His command was greeted by a rustle of activity as other soldiers appeared, marching off into the forest on the far side of the house. Tears filled Tanya’s eyes as they disappeared down the path toward town. She squeezed her hands to her mouth, but a whimper escaped.
The young soldier from the cellar steps was still in the clearing. He spun about.
Tanya tried to hide but his searching eyes found her, pupils dilated.
Tanya’s tear filled eyes bored back into his. She couldn’t breathe, as if a giant fist squeezed her chest.
Neither moved.
Something passed between them.
He nodded and turned to follow his comrades.
This time she did the one thing she had always been taught.
She ran.
Chapter 28
March 1944 – The Western Ukraine
Tanya crumpled to the ground and wept. She was exhausted. Only after what felt like hours did she rise on shaking legs, her sobs fading into a final flurry of tears. Wiping an arm across her swollen eyes she breathed deep, an aching hollow emptiness at the center of her being. As she pulled herself together her pain was superseded by an all-consuming rage. She was done running.
Upon reaching her hideaway she grabbed the pistol and pocketed it. She turned to go, and froze in her tracks.
The wolf was back.
He glanced over his shoulder at the same time a man stepped from the tree line.
Tanya blinked.
The man was still there.
He strode forward to stand between woman and beast.
Tanya stared at him. He had a symmetrical face, prominent cheekbones, and a strong clean shaven jawline. He was dressed simply, as a peasant, but wearing spotless clothes. Even his large hands appeared freshly scrubbed, as if he had just stepped off a streetcar. In spite of his relaxed stride and pleasant expression he had an athletic look about him; as if he could spring into action at a moment’s notice. A warning tremor raced through Tanya’s body. She had noticed such physical qualities in men before. In soldiers. She tensed, pushing her hand into her pocket, her fingers curling around the pistol.
“Wait,” The man said, holding up his hands, palms open.
His pupils were unnaturally bright, dancing with life. For some reason the tension eased in Tanya’s body, her hand loosened its hold on the weapon’s sweaty grip.
“I know what happened,” He said. “I also know what you’re thinking. Please, don’t go down that path.”
Strangely, Tanya couldn’t shake feeling comforted.
“I understand. Believe me, I do.” He stood tall, the cadence and tenor of his speech precise as he lowered his hands, “But is your death what your mother or father would want?”
“Just go, and take your pet,” she said, feeling dizzy. “You understand nothing.”
He pointed at the wolf, “I know that he’s yours as much as he is mine.”
Tanya’s head spun.
“He’s been watching over you. You respect him, his world. We have all noticed,” The man said.
Tanya whimpered. She tried to rip her eyes away, but couldn’t. Her lips parted, mind fighting against the pleasant sensation warming her body.
“I’m speaking of your future, Tanya.”
How did he know her name?
“This is a cruel world. To be alone is the last thing you want, no?”
She warily mouthed her assent.
He smiled, drawing her into his orbit.
Eyelids heavy, she tried to protest but couldn’t. She swayed in place on increasingly rubbery legs…
“I have an offering for you, call it a gift.”
She felt clumsy, as if her equilibrium was shot. Then a moment of clarity shot through the fog. She knew what most men wanted for their alleged gifts, “Oh, I bet you do. You can forget it, mister.”
“Not like that,” He said. “Look at me, please.”
He appeared to be twice her age, but he was attractive. She licked her lips, casting her gaze down to take in the bulge running down the man’s pant leg. He appears to be packing a gift all right. At that she giggled out loud, and then clapped her hands over her mouth.
Where did that wickedness come from?
His eyes searched hers as if he had the biggest secret he wanted to tell her.
For some reason she trusted him.
Perhaps it was his demeanor. Perhaps it was the wolf. Yes, the wolf was the key.
“Okaaaay,” she slurred. The sound of her voice was eerie. She felt tired, hot, and needful as her finger waved lazily in the air, “But no funny stuff, or else.” Or else I will jump on you and ride that fat cock until I squeeze every drop from it.
