Wolfen

by Alianne Donnelly

  Aiden shook his head. Unbelievable. He took the thong off of Casey. “You are way too young to be wearing anything like this. Did you find stuff in your size?”

  “No,” she grumbled. “It’s all grown-up stuff. Way grown up. I didn’t know people could grow that big.” She held up a T-shirt that could easily serve as a tent for her. “Will I get that big someday?”

  “I doubt it,” Aiden retorted, and took the T-shirt from her. “Come on.” He brought the water bottle over to the next room. There, in the bathroom, he poured some into the small bin underneath the sink, then waved Casey over. “Here,” he said. “That’s your bath. Make it count, yeah? You’ve got soap over there, towels on the rack. Just scrub the dirt off and put on the shirt.”

  “It’s too big, though.”

  “It’ll have to do for now. We can wash clothes later.”

  He left her to it and went back to Desiree, pouring more water for her to wash with. “Think you can manage a sponge bath?” he asked.

  Desiree pulled herself up to sit, swayed, and nodded drunkenly.

  Aiden rolled his eyes and helped her into the bathroom, sitting her down onto the toilet. “I’ll get you some clothes.” Desiree wasn’t much bigger than Casey. Painfully skinny as she was, everything in those suitcases could wrap around her twice. He selected a Hawaiian-print shirt and a pair of stretchy pants that might hold up with a belt, and left them in a pile for her before turning back to the mess scattered around the room.

  He shook his head at the selection. His choices were reduced to leopard print and ripped up jeans. Though he loathed the thought of that god-awful garishness on his person, the clothes he was wearing were now little more than rags, so he picked out a black novelty T-shirt that read VENI, VIDI, NAILED THAT BITCH in bold, white font, and some cut off jeans several sizes too big, and took them with the rest of the water to an adjoining room for a bath of his own.

  At least the soap smelled decent. He scrubbed off the worst of the dirt and the dried blood, making good use of as little water as possible. In minutes he was finished, and he stuffed the dirty clothes into the toilet, then closed the lid. Better to burn them, but this would have do for now.

  When he came out into the hall, he heard Casey singing to herself, and smiled. Satisfied she was okay on her own, he returned to the main room and Desiree, and stopped dead in his tracks.

  There were no working lights in the hotel. The only illumination was sunlight coming through the windows, so Desiree had to keep the bathroom door wide open to see anything. Perching on the very edge of the toilet, she leaned down to wet a washcloth, then swept it up her arm to her bare shoulder. She was naked from the waist up, vertebrae poking out of her spinal column, ribs tenting her skin like a xylophone.

  But it was the scars that stopped him short. Two long, parallel lines stretched from her left shoulder to right hip. Lash marks.

  One moment, he was standing by the bed; the next, he crouched at her back. She gasped, crossing her arms over her chest. “What—”

  “Who did this?” he asked, tracing the scars.

  She shivered beneath his touch. “Klaus,” she said shortly, bitterly, twisting away from him.

  “Why?” He turned her back so he could see better.

  She tried to shrug him off. “Punishment. Stop touching me.”

  He didn’t. “Punishment for what?”

  “For accidentally knocking over his prized Nazi ceramics.”

  Aiden’s hand slid down to her elbow, and he frowned. It was warped. “And this?”

  “I refused to go up a flight of stairs in my new prosthesis. He dragged me up by the arm, broke my elbow in the process. Compound fracture, dislocation.” She ducked her head, rubbing self-consciously at her scalp. Naturally, he looked there next and found another scar at least two inches long to the right of her hairline. She sighed. “I got in trouble for breaking a beaker,” she said, without him having to ask. “He shoved me around, I hit my head on a glass shelf, and broke it. Shattered ten more beakers in the process.”

  Aiden sat back on his heels, and rubbed a hand over his mouth. Jesus Christ.

  She looked over her shoulder at him, dark bruises on her face and neck silently screaming an accusation. “You think this is the worst of it?” she snapped. “There are four broken ribs you can’t see, a two-time dislocated jaw, not to mention the swastika brand burned into my ass cheek for trying to sneak a little food to a starving Wolfen female. She got a matching one, and died three days later. Oh, and my leg? I have him to thank for that, too. A little cosmetic enhancement so people wouldn’t know I was born damaged.”

