Beast of Burden

by Alexandra Christian

  The bloodlust was the last and most horrifying of the changes. The victim would suddenly be consumed with a craving for blood. But unlike the vampire of ancient lore, the werewolf was very much alive and sought this blood not to survive, but to gain power. To consume the raw flesh and blood of his victim is to steal his power. And before the first change, the victim would feel most anxious as the need grew. And though the beast could learn to shift at will, he would never be able to quell the bloodthirsty panic that ravaged the psyche in the last days before the wolf moon. It never got easier.

  ****

  Marek paced the floor in the dining hall until he’d nearly worn a path around the large rose mosaic. Anya watched him nervously as she flitted around the room, trying to look busy. She knew it was close. She had seen this before, many times, but it always made her nervous. Especially after the last time she’d tried to contain him. She simply wasn’t strong or coordinated enough to do it any longer. And the boy and Kincade weren’t aware of their master’s condition. If Sascha didn’t return…

  “Where could she be?” he grumbled for the hundredth time in the last hour. “She made a promise!”

  “And she’ll be back, my lord,” Anya soothed. “Sascha doesn’t make idle promises.”

  He replied with a grunt and went back to his brooding. Anya could see that the change would be coming soon, whether Sascha returned or not. Within hours, she had noticed how he seemed to grow in size. His hair had lengthened and grown wild. His jaw, usually square and wide set, had elongated slightly to make room for the powerful fangs. His temper, never what one would call even, had become shorter and more violent over the last week. So much so that Tristan wouldn’t even enter the house when he knew the master was about. Even Anya had felt his wrath this week. When she’d called him to come down and eat this morning, he’d thrown his water pitcher at the wall, missing her face by a fraction of an inch. It was always like this before the full moon, but never as bad as this time. This time, there was fear and uncertainty to add to the roiling stew of emotions.

  Anya remembered what he was like when he’d first returned from the war. Everyone, herself included, had dreaded his presence. He was overcome with grief over the loss of Bella, and his guilt consumed everything but agony and rage. Any little thing would set him off, and did. Often. Once, a stable boy had left the gate open, accidentally letting Cianan’s favorite horse run away and break its leg. He’d nearly beaten the child bloody by the time she’d intervened. Another time, during one of Lord Lescoux’s visits, the still very young Syban, Neesa, fled from his advances and locked herself away in the bath. Cianan had torn the door from its hinges. All of these incidents had happened in the days just before a wolf moon. And though he had learned to control it most of the time, on the eve of the full moon, he was uncontrollable.

  “Where could she be?” he growled again, his fist coming down on the table hard enough to splinter the wood. “I told her how important this was!”

  “And she’ll be here.” Anya sighed, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. “She’s just been delayed. Her father was rumored to be dying.”

  “So will others,” he snapped. “If she isn’t back soon.”

  “I will secure you as I have always done,” Anya said, laying a reassuring hand on his arm.

  He shrugged it off angrily. “You cannot! I nearly killed you last time!” His expression softened and he took her hands, lifting and examining them. “I’m afraid your hands have not the strength they once did, Anya. I won’t risk hurting you.”

  She smiled halfheartedly at her friend and nodded. Despite everything, Marek was her friend. Looking at him now, so young, and her, so old and wrinkled. She could hardly believe that they had once played together as children.

  “Sascha is strong.” He looked away and Anya noticed his body tense again, his muscles pulling tight across his frame. He grimaced visibly, but tried to hide the pain. “And that’s why I told her to come back earlier. It would be easier.” Another wave crashed over him and this time, he groaned deep in his chest. Anya’s eyes were wide with concern, and she understood that soon it would be too late. If it wasn’t already.

  “Then let me call Mr. Kincade,” Anya suggested, trying to guide him toward a chair.

  “No!” Cianan exclaimed, wincing again. “I don’t want him or the boy to know.”

  “Well they will certainly find out the hard way if you don’t let anyone help you.”

