Secrets

He sat in the grass, her head in his lap, with the bright sun warming their bodies in the cool January air. The girl turned on her side, her breath tickling his legs. She sighed happily, as she still had a month with him before he left. She didn't ask where he was going, nor where he had gone last week, when he missed their second date. But now, she trusted him. She knew when he would be at work, and when his classes were. He knew the same of her, and he knew every important date of hers. He knew her brother's birthday, and the day that her dog had died. He knew everything about her. Well, almost. But she still didn't know all of his secrets. The phone calls he received frequently, when he replied cryptically, a simple "Yes, Sir." as most answers.  It wasn't his father, as she first guessed. But she was content to have his heart, and she trusted that he wouldn't cheat on her.

He reached past her head, and picked three long strands of grass. He idly worked them in his hands, his mind too far away to care about anything but the girl in his lap. "Um... I have something I want to explain."
"What is is?" She asked hesitantly. She was scared, as he rarely started his sentences this way..
"I know your birthday is on the Eighth of February... but I might not be here for it. They... I will be back the day after. The next morning, I swear on that. But... The thing is..."
"Can you not tell me, Crecy? You tell me everything except why you missed our date. That, and those weird phone calls. Just... Tell me what's going on?"
"Look, I can't... I just... well..."
He sighed unhappily, and looked away from her saddened glance upward at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to the words.
"I'm scared of what you might think, and what might happen to you once you know..."
"Crecy, I'm not helpless until it comes to you. I can't heal you of your fear, I can only promise I'll help you fight it..."
He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the words. He pauses, unsure of how to begin.
"Well... have you heard of the Sons of Luna?"
"No..." she responds hesitantly. "Are they a band?"
He smiles in spite of himself, and answers, "No. They're a group of Lycanthropes. Werewolves, trained to protect and kill humans. They were organized about twenty years ago, and are freelance assassins for hire. Since they change into large, humanoid wolves, and are only able to be killed with silver, they're incredibly athletic and hard to defend against."
Her face went from a smirk, as if he was joking, to an appalled look of horror as he continued.
"I was bitten last year, while hiding from my past and trying to escape my emotions. I was in the woods late one full moon night, and she lept at me from behind. She bit me on my left bicep, here..."
He slowly rolled up his shirt to reveal a faded set of silver scars, indicating an old wound.
He fell still and silent, waiting for her reaction.
Waiting.
For what seemed like hours, neither spoke. Neither could look the other in the eye.
She lay still, tensed, thinking.
He sat, wondering how he could take back what he said. Why he had chosen to tell her.
A thousand doubts.
A million regrets.
But then, she slowly stood up. And turned her back on him.
He was about to look away, in tears that he had offended her, but then he paused.
She was taking off her shirt.
He was too curious to do, or say anything. He simply looked on, as she slide her sweater off, then the long sleeved shirt she had underneath. She stood with her back to him, in nothing but her bra and jeans.
And he couldn't look away.
He couldn't stop staring at the massive wings, cunningly folded across her back...