by T. F. Walsh
“Yes, alone, sir.”
“Male or female?”
“Sir?”
“Is the wolf male or female?” he demanded.
“I don’t know, sir.”
Breaking into a run, he raced through the hall. Passing the officer, he called out over his shoulder, “Soldier, tell the others: capture the wolf. Do not harm her. Capture her.” He did not stop to look at the officer as he sped passed him. He spared barely a single thought to the Elders as he gave the command. Noise erupted behind Caleb as he rushed down the stairs, the door slamming behind him, blocking out most of the sound.
They could all argue themselves to perdition. He would be king. They had no choice in the matter. Let them pretend for a while. It was harmless enough. More importantly though … the little fool, his little fool … Libby … had she come to him?
Chapter 9: BETRAYAL
After weeks of wandering alone, of searching, it had come to this.
Nearing the vampire city, she could hear drums beating.
The wind picked up and, for a moment, in the rush of air, the drums were drowned, but they returned again, drumming loudly, echoing everywhere around her. Although she knew the drums were in front of her, a few yards out, inside the city, it felt as though they were all around her, threatening her from every direction.
Barely breathing, she trudged on, focused only on putting one foot in front of the other, her head bent low, her eyes closed. Trying to pray. She opened her eyes. The path cleared before her. Trees thinning out. Protection dwindling to nothing as the path opened to reveal the large metal gates of her enemy.
The deep drums were joined by a lighter, faster, tap tap of beats, six of them: six o’clock. So it was true, what she had learned in class: war drums kept time in the vampire city, reminders that the struggle continued, on and on, like clockwork. Her feet moved, outside her will, to the drumbeats. She moved forward — slowly, but ever forward, toward her enemy. No choices. Only one destination left.
She couldn’t do this. She thought she could, but she had been wrong. This was all entirely beyond her. How could she simply saunter into the vampire city?
Unlike wolves, who now lived almost entirely separated from humans, vampires lived in different parts of the world, spread throughout human civilization. Unlike her people, the vampires maintained their links to mankind. Yet the vampires had one city, so massive a place that “city” was almost a foolish word: the last place in all the world that housed only vampires. This place … this was the home of their government … the home of their army. Could she even enter or would they kill her before she stepped anywhere near the gates?
And still the drumming continued. Now it was a rolling sound. Different from the rhythm she heard moments ago when they were beating out the time.
• • •
Moving through the city, throwing himself through the streets, Caleb raced toward the gates, toward Libby. Could it really be her? As he ran, his mind raced, too. He hadn’t even dared to wish for this. How could he have? He couldn’t begin to understand her logic — or lack of logic — let alone hope for it.
He knew she was not truly safe with the humans or with the other packs, but surely she could comprehend that any place was safer for her than the vampire city. She had come for him, then, but why? What was he to her? What, for that matter, was she to him?
He was almost to the gate when the drums announcing her arrival changed to announce his approach, beating out a message, telling all the vampires an intruder had appeared on their boarders and that the king was nearing the gates. Focused on reaching Libby, he almost failed to recognize that the sentries had chosen to announce him as king, and not prince, his soldiers understanding what the Elders would not.
But what of Libby? Would he make it in time? Would his commands be relayed to ensure that she was not harmed? The drums continued to announce her as an enemy. Would he be able to save her?
• • •
Her father had been right. Her fantasizing was going to get her killed one day — this day, if things went as badly as she imagined they could.
The entire city was protected by a massive stone wall that only opened in one place. A tall iron gate stood between her and the vampires, and it was opening.
Why were they simply opening the door? Was she going to be the main course at a vampire buffet? Was it too late to flee?
My God, to be devoured by these creatures.
Could she convince them to leave her out here in the cold? Could she beg them to leave her starving and alone and abandoned?
Anything was better than letting them feed from her. Could they be compelled to sympathy? She stopped walking and closed her eyes again. She wasn’t one for watching her own doom come, and surely it would. She squeezed her eyes shut, and she waited.
Hearing movement around her, she pinched her eyes more tightly shut, trying to minimize the risk of opening them in the last minute, out of terror. She did not want the last thing she ever saw to be the gaping jaws of these bloodthirsty creatures. She heard footfalls — soft, almost silent, not cracking any of the dried leaves and dead branches that littered the forest floor around her. One had come. Or many. They could move so quietly, who could guess their number? Impossible to tell without looking, and she could not look. They were upon her.
• • •
As Caleb neared the opening gates, his soldiers stood at all sides, prepared to launch out of the opening to confront the wolf. He was almost to the gate, and his men, seeing him, paused and waited for his command to act.
It had been weeks since he had seen Libby, but after thinking it hopeless, he was close to her, finally. It had to be her. It had to be her.
