Ulrik

by Steven E Wedel

  Shara sighed. “It’s done now. But …” She shook her head.

  “What troubles you?”

  “Fenris told me what you want Joey to do.”

  “We will discuss that another time, my cub.”

  “I won’t let him do it,” she said, a tear rolling from one eye.

  Ulrik didn’t answer her. “I would sing to you,” he said. “Remember the song you thought was a love song? I would sing it to you again now. It will help you.”

  “I’d rather you leave,” Shara said. She pursed her lips as a jolt of pain shot through her body. Ulrik watched as her free wolfish paw returned to its human shape.

  “Rest,” he said. “I will sing to you. It will be a lullaby this time.”

  He sang softly, pulling the words from memory, letting his mind drift back to the first time he’d gone to Europe, before the Great War, and spent time traveling with the gypsies. They had still believed in werewolves. He knew they’d suspected he was a werewolf, but as long as none of their troupe was attacked they did not question him.

  Shara lay still, refusing to look at him. Soon, Ulrik saw that her eyelids were growing heavy. Then her eyes closed and she slept. Still singing, Ulrik went around the bed and tied her wrist to the bedpost again. He stood looking down at her, thinking how young she still looked.

  You were always beautiful, my cub.

  Her son loved her and it was obvious how much she cared for him. Ulrik wondered what it would be like to deal with her when she was well again. He was convinced Joey had fully embraced his werewolf nature and would resist any effort Shara put forth to make him give it up again. That, at least, had worked out as planned.

  Thomas McGrath is the most unexpected element. What role is he to play?

  Ulrik stroked his shaggy beard, thinking. There was a strong bond between Shara and Thomas already. He wondered how much deeper that bond would become. And how Joey would respond to it.

  He let the song peter out, then whispered, “Sleep well, my cub.”

  He left her resting peacefully.

  Shara

  The fever was gone. Shara lifted a hand and found that it was no longer bound to the bedpost. Soft black hairs floated away from her arm as she moved it and she could smell her own stale, sweaty odor hovering around her. She dropped her arm and looked around the room, realizing she was alone. Except for the ticking of a clock mounted on the wall, the room – the house – was quiet.

  Her bladder ached. Shara pushed the blankets away and sat up. Her vision swam for a moment and she had to steady herself before standing. She stumbled toward a door and found a bathroom. As she sat on the toilet, she studied the shower and decided she would spend some time washing away her own stink. She found a white bathrobe in the bedroom closet, locked the bathroom door behind her and turned the water as hot as she could stand it.

  There were scratches on her chest and stomach. She couldn’t remember making them, but knew they were from her own claws. Her face was still a little tender from the beating Kiona had given her. Shara washed as vigorously as she could, found a razor in the medicine cabinet and shaved her legs and armpits before shampooing her hair. When she turned off the water she felt like a new woman; pushing open the shower curtain was like bursting from a cocoon. She toweled herself dry, wrapped the bathrobe around her, brushed out her hair, then went back to the bedroom.

  Thomas was waiting for her.

  “I brought you food,” he said, waving his hand over a tray he’d just put on a small table by the French doors that opened onto a small patio. The smell of bacon and eggs was overwhelming.

  “I can’t believe I went all those years without eating this stuff,” Shara said as she sat down. She sipped orange juice, buttered a piece of toast and began eating as Thomas took a seat across from her.

  “Nor can I,” he said. “There’s nothing like bacon in the morning.”

  “Where’s Joey?”

  “He’s with Ulrik. The old man is teaching him how to distinguish the different scents when of game animals.”

  Shara grunted. “I remember that lesson.” She chewed a bite of toast. “How is he?”

  “Joey is fine,” Thomas said. “He is still angry that Kiona is gone.”

  “That bitch.” Shara scooped eggs into her mouth, then drank more juice. “What about Ulrik? What does Joey think of him?”

  “The boy seems to think of him as a teacher,” Thomas said. “It does not seem to be a close relationship, though it’s obvious Joey respects him. And Ulrik is very protective of Joey.”

