by Travis Bughi
And that was why Cyrus was so terrified as he hid among the shrubs on the outskirts of the werewolf village. Tonight was the first night he would see his mother in the camp itself, as opposed to in secret somewhere far from prying eyes.
“Mother,” he’d pleaded in the past. “Please, come with me. I’ll set up a nice home for us, just us two. You don’t have to stay with him.”
“Cyrus, he’s the alpha. Please don’t talk about this. I can’t defy him like that. They’d come after us. It’s better this way. I can protect you from him.”
“You’re not protecting me. He’s hurting you. You can’t hide the bruises from me. Please, let’s just run away.”
But she wouldn’t. She was just as terrified as Cyrus was, but she felt powerless. Ralph had abused her for so long that her mind was as much a prison as his might. She wouldn’t leave, not so long as Ralph seemed unbeatable.
“This is the night,” Cyrus said.
It was almost time. Defying a werewolf pack leader wasn’t as simple as walking up to the man and issuing a challenge. Werewolves had a strict tradition that the alpha could only be challenged in werewolf form under a full moon, when both were at their peak physical condition. In such a form, Ralph would be even stronger than normal, more ferocious than normal, and less merciful. In his bestial form, Ralph wouldn’t be able to stop himself from killing Cyrus.
“You can do this,” Ven had said last they’d met. “Just do as we’ve planned. Pick the last night of the full moon, that way when you win, you can bring Belen back without her changing again. We’ll have the cage ready by the next cycle, so she can be confined at night, and everything will be just fine. You two will be happy here, and you’ll finally become the man you’ve always wanted to be.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Cyrus had replied, bile rising up in his throat even with the fateful night being so far out.
“You must, Cyrus. You must stand up to him. You’ll forever live in fear if you do not.”
“Live in fear,” Cyrus muttered now, beneath the shrub. “I’m swimming in fear right now. Okay, okay, okay. Come on, you can do this. For her. For her. This is the night. This is the night.”
Cyrus took another deep breath, balled his hands into fists, and stood up. Then he straightened his back and marched toward the werewolf camp.
There wasn’t much of a guard set up around the place. There was precious little light left before the full moon rose up, so any creature that valued its life would have run far, far away. That being said, Cyrus wasn’t trying to sneak in, so he was spotted by two of Ralph’s goons.
“Eh! Ain’t that Cyrus,” one said, an ugly man with a flat nose.
“I don't believe it. It is. You know you’re not supposed to be here, boy,” the other replied, far more pleasant to look at, and somewhat levelheaded from what Cyrus remembered. “Get out of here before Ralph sees you and beats the snot out of you. Come on, you don’t want your mother to see that. And you best be running before we change.”
“I, I’m, uh, I,” Cyrus said, trying to summon some sort of courage into his voice. “I’m here to challenge him?”
What in the world? Did I just make that sound like a question?
The ugly one laughed.
“What was that?” the other replied. “Don’t be daft, boy. Didn’t you hear me? Get out of here, or I’ll beat your face in myself.”
“Cyrus?” another called out.
It was too late. The rest of the village had noticed him by now, and his name echoed out like a ghost from the past.
Ralph’s tent was bashed open, and the man himself appeared, heavyset and sporting a small, greying beard now. Cyrus’ stomach flipped twice over, and his knees went weak at the sight of his lifetime tormentor. So many nightmares, both real and imaginary, flooded into his mind, and old wounds long since healed began to ache. He resisted the urge to touch his face where the last wound had taken longest to heal.
Ralph’s gaze scanned the perimeter, stopping dead on Cyrus’ form.
“Well, I don't believe it,” Ralph said with a grin. “If ain’t little Cyrus.”
He strode out. Belen followed a moment later, dashing out of the tent with a look of hope and fear in her own eyes. Her wide jaw and auburn hair gave her that motherly glow Cyrus always thought about every time he saw her. A measure of strength poured into him, and he met Ralph’s gaze.