His steps slowed, and he stopped running. Nearing the opening in the thick wall of rock that surrounded the city, Caleb was unwilling yet to look beyond the gates.
“There, to the left, sir, several yards out,” a soldier whispered to him.
Snapping his head up, unable to delay any longer, Caleb looked out.
Libby, returned to him. She had really come. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, a scream or a laugh, he wasn’t sure which. Libby had come alone to the vampire city.
She wasn’t moving, and her eyes were closed. The girl who always faced everything with her eyes wide open wasn’t looking now.
Walking quietly toward her, trying not to alarm her, careful not to make her more afraid, he approached her and teased, “Amazing. A wolf, napping, eyes shut, here at the gates of the vampire city.”
After flinching at the sound of his voice, her eyes flashed open, and she sighed out his name, releasing her breath in a long exhale that seem part laugh and part cry. She repeated his name again, “Caleb. Caleb.”
After a few moments, her smile widened. She was pure light, moving toward him with her arms wide. He almost laughed, so relieved was he to see her again.
Suddenly, though, noise erupted behind him: the voices of his people reacting to her response in anger and confusion. Caleb moved quickly, stopping her arms. Twisting away from Libby’s embrace, he grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms behind her back.
His people had seen too much. His own hesitation was damning. Thankfully, they had not seen his face … but witnessing Libby’s relief would worry them. They would not accept this.
“I’m sorry, Libby, but I don’t think a hug is the best plan here,” he mumbled.
Trying to pull out of his grip, she hissed, “Let go of me, Caleb.”
“I can’t, Libby. Not right now. The entire city is aware that you’re here. They are watching, Libby.”
She tried to move again.
“Libby!” he barked, repeating her name forcefully. “You’re my prisoner. Libby, do you understand? You are not my friend right now. You can’t be. It’s too dangerous. You are my pr
isoner.” He stopped talking, hoping, willing her to do this, praying this would keep her safe. “Do you understand?”
She squirmed away, trying to pull out of his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said, gripping her harder when she still tried to twist away from him. “I’m sorry. You’re here, and I … I am sorry, Libby. Please, don’t resist.” He leaned into her, his body curling around hers, speaking in the lowest whisper he could. “Accept the pretense, Libby, just for a moment, ok? Just for now. Please.”
Again, she shook her head, as though she were clearing it out.
“You’re my prisoner,” he repeated, pausing, willing her to comprehend their situation. “Do you understand?”
“I don’t … I don’t know. A lot has happened. Caleb. Since we last met, so much … ” She spoke groggily, her speech broken from stress, starvation, lack of sleep, fear. She was thinner, much thinner than she had been, and her eyes were dark with exhaustion. Her body, too, was warmer than he remembered. She was ill, and fumbling at his words, grasping for her own, lost in all that had happened. “Are you saying … do you … you have to pretend that we are enemies. To let me enter the city. You have to make everyone think that. Think that I am your prisoner.”
“Yes,” he answered. He moved her toward the entry, his legs pushing hers forward, holding her as though she were his captive, but he wasn’t sure if they were pretending or not. He was king — he was nearly king — and the enemy was standing before the city gate.
What would happen to her once they entered the city? His people had little love for their half-wolf prince. How would they react to him if he had befriended a wolf — worse — a female wolf, the former pack heir of their strongest adversary? Certainly, they would see this as proof that he was not one of them, that he was, as they had long suspected, little more than an animal. A mutt king. And would they be wrong?
As he walked her toward the city, he started to panic. What was he going to do with her, to her? Was his decision to escort her into the city an offer of aid or a potential disaster? Was he showing her kindness now? His entire mind told him to hate this girl, to distrust her, to destroy her, yet he felt something different, something wrong, something dangerous for her. He wanted her to live. He wanted to protect her. Could he say anything to her now? Could he warn her, insist that she carry the ruse further, pretend to attack him? Could he tell her to flee, to escape while she still might? Could he let her leave? Could he himself see her go? Was he strong enough to save her, to protect her from his people, from himself? Was he strong enough to let her leave?
Before he answered any of these questions, though, he had walked them blindly into the city. They were both already inside the gates, and the gates were closing behind them.
What had he done?
• • •
Libby walked into the city with her head down and her eyes closed, saying nothing, trusting Caleb to lead her. If she and Caleb were truly friends, she would not be a prisoner for long — he would help her without her saying anything at all. And, if they were still enemies, if this was a trick, any words she said would be meaningless anyway.
Around her, she could hear hushed whispers, but she did not dare meet the gazes of any of the speakers. Thinking she would eventually be taken from Caleb, she stayed tense and anxious, yet they continued walking, no one stopping him or asking any questions. In fact, as she trudged forward, her arms behind her, her wrists held tightly in his grasp, she heard vampires scurrying out of his way. The scratches of feet shuffling across the wet stones around the city, the whispers, the wind and rain were all she heard. All else around her was ominously hushed.
