Willing Sacrifice

by Cree Walker

  It must have shown on my face because he smiled and explained. “St. Anibus’: he is the protector against demonic possession and attack from wild beasts. He will protect you in your battle. Don’t forget who you are in the face of your fear because that will weaken you.”

  That night I slept and Jack came to me in my dream, but unlike before I didn’t fear him. In this dream I was walking inside my cabin when that heavy static feeling washed over me. I turned on my heel to face the sound of a low growl. “I see you.” I whispered before leaping onto his back and fighting him for all I was worth. I poured all my fear and resentment into every pound of my fists. I screamed and cried and he simply took the beating without fighting back. Just like that, the violence of my nightmares stopped, but he didn’t leave me alone. He couldn’t hurt me anymore, but I felt him waiting… he knew there was a chink in my armor and he had all the time in the world to find it.

  Outside the warm glow of the sun was cresting the hills of the eastern horizon. Instantly it felt as if all my fears melted away with the nighttime shadows. I used to laugh at people who feared the dark. I always reminded them that anything in the dark was also there in the light. That was of course before my visits from a very vengeful ghost. Now sun-up was the absolute best part of my day.

  I got dressed and pulled on my hiking boots before I thumped out onto the small covered porch. A nearby squirrel twitched forward a few short inches before freezing in his tracks and deciding stillness was better, his dark brown fur a stark contrast to the blinding white of the fresh snow. His little nose vibrated, his whiskers trembling. He smelled a predator – me. We stood there for a second measuring one another before he chanced it and made a mad dash up the porch support and onto its leaning roof. I didn’t eat rodents, but he didn’t know that; he smelled a wolf.

  The sun’s brief visit was cut short as it rose above the low hanging clouds that blanketed every inch of the sky. It was so gray: the clouds, the snow, the black pines and bare trees, all in various shades of gray and black. I felt like I hadn’t seen a blue sky in months and the end of winter held on stubbornly. The cold wet air still smelled stale and frozen. The snow from the night before was slowly turning to slush under a steady drizzling rain, bringing a chill that was bone deep… it was perfect for a wolf to go on a run.

  I took off at a dash, sprinting through the old abandoned skidder trails around my property line, from a time when logging still made money. My circuit was a large circle if I doubled back by the lake, maybe twelve miles in all. If I was good at anything it was running. I felt like I could run forever, dodging the low branches of pines creeping onto the ancient hidden paths, jumping over the jutting rocks and roots that turned my morning run into an obstacle course. It was the one thing that made me feel like myself again, but it was also a sad reminder that I was a werewolf without a pack who couldn’t change into a wolf – not anymore.

  The only sounds besides my steady breaths were the creaking of the ice-coated branches of the trees above my head and the ravens in the distance. It was eerie here on the best of days during the summer but in the dead of winter when the only sounds that accompanied me through the woods was the whistle of the never ending wind through leafless trees. Sometimes I felt like the chill of winter wasn't the only thing chasing me on my daily run but whatever it was, it felt just as cold and deadly.

  I slowed as I rounded a corner near the still frozen lake and watched a group of ravens fighting over the meager remains of a deer that had died during the long hard winter. The ravens in this forest were really something to behold. They were easily as big as eagles and twice as smart. The flock fluttered into the air at the sight of an approaching fox, their pitch-colored wings giving the hungry animal pause before deciding he would wait his turn at the dinner table tonight. Once their screeching and squawking reached exponential levels over something that looked suspiciously like an eyeball, so I pushed on.

  I didn’t stop running again ’til I was at my door; it was open, the cheap metal handle crushed and the lock twisted against its will.

  I smelled wolf and halted just inside the barrier of warmth that visibly swirled out the door and mixed with the cold wet air. I left it open in case I had to make a quick escape as I stepped inside. I had been on the red list of the Council of Elders since I had shown up on Jack’s arm over two and a half years earlier, and since I didn’t have either a pack or Jack to hide behind any longer it didn’t seem like that long of a stretch for them to send an assassin to make sure I stayed away. Of course it didn’t make a whole lot of sense, since Jack and I had accomplished our goal of integrating the bitten wolves into a Born pack.

