Werewolf Boyfriend: Max Part One (special preview)

I’ve always had to be careful in life. I took ballet to learn to be graceful and thoughtful with my movements. I decided to study for a job that would allow me to avoid any accident or peril. But life is sometimes hard to control, you don’t get to pick and choose when you bump into things, fall over, or when you get a nosebleed.

This was common for me. I got my first nosebleed when I was still an infant. It sent my parents into such a panic, they still talk about it to this day like it happened not too long ago. Hemophilia was common on my dad’s side, they just never realized what it was. Ever since my grandfather, they just called themselves heavy bleeders. Well, I got the worst of it. Any time I got a knick or cut, I bled like I was in a horror movie with an expensive special effects budget. What was worse were that my nosebleeds happened more regularly. I would get too dry and bam! I stopped wearing anything other than black to keep from staining my clothes. 

I had to give up ballet because they were worried I would start bleeding on the stage. I hated that because I really did love dancing. So I focused on my studies and became an art restorer. I learned to wear gloves and a mask when I did that; it would catch the blood and I would have very little worries. Studying art history seemed like the safest place in the world for me. I graduated high school early and, even if I was the ‘kid with a bloody nose’ during college, that was fine.

Well, it was around this time I started noticing my nosebleeds were getting much worse. On top of that, I was so tired all the time. I had a constant fever on top of it. I just figured I had the flu or something. The truth was much worse. I would have lived my life with the flu rather than hear what the doctor said again. Leukemia, nothing a young girl wants to hear, nothing anybody wants to hear. I spent the first week crying as I moved back home. After that, those next couple of years were like drops of paint pouring down a canvas. At first, it all goes too fast, then it slows, it thickens, it dulls. It hardens there, crusting where it’s thick, sinking where it’s thin. Nothing moves, you’re stuck.

I was a different person in remission and recovery. I was thin and frail, where I had once built myself up to be quite strong and with stamina. I couldn’t dance anymore. For a while, holding a paintbrush was more than I could stand. It took me another couple of years to come to a place where I recognized the person in the mirror. I hated it, so I decided to do the things I kept away from when hemophilia was the worst of my worries. 

I found a job with one of my old professors at the college, who had a shop dedicated to restoration of artwork. I went out hiking more, slowly building my strength back up. I would take weekend trips, going to random places near my home. I also volunteered my time at a dance studio that offered free classes to unprivileged kids. I couldn’t quite dance like I used to, ballet was a faraway memory for me, but I could at least show kids the joy in it. It was there, during a dance competition, I met a man named Delaynie. 

He didn’t look like the kind of man who would dance, let alone teach it to children, but his students in the competition were some of the best I had come across. The two of us became acquainted and, to my surprise, he offered me a job at his studio. 

“I have to think about this,” I confessed to him. “I would very much love this opportunity, but my real career is in art.”

“The offer stands. I have a need for good teachers.” Delaynie’s smile was warm and assuring despite his rather fearsome appearance. 

I took his card with me, pondering what such a move would mean for me. I wanted to focus on art history and restoration, I never planned on ever teaching dance. 

A couple of weeks later, I received a call from Delaynie with some exciting news for me. “A friend of mine has a rather extensive art collection. He needs help with it, and he has a place you can stay too.”

I held my phone and looked out the window into the distance. “Where is this again? Your town, I mean.”

“Hearthway Hollow,” Delaynie announced. “It’s in North Carolina, not a horrible move for you, at least I hope. But if you want, both these jobs are yours.”