  Words failed him.

  “Try not to look so conflicted. I’m the enemy, remember? The progeny of the great Klaus Koch. I’m the evil bitch who hurt you. Whatever I got, it surely wasn’t more than I deserved.”

  “Aiden?” Casey said from the doorway. “I heard yelling.”

  Desiree snatched up a towel to cover herself. She didn’t want the girl to see.

  Aiden pushed to his feet, and swept Casey from the room. “Everything’s fine. How ‘bout we go check out the casino and let Dez finish her bath?”

  Maybe if he spent some time with Casey, healthy and hale, he’d stop picturing a mini version of Desiree, broken and battered in some hellhole of her sick father’s making.

  A guy could hope.

  45: Desiree

  With my newly acquired pharmaceuticals, I feel like I might just make it. I pop a bunch of pain killers, wash them down with whiskey, and do what I wasn’t able to do before: properly clean and redress the cut on my leg.

  Then I go through the rest of the bucket’s contents and trash what’s no longer usable. It still leaves me with hundreds of yards of sterile bandages, gauze, proper sutures, and pills that might not be as effective as they were a decade and a half ago, but they’ll do in a pinch.

  I prescribe myself a steady regiment of NSAIDs and antibiotics, a high dose treatment plan for the next few days.

  But the hardest pill to swallow is the pity Aiden dishes out every time he looks at me.

  ~

  Though none of them liked it, they had to stay the night; Aiden needed time to fix the tires and scavenge more gas for the car, which left Casey running around the abandoned hotel, making ghost noises, and Desiree sitting in bed, growing more restless as the hours dragged on.

  At noon the next day, when the sun was at its highest, turning the hotel room into an oven, Aiden announced it was time to hit the road. He’d gotten the little car back down onto pavement and stuffed everything they had left into the miniature trunk. Then he carried Desiree to the passenger seat, which made her so mad, she couldn’t even form words. She refused to look at him, talk to him, or in any other way acknowledge his presence; he didn’t exist, as far as she was concerned, so answering his questions with anything other than icy silence would make her a crazy person, talking to herself.

  After many miles, Aiden deemed them far enough to turn off the road by the creek. She still hadn’t said a word, so he finally got the hint and instead diverted his energies to fishing and teaching Casey to sing.

  And that was her day. Aiden fished—by hand, since they had no bait—Casey washed clothes downstream, and Desiree tended the small fire, and purified water in batches. Aiden had brought along the five-gallon jug, which was great. With the stronger plastic, it could handle more heat. She’d managed to fill it half way by the time Aiden stuck three little fish onto a stick and took over the fire.

  He and Casey had become quite the best buds. Since Aiden was old enough to have seen the world before it had imploded—though not really, since he’d been locked up underground with all of the other Wolfen—Casey asked him a million questions about everything from cars and planes, to pizzas and TVs. And he answered as if it didn’t bother him at all that she was talking his ear off. Desiree didn’t know how he did it.

  “Are dragons real?” Casey asked.

  “Absolutely,” Aiden said. “Back in
the day, there used to be lizards so big, even humans were afraid of them. One bite could kill you.”

  Casey gasped. “Did they fly and breathe fire?”

  He chuckled. “I wish.”

  “Did they breathe under water?”

  “Well, no. But there were these other lizards, crocs and alligators, that could hold their breath for hours and sleep under water.”

  “Whoa…”

  “I know.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Never tried.”

  “Can you fly?”

  “No, but I can jump really high…”

  And on, and on, and on.

  Desiree’s head pounded. The meds made her weak and drowsy, and with her fever, she shivered occasionally, even in the desert heat. She needed peace and quiet for a few hours to sleep this off and heal. But that wouldn’t happen with these two chatterboxes.

  Suddenly, Aiden dropped himself into the seat next to her, startling the hell out of her. “Hey, I, uh, got you something.” He proffered a tall wooden stick.