  Chapter Three

  “There was a key over the door; you’re going to pay for breaking that handle.” I said to the empty room. I waited: listening, but the strange wolf was apparently already gone. From the smell of things he hadn’t been gone very long. He probably heard me coming. Real panic gripped my heart at the thought of being hunted by another predator: one they don’t make magic medallions for.

  I scented the air again before I made a nervous dash for the rifle I had hidden beneath the couch. After my Challenge with Glen Winterwood, I had absolutely no illusions as to my own abilities against a full-grown male werewolf and I could still feel the strength of this one’s presence.

  I stood holding the weapon for a moment and briefly considered my options before self preservation prevailed and I decided to go on the offense. I sprinted out the door and maintained that pace as I followed his larger tracks. I had an advantage he didn’t, he was breaking trail in the heavy melting snow and at a run I could match his long stride.

  My hunt was cut short though, as I reached a muddy logging road. There had been a parked vehicle here, but only his water-filled tire tracks remained.

  After a minute of listening to the sound of my heart racing, I turned back and headed for my cabin.

  I stepped inside the open door still gripping the rifle at my side.

  “I’m not here to hurt you, Sugar.” He announced casually.

  I raised the gun and without preempt pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Instantly I considered my options. There was very little to talk about after attempted murder, the gun may be empty now but I hadn’t left it that way. Werewolves can die from a gunshot just as well as anyone else, and the gun I was using could easily take down a full-grown bull moose with one good shot. But only when it was loaded.

  He chuckled and it rumbled in his deep chest. Slowly he held up one of the long caliber bullets he had taken from the gun.

  I jumped a little at the sound of his boots scraping against the dirty floor as he took a step closer. Then from out of the shadows beneath the storage loft, walked a large male werewolf. He held his hands out at his sides to show he held no weapons. I knew better, his hands were the weapons. He was big, at least as big as Jack had been: tall with wide shoulders. He was a stranger to me and after the night I had had, I wasn't sure my heart could handle the stress of it. On one hand, it was nice to see another wolf after my exile, but on the other hand, what the hell did he want with me?

  "Close the door." He instructed.

  I shook my head.

  "If I wanted you dead you already would be." His nose flared and he cocked his head to the side as if my smell told him something about me he couldn’t see clearly. This told me he was a Born wolf. Though bitten wolves have keen senses they aren’t born knowing how to use them properly and often just ignored them.

  "Don't be so dramatic." I rolled my eyes and casually walked farther into the room. Wolves have an instinct for finding weaknesses and picking them out of a herd; the best I could do was try to act confident. "So what do you want?"

  He shrugged massive shoulders and leaned against the window frame near the wood stove, giving me plenty of room to move around or leave if I chose.

  "Nice gun." He indicated the weapon still clutched in my shaking hands. "Does it keep you safe?"

 
; "It works a whole lot better with the bullets.” I didn’t appreciate him avoiding my question. “I don’t have a pack; there is nothing here for you.” I added coolly.

  He smiled but it wasn't friendly. "Yeah, you deserted them didn't you?"

  "There was a change in ownership." I narrowed my eyes at him. "What do you want?"

  He ignored my question again and looked around the room. "So you don't have a pack? How long has it been since you've even seen another wolf?"

  This time I played his game and ignored his question and repeated my own. "What do you want?"

  "To be a part of your pack," He answered simply.

  "I'm not recruiting. Now get out." I walked to the exit and swung the unlatched door wide with my foot and pointed out into the rain with the end of the rifle.

  He didn't move. "Alpha Coon I'm not asking, and you're in no position to be making demands. You need a pack."