  “Sascha will be back!” he shouted. “You said so yourself!”

  “I don’t think we can wait any longer, Cianan!” She surprised herself with the volume and harshness of her voice. She saw the amber glow of his eyes flash with a spark of rage and, for a moment, she was sure he was going to turn on her. Then he closed his eyes, his muscles tensing again. He was fighting it.

  “All right,” he replied in a defeated tone. His voice was weak and exhausted. “Just do it quickly. And I suppose you’ll need Mr. Kincade.”

  ****

  Cianan pushed his cloak from around his shoulders, exposing his nakedness to the cold damp of the cellar. Anya hurried about, speaking to Kincade in hushed tones as she worked. The old man seemed frightened, but nodded and did as she said. He smiled, thinking that the old man must be very loyal, either to him or Anya, to attempt such a strange and terrifying task. Most likely to Anya. Under the torchlight, he could see his skin was already prickling with the impending shift. He made a silent prayer that it wasn’t too late. He watched blandly as Anya and Kincade prepared the restraints. Circlets of silver-threaded ropes were laced through the holes on the stone table. He cringed just looking at the contraption designed to keep him from shifting. It was a prison of his own design that he’d constructed in the month after Bella’s death. He’d locked himself down here in this cellar for days, everyone thinking that he was drinking himself into a stupor and assuming when he was done licking his wounds, he’d come out. Instead, he’d been concocting a way to prevent anyone else from being hurt by his condition. It had only failed to hold him twice. The first time, he’d broken away from Anya and changed in the cellar. If Anya hadn’t been so quick in her youth, he’d have surely devoured her. As it was, she’d locked him in, listening to the beast rage and praying he wouldn’t break through the heavy doors. Then the month before Sascha came, the change had come upon him so suddenly, he’d fought the silver chains so violently that he’d given Anya a black eye and bloody lip before he’d known what he was doing. And if he’d managed to get loose, there was no telling what would have happened.

  “Lord Marek,” Anya began, breaking his reverie. He could hear the apprehension in her voice, and it pained him. In his own way, he loved the old woman, and the thought that she feared he might hurt her was unthinkable. “It’s time. The sun’s nearly set.”

  He was silent, but nodded slowly. He pursed his lips tightly and took deep breaths. He sat down on the table and lay back, closing his eyes. He couldn’t watch them bind the silver around his wrists.

  “What shall I do?” Kincade asked, his voice a gravelly mixture of fascination, solemnity, and fear.

  “You’ll have to hold him down,” she replied, approaching the table with caution.

  Kincade chuckled nervously. “No disrespect, my lord, but I was hoping not to get that close.”

  “Just don’t let go.” Cianan said, locking his gaze on the old man.

  Kincade nodded, moving to the head of the table and placing two heavy hands on either shoulder. He laughed, realizing that his arms barely spanned the width of Marek’s shoulders.

  Cianan noticed and gave him a reassuring smile. “The silver will stop the shift. No need to be afraid.”

  “Aye,” Kincade answered, nodding to Anya impatiently.

  Almost before Cianan could feel the chains, he could smell them. A bitter, metallic scent that likely no one could smell but him. To him, silver smelled of death. It turned his stomach, and he turned his head in disgust.

  “Be careful,” An
ya whispered to Kincade. “When the chains touch his skin, it will be painful. He will rage. You must hold on to him tightly.” Turning back to Cianan, she gave him a motherly smile and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “It’s only for a little while.”

  “Just do it!” he roared, his face contorted in a grotesque snarl. Anya gasped, seeing the beast lurking just beneath the surface. “Please, Anya,” he rasped. “Please, I can’t hold on much longer.”

