by L M Adams
“Stop being so fucking noble Robinson. You need help.” I look down at his paling face, he can’t die. No, I won’t let him die. I blink back tears, they won’t help.
“Don’t take me to a hospital! If you do, I’ll never forgive you.” Peter strains, eyes wide.
The boy would be killed. It doesn’t matter what happened or if it was a mistake. He’s shot a ranking CNAE officer, neither of them belonging in the fringe, sure. But they would kill Johnson. When bad things happen, people want someone to blame. There is a swift and harsh justice in the human world now.
I take a deep breath; the only other person I can think that will be able to help is Big Mike. He could heal him with the pack magic. I smell the wolf in Peter’s blood, heady and thick like the forest at fall and pelt. He carries the lycanthropy gene.
Someone in his family is a werewolf, from the smell of wolf in his blood; it has to have been his father. Does Peter know? Does his mother know? Goddess be this will save him. I can’t help him with my magic, I suck at magic. I can make his dick hard, but that won’t really help him right now.
“Okay, okay. I’ll take care of you. You better not fucking die on me you stubborn bastard,” I whisper down to him.
I can’t lose him, not like this. He is mine to protect and I’m failing him. I feel the night air cool on my cheeks. I’m crying? When had I started crying?
“Jack, you know how to drive?” I ask, throat tight with the effort not to have a breakdown right now.
“Yes Jae.” I look up at hearing my name; he has a look of shock on his face. For some reason I think that is the first time he’s really said my name all night.
“Okay, you know where Big Bad Wolf is?”
He nods.
“Get us there as quickly as you can. Help me get him to the car.”
Peter passes out, thank goddess. I can’t imagine the pain he’d feel awake while we awkwardly try to move him.
I handle his legs as Jack maneuvers him easily and gently into the car. The back seat is so small I think to put him in the front but he needs someone to make sure he doesn’t drown in his own blood. So in the backseat with the man that shot him he goes. I jump in and slam my door. Jack is in the car in milliseconds. I know he’s let loose his hyper vampire speed. He will get us there in time, Goddess above, he’ll get us there in time.
I turn to Johnson, “If you let him drown in his blood, I will torture you, then kill you and chop you up in little pieces and scatter you through the midlands letting the rats eat what’s left of you.” I mean every word. I’m not bluffing. I will do it. I never break a promise; it’s my one redeeming quality.
The next second we are off speeding through the streets. The great thing about not many people having cars out here? No traffic. I wouldn’t feel safe with anyone else driving at a hundred mile an hour speeds on wet city streets, most horribly in need of repair. But Jack has vampire reflexes; he’ll get us there, in one piece.
Please Moon Goddess help him, I pray. I pray like I haven’t in such a long time. She never answered the pleas I’d prayed for myself; maybe she’ll answer my prayers for Peter.
“Why aren’t we taking him to the hospital?” I hear Johnson whisper from the back seat, interrupting my litany.
From the fear in his voice I figure it has taken him some time to work up the courage to even ask. I turn around looking him dead in the eye. The only thing keeping me steady is the sound of Peter’s wet breaths. He coughs a painful sound as blood spills from his lips. Johnson has Peter’s head on his lap with his head turned so the blood flows easily from his mouth and airways.
“Because Peter gives a shit about you. If we take him to the hospital, you’ll be dead by tomorrow night.” I say and turn back around. I want to kill Johnson, but then Peter really won’t ever forgive me.
Leakin Park is not too far from The Secret. The Big Bad Wolf sits on the edge of the largest park within the city, closest to the fringe.
There’s a gravel parking lot and wooden picnic tables stacked to the left side. The large black cooker sits on the other side of the parking lot. I’ve never seen it not cooking meat, a steady stream of smoke coming from it even now. A few old-style Harleys sit outside. The lights are on. There’s a wooden wraparound porch that I’ve sat on with Peter, drinking beer and laughing many of a summer afternoon.
I’m not sure if it’s best to go in and bring Big Mike out or just take Peter in. His breathing is coming in shorter gasps and another fit of coughing takes him. We need to move fast, no time social niceties.
