by T. S. Ryder
Acid scorched his throat. How dare she say that? His ears rang, his vision darkening. Blood roared in his ears and his Bear growled deep in his core. The growl rose through his throat and Mary backed away, her breathing becoming more rapid. A laugh bubbled and burst through his mouth, making her flinch again.
"You really played me, didn't you? But you say you don't fear me? Then why are you afraid right now?"
***
Mary's heart thumped against her chest as Andre advanced. His black eyes were hard and angry, lips pulled back in a snarl. His long hair had come loose from the bun he normally wore it in, fanning out in a ragged way. Dirt clung to his close-cut beard and under his fingernails. Normally he was striking and handsome, a powerful figure meant for admiration. Now he looked like a figure to be feared, some wrathful god come to strike down all those who stood in his way.
Afraid? Yes, she was afraid–but not of him. Not that he would hurt her, at least not physically. But he wasn't in control of the words coming from his mouth.
"I'm afraid that you aren't thinking clearly," she rasped out. "I'm afraid that you are going to say something that you can't unsay."
He stopped advancing, chest heaving, staring at her.
Mary swallowed hard. Though her hand trembled, she reached for him again. "I know you won't hurt me. I know you love me."
Her Wolf whimpered, agonized, wanting to comfort him. But she hung back, not wanting to scare him, or place him on the defensive, or push him too far. Her fingertips brushed his arm. He was freezing. His natural heat seeped from his skin. How long had they been out here without coats? She suddenly realized how cold she was as well, and shivered.
The movement jolted Andre from his reverie. He stepped back, eyes narrowing again.
"I know you're angry," Mary said, desperately trying to get him back.
Where were the tender eyes and reluctant smile that she had gotten to know? She hardly recognized the angry Bear standing before her. How could he change so drastically? Just a few hours ago they were happily looking forward to starting their life together, and now he wouldn't even let her touch him.
She took a deep breath. "If my father did this—"
"He did."
Mary nodded slowly. Who else would it be, besides somebody in the community? Her brother, who had come here the day before, demanding that she return to the community? Peter wouldn't have done this. But he could have easily told their father where to find Andre.
"Yes. Yes, he must have. Then he must have been trying to… to rescue me or something. He… this is horrible, and there is no justification for it, no matter what he was trying to do. But we can still leave. We can run away, go east, build a new life for ourselves. You and me—"
"You and me," Andre muttered. He ran a hand over his tanned face, black eyes softening.
He reached for her face and she leaned into his touch. Both of her hands pressed over his and she closed her eyes, breathing in his woodsy scent.
"You and me, Andre. I love you."
***
It was so tempting. His heart ached to take her into his arms, take her to his truck and just run away with her. But what if it was a trap? What if she was lying? She's not. But she had to be. All Wolves were liars, murderers. He should never have let himself think otherwise.
"I love you," she repeated.
I love you, too. He closed his eyes. When Paul Locke killed his wife and daughter, he never thought he could love again. And yet, he did. Mary. He loved her and wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. But did she really love him?
It was a trap. It was always a trap. How could a woman like her love him?
He opened his eyes again and his gaze fell on the slaughtered sheep. Instantly their faces appeared in his mind. Isadore's dark eyes. Eve's tiny nose. The night Eve was born. And their bodies lying on the mountain, cut open the same way these sheep were.
Mary moved closer. Paul Locke's daughter.
Andre jumped away from her. Her eyes opened, looking startled and confused. The Bear glared at her. She had tricked him, trapped him. This was all her fault.
"Andre?" Her voice broke.
"Your father did this. You knew he was going to do this."
She shook her head, but he wouldn't believe her. Couldn't.
"Now know this, Werewolf. I am going to kill your father."
Chapter Eleven
He heard her shouting after him as he embraced his Bear. His heart begged him to turn around. A pang of regret hit his stomach. He knew she wasn't a part of this and the accusations he had made tasted bitter on his tongue. But the larger part of him held onto his anger and pushed away love.