His eyes sparkled, “It’s time.”
They appeared, her eyes slamming open as the sight of the wolves. One…two…three…a dozen animals crowded into the clearing. A soft pressure pushed against her leg. She looked down at a large female, her big head turned up…
My God, she’s reassuring me.
She stroked the creature’s fur. In spite of the animal’s bolstering presence Tanya swooned, her world collapsing around the comforting wolves and the serene voice of this strange man.
“Take off your shirt.”
Tanya bit her lower lip, complying without protest. Intense waves of pleasure and need emanated from her midsection, overriding any vestige of modesty. She gulped, a tremor sweeping up between her legs.
“Sit on that tree stump.”
Tanya obeyed. She vaguely noticed him gliding to her left, her mind registered a brief shock as his shirt came off, revealing a trim well-muscled torso. She wanted to turn her head and follow his movement, but it took too much effort. The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly tingled; he was standing directly behind her. She squirmed on the tree stump, an exquisitely delightful pulse coming from within. Her mind stared down from above as if floating, leering at a raven haired woman wearing nothing but pants and a bra. Tanya sat erect, her body tingling. Give it me, please. Tremendous warmth emanated through the man’s hand as he placed it on her shoulder, his body pressed close. The female wolf snuggled across her feet, kicking the temperature higher. She squeezed her thighs together, willing her hands to not descend further into her lap. She had never felt this way, tickling fingers of fright and desire twisting and twirling from her head to her toes. She opened her eyes, she had to see...
”Don’t turn around,” The man said, his voice sounding different, thick. To her muffled ears the last word sounded impossibly slurred. Like a growl?
Tanya gasped. One of his fingernails had creased her upper chest, feeling like a knife slicing into her skin. Her eyelids fluttered, she hovered on the edge of consciousness. Then an exquisitely plush fur blanketed her upper back. A tingling feeling radiated down from her neck down to… Oh yes, down there.
Her bra snapped. She gasped as her breasts sprung free, nipples hardening under their swaying weight, needle sharp pain at the base of her neck, the sensations coursing through her body dulling the edge. She felt like she was being held in a hot vice. A coppery smell hit her nostrils as something wet ran from the throbbing heat at the base of her neck.
With colossal effort she opened her right eye. She swore that one of the wolves had moved over her shoulder. A muzzle? It had to be one of the wolves, but his head was so big. The last thing she saw was wat looked like an enormous wolf standing on two legs.
------------------
August 2016 – Dibrovno, Western Ukraine
Ernie’s accusation echoed in the air.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Owen yelled, feeling like he had been punched in the gut.
Tanya pursed her lips.
“Say something,” Owen pleaded.
“It’s a horrible thing to leave a child without their parents.” Tanya said to Ernie. “You should
know, your father butchered my family.”
“It was an accident!” Tears streamed down Ernie’s face as his hands plunged into his pack. He fumbled about, producing sheaves of paper yellowed with age, “These are his last letters, written to my mother. Look!”
“Let me see,” Owen said.
Kateryna’s eyes flitted back and forth as Owen flipped through the papers.
“It’s true,” Cindy said as she turned to Owen.
“I don’t want to hear it from little-miss-super-scientist,” Tanya sneered, turning toward Ernie. “You tell me. What’s written on your precious Nazi papers?”
“Enough talk!” Kateryna screamed.
Tanya snapped around to glare at the smaller woman.
Immense strain wracked Kateryna’s face, her lips trembling as she fought to keep the pistol pointed at Tanya.
A hawk’s whistling cry sounded in the distance.
Kateryna blanched at the sudden noise, nearly discharging the weapon.
“It can be spooky out here, yes?” Tanya said.
Kateryna whimpered.
“What’s that you say?” Tanya taunted. “C’mon, spit it out sweetness.” Her face twitched, something rippling under her cheek.
The pistol wavered.