  Shara nodded. With the edge off her hunger, she focused more of her attention on Thomas. He’d cleaned up since last she could remember seeing him. And he seemed to have gotten some rest. His eyes were no longer puffy and bloodshot; their black depths were alert and filled with life. The heavy stubble was gone from his cheeks and his black goatee had been neatly trimmed. His hair was combed and his fingernails cleaned and cut.

  Shara remembered his hands holding hers, comforting her as waves of agony washed over her. She wished suddenly that the hands were holding her again. The thought made her feel guilty and she lifted a hand to her chest, then throat. The chain holding Chris’s wedding band was gone.

  “It is on the table beside your bed,” Thomas said. “I was afraid you would twist it and strangle yourself. Shall I get it?”

  Shara shook her head. “No. I was just wondering.”

  “With Kiona gone and you on your feet again, I’ll gather my things and find another room today.”

  The idea bothered Shara. She put her fork down and faced Thomas. “How long was I in bed? Three, four days?”

  “Aye, three days,” he said.

  “And you were there beside me the whole time?”

  “Most of it. I … well, I left that once, when Kiona attacked you.”

  Shara smiled. She finished her meal quickly, then stood up and went to the double doors, but didn’t open them. The glass of the doors was covered in a filmy curtain that allowed her to look outside. She was keenly aware of Thomas watching her. “So this is Mexico?” she said.

  “Yes.” He got up and came to stand beside her, looking out over the yard, to the tree line over one hundred yards away and the mountains in the distance behind them. “It’s a little too warm for my taste.”

  “Thank you,” Shara said. She faced him as her hand found his and gripped it tightly. “Thank you for watching over me.”

  “I … it was my pleasure,” Thomas said, his voice husky.

  Shara knew she was going to kiss him a moment before she felt herself leaning toward his lips. His free hand rose to her shoulder just before their lips met, then his other hand slid out of her grasp, up her arm and over her shoulder and neck to cup the back of her head. His lips parted and his tongue pushed its way into her mouth. Shara put her arms around him and clung tightly. After a moment, the kiss broke apart, but they continued to hold one another. Her head rested against his chest and she could hear his heart racing.

  “Why are you so nervous?” she asked.

  Thomas didn’t answer for a moment, then he said, “I have not been with a woman for a long time.”

  “How long?”

  “It has been eighty years,” he said.

  Shara lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “Are you serious?” He nodded. Shara laughed softly, then pulled open the belt holding her bathrobe closed. “It’s so soon since … since Chris …” She couldn’t find the words. “I can’t say for sure how I feel about you right now. But I need to be held. I need to be loved right now.”

  “Aye,” Thomas said.

  He kissed her again as one hand slid down her chest, opening the robe. His hand caressing her was exhilarating. Shara smiled and closed her eyes, then opened them again to watch his expression as he pushed the robe off her shoulders. She let it fall to the floor around her feet. He looked her over hungrily. Shara found the look both exciting and charming.

  “I’ll lock the door,” she said. She w
ent to the door and turned the bolt, then returned to Thomas’s embrace. His body was firm and warm, his hands eager but tender. Their kisses turned fiery, then he lifted her off her feet and lay her down on the clean bed.

  I am not unfaithful. Chris is dead.

  Shara closed her eyes. Thomas kissed her eyelids as he settled himself between her legs. They both moaned as he entered her. Shara wrapped her arms around his neck and her lips found his again as their bodies fell into a slow, comfortable rhythm.

  Ulrik

  “What if you have to turn into a wolf real fast and don’t have time to take off your clothes?”

  Ulrik grinned at the boy’s eager question, pleased with the way Joey was absorbing his werewolf nature. He knelt and raked away the leaves and dirt they’d used to cover their clothes before setting off for the woods earlier in the day. “You can go to the in-between shape first,” he said. “That makes your body bigger and will tear your clothes. Then become a wolf and they’ll be easier to tear off.”

