Howl for Me

by Lynn Red

  Instinct – savage, primal, unchecked instinct – drove Damon forward.

  The first step hurt. It always hurt, as the pads of his claws spread on the ground.

  The next one was less painful, but still, a little sore.

  Damon pulled a breath through his nose, looking around himself to get his bearings, and then realized, he didn’t need his eyes.

  Devin was close. Damon felt him – sensed his brother – and sensed that he was in trouble.

  One last glance to the sky was the last pause Damon allowed himself. Another howl pierced the darkness, and Damon joined it, calling to whoever, or whatever, may be listening. He scratched the ground, relishing the sensation of his claws cutting through the swamp moss.

  And then, he ran.

  Straight ahead he went, tearing through undergrowth, through water and brush and tree branches. With every step, branches whipped his face and roots jutting up from the moss and the muck jabbed his feet.

  He knew he’d find what he was looking for.

  If he went hard and fast and long enough, Damon knew he’d find Devin.

  Wherever he was.

  -4-

  Devin

  Vines, or some damn thing, tore into Devin’s forearms. Thorns dug through his wiry fur, and cut deep, making him curse every time he moved. Gritty, root-filled dirt squished between his toes.

  “What… Where am I?”

  He shook his head. It felt heavy, weighted down, wet, and groggy. If he’d been drinking the night before and woke up half-transformed in a gutter, that wouldn’t surprise him all that much, but as far as he could remember, that was just it – there was nothing to remember.

  Devin stood on his tiptoes. Above him, there was open sky and a metal grate, presumably to keep him right where he was. Twisting his arms, the thorns dug in deeper.

  “What in the fuck is this?”

  Outside, something scurried across the grating – a raccoon or a possum, probably – and Devin blinked hard to try to and gather his thoughts.

  Last he remembered, he crossed into Louisiana and started poking around a little hovel of a swamp town. Somewhere south of Shreveport, but he couldn’t be sure where he was or how far he’d gone. In the months since he left Fort Branch, he’d grown an ever-developing sense of regret, but there was no telling if that was from guilt, or simple loneliness.

  The Carak – Devin’s pack – were nowhere to be found. That’s why he kept looking. At night, he’d listen to the howls, and hope they were leading him home, but they never did. It was almost like something, or someone, was trying to keep him away from his kin.

  But why? What was the point?

  He snapped back to reality, to the present, when heavy footsteps thudded, somewhere beyond his field of vision.

  In a moment of clarity, Devin narrowed his eyes and tried to smell whatever was out there, but the earthen walls made it impossible to smell anything except dirt and roots and worms.

  “Who’s out there?”

  No answer not a sound. It was so silent that Devin thought he must have imagined the thudding, dragging footstep. That is, until he heard a second one.

  He looked upward again, staring into the night, into the only light he had. It wasn’t enough to make out anything more than a small ring around his feet, but at least it was something.

  Devin thought, one last time, about moving. The remaining pain shooting down his forearms kept that thought from turning to action.

  “Who am I? Did I hear you… ask?” The voice, a ragged, leathery one with more than a little age behind it, and enough strain that it seemed to hurt, approached from Devin’s left.

  The first blow to his jaw came from the right and followed through with such force that his head and then his whole body, followed. Red, hot, grinding pain coursed through him, first from the truck-like impact and next from the ripping in his arms.

  Devin spat something warm, and drew a ragged breath. He found that he didn’t even have the strength to complain or make much of a noise. Instead, he just grunted. Dangling and helpless, he started thinking maybe this is what he deserved.

  Maybe he deserved it, he thought, for what he did to his girlfriend whose name escaped him at the moment. Maybe it was karma striking back for what he did to Damon, and to Lily, and everyone else.

  Regret, awful and biting, made the next punch sting a little less.

  A balled up fist slammed into Devin’s rock-hard stomach and made him lurch forward. Forward, he learned, hurt less than side to side.

  “What… do you want?”

  Devin spat again, something warm and sticky clung to his chin.

  “Why am I here? Where is here, anyway?”

  The laugh that met his ears had such a rounded, almost pleasant tone, that Devin could hardly believe that it came from whoever was beating him.

  A hand rushed up and grabbed his chin, lifting his head. When he strained as much as he could, Devin was able to see the vague outline of a half-human face. The wolf’s fur was white with age. Long, braided locks, embellished with trinkets and tiny bones, framed his face. But what struck Devin the most were the beast’s eyes. They were so pale that they reminded him of the sky at dawn. They were grey, almost shimmering; peaceful, but with a storm brewing in the background.

  “What is it you—”

  Devin’s question was interrupted by a fist closing around his hair, and yanking his head backwards, fiercely.

  “I could rip your throat out right now,” the wolf said.

  “You… Who are you?”

  Devin twisted his head, trying to get a glimpse, but failing.

  “Why am I here?”

  “You’ve never heard of me. Most of your kind, you probably never have. My name was buried, my face removed from the histories of our people.”

  “Our?” Devin said.

  A chuckle escaped the monster’s lips. His breath was cold, prickling Devin’s skin, as it slid around his neck, and down his naked back.

