Factors of Change Ch. 02

He laughed and narrowed his eyes at me. "I love driving. And you do have a chauffeur."

I got in with a chuckle and he shut the door. I breathed in and shut my eyes in pleasure. Under the warm scent of leather and the lingering new car smell was his own scent, surrounding me. I took a long breath that was nearly a gasp for air, just before he opened the driver's door and got in. We need to get used to it, I thought to my wolf, or I'll make a fool of myself before the night is over. She only snorted at me, unusually silent. Apparently she was leaving this in my hands.

"It's not very far from here," Gabriel said as he started the engine. "Granted there is not too much traffic, of course. Which is probably wishful thinking."

"Where is it?"

"Dans le Vieux-Montréal," he said. "It's called 'Le cochon dingue'. Have you heard of it?"

"No, I don't believe I have." I laughed. "The... Crazy Pig? That's original."

He smiled, but kept his eyes on the road. "It's probably more a play on the Guinea pig's name in French. At least I hope that is what it is, and that they did not name it after the cook."

I laughed, and we made small talk about my adventures in customer service that day. After my initial deep physical reaction to him, I realized I was quite comfortable around him: he was confident and relaxed, and the few silences that settled between us weren't awkward but rather an occasion to sit back and look at him, as he carefully manoeuvered the small car through the sea of pedestrians that invaded the cobbled streets of Old Montreal whenever the spring air was warm enough. He miraculously found us a parking spot and helped me out of the car and over to a discreet bistro that stood on the corner of two streets. I smiled at the sight of the golden pig engraved on the wooden sign hanging above the door, before he ushered me inside.

The building was several hundred years old and, as were most restaurants and shops in the old part of the city, it was made of many former apartments, their walls brought down to create a large open room. They had kept intact many nooks and corners, though, to give the patrons some privacy. It was warmly lit inside, and decorated in a very colonial way, with coach lamps hung on the stone walls, old wood beams on the ceiling and checkered tablecloths on the tables. I liked it, and suddenly realized that the place was filled with humans - I could smell no other werewolves than us both. It was a human hostess who greeted us and led us to our table, and a human waitress who came by to give us menus and fill our glasses with iced water before leaving us to decide what we would order. "Hmm," I let out, intrigued, as I looked around. Gabriel glanced at me over the wine card.

"Is there something wrong? Don't you like it?"

"Oh, I do," I answered honestly with a shake of my head. I did like it, in fact, a lot. We had been seated right next to a window from where we could see people strolling by outside on the sidewalk, and the old wooden window panes had been cracked open, letting in a soft, fresh spring breeze inside. It was a week night and still early for dinner, so the restaurant was half empty and rather quiet, and the whole place gave me a warm, homely feeling that was only reinforced by the genuine lit fireplace in the corner of the room. "I'm just curious about it," I continued. He arched an eyebrow at me in a silent question, and I smirked. "This isn't one of your places. We're the only wolves here."

He chuckled. "We are. The pack owns a lot, but not everything in town. And no, it does not own this place, much as I would like it to."

"Isn't this encouraging competition?" I teased, and he shook his head.

He looked at me for a few moments, before lowering the wine card onto the table. "This place gives me something all of our own restaurants cannot."

"And what is that?"

"Privacy." He turned to look around the restaurant. "Here, no one knows me. And no one knows you. Do you know what would have happened if I had taken you out for dinner in one of the pack's restaurants?"

I already had a good idea what he meant, but merely smiled at him and rested my chin on my crossed fingers. "Enlighten me."

"We would have been given the best table, without me having to ask for it," he said. He smirked and reached for his glass of water to take a sip. "They would have called me Monsieur and Sir and we would have eaten the best food in town." He arched an eyebrow at me. "They also would have stared at you all evening, wondering who is this woman having dinner with the Alpha, and would have come to me with all sorts of questions about this or that, only to have a chance to get a closer look at you and take wages about why I would invite you out for dinner..." His smile widened over the rim of his glass. "The pack is a very social thing and a very tightly knit group, and it is what I love about it... but I wanted to go out with only you tonight."