“Jack, you carry him in. Johnson, you can go wander off into the forest and find a shallow grave to lie down in for all I care.” My door is open before the car is even in park. I wait as Jack gets Peter into his arms.
He’s so pale, so very pale. I walk in front of them holding the old screen door open as they come in behind me. Sad to say Johnson follows, bringing up the rear, eyes cast down. Shirt and pants covered in his best friend’s blood.
“Stay out of the way.” It’s the only thing I have to say to him. No, I have a lot more to say to him, but everything else is shit. The only thing that matters is Peter.
I turn as the bar gets quiet. Even the guys at the pool table stare at us. There are a few humans but not many. I guess these are the ones Big Mike has deemed as cool. I hope Peter and I have enough cool points for what I’m about to ask.
Chapter Seven
And a she wolf, that with all hungerings
Seemed to be laden in her meagerness;
And many folk has caused to live forlorn – Dante’s “Divine Comedy”
Big Mike is Paul Bunyan brought to life. He has on his usual red flannel shirt, and jeans over some hiker boots so worn I’m surprised there’s any sole left. With a full mustache and beard that he’s always scratching. Hair so long and unruly I always wonder what he’d look like with it cut, or at least brushed; maybe even a little conditioner. His brown hair has gray peppered in a little throughout, giving him an old, wise, man look, at least from the neck up. His body is broad with layers of muscle. His biceps are so large I have no idea how he doesn’t split the seams in his flannel shirts when he moves. He stands at least six foot two. Jack is the same height I notice. But Big Mike rolls with wolf power, pack magic and muscle. He just has that muchness that some people have, and some people don’t.
I walk up to the bar, a path clearing before us like the red sea. Maybe it’s me in my bra and covered in blood, looking like I stepped right out of some macabre play. Maybe it’s Peter, their friend, knocking on death’s door. But whatever it is, they don’t get in our way. Concern written plainly all over of their faces. Something tells me that concern is not for me.
When I reach the bar, I drop full onto my knees and look up. “Please Amarok. Save him.” I call Big Mike by his wolf name.
He is King of this pack, one of the largest in the country. I will give him every respect due. I place my arms out in front of me and bend until my head touches the old wooden floors, the scent of saw dust, old beer, and barbeque fill my nose. It’s the most submissive pose I know. I do it without thought.
Yes, I swore I’d never be on knees to anyone, never again. But my pride is not worth Peter’s life and I will do everything and anything to save him.
“Let me see him.” Big Mike’s voice comes sounding old and grave and tired.
I look up and breathe in the scent of the pack, flowing in the air, comforting and warm. Like sunlight and autumn leaves, thick fur that’s rubbed on trees and rolled in grass.
Even with the sadness I just heard in Big Mike’s voice, I see the anger in his eyes. I know he’s angry I’ve brought blood to his door, stinking of vampire. I’ve barged into his den, with someone he considers a friend, bleeding and dying. I stay on my knees.
I feel Jack move closer, laying Peter on the bar. I hear people moving. I hear cloth ripping and a few mumbled words. I know his lung is punctured. I didn’t know some of his ribs had also been shattered. The bullet
is already out, there’s an exit wound near his hip, it must have bounced around inside his body before leaving, tearing his organs to shreds.
“Get off the goddamn floor.” Big Mike’s voice is harsh. I stand up doing nothing to cover my nakedness or my tears.
“What is the cause of this?” he asks.
I wet my lips to answer but then look around.
“If you want pack magic to help, they all have a right to know why.”
I clear my throat. “Peter asked me to help find his friend. We went to The Secret searching for him.” I nod a little to Johnson standing on the side, making himself a small target.
“They have his girlfriend; they used her in front of him. She’s there by her own will. But I think he went a little crazy. He grabbed Peter’s gun and went to shoot one of the guards when we were leaving.” I quickly substitute guard for vampire. All the wolves knew what I mean though.
“Peter jumped in front of the bullet.” My voice cracks. “He went down. It happened so fast. He made me promise him to not take him to the hospital knowing it would be the boy’s life. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.” I look to Big Mike, my eyes pleading.
