“I think I’ll just get dressed now,” she said.
“Right,” Mesha said thickly.
A quiet, content sort of fatigue fell over the members of the pack until the moon came out again. To Clara, it looked just as full as the night before, but the others were not nearly as affected.
She had not seen Tyson since he’d left her at her door. The hope of seeing him again was sometimes squelched by nerves. Her sleep schedule had been thrown off and she didn’t get to bed until late into the night when the house was still and seemingly empty. Mesha summoned her from slumber in the wee hours of the morning. “What is it?” she asked and rubbed her eyes.
“Tyson wants to speak with us,” Mesha said.
“Us? What does he want to talk about?”
“He didn’t say,” she answered with a shake of her head. Clara scrambled to get dressed and followed her friend outside where Tyson waited. When they stepped from the front door, she was immediately bombarded with a dissonance of shrieks and calls. Red mountains hung in the backdrop and lush vegetation surrounded them, but Tyson stood in the open. Not far behind, picking through the grass and small shrubs, was a flock of hundreds of shouting galahs. Their white heads contrasted against their rosy breasts as they bobbed to forage for seeds. The serious expression Tyson wore kept her from the wonder of seeing so many birds so near. Dawn, Jack and Callan were there as well, standing before Tyson as soldiers might before their general.
To say Tyson looked troubled would have been an understatement. His hands were hidden in his pockets and his eyes were downcast in an unusual display of insecurity. Mesha took a hold of her hand. Callan, Jack and Dawn smiled encouragingly.
“It is time for me to keep my promise, Miss Rita,” Tyson said when she’d joined them. “I have wandered as far as I could to secure the surrounding lands and found no trace of anything menacing. Jack, Dawn, Callan and Mesha have agreed to guard you. While I am gone, I would ask that you stay in the house unless you are riding Callan.”
Mesha huffed, clearly annoyed by Tyson’s choice. Tyson ignored her.
“They will be in their wolf forms while I am gone because they can hear, smell and see further that way. I have instructed them on how to patrol while I am gone. You must do as they say, alright?”
“Of course,” she said with a nod. “How long will you be?”
“I should return before the sun sets.”
“Wouldn’t it be safer to take someone?”
He shook his head, still very serious. “This is how it must be.”
Her stomach knotted with worry and she pretended to be interested in the flock to divert attention from him. He reached out touch her cheek. His eyes were veiled with such sadness that she could not look away a second time.
“Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise you will be here when I return.”
“I will be,” she answered and worked to keep her voice even. “I wish you would take someone, you are the one taking such a risk going alone.”
“Tell me to stay then,” he muttered, still caressing her cheek. “Tell me you don’t care about Jothram.”
She opened her mouth, but he placed a hand over her lips.
“You won’t be satisfied, not until you’ve met him. I will bring him…for your peace, I will bring him.”
Her back shivered when he placed a hand on each side of her face. Suddenly, he kissed her hard, once on the mouth. Her heart pulsed painfully at the shortness of it. He touched his forehead to hers, drawing her even closer.
“You will break his heart, Bright Moon,” he whispered.
“Tyson—”
He stopped her whispered plea with another kiss, a softer, more longing one. When he pulled back, his face was plastered with the pain he usually kept hidden so well, such pain that she could not tell all that ailed him. His shirt crumpled in her fists and he released her to remove them.
“Tyson—” she began again, but he shook his head and could not meet her eye. She reached to touch him and he vanished. His sudden absence was like a strike in the gut and she gasped for breath. The galahs took off, screaming and filled the air with their noise. She wanted to scream too. Tears shimmered in her eyes. A long, silver snout touched her cheek and licked the tears away.
He’d said he’d come back that night and so, she waited. Knots of nerves took up residence in her stomach and the sensation only grew with each hour. The others didn’t seem to worry. They did as he’d said and kept to their wolf forms so the only way she could communicate was by touch. Even so, she did not talk to them much as worry ate at her.