Love would stop him again. Love would close his eyes. He needed anger, hate. It was necessary for his revenge. And without revenge, what was he? She was Paul Locke's daughter. He might as well have spat on Isadore's grave every time he kissed Mary.
Mary's voice cut out shortly after he entered the forest. His clothing shredded from embracing his Bear, fell off him as it caught on branches. The world seemed too silent without her.
The trees closed in around him, the last bits of snow absorbing the sound of his paws on the ground. Even the crashing of branches breaking against his bulk seemed muffled against the roaring in his ears. He would finish this, once and for all. It would finally end.
I either avenge my wife and child or join them.
Eve had only been six years old. She was afraid of monsters hiding in the darkness. Andre remembered making a big show of checking under her trundle bed when she went to sleep. He remembered sitting in the main room of the cabin, gluing hats and faces onto clothespins for her birthday party while Isadore sang her to sleep. He remembered the look of despair in his wife's eyes when Paul Locke closed in on her, knife in hand.
His body was not his own. The aches and pains vanished, leaving only a surging, seething hatred that coursed through his blood and pushed him onwards. He was following the trails he knew the Wolves used in their hunts. His legs moved on their own, driven by the blood he could already taste on his tongue.
Paul Locke dies today.
Only when his nose picked up a scent in the air did he break from his singlemindedness. He slowed slightly, swiveling his head this way and that, trying to pick up where the scent was coming from. It was Wolf, but sweet somehow. Faint traces of laundry detergent and homemade bread clung to it. Mary.
He slowed, heart racing, and stopped. Mary.
He shook his head and everything he had said rushed back to him. What had he been thinking? His words–a bitter taste crept up his throat. How could he accuse her of such awful things? He had to go back to her, beg her forgiveness before it was too late. He couldn’t lose her! What was life without her?
But what was his life if he did not avenge his wife and daughter? For years, he had only been able to move from day to day by reminding himself of how Paul Locke must suffer. Locke and his two oldest boys who had been with their father and helped him murder a child, helped him murder Isadore and Eve. Andre could not forsake his wife and daughter. He could not dishonor them by choosing his own happiness over avenging their deaths.
The forest was silent. It seemed to be holding its breath around him, waiting for his decision. He had to choose! One way or another, this had to end, right now. Revenge or Mary. I can't have both, but what do I choose? He closed his eyes. Oh, God! What do I do?
He inhaled deeply through his nose and caught the scent again. The Wolf was close, closer than Mary could be. His eyes snapped open and his head swung round to his left.
At first, his gaze glided right over the Wolf that lay crouched under a fallen tree. If not for the quivering of its body or the flash of a red tongue as it panted, he would not have seen it at all.
As his eyes found the Wolf’s face, his first thought was that it was Mary after all. They had the same shape of ears, muzzle, the same little nose that twitched in a semi-circular motion. But these eyes were brown, not green. The fur was brown,
and instead of Mary's beautiful sleek roundness, this Wolf looked half-starved it was so thin. Its legs looked like twigs and its fur hung off its body in worried patches.
Not Mary. But still one of Paul Locke's children. He killed my child. And now he sends one of his own to spy on me. An eye for an eye!
He lunged towards the Wolf. It yelped, springing forward from under the log. It slipped out beside Andre as his paws came crashing down where it had been. Shock rippled up his joints and the log snapped in half. He turned, roaring. The Wolf ran from him, ears plastered against its skull, tail tucked up against its belly. Andre thundered after it, determined that this time it would not escape.
It yelped and howled as he gained on it, and his lips curled back over his teeth as the mutilated bodies flashed before his vision again.
I will give him back what he had given me.
***
A familiar Wolf's voice echoed in the trees. A howl of fear, a cry for help. Mary pushed herself as hard as she could, her Wolf paws striking the ground again and again. She felt like she was in some sort of nightmare. Though she was aware of the forest passing her by, it was like her legs were mired in mud. She struggled to move faster.
