"I...Yes! Of course I do!" And with that, Tomas took the sparkling ring from its tiny, monumental box, and reached up to place it on my finger. I had some serious fears suddenly, but not about him, no. It was me, but in the moment, with him? I couldn't say no, the consequences be damned. The ring was beautiful, modest, but beautiful just like Tomas. I was embarrassed to realize I trembled a bit as he was about to put it on. Trembled! Oh for God's sake.

But then, just as he was slipping it on I caught a smell. Like metallic water, and a biting tinge in my nose, like inhaling deeply on an incredibly cold day. I caught myself as I instinctively jerked my hand back. Tomas looked at me, naked concern on his face. "Are...are you ok, my love?"

Those misgivings I had momentarily earlier. I'm what you'd probably describe as a werewolf. Not the "cursed to change when the full moons bright" type, more like I can do it when I'd like and remain sentient. And yes, things can get out of hand. It's like being wonderfully drunk; lowered inhibitions, terrible judgement. But it feels great while its happening.

Also, unlike the movie werewolves, silver doesn't hurt to touch. I'm pretty much invulnerable to most things, but silver seems to negate that. Touching it is like touching a bullet. Unless it's puncturing you at the time, it's not going to do any damage. And, even better, it has to be pure silver. Whatever that means. All I know is due to some deal with all the nuclear testing back in the 50s and 60s, any silver forged or melted or cast or whatever isn't pure anymore. So silver that can hurt me is pretty rare. But Jesus does it stink. Smell it long enough, you'll get a hell of a migrane.

But it's not the ability to change into a seven foot tall wolf monster that had set off those earlier worries. I'm also very long lived. I'm not sure how long, actually. I dont have a wealth of memories, my memory works like yours does. A lot of stuff just fades over time. But you remember some things that stand out for whatever reason. For example, I remember getting into an argument with a red priest who shook a dagger at me in Madrid, sometime around like 1680 or so. I also remember being in my bipedal lupine form this one time, about when Victoria was queen, and ended up hanging out with a really drunk farmer, like out of his mind, somewhere in a field outside London, who informed me more than once that I was a terrifying yet unexpectedly delightful hallucination. But I dont remember a childhood or parents or any of that. Not even snippets. Weird.

The point is, I don't know how this is going to go twenty years from now. Or ten, for that matter. But for the moment, I just want to be happy and Tomas makes me happy. For right now, tonight, there's no other answer than "yes."

"Yes, I'm great! Thank you! Why am I thanking you??" Tomas laughed and placed the ring on my finger. After that I was delirious for awhile. I'd just learn to keep the ring away from my face.

Later that night, in bed, I woke up to see Tomas standing over me.

"Tomas? What's up?"

"Beast. And now that I have confirmed what you are, I shall send you back to hell where you belong, in the name of the spanish inquisition." Tomas was expressionless as he pulled a long silver knife from behind his back.

"Its too late for any Monty Python shit, get back in here." I mumbled.

"I renounce you." He snarled, pointing the gleaming, stinking knife at me.

It took me a moment to even realize he had a weapon, much less that it was silver. I was mentally tumbling around. How could he have done this? Perpetrated this lie for so many months? I'm not going to get into the whole "who's the real monster" thing, but honestly, what kind of soulless, horrific person could do this to someone? I got really angry, but only for a moment before I realized what would have to happen. The anger melted as quickly as it had come. As he raised the knife, I smiled at him sadly. "That won't work, Tomas. Please trust me. Before you get hurt."

"We're aware of that, hellbeast. The atom splitting weapons of Satan have poisoned even the purest metal. But the Inquisition has a long memory and," he glanced at the knife and shrugged, "something of a hording problem apparently."

There was that sense of humor with absurd timing I'd so loved.

I focused on the knife as well as I could. It couldn't be... with a snarl that dropped several registers in a second, I spun to a crouch and lept at him in a single fluid action, changing, claws outstretched, as he raised the pure silver dagger from Madrid.

Maybe Tomas and I would be together forever after all...