  That made me pause. He didn‘t accidentally run into my scent; he was looking for me specifically. Why else would he know my name? "I don't want one. The last time I was in charge of one a very big man tenderized most of my internal organs." The man snorted and shrugged, "he didn't want your pack; you were just the thing in the way of him getting laid."

  My pack had a lot of unmated females who were under my protection as the Alpha. I agreed with him silently. "Why are you here? You're a Born wolf." I waited but he didn't answer me. "You got tossed out of the club too huh?"

  His eyes darkened but he didn't say anything, refusing to rise to the bait.

  "Listen we could play this game all day or you could just answer my questions?" My temper flared. I had learned some patience but he was pushing my buttons and all at the same time too.

  “Not until we’re a pack,” He moved away from the window and walked passed me and out the door.

  I stood and stared in confusion for a moment, and then that sinking feeling of isolation engulfed me again. I was alone, and it was so quiet. Maybe I wasn’t as impervious to being without a pack as I thought. Maybe it was just taking longer to affect me.

  A cupboard over the sink slammed open and I jumped at the sound then glared at it. “Fuck off Jack.”

  I made my way over to the open cupboard and retrieved the door knob the landlord had bought for me when I first moved in. The day I first walked in with my meager box of possessions there was a drunken hunter passed out on the floor. He had thrown one last bash before hunting season and his month-long lease was up. Unfortunately it had been up for at least a week; evidently it had been a very long party. The guy stumbled out the door laughing as I stood, literally stuck, to the alcohol-soaked kitchen floor. In his rush to leave though, he had unintentionally left me a nice little present; I leaned the rifle against the counter and reloaded the weapon. He was also kind enough to leave enough ammo to start a one-man revolution and after a bit of practice I learned to use the abandoned rifle like an expert.

  I touched the warped, crushed knob of the door and it crumbled into several pieces, clattering to the floor. If that guy wanted to come back it would take more than a cheap doorknob to stop him but at least the new knob would keep the rest of the world out.

  After replacing the knob I sat down on the couch and curled my feet beneath me with the reloaded rifle leaning against my leg, like some sort of morbid teddy bear. Eventually I relaxed and felt my eyes start to close. With the adrenaline gone I had little left to run on and I fell asleep.

  When I woke up again he was back, replacing the knob he had broken... again.

  My eyes darted around the room searching for the now missing riffle and came to rest on it beneath one of his knees.

  "You don't take hints well do you?" I snapped as he finished screwing the newest doorknob to the door.

  He got off of his knee and picked up the rifle before standing to his full height. He was big: even bigger than I had first thought, and he looked at me the way you look at a gnat just before you squish it, evaluating whether I was worth the effort or not.

  "I fixed the handle." He came within my reach: I think trying to force me to back down; I didn’t.

  "Yes Mongo, you did fix it, after you broke it again." I crossed my arms to block him out of my space. He was very dominant for a wolf and he was looking down at the top of my head from the couch..., which made me feel like a child rather than an Alpha female werewolf. "You asked me to fix it." He said frustrated.

  "I thought my social skills sucked, but compared to you buddy, I could run for office." I grabbed for the rifle but he pulled it out of my reach.

  He actually looked hurt. "I'm trying to be nice."

  Apparently he didn’t think getting me to be nice back would be this hard. It was as if he thought I would see his fine ass coming up the driveway and welcome him right into my home: into my territory with open arms.

  Maybe I would have if it weren’t for all the pain I still felt from the open wounds of being betrayed by his kind.

  "Well I don't want to play with you." I snapped at him.

  "I did as you asked!" He yelled back.

  "After you re-broke the damned thing you moron!" My unused voice cracked under the pressure of increased volume.

  "I didn't have the new key!" He snarled.

  "Because I didn't give you one!" I shot back.

  "Well I have this one." He tossed it into the air and caught it.

  "Give it to me." I held out my open hand, less afraid of him then annoyed.

  "No." His voice deepened into a frustrated growl. I guess that door swung both ways.