  “So, I know I’ve got the right one. From one came two, and now they’re sundered, never to be reunited. Unless…”

  “I don’t have any idea,” Devin paused to suck a breath. “No clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh? That’s… disappointing.”

  Another blow, this one a brutal open-handed slap, sent Devin’s head reeling, and then snapping back, painfully, before it just drooped.

  “I was sure I’d caught the right one. Your brother is reputed to be quite a boy scout. At least that’s what I’m told. You, though? Seem to be a little looser with your morality.”

  “My brother?” Devin asked. “What about… What are you…”

  “Do I need to strike you again?” The aggressor chuckled as Devin’s entire body slumped forward in defeat. “Or are you going to stop playing ignorant?”

  Warm fluid ran down the side of Devin’s mouth, and he felt swollen and sore from the last blow that busted his lip.

  “I’m not playing,” Devin grunted. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Do you really think I’d keep my mouth shut to protect my brother? After what he did to me?”

  Rage bubbled inside Devin, and from the tension in his voice, it was apparent.

  “Good,” the huge wolf said, and took a step back. “Very good. I was hoping you’d come to see things my way.”

  When he approached again, the moon had shifted in the sky just enough that Devin was able to catch a glimpse of his captor’s ancient face. The monster was scarred, ragged, and obviously older than anyone he’d ever seen.

  “I… I still don’t know why I’m here,” he finally said in a low-turned whisper.

  “Because I need help.”

  “You do?” Devin was incredulous. “Hard to believe you’d need help from someone you had tied up, and just beat the shit out of. I—”

  “I’ll do it again, if you keep speaking. And the next one will be worse.”

  “I’m not trying to—”

  A backhanded bl
ow crashed into Devin’s mouth, and once again, he spat blood. This time, it felt like his jaw was broken, but a quick shake of his head popped it back in place. Hurt like hell, but at least he could move his mouth.

  “I wasn’t lying, pup,” the old wolf growled.

  His sour, cold breath caught Devin by surprise, and turned his stomach a little.

  “You’ll do what I say, or I’ll murder you where you stand. You’re nothing but a pawn to me. Understand?”

  To punctuate what he said, the old beast bared his teeth. Now that the moonlight made Devin’s cell slightly more lit, he could see silver glistening from the fangs. The mouth around them was singed and burned.

  “You have silver teeth?”

  “Ancient rite, pup,” was the answer. “You wouldn’t understand. Your kind is soft. Weak. You’re interested more in mating more than you are in war. But that time is over. I’ve awakened to reclaim the packs; to reunite all of us under one banner. Mine.”

  Devin fought to keep himself from saying anything else.

  “And you’re going to help me.”

  “But how?” Devin asked. “I’m not allowed in Fort Branch, and I can’t find the rest of the Carak. I didn’t believe my brother when he said we were scattered all over the place, but… Seems like it’s true.”

  “Joram,” someone else said, emerging from the darkness. “Er, Blight, sir,” he corrected himself quickly. “Is the prisoner awake?”

  “Who else would I be talking to?” answered the ancient wolf.

  A hand shot out and connected with a jaw. For once, Devin was glad it wasn’t his mouth that bleeding.

  Then, turning back to Devin, Blight said, “Fort Branch? You’ve already helped me more than you know. When the Skarachee elder’s life force began to drain, it strengthened me. I awakened with a heart full of vengeance, a soul that will not rest. That is, until I’ve retaken my rightful place as the grand alpha.”

  “You’re going to Fort Branch?” Devin asked. “But… why? I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to, pup,” Blight growled. “You will simply do what I tell you to do. You want revenge on your brother? Who stole your dignity and cast you out? Is that what you want?”

  Joram Blight drew very close to Devin, and as the old wolf took Devin’s head in his hands, Devin looked down to see that he was walking heavily on a twisted cane.

  “Is that it? Your heart burns with rage, doesn’t it? You want to kill him for what he did. You want to punish him?”

  “I…” Despite himself, Devin had begun to nod. “More than anything. Yes.”

  “Good,” Blight smiled, silver capped teeth glistening in the moonlight. “Good.”

  Blight turned away from Devin, who had slumped over again and was pulling ragged breaths.

  Something whipped through the air.

  In the split-second before Devin’s entire world exploded and then faded into inky black, he saw the end of that gnarled cane. A shape – three vertical lines, further apart at the top than the bottom, with a thick line connecting all of them – burned itself into his memory.

  The next morning, when he awoke half-sunk in a swamp, the only thing he knew was that he needed to go back to Fort Branch. Why, he couldn’t think, but he knew he had to go home.

  Devin looked around, and ran his hand along his throbbing jaw. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon and Devin took two stuttering, uncertain steps away from it. There, he found, tucked under some fallen branches, was his motorcycle. It was apparently safe and untouched, just waiting for him.

  The keys were on the ground.

  Glancing around one last time, Devin tried to make sense of it, tried to get his head straight enough to figure out where he was, and how long he’d been there, but it was no good.

  Nothing was any good.

  The only thing he could think about was how bad his goddamn head hurt. How badly it stung when he breathed and air went over his busted lips.