They alternated patrolling the yard and watching her. Two of them were always with her, not letting her out of their sight. She thought they were being a little extreme when they even stood guard outside the bathroom door.
Afternoon wore on and still, he had not come. She could not eat and the hours dragged on like days. She took to nervously pacing the front room as Mesha and Callan watched. Jack and Dawn were out, patrolling the grounds as the sun fell. Still, he did not return and fear for him overrode any excitement she felt in anticipation of meeting Jothram. She went to Callan, who was upside down on the couch with his legs sticking straight in the air and his paws flopped over. He’d been sleeping and peeked at her between thin slits when she rested a hand on his chest.
“Do you think something’s happened?” she asked him.
He inhaled slowly and the air whooshed out through his nose. “He can take care of himself, sis.”
“Yeah, I remember you saying so before…”
“That was a fluke, he’ll be back soon,” Callan replied, trying to ease her worry. She sat on a cushion, pushing at him so he would make room. Mesha lay on the floor with her head on her paws. Clara could not fathom how they could remain so calm. She watched the backdoor, which was visible from her vantage point. She nodded off several times, but she’d wake with a start, sure she’d heard someone coming through the door. When she’d heard the sound the fifth or sixth time, she stood quietly and slipped her shoes on. She paused to listen before she opened the door and heard nothing. Mesha and Callan were sound asleep, breathing heavily when she pulled the door open.
The night was cool and calm despite the clouds blocking the stars that dusted the sky. The moon had not yet risen and there was a sense of calm before the pure white light would beckon to her sitters. She was about to shut the door when she heard Tyson’s voice.
“Clara?”
His voice was weak and she rushed from the safety of the walls without trepidation. She peered around the corners of the house, glancing left and right in effort to catch sight of him. The uncertain stillness reminded her of the promise she’d made to stay indoors and she turned to go back. Her heart nearly jumped from her chest when she saw Mark blocking the way. His grin broke into a laugh at the look on her face.
“Go ahead and call to them if you like, but you’ll never save Tyson that way.”
“What have you done with him?” she hissed.
Mark held up his hands as if to calm her. “Sh! I will give you the choice to come with me now and save him, or go back inside where it’s warm and safe.” He stepped aside to offer her a path. She glanced to it and could see her brother through the door she’d left ajar. Shaking her head, she said, “Take me to Tyson.”
Mark smiled knowingly. “Good girl.” He came at her and knocked her out the same way Parker had before, only this time she didn’t fight.
Chapter 15 - Jothram
Water trickled over her face, startling her from sleep. When she opened her eyes, a bright light disoriented her. Her body lay against hard cement.
“No!” a male voice cried out. “Don’t wake her!”
She pushed from the ground and the light shifted to reveal Mark. He was behind a smart phone with a dark blue casing, using it to record. He held an empty plastic bottle in his other hand. Next to her, kneeling on the cement floor was the man she’d only ever seen the nose and eyes of, but knew to be James Parker.
It had been he who tried to stop Mark from waking her. He held a syringe in one hand, poised to inject her with its deep red contents.
“Where is he?” she asked Mark as she wiped the water from her face.
“Don’t worry, I let him go,” Mark said then turned the lens on himself. “He will see this later. Isn’t it cute how she worries?” he asked the camera to taunt his brother.
“This would have been easier if she was asleep,” Parker grumbled.
“Tyson deserves to see her struggle.”
Anger coursed through her with boiling hot retaliation. Her green eyes glimmered when they shot from the phone to the syringe Parker held. Without stopping to think, she pushed off the cinderblock wall and swiped the needle from him. He cried out and scrambled backward, but he misread her intent. Instead of attacking him, she slammed the needle into her thigh, pushing the plunger down until it emptied completely. A stunned silence followed as the men watched with shocked expressions.
“You have the wrong girl!” she spat and tossed the needle aside. Feeling vulnerable, she got to her feet.
“How could you possibly know that?” Parker asked and carefully reached for the pouch he’d abandoned at her feet.
“I do not love Jothram! I never could.”