A warm, fuzzy feeling bloomed in my chest like a daisy at dawn, both at his smile and his admission. "And what about your friend? William? Isn't he waiting for you somewhere?"

"He is. He is watching, outside." He nodded to the window. "He is on the terrace of the café on the other side of the street. I insisted that he go there, otherwise he would have waited in his car and not eaten at all."

"Overprotective much?" I asked with a grin.

He laughed. "He takes his job very seriously. And I would trust him with my life," he added, more seriously.

"He's a good bodyguard," I commented, and he smirked.

"He's a good friend. One of the best I have."

"How long have you known him?" I asked, curious.

"About fifteen years," he answered. "And I have known Cedric almost thirty years. We have always been close." He reached out and tapped a long finger on the leather cover of the menu in front of me. "You should choose; the waitress will come soon."

I smiled and opened the bound menu. I scanned the offers and felt my mouth water as I took in the various pictures: I really hadn't had much to eat all day, and hadn't realized until now how hungry I really was. I hoped I wouldn't embarrass myself and entirely eat a gigantic plate. I glanced up at him to catch him casually looking outside the window instead of the menu. "You've already chosen? Any advice? Everything looks so good."

He nodded. "Everything is," he pointed out with a chuckle. "I come here for the steak and fries. The homemade sausages are good, as well. Or the fish." He smirked. "I had no idea what you like, and they have a bit of everything here."

I smiled back and went back to my menu. I figured fish was a bad idea on a date and finally settled on the steak as well. We gave our order of food and wine to the waitress before going back to our conversation. He seemed genuinely curious and asked many questions about my work, my neighbourhood, my interests. He didn't ask me anything about the circumstances in which I had been Turned, which I thought odd but appreciated immensely. I wasn't sure if I wanted to lie to him, but I certainly didn't want to tell him the truth, either. A tolerant pack Montreal might be, but I had no idea what the policy was about unwillingly Turned Weres, and had no intention of finding out on my first date with their Alpha male.

When the food came, the conversation became scarcer as we ate: the steak was juicy and wonderful and it melted against my palate in an explosion of savours, and the homemade fries were golden and crispy, and some of the best I had had in a long time. "This place really is amazing," I marvelled between two eager bites. "Why haven't I tried it before?"

"It has been open for about forty years, too," he said, his eyes on his plate. He reached for a fry, dipped it in mayo, and popped it into his mouth. "It started off as a small family business, but was sold a while ago, to open more franchises." There was an odd tone to his voice as he said that, and I glanced up curiously at him, but he carefully kept his gaze on his plate. "So," he suddenly said with the definite tone of someone who wanted to change the subject, "you moved here from London? You are not British, though."

"No. I'm originally from Philadelphia." I gave a half-shrug. "I moved around quite a bit in the past two decades, trying to find my place."

He nodded silently and picked a fry. "And you have been here two years," he remembered, and arched an eyebrow at me. "You do mean to stay a while, yes?" He wasn't even trying to be subtle, and I laughed.

"I like it a lot so far, in fact. I made some good friends and it was much easier to fit in than in other places. You've always been here, though, right?" I asked. "You have the local accent. It sounds nothing like the one from France."

He nodded in agreement. "I was born in the suburbs and grew up there. I moved on the island a few decades ago and never moved away." He chuckled. "You have been to France?"

I nodded and looked out the window, to the centuries old buildings outside, and smiled back at him. "This place is different from everywhere I've been. The pack is different." I bit my lower lip, keeping my eyes on his. Do it, my wolf nudged me. He will like it. "Their Alpha is certainly something different."

He did like it. His eyes narrowed slightly in amusement, and the corners of his mouth quirked up. "How is he so different?"

My wolf woofed in my mind and I nibbled on my lower lip. How far might I go? If he felt the same around me as I did around him, any advance would be welcome, but if he didn't, and I was being too forward... The excitement and rushing of my blood had tuned down to a dull, comfortable hum, but I also felt strangely oblivious to our surroundings, with him at the center of all my senses. Did it feel the same to him? "Well he takes me out for dinner, for one, so that's a first," I started, leaning forward and crossing my arms over the edge of the table. "From what I can tell of the past two years I've spent here, he's very respected and kind." His smile widened as he took the same position as me, arching an eyebrow to encourage me to continue. "He's a little arrogant, though, but he leads a very tolerant and welcoming pack." I paused, and nodded. "That is new."

