throat before speaking in a tiny voice. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.”
My eyes narrowed to her chest, where I could hear her heart beating faster. Her small frame tensed, and I glanced up to find her glaring at me. It took me a moment to process the situation. She was undoubtedly under the impression that I was ogling her cleavage, which, now that I thought about it was nice, but it wasn’t what I was looking at.
I offered an uneasy smile, stepping back and murmured a pathetic-sounding, “Sorry.”
“What is your name, dear?” Grandma pressed the brim of the cup and took a sip, her eyes closely following the nurse’s movements.
“I’m Winona,” the nurse supplied with a smile. There was unease in her voice, “Winona Greene.”
“What a lovely name,” Grandmother gushed. “I should have known a becoming lady such as yourself would only bear a beautiful name like that.”
“Thank you,” Winona flushed, handing grandmother a spoon. “Is there anything else I can get you, Mrs Lock—”
Grandmother grabbed Winona’s hand, tugging her closer. “My dear girl, look at your hands. What on earth. Is that horrid Mrs Bobbins mistreating her staff?”
“No, not at all.” Winona’s eyes widened, pulling her hand back. “This is nothing.”
“That’s not nothing. Those are hands that worked much harder than they should. Is someone mistreating you, dear?”
Winona sighed. “The thing is, I moved this weekend and cleaned out my place. To be honest, it was in a terrible state and took somewhat elbow grease.” She wiggled her fingers. “They’ll heal in no time.”
“I see,” Grandmother inclined her head. “How long have you been in town?”
“Since Friday.”
“My goodness, you don’t catch a break, do you?” Grandmother’s eyes flicked toward me before turning back on Winona. “How do you find Ketchican so far? You live in town, right?”
“It’s beautiful here.” Her eyes glimmered as she said it, but sadness crept into her features. “It’s nice,” she added in a flatter tone.
“Is it just you?” Grandmother pressed on. “A boyfriend? Husband?”
I didn’t miss the naughty sparkle in grandmother’s eyes, and I knew exactly what she was up to. I sighed, trying to blend back with the pale curtains. But, no matter how hard I tried, I knew there was no escaping whatever the old woman had up her sleeve.
My eyes turned back onto Winona, my fingers massaging the stubble on my jaw.
“Oh, no.” Pink blossomed her cheeks. “It’s just me. No family, or anyone else.”
“No family?” Grandmother enquired. “What about siblings? Or your parents?”
“Grams,” I protested. “Don’t you—”
“Dante, check that top drawer of mine. The violet bottle of hand lotion.” Grandmother pointed to the set of drawers in the corner of the room. “Bring it here, please.”
“Of course,” I breathed, doing as she asked while keeping a tentative eye on them as I found the bottle exactly where she told me it would be.
“So?” Grandmother peered up expectantly at the woman, and I could only roll my eyes.
“It’s just me.” Winona’s smile was tense. “No family.” It was clear the woman was uncomfortable about the subject, but that doesn’t stop my grandmother from asking her next question.
“I’m sorry, dear. With who did you stay growing up?”
“Grandma,” I exclaimed. “Why don’t you finish your breakfast before it gets cold?”
Winona’s eyes found mine for a scarce second before she turned away.
“No, come here dear, I still require your presence.” Grandmother snatched the lotion from me. “I’ll finish my breakfast now. Winona?”
Winona’s shoulders sagged as she twisted back around, forcing a smile. “Sure. What can I get you?”
“Come over her,” Grandmother gestured her closer with the flick of a wrist, waving the lotion bottle in her other hand.
Winona did as instructed, reaching for the bottle, but grandma held it out of her reach. “Sit down beside me.”
Again, Winona did as she was asked.
“Dante, hold out your hand,” Grandmother turned her attention to me. “Come, now, we don’t have all day.”
Winona shifted as I breezed past her, eyeing the old woman with suspicion.
I held out my hand, suspecting she wanted us to each massage a hand. Sure enough, as I cupped a palm, Grandma squeezed out a decent amount of lavender-scented lotion.
I sputtered a laugh. “Typical.” However, when I reached for her hand, she tore it away and clucked her tongue.
“It’s not for me. It’s for Winona.”

Azalea.
There were time-worn poster ads plastered against the metal walls inside the rocky elevator and debris of food wrappings scattered across the floor. Bright overhead lights flickered inside their plastic panel covers, and I couldn’t help but note the fact that the emergency button was broken.
I clutched my single suitcase containing everything I owned tighter to my chest, staring at the numbers flickering on the panel above the door, my heart inside her ears.
Next time I would take the stairs.
I didn’t care if I had to climb nine stories up with all my groceries or take twenty trips to haul everything into my apartment.
This was the first—and the last time—I would ever take the elevator in this place.
The building of Black Bill was in Ketchikan, Alaska—a few miles away from the massive Tongass forest.
The location was breathtaking, but I had my doubts as it was literally in the middle of nowhere. However, it was the furthest away I could get from my abusive ex, Barry, and his po

The Broken Girl