  “You want to play fetch?”

  Aiden glared. “It’s to help you walk. It’s not as good as a crutch, or two, but at least you’ll be able to move on your own. Don’t need to have me touching you all the time. I know you don’t like that much.”

  Desiree flushed and accepted the token. It wasn’t a stray branch he’d picked up along the way, but a finely tooled and lacquered walking stick, the kind hikers used to carry. It even had a hole drilled through the top, threaded with a length of leather thong. Dangling on it was a little metal charm—a disc with the shape of a howling wolf inside. “Where did you get this?”

  He shrugged. “Found it in one of the hotel rooms. Figured it might come in handy at some point.”

  Desiree cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. So are you done not talking to me now?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Well”—he reached for the fish on the stick—“have a chomp while you’re thinking about it. There’s more where this came from.” He put her portion on a plate, then ate his share straight from the stick, watching her pick at her meal.

  She took a bite but, though her stomach growled for sustenance, Desiree had no appetite, and the smoky flesh tasted like charcoal. She had to force herself to swallow.

  “Water?” Aiden offered her a cup.

  What the hell was he up to now? All of this solicitous bullshit was so far out of character, it had to be a ruse. When she wouldn’t take the cup, Aiden raised an eyebrow, but smiled all the same. The pleasantries grated on her last nerve. She didn’t like it when people lied. It frustrated her when she knew they were doing it, but couldn’t figure out the truth, and when she was frustrated, she lashed out. This time was no different. “Stop being nice,” she snapped. “You’re supposed to hate me.” In fact, she’d prefer it.

  “What, because you tortured me and wanted to let Casey die?” He shrugged with a lopsided grin. “Nah, I don’t hold grudges.”

  Desiree gaped. “Yes you do! A few scars don’t change anything. Stop treating me like you don’t still hate me for what I did; I’m not some beaten stray dog—”

  “Really? Because you sure bite like one.” He took her plate to painstakingly remove the fish’s skin and bones. “And ‘bitch’ is one of the tamer words I’d use to describe you. You know, hard as it is for me to admit, I may actually like that about you.” He shuddered. “God, I can’t believe I just said that.” When he gave the plate back, the fish was pulled apart into bite-sized pieces, but he’d left the head whole, and Desiree’s stomach turned at the thought of eating it.

  She shoved the lot of it back at him. “Bullshit. You hate humans. That thing you’re feeling? It’s not like, it’s pity. And you can keep that to yourself!”

  “You don’t get to tell people how they feel,” Aiden retorted, shoving the little plate back into her lap, spilling half of its contents all over her. He huffed, picking everything back up.

  Desiree tensed, ready to go feral on him if he tried to grope her, but he didn’t touch her any more than was absolutely necessary to pick up the food. “Look,” he said, “I’m trying to mend fences here, okay? It’s not like I want us to hold hands and skip or anything, but I’m getting sick and tired of sleeping with one eye open around you. I’m a predator, you’re vicious—can you maybe just consider the possibility that we might have something in common?”

  She stared, trying to figure out the ploy.

  He stared right back, gaze steady on her face, and there was no pity in his blue-green eyes, no hate or resentment. Only a quiet acceptance underlying a whole lot of frustration.

  It scared her.

  At least when he’d hated her, Desiree knew she had some smidgen of power at her core. She was vicious, conniving, and dangerous in her own right. After all, she’d gotten under the skin of a Wolfen and lived. How many people could say that?

  But he looked at her now as if she were his equal, and it made her feel that much smaller. It took away her claws. He looked at her, and she was her own self again—weak little one-legged Desiree, beaten and scarred. He saw her as a victim, and she had no one left to tell him otherwise, didn’t have enough conviction to tell him herself.

  After everything she’d been through to get out from under Klaus’ thumb, Desiree was right back where she’d started—depending on someone else to survive.

  Tired of fighting against her lot in life, she slouched and dropped her gaze, grudgingly accepting the plate of fish.

  “You’re gonna hate me even more now, aren’t you?”