“This is the night,” he whispered.
“What was that?” Ralph called out, walking to them.
“Eh, don’t worry about this kid,” the handsome goon said. “I’ll take him out to the forest and give him a good beating. Don’t bother yourself, Ralph.”
The goon tried to push Cyrus away, hurriedly.
“No, no,” Ralph countermanded. “Wait. I’m sure my son didn’t come here for nothing. Perhaps he came to apologize, am I right? He’s old enough to be a man now, so I’ll bet he’s realized his wicked ways and come to repent. Ain’t that so? You better hurry, Cyrus. Night’s a comin’, and I’m getting hungry.”
A couple of chuckles let loose from around the camp, the ugly goon laughing loudest. The handsome one just grimaced.
“I tried,” he whispered to himself, then looked at Cyrus. “Stupid kid.”
“I,” Cyrus started, then drew in a breath to steady his voice. “I’ve come to challenge you.”
Ralph froze, shocked. So did the rest of the camp. Some families quickly ushered their children out of sight.
“What was that?” Ralph finally said. “I must be going deaf. I swear I just heard little Cyrus asking me, begging me, to beat his little face in again, right here in front of his mom. What would she think of that, eh? You trying to kill her or something, Cyrus? Heartless little bastard. You’ve caused your mother nothing but grief, you know that? Challenging me? I ought to bust your head open just for all the heartache you’ve given her. Ungrateful, that’s what you are.”
Cyrus clenched his teeth and let the words wash over him. When they broke, he looked at his mother.
“I’ve got us a place, Mother,” he said. “I’ve got us a nice place for us, far from here. Please, come with me, and I’ll keep us safe. It’s with the elves—”
“The elves,” Ralph shouted, looking around the village until everyone got the hint and started laughing. “Why, ain’t that the daftest thing I ever heard. The elves don’t want you, and they definitely don’t want her. You know what they’d do to her Cyrus? The second she changed, they’d put her down. Like an animal. No, you’d kill her, that’s what you’d do. The only chance we werewolves got is to stick together, and I won’t let you put your mother in harm’s way. Ungrateful, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Ungrateful is what you are. I work and work to make you a nice home, safe, with plenty of food and shelter, and what’s the thanks I get? This shit right here. Challenging me? What an idiot. Little old you? I’ll rip your throat out, young pup.
“Now you stop this nonsense right now and apologize lest you give your mother even more grief.”
Belen dropped to her knees and clasped her hands. Tears were already running down her face.
“Please, listen to him,” she begged.
“You gotta give me the chance,” Cyrus said to Ralph. “I challenge you. It’s almost nighttime.”
“I ain’t gotta do a damn thing.”
“Why? Are you scared?”
That did it. Ralph went still again, this time deathly so, and all of Cyrus’ insides turned liquid. The man’s hard eyes bore down on Cyrus with murderous intent, and Belen squealed in terror.
“Ralph, no, don’t, he didn’t mean it!” she cried, scrambling towards him.
His hand flashed out and struck her in the face. Belen hit the ground a moment later. More members of the village began to slip away out of sight.
“Shut up!” he roared. “This is your fault! You did this. Didn’t I tell you not to send him away? Didn’t I warn you what would happen? Now look at him. Ungrateful, rebellious little
shit, and who has to fix this, huh? I do! I DO! Get over here, Cyrus. I’m going to fix this little attitude problem of yours. You’ve got no right challenging a man in his own home. I’m going to give you a beating so bad that every other time I’ve hit you will seem like a love tap. I said get over here!”
Cyrus had to fight not to run. He shook like a twig in the wind, his teeth chattering, but he held steady.
Tonight, tonight, this is the night, he repeated. I’ve got everything all set.
“It’s going to be okay, Mother,” he whispered.
Belen cried and stayed down as Ralph entered the clearing in the center of the village and Cyrus faced off against him. Ralph began to strip.