I leave out the part that I’d smelled the wolf in Peter’s blood. That he has a werewolf dormant gene. I hadn’t smelled it before. But with all the blood I can smell it easily now. Someone not so long ago, in Peter’s line, is a werewolf. Big Mike knows it too, probably has always known, no one ever tells me shit.
“He’s past us healing him now. His system would never accept the power we would have to flood him with so he could heal. He’d go into shock and die,” Big Mike says sadly.
I hang my head. I will go to The Secret and kill them all. I can make it to her lair before her goons could stop me. I could do it. I turn to Peter’s friend, but Johnson will be first.
Johnson’s eyes widen seeing my look. I wonder, will he beg for his life? I will be sure he begs for death by the time I’m done.
He will beg for anything you wish. My succubus whispers in my heart.
I cock my head to the side sizing him up. Puny human, it will be so easy. I will have to remind myself to go slow, to draw it out.
“I see death written on you now, little girl.” Big Mike says, I drag my eyes from Johnson to look at him.
“We can try to change him; he has better odds with that. Still the Wolf Mother may not accept him.” He sighs heavily.
It will be the Wolf Mother’s choice and, “who knows the minds of the Old Gods, New Gods, Deities and Spirits,” my father always says. I know the pack can call her to change him, but it’s a big risk for everyone. Not to mention the Kindred only allows so many pack members at a time. Peter would be taking a spot of one of their children. Not an easy thing to offer.
The movies show people turning from a bite or a scratch. Truth is, number one, there has to be an exchange of body fluids and the lycanthropy virus to bond to the human cells, changing the actual DNA. Most die just from that, from what’s called scratch fever.
If you do survive, then a ritual is performed presenting you to the Wolf Mother. She was the first to run as woman, or as beast, under the moon. If she accepts the offering of your body, she gives her blessing and with it the ability to turn those genes on and off at will. Changing from man to wolf and wolf to man with a thought.
After that, well you are a member for life. If she doesn’t want you – you die. Either she kills you or the virus does.
A human can live carrying the dormant gene, without her blessing, if it is not their choice to be turned to a full blood werewolf. But they run the risk of going mad choosing that route. Especially if they have scratch fever, attacked by a lycanthrope, very few can survive scratch fever. Even if you’re a natural born first generation carrier by birth, meaning both of their parents were some sort of lycanthrope; living without your animal half can mean death and misery for most.
“Do you want to try girl?” Big Mike asks.
I nod to Big Mike; I don’t think Peter will mind being a wolf. Either way, at least he’ll be alive. I can always kill him later if he really doesn’t like it. But the Wolf Mother will accept him because I will accept nothing less.
I walk over to Johnson. He’s heard too much already. I don’t exactly know what to do about that. But I have to get him out of here, now.
“You need to wait out at the car. Don’t argue, just go.” There’s no bite to my voice. I’m drained. If this doesn’t work, my friend will die tonight.
I can’t help but feel his blood is on my hands; I know what vampires can do to people. Still I went, and I let Peter get hurt. I couldn’t protect him from another human that was driven mad by something I could’ve stopped if I’d had the courage.
Maybe they were right, the Kindred Elders. Maybe I truly have no business being a Reaper.
Jack walks over to us. “I’ll wait with him Jaevia. I don’t belong here.”
Vampires and lycanthropes have been enemies since the first of the Great Wars. But the Kindred outlawed species-species fighting and their word is final.
After a few centuries, the burn of the hatred between them has seemed to dim, for most of the newer generations at least. Still, Jack is not welcome here, in their den. It says a lot of Big Mike’s friendship that he’s made no issue of it. Big Mike is a good man. Jack is a good man for staying by my side even if he’s unwelcome.
I only nod as I turn back to Big Mike.
His eyes are already closed. I feel the magic of the wolves prickling across my skin I hear a howl to my left. Some of the younglings want to change, caught in throes of the power swirling through the room. I walk back towards the bar. Peter is laying there, his breath shallow and pained, as if he’s counting, and savoring each one until his death.