  Anya grasped his hand, holding it tightly as he tried to wrench it away. The heavy ropes, braided with silk and silver threads, burned against his skin even before making contact. Cianan hissed and snarled, pulling his hand away with a savage force. Anya lurched forward, but didn’t let go. She tried to soothe him with gentle words, but it was of little use. The silver in the rope worked like an excruciating poison, sliding into his veins through the thin veil of skin that caged the wolf. He roared and raged, thrashing this way and that with Kincade trying desperately to hold him.

  “Anya! Hurry!” the old man shouted.

  “I can’t! He won’t keep still!”

  Suddenly, a loud, crashing sound came from the floor above, distracting Anya and Kincade for a brief moment. “What was that?” Anya panted, practically lying across Cianan’s body.

  “Just the wind,” Kincade replied through clenched teeth. “Animals said a storm was coming…”

  He was cut off by another loud thump followed by what sounded like voices. Before they could react, the sounds of breaking wood and screaming rushed in. There were armies of footsteps on the stairs and the sounds of things falling and shattering as they rushed past.

  “Someone is here!” Anya rasped, new fear in her eyes. “What are we going to do?”

  “Who could it be?”

  “Maybe Lord Lescoux,” Anya rasped, which only made the raging wolf beneath her thrash even more violently. “You don’t think he’d have come back with knights?”

  Kincade shook his head. “Lord Marek still has King Sebastian’s favor.”

  “Unless he’s been told about…”

  Anya was cut off by a horrific roar as Cianan burst from the single knot of silver, streaking fire and shifting into the monstrous black wolf in an instant. As he leapt from the table, he knocked Anya to the floor. Kincade rushed to her side, but she pushed him away desperately.

  “Be still!” she cried.

  The wolf stood before them, his orange eyes blazing like the fires of hell. It panted heavily with the exertion of the changing. Anya signaled to Kincade that he should stay low.

  “Don’t challenge him,” she whispered. The old man went down on one knee, almost bowing to the incredible creature.

  “Lord Marek,” he stammered. “Please...”

  The wolf roared in response, striking the man silent. The two servants cowered, whimpering. Anya stared into its eyes and could see the moon’s influence burning red. When Cianan changed at will, she didn’t fear him. There was an intelligence there. It was clear that behind the fangs and fur, Cianan was still there. But at the wolf moon, Cianan, the boy she’d known since childhood, was gone. He knew neither friend nor foe. He only knew the smell of the blood and the rage.

  “Don’t speak,” Anya said calmly. “He doesn’t know you.”

  The wolf snarled at them, starting forward, his teeth dripping with saliva, the thick, poisonous fluid that could kill or infect. He laid his ears back and crouched down as he stalked them. It was obvious that all he could feel now was the hunger. Anya breathed slowly, barely flinching as she heard the people in the stairwell just beyond the door. They were yelling and tramping over the floors. She thought she could smell the oily fumes of torch fire. She hardly had time to consider as the creature began to advance upon her slowly.

  “We have to find a weapon,” Kincade said, the trembling in his voice obvious now.

  “You’ll never make it,” Anya whispered, keeping her eyes on the wolf. “Maybe the noise will distract him.” Another loud crash against the stone walls outside shook the room, throwing Anya off balance. She reached out to catch herself and the wolf lunged.

  “Cianan, no!” Anya screamed as she fell backward, desperately trying to avoid the brunt of the beast’s impact. She closed her eyes, the world around her seeming to slow down, melting away as she looked into the face of her demise.

  “Anya!” Kincade threw himself at the beast, pushing Anya aside in a rush of protective instinct. The old man scarcely had time to scream before colliding with the beast. His sternum shattered audibly as the heavy paws came down upon it. Kincade tried to scream, but his lungs were crushed upon impact, forcing blood into his mouth to drip from the corners. The wolf roared again, excited by the scent. Anya hid her eyes as it bit into the flesh at the base of Kincade’s throat, tearing at it with a savage violence until the precious blood spewed from the artery like a fountain. She could only crouch on the floor, sobbing as she heard the thrashing of Kincade’s body slow, then stop altogether. And then the monster began to feed.

