"She'll have to kill me first if she wants to separate us!" Cheekbones roars from outside the kitchen. Which is actually pretty dramatic, but I'll roll with it, because Werewolf.

"Can you listen for one second and cool off?!" Smith roars after him. "That's not what I'm saying--"

With the gravitas of an action film star, Cheekbones breaks down the door to the following scene:

-The doilies have been soiled (not with blood).
-The pots and pans are sticking out of the plaster of the walls (not my fault).
-The table and chairs have been overturned (okay, my fault).
-One chair is half-smashed into the window (I ducked, does it count as my fault?).
-Face down and booty up, an unconscious No Brand Name werewolf lays prone on the floor with spilled teacups and saucers on his back (what happened).
-A half-transformed werewolf Susie has her hands fisted in the front of my t-shirt and is pinning me up against a mostly flat vertical surface in the room (I happened).
-Petey sits in the corner. He has the tray of scattered cookies on his lap and is calmly chewing on one (really, Petey?).
-Also, the stove is on fire (how. HOW???).

"I'll deal with it," Smith calls out. She side-hip-thrusts her brother out of the way. "Move!" As his sister grabs the fire extinguisher out of a cabinet,  Cheekbones snaps out of his wide-eyed stupor.

"Mom," Cheekbones begins, and then, "Alpha. What...what happened?" His tone grows respectful, neutral. It's understandable, considering the lower half of her face has elongated into a hairy muzzle with super large teeth. She might change her mind and rip my head clean off.

"You," his Alpha booms. Her head whips around to her son's. "You are hereby forbidden from looking, touching, hearing, or even smelling this degenerate." She catches sight of him dressed in my hoodie. "Or smelling of."

"You missed 'tasting'," I suggest. Without looking at me, she lifts me away from the wall and slams me back on it. I groan. The horizontal oven handle's hit my spine. "Or not."

"In addition, I have been informed," she continues, breathing hard, "that you were bitten. Is this true?" Her voice grows deeper and shriller, if that were even possible. A little part of me wonders if I overstepped on the whole throat thing if Cheekbones's own mother is so upset about it. Then again, I'm the one getting strangled here. I get over the misgivings real quick.

Cheekbones opens his hands steadily. His voice is quiet, and his eyes shift from me to her. "Let the necromancer go," he says slowly, edging closer. "Let's talk about this."

Susie, for better or worse, is livid. "It's true?!"

Cheekbones doesn't deny it. He doesn't confirm it, either. Smart move, considering that she's the one liable to go up in flames from rage alone. He glances at me again, then at her. "Werewolves don't use brute force to resolve inner conflicts," he says. "Remember? The first thing you taught me and Stacey when we began to teethe?"

Susie's arms shake before one arm reaches out and slams itself on my neck. I gulp and gasp painfully for air, clutching at his mom's tightening hand. It is so furry right now. The world is spinning. "You were so young."

Cheekbones's voice is firm. "I'm not, anymore. And I'm not asking you to approve" --technically she did, but I think she's rescinded that-- "of this, but I am asking you to let me resolve anything you have a problem with. As your son. Who you love. I think. Maybe. Please."

Susie looks at Cheekbones as if he's the apple of her eye. "I want what's best for you," she says quietly, hand slackening. The oven handle bumps painfully against my lower back as I drop a little. I cough and rub at my neck. "You know that."

"I." Cheekbones blinks, taken aback. "I know. I know you do."

"And," Susie says, taking a glance at Petey. Petey stops stuffing his face with the recipe for farts long enough to give her two thumbs up. "And," she says again, bolstered, looking at Cheekbones. "I tr-" She forces herself through it. "I trust you."

Cheekbones looks moved. "Mom."

It lasts about three seconds.

"But you were bitten," Susie snaps. "By this--" she growls something that makes Cheekbones's face redden and Smith's head whip back in disbelief. "What would the Pack think?"

"I don't care what the pack thinks." Cheekbones is furious. He snarls something. It's not something his mother's been expecting. His sister's eyes grow to the sizes of dinner plates, and something akin to respect fills them.

"Smithers Oxford Smith! You would side with a necromancer over your own mother?" Susie looks like she's ready to pass out from her aneurysm. In either case, instead of pointing like a normal person, she's slammed her hand across my throat, and picks me up by it. She holds me over her head like the Statue of Liberty with her torch. "Over the pack?"

"I'm not choosing over you," Cheekbones says, sharp. He intercepts quickly, prying her hand off me and pulling me into his arms. "It isn't one or the other."

Surprisingly, my throat hasn't ripped and the arteries haven't torn. I manage a few gulps of air, wheezing over his shoulder. Cheekbones and his mother exchange a few more words in werewolf, before she storms off. His sister follows after, leaving me, Petey, and Cheekbones alone.

"Are you okay?" Cheekbones asks me, lowering me to the ground.

I collapse like I am made of rubber, but manage enough energy to wave feebly at him and try to croak something out.

A myriad of emotions bloom on his features. "What's wrong?" He looks frightened. as if immediately remembering that despite my revival skills, I am very, very human.

"Your...," I grimace, more at the sensation at my throat. My voice is hoarse. "Your first name is Smithers?"

Petey lets out a loud, abrupt laugh. I mentally kick him.

Cheekbones's face grows dark. "Please don't call me that," he says, pained, with the voice of someone who has had to go through his entire public education study living this nightmare. "I go by Smith."

I take the time to digest this information. Very hard to do when I feel like my soul might descend from my body at any given moment. Life after strangulation is so hard. "Your... Your initi...als...are...SOS?" I should not be talking. I sound like I'm cleaning my throat out with sandpaper.

Cheekbones adopts the expression of a man who has had to testify about a death in court and attend the funeral in the same day. "My father gave me my middle name."

Speaking hurts, so I pat him on the arm.

Cheekbones looks worried I didn't verbally respond. "Is...the damage permanent? Is that how humans work?"

"Unfortunately not. Give it time." From the corner, Petey brushes the crumbs off his chest hair and stands up. "Come on," he informs us, neatly stepping over the unconscious Firm Buttocks Inc. werewolf on the floor. "Smith Smith's mother gave me some information earlier. Let's get that warlock to do a spell."