The bar light makes his features look so gaunt, or maybe its blood loss. This Peter looks nothing like the man I’d just been with a couple hours ago. This man looks nothing like my Peter. I brush his forehead; his skin is clammy and cold.
“I’m so sorry Peter,” I choke out.
“Great Mother we call you, the faithful that run for you. Great Mother we have need of you here.” The Amarok says in his booming voice. Like thunder in the night.
More wolves howl. I drop my glamour letting my true self spill forward. I know my eyes glow purple and the black as night small cork screw horns show.
A beautiful voice sings out. It’s the voice of the Amarok’s Lupa, his wife, Annette. I don’t know the words. I think it’s Gaelic. The howls of the wolves accompany her beautiful song. I’ve never heard this before, but it is awe inspiring.
In my own mind, my litany runs. Please Wolf Mother, find him worthy. Please Wolf Mother, save my friend.
I feel the pack magic draw to a crescendo. I feel it gather for a push as if a tsunami is about to hit and all the water is drawn out to sea. Everything is calm until you hear the roar, see the death, the thing hell bent to kill you, with no mercy and nowhere safe to run. That’s how the pack magic feels on my skin, what it makes my heart feel, run. I am not wolf, I am not pack. With force of will I hold my ground as I’m drowned in their power, I will not run, I will not flee. I feel the roar of the power push into Peter.
Peter sits up suddenly; eyes open, with a blood-curdling scream coming from his lips. Except there is no sound, no sound at all except for the roar of wolf magic. I feel it draw away, washing away, leaving him, unchanged, rejecting him and finding him unworthy.
“No! No, you have to save him!” I yell. Before I think of what I’m doing, I grab hold of the magic drawing it into my Chi. It burns, it’s alien and strange and so much of it, oh goddess save me. I fill my Chi like I never have before. I’ll fry my synapses with so much wild energy, I don’t care. It tastes of wolf and burns my veins. My body tries to reject the energy. My power is lust this is not lust this is pack. I let it fill me screaming as tears roll down my face. I see people yelling at me as I drink it in. I will save Peter or I will die trying.
There�
�s no wolf in me. It wants out. I scream, at least I think I do. I hold my hand over Peter’s bloody muscled stomach and force everything I’ve gathered in me pouring it into Peter’s Manipura. The fifth Chakra, the gateway of energy and power. I force it, holding it, pushing it towards his wound. He screams in pain, I know how much it burns to have energy flood your system. But I won’t let up, not until I see it heal, not until I know my friend will be ok. I feel someone trying to push into me, to shut off the power I’m drawing from the pack.
“No!” I scream refusing to give up.
I gather more, until my eyes, nose and ears are bleeding. Brain hemorrhaging is next, I know. I don’t care. Peter deserves to live, I do not. I’m a piece of shit daemon too fucking chicken shit to do anything to endure a tenth of what Peter has. With grace, an easy smile and a kind word for everyone. The world is a better place with Peter in it. I only bring the world sex, death, and a bad attitude.
I hear a voice, female and laced with power but deep and mixed with the growl of a wolf. I know it in my soul it’s Great Wolf Mother, Very well, but you owe me and I will call the marker due, soon.
I blink… I think. There’s a huge ghost werewolf standing over Peter, part of its body going through the back wall of the bar. White fur, but gold too, like it’s been sprinkled with the finest of fairy dust. She leans her muzzle right above Peter’s neck. If she opens those jaws and bites him, ripping his throat out, ghost wolf or not, Peter will die.
She rolls her eyes up to me, Goddess, her eyes are pure gold, not yellow or buttercup, gold that shimmers and moves as she blinks. She may be the singularly most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen and still the most deadly. She opens her mouth, teeth huge and pure white. She snarls at me, her wolf muzzle wrinkling in warning.
I will pay it! I think, or shout, I’m not sure which.
Before I have another thought I’m pushed back, up into the air landing by the door.
I’d like to be able to say later, that when going toe to toe with the Wolf Mother, I was able to get up and shake it off. But passing out seems like a better idea so that’s exactly what I do.