His eyes softened. "You have seen a lot of intolerance, haven't you?"

He hadn't really meant it as a question, I thought, and I didn't feel the need to answer it. I looked down to my half empty glass of wine, gently wiping the condensation from it with my thumb. "I like it here, Gabriel," I simply said, more softly. "It's a good pack, a good place to be."

He watched me for a moment before he reached for his own glass and lifted it towards me. "Here is to new beginnings, then," he said softly.

I glanced up at him and smiled, and lifted my own glass to tap it gently against his with a soft ding. "To new beginnings."

"And fateful meetings," he added, and his eyes creased in mischief over his glass as he took a sip. I felt my face flush as I dove into my own glass of Chablis, and heard his deep, honest laugh as I downed the whole thing with a shiver.

Maybe he did feel the same.

***

The white Clock Tower was lit up from below, peaceful against the dark cloudless sky. Behind it, Jacques-Cartier Bridge stood solidly over the waters of the St-Lawrence, so calm at this time of day. I had heard of Clock Tower beach before, as one of the very few beaches around town, but had never gotten around to visit it. I hadn't visited much at all since my arrival, in fact, and Gabriel had promised to remedy to that.

We had strolled down the cobbled streets after our dinner until we reached the old port. He had talked the whole way, explaining the history of this building and that one, and I listened, admiring this new view of the city, until we both stood by the railing on the sidewalk by the old tower. I had eventually inherited his suit jacket along the way as the temperature dropped; while the gesture seemed like a terrible cliché, the air was getting cold, his jacket had retained his scent and his warmth and simply felt wonderful around me, and, well, it was just a dang gentlemanly thing to do, considering he wore nothing but a thin dress shirt under it. He, on the other hand, didn't look like he was feeling cold at all, having rolled up his sleeves and showing a good bit of lean, muscled forearms that I happily held on to.

"It is a memorial, for sailors lost at sea during the First World War," Gabriel was now explaining about the tower as he leant on the railing. "Its mechanism is a replica of the one in the Elizabeth Tower in London, without Big Ben. It has no chime at all, in fact."

"That's a shame," I whispered, meaning it, and Gabriel nodded and fell silent. I stared at the tower for a while longer before turning my head to look at him. He had crossed his arms over the railing and looked thoughtful as he kept his eyes on the city lights across the large river. I admired his strong, defined profile, with his long, straight nose and the relaxed curve of his mouth, and the pale stubble on his cheeks, catching the light of the street lamps above us. I reached up before I could stop myself and touched a pale lock of hair that hung against his forehead, tracing it with a finger before gently tucking it back. He shut his eyes briefly at the touch before he turned his head to look straight at me. I stared back, wondering if my heart would thump its way out of my chest if it went any faster.

I started withdrawing my hand but he suddenly reached up and wrapped his fingers around it, holding it tight against his shoulder as he straightened up and faced me. "What is this?" he whispered. His pale eyes bore into mine, and I could read in them the same burning, the same want, but also the same confusion as the one I felt. "What is happening to us?"

"Do we have to give it a name?" I breathed, and his lips turned up.

"I am only trying to understand," he said, and reached up with his other hand. I felt his fingers gently brush up against my cheek before tucking a dark curl back from it. "You have been the only thing on my mind since I walked into that elevator."

I felt very hot. His fingers were terribly warm and I could feel the rush of blood in my veins as I blushed. He still had a hold of my right hand, so I laid the other against his chest to move closer to him. I opened my mouth to speak, but he leaned in before I could say anything, his hand cupping my cheek as he bent to kiss me.