  ****

  The pounding of the horse’s hooves against the stony ground of The Avenue rang in Sascha’s ears as she pushed on faster through the dense forest. She was thankful for Cianan’s lessons in riding as she battled low hanging branches and rocky terrain. She glanced over her shoulder at the darkening sky behind her. Stars had managed to peek their way through the heavy stormclouds overhead and the moon seemed to laugh at her through its misty veil.

  “I’m sorry, Cianan,” she whispered into the wind. How could she have forgotten something so important? He’d trusted her. As if agreeing with her self-scolding, the horse whinnied and shook its head, nearly throwing her off. She would have tumbled to the ground if not for the fact that she had twisted the leather reins around her wrist.

  Barely recovering herself, she began to sob again. What if she didn’t make it in time? Heaven only knew what might happen. When he’d shown her the binding table, he’d explained the implications if he wasn’t restrained. It would be nothing for him to kill everyone in the house, not to mention half of Kaspar. Perhaps he would go back on his resolve that Anya was no longer capable. Or even enlist Mr. Kincade or Tristan’s help. He would find a way. He had to.

  Sascha used her heels to nudge the horse’s flanks as Cianan had taught her. She needed the silly beast to run faster. She had a terrible feeling deep down that something wasn’t right. The air was too still and she thought she could smell the faint scent of lamp oil on the breeze. As she looked off in the direction of Monkshood, she could see a dingy orange glow just above the trees. A fire. Hopeless dread rocketed through her system again. What if that was the castle on fire? How would she get help? Again, she kicked at the horse’s flanks, using the reins to snap against its back. The horse, weary and temperamental, reared up once more, throwing Sascha to the ground before running off down the path.

  “Come back!” she shrieked, crawling to her knees, but it was of no use. The horse was gone before she could fight her way to her feet. She started after it on foot, but a stray branch had other ideas, throwing her face down into the mud to add insult to injury. The pain of this final indignity made her begin crying again in earnest, her tears adding to the already mucky ground on which she lay. As if making to comment on her predicament, the sky finally burst open and the storm broke overhead. “It’s no use,” she wailed, trying to sit up and wipe the tear-streaked grime from her cheeks. “I’ve failed. I’ve failed and he’ll never forgive me.”

  ****

  “I’m tired, Kali,” Vasilia whined as the two girls stumbled over the spongy ground in the deepest part of the forest. “Can’t we just sit for a minute?”

  “Do you want to get caught, you silly fool?” Kali replied angrily. “We have to get as far away from Ioin as possible before the sun rises. He has many friends and his reach is far.”

  “But I can’t go on—”

  “Then I’ll leave you behind!” she snapped, turning on Vasilia. “I will not die for your laziness!” The feroci
ty of Kali’s words shocked the mousy Vasilia and her mouth snapped shut. The two carried on in silence until they reached what Ioin had called The Avenue. Kali stopped, looking both ways, trying to see the path in the pitch black darkness. “Damnit,” she exclaimed.

  “What is it?”

  “We’ve gone the wrong way. We’re going back toward Monkshood.”

  Vasilia immediately began to shiver and whimper. “The wolf, Kali. That horrible creature—”

  “Ssh!” Kali set down their pack and wandered along the rough dirt path a little ways. Her eyes were everywhere, looking for any sign of wild animals. Or worse—Lescoux. She caught a whiff of something strange on the wind. Something it took her a moment to place. Something was burning. Suddenly, she knew. The hunting party had reached Monkshood and they were burning it. Ioin would be close behind them. His pride wouldn’t let them kill his enemy. He’d let the others catch Lord Marek, but he would have to deliver the fatal blow.

  Kali started back to Vasilia. “We have to go.”

  “What? We just—”

  “Shut up! We don’t have time to discuss it. We have to get out of here!” She grabbed her pack and started off into the forest without waiting for her companion.