  "Are you Challenging me?" My voice was shrill because, to be quite honest, I wasn't looking forward to fighting six foot four inches of rock-hard muscle and I was still sitting down.

  "How can I Challenge you if you won't let me into your pack? I don't have to answer to you until you make me pack!" He yelled.

  "What’s the trick? Do you want to Challenge me?" I asked.

  He spoke the next part very slowly. "And how exactly would that help me?" He shook his head at me like I was the dumb kid in class.

  I sucked air and then huffed out in frustration. I didn’t know their rules and the partial tutorial I’d gotten didn’t explain enough. "I'm not making a pack!"

  "I'm not leaving." He shot back.

  I stood up quickly, clenched my fists and stomped my foot. "Get out!" It was a last ditch effort and he knew it, because he smirked and walked straight into my bathroom with my gun and without another word.

  I took up my spot overlooking the front lot and waited for him to finish in the shower. I finally felt my anger melting. Maybe he didn’t have an angle; maybe he just needed someone.

  He came out wearing a towel around his waist and the last of my anger evaporated like a snowflake in the desert sun. I had forgotten how beautiful they could be. He was paler than Jack and younger, but because of the way we age, I wasn't sure how old that made him. He had a military style tattoo on his shoulder and the black ink was a sharp contrast to his pale white skin. His hair was dirty blonde, some might call it brown and it was cut close to the scalp. His eyes were green – like moss green, not watery green blue and he had a strong jaw and killer cheekbones. My mouth watered and I snapped it closed before he caught me staring. "So you're staying here then?" I asked with less venom then before.

  He didn't respond as he fished his wallet out of his Levi’s and threw them in the hamper under the kitchen sink that doubled as a clothes washer.

  "If you plan on staying here you better plan on paying rent!" I snapped half-heartedly, though it felt as if I was arguing with myself. "Got it?" I added when he didn't answer me.

  He locked eyes with me but didn't say a word. He unzipped a backpack full of clothes and pulled out a long-sleeved shirt and another pair of faded Levi’s. Then he looked at me as if to say, “This isn't a free show.” I had been staring... again.

  I crossed my arms and looked out the window. So he was going to play that game huh? I took a deep cleansing breath and struggled to
not put my fist through the window.

  He left; I didn’t care where and it felt as if all the hate and animosity went with him. I obviously was not his favorite person. I decided I needed a long hot shower and stripped off my clothes on the way to the bathroom. Once in the bathroom I found my rifle… in about twenty-five pieces. I might have known how to shoot it but I didn’t know how to put it back together. I gave up after trying to puzzle a few small pieces together tossing some of them into the sink, the dense metal making a loud clatter against the porcelain.

  Ten minutes into my "long hot shower" the hot water ran out and I silently cursed him and climbed out of the unsteady plastic shower stall. I looked around the tiny room shivering only to discover all my towels were in the hamper in the kitchen and my clothes were scattered all over the floor in the living space. I could hear him puttering around outside the door so I waited another ten minutes trying to decide what to do next.

  I thought of telling him to leave again, but we both knew that wouldn't happen and that seemed like the end of my short list of options. I tried to remind myself that nudity to him, being a Born wolf was normal and it wouldn't affect him in the least, but since I was raised differently, and I use the term raised, loosely, I had a little stage fright.

  I took a deep breath and stomped out into the living room where he sat reading a book on my couch/bed. He looked up with a bored expression on his face, his eyes never leaving mine.

  "You used my last towel." I snapped; though the violent shivering probably made my anger lose a lot of its effect.

  He just shrugged and went back to reading.

  I went to the hamper and slammed the open lid shut and then kicked it for good measure. When I turned to face the back wall where my clothes hung I noticed the pole that served as a hanger for clothes was full, and I stared in horror at the fact that he had hung his stuff opposite my own. My hackles rose at his blatant disregard for my territory. He was being about as subtle as a shotgun when it came to his lack of respect for me, and my territory.