  Reeling, Devin climbed onto the bike and knocked away all the stuff that was piled up on it with one sweep of his arm. When he did, he noticed three pink lines on his wrist, as though someone had burned them into his skin. Three pink lines, tilting away from each other at the top, all joined with a band across them.

  Devin took another breath and kicked the bike, nodding as the engine roared, then purred, and he slowly made his way away from the water, in search of a road.

  There was one other thing on his mind, Devin realized, as a drop of salty sweat hit his lips, and burned.

  How much he hated Damon.

  Gripping the handlebars and watching the moon, he sped west.

  He didn’t care what it took.

  Devin was going to get even.

  -5-

  “Good,” Poko said, in his rattling voice. “Now, tell me what you see.”

  I flattened my hands against the fire-warmed stones in the middle of the cave. It was cold out – not Arizona cold, real, actual cold – and had been, for most of the four days Damon had been gone.

  “I’m trying to see Damon,” I said. “But, I can’t focus on anything.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Poko shifted his weight. I heard his pine straw mat crackling. “You mustn’t try so hard to focus on something.”

  I opened my eyes, and blinked in the orange-bathed darkness, so frustrated I could have punched a rock.

  “Then, how can I—”

  Poko shook his head, interrupting my inquisition.

  “You’re keeping yourself blind because you’re trying so hard to see, Lily. You’re letting your desire to see your mate cloud your gifted vision.”

  “But he’s all I care about,” I protested.

  The two days of spirit walking practice with Poko started to take a toll on me. At some point partway through yesterday I got a headache, and had just been getting worse and worse ever since. I couldn’t keep my mind on anything for more than a few seconds.

  “I’m sorry, I just can’t…”

  Poko’s leathery hand on my shoulder gave me some small bit of comfort.

  “I understand, child. There’s no reason to apologize. After so many years walking the earth, I’ve mellowed some, but I used to be every bit as hot and impatient as you young ones.”

  “I try so hard not to want things to be different. I keep trying to make myself enjoy the moment, or whatever it is I’m supposed to do.”

  I blew a puff of air out of my nose, and ran my hand through my hair.

  “I think, maybe, I’m just not meant for this meditative stuff.”

  That got Poko laughing in his curious, breathy way.

  “I could have said the same thing, to the letter, a few hundred years ago. After that, I decided anyone who wasn’t as patient as death was doing something wrong. These days, though, I think that impatience is a good thing. Without a bit of impatience, how would anything change?”

  A coughing fit wracked the ancient werewolf, and when he finally caught his breath, he just smiled.

  “How can I do what I’m supposed to do,” I asked, “if I can’t make myself calm down? Or, at least calm down enough to stop thinking about Damon for thirty seconds? I feel so useless.”

  “Ah,” Poko said. “That’s because you’re in love. No reason to be ashamed of that. I remember back when Ala was alive – I’ve told you about her, yes?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Was she important to you?”

  Poko laughed softly. “At the very least. She was my mate, yes. She and I spent a very, very long time together. When it was finally time for me to let her fade, to join the spirits, I could hardly bring myself to let go.”

  “That’s awful,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Child, you don’t understand the way of things. This whole universe – this planet, these rocks, the stars outside – we are all one. You’ve seen that with how your spirit travels, yes?”

  I couldn’t answer, at first. My breath just hitched in my throat, and wouldn’t come out. A momen
t later, I swallowed hard.

  “I never thought of it that way, I guess.”

  “Oh?” Poko asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “I… I guess it sounds stupid, but the first time I did it, I was with Damon, you know, and we were just kind of sitting around. I was asleep, and then my eyes seemed to zoom out of my head, and up and up and up, and then I felt kinda like… Well this is going to sound stupid, but did you ever see the Superman movie? Where he flies off and kinda hangs out in space watching for things that he needs to help with?”

  Poko shook his head. “I’ve never been one for theaters. I did read some of the books though, a long time ago. I remember one, where he punched someone so hard, he left the stratosphere.”

  It was my turn to laugh.

  “Totally didn’t expect that,” I said.

  “We’re all capable of surprising each other,” he replied. “But, I know what you mean. Go on.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess that’s it, really. I didn’t think of it like some kind of cosmic connection, I just thought of it like, I was way up in the sky and looking down at a bunch of lights.”

  Poko scratched some of the loose-hanging skin on his neck.

  “In a way you were. But how, do you suppose, you got up there?”

  “Astral projection,” I blurted out. “I heard about it on a radio show my grandpa listens to all the time. Supposedly, your soul can go on journeys, and leave your body behind.”

  “That is remarkably close to correct,” Poko said, with a bemused grin. “What show is this? No, no, never mind. We have other things to deal with. So, how do you think this works? How is it that your soul leaves your body, and you see all those things you’ve never seen?”

  I thought for a second, and then just shook my head. “I give up. I won’t even pretend to understand what’s happening to me. It scared me half to death, the first time it happened, and then, whenever I went… er…, into Hunter’s head, I had no idea what I was doing.”

  Slowly, Poko nodded. He turned his head to the left, listening to an unseen visitor, one of his ancestral spirits, speak. He continued nodding, and his nose twitched, and then he massaged his neck, right by the shoulder.