“Oh, it’s going to alright, that’s for sure,” the man said. “Not for you, not after I’m through with you. I didn't want this, but you’ve asked for it. This is for your own good, you understand? And for your mother. She’ll finally be rid of all the pain you’ve caused her.”
Cyrus began to strip, too. He took off his shirt, then his pants. A small amount of fear slipped away from him when Ralph paused at the sight of Cyrus’ grown body. He was older now, muscular—not quite as little as he once was.
“I challenge you,” Cyrus repeated. “Not for right as leader, though. I don’t want that. I’m just here for her. My mother and I are going far away from you, and I don’t want to see you ever again.”
“You and her ain’t going nowhere,” Ralph said, flexing his arms and popping his knuckles. “She’s staying here, in that tent, under my protection. As for you, I’ll put you in the ground.”
“No!” Belen cried out as the last vestiges of night slipped away and the full moon peeked out from behind the clouds.
Then the change happened.
It hit the entire village at once. Men, women, and children howled out as their bodies lengthened, their hands expanded into paws, and their bones snapped and cracked as they bent and extended in all directions. Noses drew out into snouts, teeth turned into fangs, and ears shifted to huge triangle shapes. Skin sprouted black fur with patches of grey depending on age, and tongues grew until they were too large to fit into their mouths, hanging out and drooling. Feet turned into hind legs, and nails sharpened into claws. Last, but not least, everyone’s eyes turned grey, except for Cyrus’, whose eyes were grey when he was human. When he turned into a werewolf, they changed to the color his eyes had been when he was born, one brown and one blue.
Then they were all werewolves, and any semblance of civilization broke down.
They howled and barked, snarled and snapped, forming a tight circle about Cyrus and Ralph. Cyrus was young, his fur a pristine, shiny black—thick and even soft. Ralph’s hair was greyed, stiff like spikes of iron, and his face wrinkled. His nose was cracked, and his teeth yellowed. Yet if anything, this only made him look more deadly, and Ralph growled as he paced about.
They circled each other, looking for an opening, baring their teeth and bristling their fur.
Surrounding them, the pack yelped and howled, filling the night air with sounds that made the entire Forest of Angor quiver like prey before a predator. Without their humanity, the werewolves lost any concept of fairness and began to snap at those within the circle, mainly at Cyrus. The challenger, the outsider, the contender, he wasn’t their leader, and they barked and even whined at his intrusion. If Cyrus backed too far out of the circle, a werewolf would nip at his hind legs or his tail, sending him scampering back toward the center. Cyrus couldn’t risk looking away at the attacker. Doing so would only give Ralph an opening. The old one watched him carefully, unblinking, taking in everything from the way Cyrus walked to where Cyrus looked to the way Cyrus smelled.
Ralph snarled, baring his fangs until hot drool poured down and dripped onto the ground. Cyrus did the same, flashing his younger, whiter teeth and keeping his claws ready.
The old one lunged, making a feinting sweep for Cyrus’ snout. The young werewolf pulled back, and then flung himself to the side, narrowly dodging Ralph’s jaws, which had aimed at his throat.
Cyrus tackled his opponent, digging his hind legs into the ground and barreling into Ralph with all his werewolf might. He gripped grey fur with his claws and dug his teeth into Ralph’s side, and Ralph howled as the two hit the ground.
The pack roared and shifted the circle, moving with the fight, as Cyrus ripped a chunk of flesh out of Ralph and went for a second. But as he did so, Ralph’s paw came hard across Cyrus’ snout, raking down its length and spraying Cyrus’ blood into the air.
Cyrus yelped, and Ralph tossed him away. The pack went mad as Cyrus hit the ground, and Ralph scrambled over, pinning him down, and laid into him with a flurry of swift strikes. The claws opened Cyrus’ skin and drew blood, but Cyrus kept his focus on Ralph’s jaws, open and drooling, knowing that’s where the killing blow would come from.