He raised an eyebrow while Mark kept the smart phone trained on her. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“He can’t love someone who could never love him, right? I don’t and never could love him.”
“What makes you so sure?” Parker asked.
She glanced to Mark’s phone. “I…I love someone else.”
“Oh man!” Mark howled and a loud fit of laughter followed. Parker didn’t laugh, but looked rather amused.
“This man you love wouldn’t happen to be Tyson, would he?”
She bit her cheek and nodded. Mark hooted again and Parker chuckled. “Although your logic is a little skewed, you seal your fate with your admission. Tyson Knight hasn’t been honest with you in all regards. If he had, you would know he is Jothram, and not only is it possible for him to love you, it is reality.”
Her stomach dropped as if someone hit her with a baseball bat. She reacted by physically cringing. Her hand shot to the cold wall to steady her from falling. “You’re lying!” she accused as her face drained of color.
“Your expression says you know it’s true,” Parker answered. “Either that, or your mother’s blood has begun to infect you.”
“My mother is dead!” she screamed in frustration.
He smirked confidently. “Did you see her body?”
She sucked in a deep breath and shook her head. “But…she wouldn’t abandon us.”
“What if she didn’t have a choice?” Parker asked quietly. “What if she left for you?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she yelled. Her temper seemed to heat her body and she struggled to catch breath.
“What does arguing profit us now? By this time tomorrow we’ll know if you are the cure.”
The sensation of white hot heat started in her thigh where the needle had pierced her skin. Slowly, the burning spread until it covered her entirely. She waited for some other tell-tale sign that she’d been infected. She didn’t burst into a giant body of fur, nor did the overbearing wild wolf instinct claim her thoughts. She wasn’t suddenly equipped with lightning speed, or shocking strength. Instead, she grew weaker by the moment until her legs gave way and she slid to the floor. The room was suddenly very cold and she shivered.
“That was anticlimactic,” she heard Mark say.
“She’s infected now,” Parker responded. “What more do you need?”
Indescribable pain claimed her for what might have been days for all she knew. Sometimes she woke to unbearable heat and, other times she was even colder than she’d been while submerged in the ice lake. Her body felt as if someone were slowly turning her inside out. In her fevered state, she heard her mother and felt her comforting arms. The vision was broken only by Mark’s jeering voice when he came to film her misery for Tyson and the others to witness. When he did, she was reminded of a pain that would outlast any physical trauma. She emerged from the bleary realm of darkness prematurely when someone shook her roughly by the shoulder.
“Come on,” a girl’s voice was saying. “You have to wake up!”
White light permeated Clara’s lids and she blinked to focus on the shadowed face before her. Tyson’s ice-blue eyes looked down at her and she thought, for a moment, that he was there. Her vision focused and she gasped in pain and shock. The girl standing over her peered out from behind eyes that were the exact likeness of Tyson’s. She knelt on the simplistic bed Clara found herself in.
“You have to help me,” she said, her round, innocent face showing great concern.
Still slow to comprehend, Clara glanced around and rubbed her forehead. “Help you?”
“Yes! Hurry!” She tugged on Clara’s arm and glanced to the barred door.
“You…” Clara’s chest filled with a sickening, hopeful dread as she examined the girl closer. Her shoulder length hair was the exact same color as Tyson’s. “You’re Beth!”
“I know,” she replied smartly. “And you’re Clara. You have to get up, you have to focus,” she begged, pulling her to a sitting position. “Hit me.”
“What?” she asked in shock.
“Parker treats us with silver, which, I’m sure you know, stops our wolf instincts,” Beth said, talking quickly. “With all the excitement, they forgot to inject us, but they will be back for me any moment. You have to help me reconnect with my wolf instincts so we can escape. The only way you can is by hitting me!”
Gathering her resolve, Clara raised her arm.
“Hurry!” Beth urged. Clara did as she asked and slapped her soundly across the cheek. Beth yelped and turned away, covering the spot with two hands.