  Desiree shook her head without looking up.

  Aiden sighed. “Yeah, I so don’t believe you.” He got up, dusted himself off, and swooped Casey up from the water’s edge. “Come on, Case. Let’s get out of the line of fire for a bit.” He spun the girl around, singing Sway at the top of his lungs.

  Casey laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s called dancing,” he said. “Work with me here.” And he sang louder. Desiree would have been embarrassed for him, except he was actually good.

  Making an effort not to be bitter, Desiree set the uneaten fish aside, braced herself on the walking stick, and got up, with Aiden’s eyes on her every step as she hopped back to the car. It was too hot out in the sun. She was tired, weak, and just plain miserable. A nap sounded pretty damned good. So she curled up on the back seat, closed her eyes, and pretended not to hear Casey’s delighted squeals as she danced her little heart out.

  At some point, Aiden’s voice woke her. He sounded so far away, echoing, repeating something. His cool hand pressed to her burning forehead, and he swore. Then the world tilted and her eyes rolled back in her head as Aiden sat her up and pressed a bottle to her lips. She choked on the bitter liquid, but he wouldn’t let her lie back down until she’d finished all of it. Her shaking had become worse. She was so cold, but burning at the same time. A heavy layer of blankets settled over her. Voices whispered left and right. They made no sense.

  Searing knives cut into her leg, tearing at her flesh. Desiree would have screamed, only she didn’t have much strength left to do it. Instead she jerked, reflexes taking over where coherent thought failed to make her react. But a thick band of…something tied her down, held her immobile.

  More pain.

  Then darkness.

  Heat and ice.

  Bitter dregs forced down her throat. She threw them back up, and sighed with relief to taste cool, clean water on her tongue.

  Darkness buoyed her, soft and quiet like sleep, but much deeper, much more frightening.

  Desiree tried to claw her way back to the surface, but her eyes felt swollen shut. Her mouth was too tired to move, to form words, to call for help. Her limbs were leaden weights attached to her body.

  Then she sank deeper still, into a place where she didn’t exist.

  46: Bryce

  The darkness began to lift, leaving a dull ache in his
head and an all-over skin crawl as a reminder of what had happened. Nothing hurt, so his body had recovered, but his senses were still misfiring. Bryce felt cushioned on something like a bed, but that couldn’t be right. He heard noises outside—lots of people, dogs, and horses, too. He smelled Wolfen, but not Sinna.

  Bryce frowned. Had someone lobotomized him while he’d been out?

  Then he registered a weight on top of him. The foreign scent clicked into place, and he remembered: Gilroy. Colony. Buddy-buddy Wolfen expert Dave. Helena.

  Suddenly, he was wide awake, with a face hovering right above his. Cold blue-green eyes pinched in a meaningless smile. “Hello, handsome.”

  Bryce lurched up. The female flinched, but didn’t run. Instead, she shoved him back down. “Whoa there, big guy. Take it easy. No need to rush.”

  He snarled, shoved her off so he could sit up. His head spun, and his stomach heaved. Had they drugged him?

  Helena picked herself up, dusted herself off. “I’m going to overlook that cheap shot. This once. But do that again and I will rip out your throat, got it?”

  Bryce clutched at his temples to stop the spinning. Her words barely registered. “Where is she?”

  “Who? Oh, the other one. She’s fine. Probably still in bed. Where you should be.” Hands on his shoulders pushed him down again, more gently this time. Disoriented, Bryce lay back, blinking rapidly in a futile effort to focus on something—anything.

  Shake it off, damn it! This is nothing.

  “There now, isn’t this better?” Her hands skimmed over his shoulders and chest, while her weight settled across his lap. “Just relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”

  Skin against skin.

  His clothes were gone.

  Ire lit his blood. He roared, throwing her off so hard, her back struck the wall and sent a small dust explosion into the air.

  Bryce lurched to his feet, staggered like a drunk around a room empty of everything but a bed.

  “Hot damn,” Helena breathed. “Look at you.” She was panting, circling him and leaving a scent trail of arousal in her wake like a territory marker.