Tanya staggered and fell to the ground. She threw her head back and let out a soul crushing scream that echoed off the surrounding cliffs as her body exploded in a rictus of spasms.
“Shoot her!” Ernie shrieked, his emotions boiling over.
The gun shook like a windblown leaf in Kateryna’s tightly clasped hands.
Tanya grotesquely skidded around on the ground, head thrashing, lips peeled back from her teeth.
“Oh God, no,” Cindy cried.
Revulsion and an unbreakable curiosity washed over Owen as Tanya’s writhing spasticity picked up in intensity. It looked like a documentary he remembered from his high school biology class. A dramatically speeded up shot of an Arctic flower’s life cycle, the clouds flowing impossibly swift, petals opening with a flourish. Tanya’s clothes stretched and tore like she were Dr. David Banner, legs kicking and lengthening with each explosive thrust, shoulders massively expanding, blood dripping from her finger tips, grotesque popping sounds, fibrous claws springing forth through her skin, bones jumping and crunching all along her torso, her jaw pushing forward into a long muzzle.
It was over.
Fully formed muscles rippled under a jet black coat of fur as the monster stood and howled.
Kateryna blinked, taking in the enormity of the terror before her. A thin high-pitched scream burst forth from her lungs, the pistol clattering to the side of the trail as she tore down the path, her mind collapsing.
Ernie swept up the pistol before anyone could react.
Tanya turned toward him, but too late. She looked at Owen, eyes glistening with a look of surrender.
Owen launched himself into the air, slamming into Ernie just as his finger curled around the trigger. The impact folded Ernie’s body up like a chair and propelled both men off the cliff. As Owen plunged toward the tree lined slope below his feet extended down, ancient instincts protecting their new host. He whipped through several stinging tree branches, the first brushing his thigh, but a second painfully cracking him in the ribs. He ricocheted off it and slammed down onto the ground, cartwheeling unevenly down the hillside, dimly registering another body tumbling next to him. He bounced off a tree trunk and came to a stop, rolling to his knees, surprisingly unharmed but for a thin line of blood running from his hair line. He touched his hand to his forehead a second time, but the jagged cut was already closing. Then he noticed it. Partway up the slope. A body splayed out like a rag doll. Head bent back at a sickening angle.
Ernie.
Owen rushed over and slid down in a cloud of dust. He turned Ernie over but his head flopped like a broken puppet, sightless eyes staring into nothingness. Owen’s throat seized up, the rawest pain he had ever felt surging up from inside. He cradled Ernie in his rocking lap, tears spilling down his face, a hollow black emptiness spreading outward from his convulsing mid-section. Owen screamed out his anguish, wanting nothing more than to kill himself.
A golf ball sized rock tumbled down the hillside.
Owen looked up as it rolled to a stop, lost in his grief, not quite processing what the rock’s movement meant. He turned his attention back to his friend and raised a trembling hand to smooth Ernie’s ruffled hair, but stopped.
Owen glanced at the rock again at the same time a hot feeling brought new life to his muscles, something clawing from within, anxious to escape—
The clack-clack of a shell being chambered in a shotgun rang in his ear.
Chapter 29
August 2016 – The Western Ukraine
Owen pressed his forehead against a garage door sized window, sunlight baking the tears caked tight on his cheeks. The finality and totality of Ernie’s death hung over him like a guillotine. He pounded his head against the glass, each blow producing a dull echo. Splintered images flashed through his mind’s eye; slamming into Ernie, gun flying, soldiers, a bug shaped helicopter, landing pad, canvas hooded figures being herded toward— Owen picked his head up, staring outside.
Where the fuck was he?
He was at least ten stories off the ground, standing in the biggest of three curvilinear towers laid out like the outstretched middle fingers of one’s hand, with his tower furthest forward. His window appeared to be one of hundreds set into a concrete and steel modernist façade redolent of a software company’s headquarters. Outbuildings surrounded the towers, creating a campus like atmosphere. Trimmed shrubbery lined gravel pathways winding through a sprawling garden filled with people. Some ate and talked. A few kicked around a soccer ball. Others played with their smart phones. Owen’s eyes burned with hatred.