Andre, please don't do this, she prayed. Fortuitous Luna, don't let him do this!
The howling stopped and for a moment so did her heart. Images of a brother or sister lying on their back with Andre's massive jaws closing over their head flashed through her mind and she thought she might faint. Her legs stumbled, her head drooped, and a pain-filled howl broke from her throat.
A pause, and then a howl answered hers. One full of fear, begging her for help. Her ears sprang up and she changed direction fluidly, racing at top speed. As long as there's sound, there's hope.
She continued chanting the mantra in her mind, howling again. Hold on. Andre, hold on, you don't have to do this.
***
He recognized Mary's voice, and that was what saved the Wolf from the first blow.
One of its legs was pinned under his massive paw, and it clawed at the dirt, panting and whimpering as it tried to escape. He raised a second paw to crush its skull, but Mary's voice was clear and so achingly familiar. It broke through the red mist of rage blinding him and he hesitated. His paw still in the air, ready to strike or retreat. The Wolf he pinned froze a moment then lifted its head, letting out a shrill howl.
Calling for help. Calling for him to come.
The red mist settled over his eyes again and he snarled. Yes. Of course. He would bring the murderer to him, let him watch his child die as he had made Andre do. Make him suffer.
Andre lowered the paw poised to kill and leaned forward, mouth opening wide to encase the Wolf's shoulder. Call him again. Scream. Make him come so I can kill him.
***
Mary burst through two fir trees to see Andre bent over the prone form of a Wolf. His teeth glittered in the dim forest. The wind rippled up his spine and Mary could see the monster she had always been warned of. The cry in her throat became a scream as she suppressed her Wolf, reaching with human hands towards her soulmate. Her mind blank of all thought, just knowing she had to stop him.
Andre jerked as though the sound of her voice had skewered him. His head swung towards her.
Her fingers dug into his fur. Mary's head swam as she recognized the white markings on the Wolf's back legs. She wasn't moving.
Oh Luna, please no!
"Andre," she cried desperately, trying to drag him away from the still Wolf. "Andre, no, you don't have to do this. Andre, please."
The Bear stared at her as though he didn't recognize her. A threatening growl shook through his body and up Mary's arm. His head swung back around, towards the Wolf once more. The growl cut off and he shook his head, as though to chase away an irritating fly.
Mary didn't release him as she moved in front of him, her fingers dragging through his thick brown fur as she took his grizzly face into her hands. Her eyes frantically searched his. Was it uncertainty she saw in them, or something else?
"Andre, stop," she whispered. "Stop."
He shook his head again, eyes clearing as though he was coming out of a trance. He lifted his paw, letting the Wolf slip out from under him. Mary's heart nearly burst in relief. She smiled at Andre, nodding slightly to let him know that she was still with him, and turned.
The Wolf struggled to get to its feet, but it stumbled and laid still. Mary's relief cut short–Andre did this. The man she loved had very nearly killed one of her sisters.
She rushed to the Wolf's side, gathering her into her arms. Big brown eyes looked up trustingly at her as the furry body smoothly shifted into a girl, shivering, bleeding. Julia. The first of her sisters to be born.
Arms wrapped around her and terrified eyes turned to Andre. Mary held her tighter, protectively.
"Make it go away," Julia whispered.
Chapter Twelve
She was no more than sixteen. The girl was tiny. Her jaw and cheekbones pressed against the hollow flesh of her face. Her eyes overly big in the way an undernourished child's are. Andre could count each of her ribs. Her skin was pale, but looked thin and papery, unlike Mary's smooth alabaster tones. Everything about this girl looked as if the life had been slowly drained from her.
Andre backed away, his legs and body beginning to tremble. What had he done? This fragile, tiny, young girl did not deserve to be killed or hurt. Her father had hurt her enough.
And yet Andre had attacked her, as though killing her would bring his own daughter back. He could smell the blood he had spilled from where he was standing.