“I’m sorry!” Clara gasped. “You said—”
She shook her head. “It didn’t work.”
“I’m sorry,” Clara said again.
Beth’s hands fell to her side and she paced tiny little circles around the only open space in the room. “Do you know how long it’s been since I was a wolf?” she asked.
Clara shook her head.
“Five years. Even so, I failed then as well.”
“Is it possible for a werewolf to forget their wolf instincts?”
“I suppose anything is possible,” she said, continuing to pace. “Was Jack in the pack before Mark took you?”
“Yes. He can’t hear your name without the wild wolf raging in him.”
Beth’s breath fell from her lips in a shudder and she turned away, but not before Clara noticed tears gathering in her eyes. “And Dawn?” she asked in trembling voice.
“Dawn is there too,” Clara affirmed.
“I know they believe me dead,” she whispered and stopped turning about to hold up her left hand. Her ring finger was missing. “Parker told them I was torn apart until there was nothing left but my finger.”
Clara covered her mouth and tears pricked her eyes. “Oh, Beth!”
She shrugged. “It’s no big deal now.” She tilted her head and leaned closer as she examined Clara. “I’m sorry my cousin fell in love with you. He lived in fear of doing just that, even though it was inevitable.”
“I’m not so sure he did,” Clara whispered.
Scraping noises came from beyond their room and Beth jumped on the bed, getting as far from the door as she could. A man came in, one who looked so strong he seemed to have been chiseled from stone. He wore a blue uniform and a gold eagle was pinned to his collar. A thick belt sported a number of strange looking contraptions and a large rifle. His sharp eye darted to Clara before spotting Beth sitting atop the metal frame of the bed.
“Are you going to be cute today?” he growled. “You know how I feel about cute!” He took a small, strange looking gun from his belt and pointed it at her. Clara heard herself scream when she pounced on him, t
rying to buy Beth some time. The thick muscles on his neck tensed and the veins on his forehead bulged when he yelled in rage. He knocked her to one side. She made contact with the edge of the foot of the bed and it rattled from the force of impact. Completely uninjured, she fell to the floor. By the time she looked up, the man had a hold of Beth. Clara got to her feet and blocked his way, grasping Beth’s hands as if that could keep them together. He didn’t pay attention and brushed by her, tearing Beth from her grasp.
“Beth?” Clara called, following them to the door.
“It’s alright,” Beth said and grabbed her hand again. “I’ll be back.”
Another beefy man in uniform stopped Clara at the door and pushed her inside. She strained to touch Beth’s fingers again, but they dragged her out and the door slammed with a resonating clang. Clara trembled with rage and wiped her sweating palms on her jeans. Pacing was next to useless and she kicked the bed instead.
The heavy metal door creaked open and Mark came in, followed by Parker. Clara felt tears instantly prick her eyes when her mother was pulled into the cell by yet another man in uniform. She hung limp in his arms. “Mom!” she gasped. Luzy was dropped mercilessly. Parker blocked her path when she tried to run to her. He hooked her upper arm.
“You will have time for a family reunion later,” Parker said with a twisted smile. “You and I have business to tend to.”
Mark’s crazed grin met her as he grabbed her other arm. She pulled against him, hoping for inhuman strength. She couldn’t break his grip. She watched her mother for movement as they dragged her out. The heavy cell door shut again and the sound echoed off stone. Clara’s stomach twisted as they marched by the barred doors lining the hall.
“Beth has put up quite a fight. You’ve been causing problems for me already,” Parker said as they walked.
Mark grinned. “Tyson keeps fun little gems, doesn’t he?”
They came to a room that was futuristic in contrast to the basic prison. The floors were tiled. Computers and other machines were mounted on the wall. Most of the equipment was foreign to her and she could only begin to guess their purposes. Most daunting of all was a chair in the middle of the room equipped with leather restraints. She dug her heels into the floor and worked to free her arm, but Mark shoved her to the chair, holding her as Parker secured the straps. When she was belted down, Parker wheeled a metal tray to the chair.
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