My fingers tightened against the fabric of his shirt and I leaned up to answer his kiss, closing my eyes better to savor the rush of sensations that washed over me like a tidal wave. He tasted faintly of wine and food and I wanted more, but I could feel his smile against my lips as he purposely kept the kiss soft and light, taking his time to taste me. I moaned against his lips and pulled myself closer, asking for more, and he finally put an end to the tease. His hand let go of mine for his arm to wrap around me, and the other moved to the back of my head. His fingers tangled themselves in my loose hair as his lips parted and he angled his mouth over mine in a deep kiss. His tongue pushed and danced with mine, demanding, possessing, no longer soft and no longer light. The outside world spun, blurred and disappeared, leaving nothing but this moment, his mouth, his hair brushing against my face, and his arm wrapped tightly around me.

Safety. It was heaven.

We parted, both trembling, several minutes later. He kept his eyes closed as his forehead rested against mine, his breath quick and warm against my lips. I could feel his heart beneath my hands, thumping loudly. Mine wasn't any better: it threatened to break out of my ribcage, beating in tune with his. I simply clung to his shirt, thankful for his supporting arm; my knees felt wobbly and I wasn't sure if I wouldn't simply melt down and crumble to the ground if he wasn't holding me up. "Leah," he whispered, the sound of it barely audible. I wasn't sure if he was simply saying it, or trying to get my attention, so I simply opened my eyes and looked up to find his incredible hazel eyes open an inch away from mine. He didn't say anything, though. What was there more to say?

I remembered my conversation with Laurie the day before, about how she said it felt to meet one's true mate. I wondered, not for the first time, if that was what it was. I could also tell, from Gabriel's thoughtful expression, that he might have been wondering the same thing. But I had been told and convinced for the past 30 years that it would never happen to me... that it had never happened before.

I also hadn't forgotten that Gabriel had been human as well, although I supposed - I realized then that I had no idea of his real age - he had been a Were for a much longer time than I. He, too, had been told all his were-life that he would never find his mate, that it was impossible. What if this was a human thing? I had had crushes before, after all. Was I human-crushing on the Alpha, and he on me? Not ever having a true mate didn't keep us from dating after all, did it? Humans don't have mates. They fall in love the old way: by getting to know each other.

Falling in love. I didn't mind having to maybe do that. I reached up and touched his face again, gently rubbing against the rough stubble on his cheek. He shut his eyes with a sigh as my fingers touched his skin, and I marvelled at how the warmth from it seemed to seep through the tip of my fingers, spreading into my bloodstream. "I feel so confused," I admitted to him. "My mind is spinning."

He smiled softly. "It is maybe getting too late to think too much," he offered. "You should stop."

I laughed and grinned at him. "I don't think I can." He smiled back and leaned in to kiss me gently. I tucked my face into the curve of his neck when it broke, sighing in contentment when I felt his arms tightening around me. We stood that way in silence for a long moment, both of us deep in our thoughts, when a distant wolf-whistle, followed by a few laughs from afar, made us look up and over to the clock tower, where a small group of teenagers were laughing and making lewd gestures in our direction. I chuckled and smirked back at Gabriel to find him frowning disapprovingly at them. "They're kids," I amended, patting him gently on the chest. "Let's go back to the car."

He nodded and looked down at me. "I should take you home," he said. He reached up to tuck a curl behind my ear. "You must have work tomorrow, non?"

I sighed. "Now why would you go and remind me of that? We were having a good time."

He laughed and pulled back from me, and offered me his arm. "Yes, we were," he said, ignoring the first part of what I said. "And if you want me to, I will give you many more nights like this."

***

"Right here," I said, pointing over Gabriel's arm to the small bakery across the street. He parked as I looked up to the second story of the small building. The large window of my living room was dark, and I pursed my lips at the thought of how cold my bed would be. How cold and alone I would be.

Gabriel got out of the car and walked around it to get my door opened, and we crossed the street together to the door that led inside to the two apartments on the second story. He followed me up the narrow staircase inside, and stopped with me when we got to my door. I paused when we reached it, keys in hand, and turned to look up at him in the dim lighting of the single ceiling light. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."

"You usually say goodnight," he said, amused. "It's polite."

"Really? I mean... I don't know..." I looked down at my hands, fiddling with my keychain. "Part of me wants to ask you to come inside," I breathed. "And the other... The other doesn't..."