Her big brown eyes stared at him, still wide and terrified, as her twig-like arms wrapped around Mary, clinging to her like a child clings to her mother. This was one of Mary's sisters and he had nearly killed her. For what? For the crimes of her father?
He dreaded meeting Mary's gaze, but her eyes drew his to hers. The look he found in them was like a punch to the stomach. Her piercing green eyes were wide, frightened. Her mouth was drawn into a tight line. She held her sister protectively and her whole body was tense, shuddering as she waited for his next move.
Oh, God, what have I done? Andre couldn’t break his gaze from Mary's accusing eyes. What am I?
Mary's lips opened. "Andre…"
He held his breath, hoping against hope that she would say something that would allow him to have hope that she could forgive him for this. He inched forward but stopped when both sisters tensed. He wanted to suppress his Bear, to drop to his knees and beg Mary's forgiveness. But he couldn't make himself do it. He clung to his Bear like Mary's sister clung to her, craving the protection of muscle and sinew against Mary's accusing gaze.
"Andre," she said again. "Go. Go away."
His heart plummeted. But what else was there to do? He had let a moment's rage blind him, and now he had lost everything again.
He turned and fled from the two most painful words he had ever heard. He did not look back.
***
He did not look back.
Mary could not spare time to think about what he was thinking or what he must be feeling. She shoved aside her own feelings–they were too messy, too painful to think about right now. Julia needed her. Her sister needed her. She couldn't spare time to think of how her own heart was breaking.
"What happened to you?" Mary asked, laying the back of her hand on her sister's forehead. She was so thin! What had happened? Julia had always been slender, but this? "What did Father do to you?"
Julia's eyes were bright as she leaned against Mary, shudders shaking her whole body. "It attacked me. It was a Bear, wasn't it? A Shifter, not an ordinary bear?"
"You're cold as ice. Where's your clothing pack?" Mary glanced around. No Wolf went into the forest without one, in case they needed to suppress their Wolf. But she couldn't see it anywhere.
"I left it at home. I didn't think I'd need it."
Julia's skin was slick with sweat, her breathing was rapid, and when Mary felt for her
pulse, it took her a moment to feel it. She was going into shock. Being naked out in this cool spring weather was going to kill her, even faster than her injuries. Mary hadn't wanted to take a closer look at them, but now she saw her right leg at least was broken, her calf was at an awkward angle, dark splotches of purple and black started spreading over her pale skin. Rivulets ran down her back, but the bleeding had stopped.
How could Andre have done this?
Mary shook her head quickly. She could not think of him when her sister needed her. "We have to get you home."
"No!" Julia grabbed her arm. "No, you can’t go back. Father is furious."
"I can't leave you out here." A knot twisted in her gut, but she ignored it. "You're going into shock and you're freezing."
She didn't have her own clothes. How far were they from where the cabin once stood? Mary's heart sank. Would she even be able to find her way back? She sank back down next to her sister, trying to keep her expression hopeful. When night fell, her brothers would start hunting. If Julia could hold on that long, they would be found.
Mary settled beside Julia, considering embracing her Wolf to try to lend more warmth to her sister. But the more important thing was to keep her awake and talking, and so Mary asked her the first thing that came to mind.
"Are you and Conrad married yet?"
Julia's pale skin flushed. "He has asked Father for my hand."
"Are you happy with it?"
"I… I like Conrad. He's got his own land, you know."
Mary's heart sank. "You like him. But he's not your soulmate."
"He will be." Julia's voice was drowsy. "Wolves mate for life. After we…. you know, when we marry. After that, then he'll be my soulmate and everything will be perfect. I'll have everything I want."
No. That's not how it works. Mary recalled the moment she realized that Andre was her soulmate. The fireworks went off in her heart and skin. The irresistible draw to him, not only his body but everything else as well. It was only after she knew that he was her soul's other half that they had made love. And it had been exciting, passionate, even if it was a little clumsy and uncertain at first.