He wanted to make them feel his pain. Bury his snout under each perfect little chin and rip—
The door slid open. A tall man in a black Tom Ford three piece suit strode in, a brown folder held in his well-manicured left hand. His lustrous shoes clicked across the marble floor and his face shined with a light belying his nondescript age, big teeth lining his mouth.
“Good afternoon, Owen,” The man said as he drifted near, right hand extended. “I’m Sergei Mikhailovich Vukovich.”
Owen recoiled. Vukovich looked even more imposing up close.
The proffered hand hung firm in mid-air. It looked like it could palm a basketball.
“What have you done with my friends?” Owen said.
Vukovich let his rejected hand fall to his side. He stood ramrod straight, his bearing courtly.
Owen caught his expression. It was the condescending look of a server in a fine restaurant who regularly employed sir as a substitute for asshole.
“This belonged to someone you cared about,” Vukovich said as he deposited the folder onto the coffee table. “Call it a gift.”
“Get out,” Owen said, flinching as if he had been slapped in the face. His hands balled into fists, fingernails slicing into his palms.
“The fact that you are alive and in your present condition vexes me,” Vukovich said, a smile creasing his face and revealing two long fangs at the same time. “But such surprises are what make life interesting, no?”
A strand of hair shook loose from Vukovich’s forehead. He absentmindedly combed it back with one immense hand, his wolfish eyes staring down his prisoner. Owen couldn’t shake the sick feeling of being trapped in a small room with a large predator.
Vukovich departed, the door gliding shut behind him.
Owen staggered into the nearest chair. He glanced down to see palms stained with blood, but smoothly closing up.
------------------
August 2016 – The Western Ukraine
Some agent you are.
Brody had been perched above th
e trail, hiding in the foliage. One minute he was alone and the next Owen and Tanya loped past, leaving him sitting in stunned silence. He had waited then scampered to his feet, coming to an abrupt halt when a wolf’s howl split the late morning air. His testicles had just completed their rapid ascent into his belly when his head had exploded, the world spun once, and slipped away.
Brody rubbed his sore neck, wincing at the memory of getting clubbed as he glanced around the ten-by-ten room in which he had been confined. He sat on a twin bed made up with a single sheet and flat pillow. In a ceiling corner a flat-screen TV was tuned to CNN, the sound muted but the news crawler flashing by: “Criminal Prosecution Taken off the Table for CEO Jimmy Donnelly Following This Week’s Hearing.”
At least some things never change, Donnelly robbing the country blind then skating free like he was Charlie White or Meryl Davis. Stifling an urge to smash the TV Brody eyed the rest of the windowless room. Walls painted battleship gray. A steel door with what looked like a mail slot but thicker marring its seamless expanse. A large mirror had been mounted on the wall to his left. He presumed it was a two-way. The TV clicked off. Brody sighed and fell back on the bed, hands over his eyes.
The door slid open.
Cindy stumbled into the room, the door shutting behind. She sagged into his outstretched hands, her cheeks flushed and pupils dilated. As he caught her she moaned, “Oh my, it’s just awful. Ernie’s gone.”
Brody tensed. He wanted to ask her about it, but held back. She needed him more than he needed answers. He tightened his arm around her until she looked strong enough to sit up on her own, though still snuggled into him for support.
The flap in the door opened. A tray balanced precariously on the small lip projecting into the room. Brody reached out with one hand and grabbed it just before it tipped forward. Together, they examined the tray’s contents; sliced apples, a collection of Boursin, Chevre, and Gouda cheeses, a baguette, two splits of German Riesling, and a pair of clear plastic cups.
“I guess they aren’t total savages, but if this is meant to hold us—”
“Knock it off,” Cindy said.
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