  “But you can’t stay in the in-between stage.” Joey’s brow wrinkled when he said it. “That’s when you look the scariest.”

  “But you’re vulnerable then,” Ulrik reminded, handing Joey his rolled T-shirt and jeans. “Any weapon can kill you then. It’s dangerous.”

  “I like it.”

  “Show me,” Ulrik challenged. “Go there and hold that shape.” He took the clothes from Joey’s hands and waited.

  Joey closed his eyes. His lips puckered slightly with concentration, then hair burst from his pores. His arms and legs thickened and his jaw grew longer, his ears sliding back and becoming pointed. A bushy tail grew from his backside; Joey let it stand proudly behind him. When he’d achieved the half-way point, Ulrik stopped him.

  “Now hold it,” he said. “Open your eyes.”

  Joey did. He opened his eyes and lifted his deformed hands to look at him. A wolfish grin curled his lips, then he pretended to pounce at Ulrik.

  “Do you feel your body trying to change?” Ulrik asked. “It knows you are vulnerable. You are balancing between your two natures, your body wanting to be either the boy or the wolf. There is wisdom in that instinct. Listen to it.” He paused, watching. “Now become human again.”

  Joey quickly transformed to his boyish self, shedding the light hair. He looked at his hands again, as if comparing them to what they had just been. “They’re so much littler,” he said.

  “And weaker,” Ulrik added, then changed the subject. “You will remember your lesson from today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tomorrow I will send you hunting alone. You will bring back a rabbit. You will not come home until you have caught and killed one on your own.”

  “Alone?” the boy asked, his face betraying his fear.

  “Yes. Alone,” Ulrik said. “My friends will make sure you do not leave my land, but they will not interfere unless you are in danger.” Ulrik sighed, thinking of Kiona and of the greater threat, Fenris. “Were times not so troubled you would not even have the sentries watching over you.” He handed the clothes to Joey again. “Get dressed and we will go to the house and make dinner for your mother. She will be well today, I think.”

  They dressed and started for the house, Joey working hard to keep up with his teacher’s long strides. Smiling, Ulrik took shorter steps to accommodate the boy.

  “Mom doesn’t eat meat,” Joey said.

  “Then we will make her a salad and give her fruit.”

  “Why doesn’t she eat meat?”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “That it isn’t good for her.”

  “I see,” Ulrik said. “People change over time. Your mother ate meat when I first met her. Perhaps someday she will again.”

  “She used to make Dad cook hamburgers made of some kind of plant when he used the barbecue grill,” Joey said. “They were nasty.”

  “She made you eat them?”

  “No. Me and Dad had meat. But I tried one of hers once. I had to spit it out.”

  Ulrik laughed as they went up the steps to the porch. He opened the front door for Joey and said, “We always have meat here. Tomorrow we shall cook and eat the rabbit you bring.”

  “One rabbit? That isn’t very much for everybody.” Joey closed the front door as Ulrik came in. “Especially if that other man stays.”

  “You do not like Mr. McGrath?”

  “No. I wanna see Mom before we make supper.” Joey ran toward the stairs. Ulrik almost let him go, then thought better of it. He hurried after the boy and caught him before he reached the top.

  “Quietly,” Ulrik said. “She may still be sleeping.”

  Several steps from the bedroom door, Ulrik heard the unmistakable sound of lovemaking coming from the room. He put a hand on Joey’s shoulder and stopped him. The boy spoke before Ulrik could.

  “What’s wrong? I thought you said she would be better. Why is she making that noise?”

  “Yes,” Ulrik said, thinking. “It sounds as though I was mistaken. Perhaps she will feel better after we cook dinner. Come.” He turned Joey around and started him back toward the stairs. “How about if we cook your mother a steak and see if she is too sick to refuse it. Would that not be funny?”

  “Yeah!” Joey said. He took off running again.

  Ulrik watched the boy, envious of his youthful energy, but his mind was filled with other thoughts.