Somewhere nearby, Cyrus picked up the distinct whine of his mother as Belen’s werewolf brain kept her from interfering, despite every fiber of her human form wanting to save her son.
Ralph lunged down for Cyrus’ neck, thinking he saw an opening, only to find Cyrus’ own mouth snapping up to block him. Ralph’s claws came across Cyrus’ snout again, but Cyrus fought through the attack and lunged. His jaws clamped around the fleshy part of Ralph’s stomach, but then Ralph bit down too and grabbed a hunk of the back of Cyrus’ neck. They both howled in pain through clenched teeth and rolled on the ground, yanking on each other’s fur and flesh, tasting each other’s blood. The pack followed them across the camp, howling and barking all the way.
Then Cyrus saw it, the campfire. The embers still glowed, and the thought that sparked in Cyrus’ mind was so un-werewolf-like that he nearly dismissed it entirely. Werewolves feared fire. The idea of using it was an entirely human thought, which was to Cyrus’ advantage.
Unlike every other werewolf, he kept his mind when he transformed. He knew not why, or how, but he didn’t question it right now. He just went with it.
Cyrus, beneath Ralph, made a sudden dash forward, catching the old one off-guard. Ralph whined his surprise, until he fell backward and landed in the hot coals. He brought Cyrus with him, but the young one landed safely on top of him, bashing Ralph further into the fire, where the flames sparked to life and burned the old one’s fur and flesh.
Ralph howled and yelped, twisting on his back, flinging Cyrus off of him, and then springing to his feet. He flailed with his long arms at his back, where hot coals were stuck burning to his oozing flesh and fur. Cyrus saw his opening and lunged. He tackled Ralph again, slamming them to the ground, and then closed his jaws around Ralph’s neck.
Then everything stopped.
The pack went silent, all their howls and barks stopping in an instant. Ralph went still. He could feel as much as Cyrus could taste the old one’s jugular pinched between the young one’s canines. In most werewolf fights, the loser had their throat ripped out a moment later because they were animals, and that’s what animals did.
Cyrus held Ralph’s jugular pinched until he was sure Ralph had gone limp. Even the hot coals weren’t so bad compared to imminent death. Ralph’s paws stirred just an inch, and Cyrus growled and pressed down. Ralph went still again.
He wasn’t just waiting for Ralph to surrender, though. He was trying to recover. He was bleeding all over the place, his legs shaking from the fight, but he had won. Barely, in the most human-like fashion, but he had won.
He waited until Belen came out from the circle. She stepped over to her son and whimpered, begging. Cyrus waited just a little bit longer, trying to make it seem like he was really trying to consider what to do. If the roles had been reversed, he’d already be dead, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to kill Ralph. Cyrus didn’t want to be like Ralph. He didn’t want to be anything like him. He wanted to be better.
Cyrus let Ralph go gently, holding his position of dominance. Only when Ralph stayed down did Cyrus back away, slowly. Ralph made a move to get up to which Cyrus snarled and m
ade to lunge.
Ralph lay back down.
Only then did Cyrus put his fangs away. He snorted, triumphantly, and walked away. The pack broke the circle and made a path for him. Once on the other side, Cyrus stopped and looked back.
Belen hadn’t moved yet. She was still looking at Ralph, and him at her. His eyes begged her to stay, not to leave him, and Cyrus could have sworn she seemed to be considering it, if out of nothing more than pity.
Cyrus barked, catching her attention. Belen gave Ralph one last look and then walked away. They left the camp, Cyrus and his mother, and headed toward the home he had made for them.
This was the night, he thought.
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading my books. I hope you found this tale worthy of your time and know that I enjoyed writing for you. If you downloaded this book for free, please consider showing your support by purchasing a copy, recommending it to a friend, or writing a review online. Your kindness would not go unnoticed, and I would greatly appreciate it.
Sincerely,
Travis Bughi