  Shara and Thomas McGrath. Shara and another werewolf. What if there is another child? A child with two werewolf parents?

  Chris

  The silence of the house was interrupted by the buzzer at the front gate. Chris blinked several times, then lowered the top half of his newspaper and looked toward the front door as if he could see through it to the gate.

  Shara?

  Maybe, he thought. He’d had to install a new security system when he rebuilt the gate, so she wouldn’t have the code to get in.

  Fenris wouldn’t buzz.

  Chris dropped the paper and went to the bedroom that he’d long ago converted to house the surveillance monitors. An Indian couple was at the gate. The woman angrily pressed the buzzer again as Chris watched. The Indian man leaned against the side of a blue sedan with an Avis rental car tag on the front bumper.

  They’re probably lost.

  Chris pushed the intercom button. “Yes? Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Chris Woodman?” the woman asked. Chris was unsure how to answer. The woman made it easier. She leaned close to the microphone on the brass plate mounted to the brick pillar and said, “Joey’s father?”

  “Who are you?” Chris asked.

  “I am someone who has seen your son within the last week,” she said.

  Chris looked from the woman, who held her long black hair away from her face with one hand as she spoke, to the man who still seemed uninterested in the whole affair. He could see no one else on any of his TV monitors. “Are you two alone?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want?”

  “We want to help you.”

  “Do what?”

  “Are you an idiot?” the woman asked. “Get your son back.”

  “How? Where did you see him?”

  “Let us in and I’ll tell you.”

  “Are you …” Chris hesitated, then made himself ask. “Are you werewolves?”

  “Of course.”

  Shit. Of course they are. Just what I fucking need.

  He pressed the button that opened the gate. The metal barricades rolled apart as the woman went back to the car. She got behind the wheel while the tall man with his thick hair in a single braid down his back got into the passenger seat. Chris watched the car come forward, then closed the gate behind them. He picked up his 9mm pistol and pulled the slide back to load a silver bullet into the chamber, then went to the front porch to greet his guests.

  The car stopped, the engine died and the doors opened. The Indian man was taller than he’d looked on the monitor. His face was set, impassive,
his eyes unreadable. The woman was intense and seemed angry. Chris stopped them as they approached the porch.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “My name is Kiona Brokentooth. This is John Redleaf,” the woman said, motioning to her friend.

  “How do you know Joey?”

  “I kidnapped him and took him to Ulrik,” Kiona said.

  Chris wasn’t sure what he’d expected her to say, but that certainly wasn’t it. The hand holding the gun slowly slipped down so that he was pointing the weapon at the ground as his mouth hung open. “You what?” he asked.

  “When Joey ran away from your house in Montana I tracked him into the woods, made friends with him and convinced him to go with me to where Ulrik was waiting,” Kiona said.

  Chris raised the gun again, pointing it at the woman’s head. “I should kill you right now,” he said. “How could you? How … Why the fuck have you come here to tell me that?”

  “That’s not why we’re here,” she said. “And if you shoot me, John will kill you. If you manage to shoot both of us, you’ll never find your son. Your wife thinks you’re dead, so it’s not like she’ll be calling anytime soon.”

  “Shara …?” The gun wavered again. “You’ve seen Shara, too?”

  “Oh yeah. I’ve seen her.”

  Reluctantly, Chris lowered the gun. “You can come in,” he said. “But no funny shit. Stay where I can see you. The first sign of you changing and I’ll kill you. These are silver bullets.”

  “Of course they are,” Kiona said. “Stocking up on silver bullets was about the only thing you and your wife did to protect yourself the last eight years.”

  “How do you … Were you watching us, too?”

  “Of course. You think I was just passing by and noticed Joey running into the woods?” Kiona asked. “Let’s go inside.”

  Chris waved them toward the door, stepping aside so he’d be out of reach of John Redleaf as the big man passed him. Chris followed them into the house, keeping them in sight and leaving the front door open. Kiona stopped in the living room and turned to face him while John looked around at the meager furnishings.