The silence continued, and they walked for what seemed like forever, until, finally, Caleb spoke.
“We’re here,” he whispered. Softly spoken, the words seemed only meant for her, but, truly, all the vampires could have heard them. Perhaps they did not raise their voice above a whisper in this place ever, with hearing so keen.
“We’re here,” he said again, but she couldn’t open her eyes, afraid. “We’re here,” he said a little louder, clearly wanting her to look up.
Lifting her head and opening her eyes, she did as he bid. And then she saw where she was.
“Caleb,” she said in a strangled whisper, but he either did not hear or would not speak, because he said nothing in response. “Caleb,” she said again, a little louder, almost pleading.
He couldn’t leave her here. He wouldn’t. She was sick. She had been lost in the woods, in the middle of winter, alone, for weeks, and now she needed help, medical attention. She needed her friend. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t be.
Chapter 10: CAGED
Four weeks? Five? In and out of consciousness, she couldn’t be exactly sure. But Libby had been made to understand by the guards outside her cell that over a month had passed since she was first locked in this prison. If the guards could be trusted, she had been ill for weeks, and Caleb had never come for her, had never seen her. She had nearly died here, and he had not come.
But this time was lost to her. The most recent memory she had was of the day she was brought here. Lifting her head, she had looked up and seen the prison. If she’d had any hope that he was taking her to some place safe, it was destroyed as soon as she glanced up. A prison stood before her: a fortress, massive, made of stone. It dwarfed her, shocked her. Almost surreal, it was too much for her mind to take in: tall, thick walls, an iron gate designed to match the walls’ outer gate at the entrance.
Far above her, were several ominous stone figures. Leaning her head back to peer up at them, she had noticed effigies of different animals, and two figures in the center, slightly larger than the others: a wolf and a man, both werewolf males. She had known it was a werewolf and not an ordinary man because it bore on its side the mark of her kind, the mark of a mated wolf.
She studied the stone above her and felt fear. Although the figures on the wall were poised to jump, they could not leap. Stone manacles held them, trapped them in place. The message was clear: as long as the stone stood there, so would they.
She had cried Caleb’s name, unable to believe that he would leave her, but he had. He had abandoned her here, for over a month.
At first she told herself that some adjustments were necessary for Caleb. He had his part to play, and he could not immediately ask for her release. But as the days grew indistinguishable and as the guards tormented her, it got more and more difficult to believe.
In the beginning, the guards offered rude, but easily ignored insults, taunts about zoos and animals performing tricks. At first, she had found it moderately amusing. She’d received more painful ribbing from her father, so their words were easily set aside. But later, as time wore on, seeming to understand that they couldn’t abuse her with assaults on her dignity, some of the guards had tried other tactics.
One guard in particular, the one on duty now — the one on duty this time every night — relished telling her the history of the place. The guard’s name, she had learned after a time, was Se’, an old name, an apt one. The name sounded like the word “say,” and he tortured her with talking. A demented tour guide, Se’ told her of how her kind had been tortured in the cells around her. Underground, the cells spread out from a central, circular, open corridor. Like the legs of a spider, the cells jutted out from a central hub. As he told her of things he had witnessed there, many things from before she was even born, she often stared helplessly into the cells he referred to, unable to avoid looking. The signs of those struggles were everywhere evident: gouges and claw marks and bloodstains.
This place was marked by the things that had happened here, by the slow knowledge that there was no escaping. A scary thought, but even this, she could have ignored, until, every night, he spoke of what she couldn’t bear to hear.
“That’s what I thought we were in for … more of the old wa
ys,” he grumbled, sounding disappointed, almost sad. “It’s said that the young prince — well, it’s said the lad enjoys the brutal, but it seems he’s forgotten you. He hasn’t been down here since you were dumped in that cell, and I’ve learned — for I have my own friends, you know — that his meetings with the Council rarely mention you. And when you are brought up at all, it’s to call you a trifle, an outcast, unwanted by your kind, and useless to us. And now I’ve got to trudge down here every other night to watch over a little bit of trash.”
Closing her eyes against the only words that made her truly and utterly afraid, she muttered, “That’s all thrilling, but I’m tired.” Plopping down on the cot and turning from him, she tried to pretend that what he said didn’t bother her, as she did every night, hoping he would tire of tormenting her if she didn’t respond.
He laughed again and ended with his traditional parting words, “Sleep well then, princess, but just you remember not to dream that you’re ever leaving here.”
When she was a girl, her mother had had a similar routine, and, like the guard, always ended her bedtime stories repeating the same words: Dream sweet dreams for me, Libby. Dream sweet dreams. She always said it twice, just like that, and then, every night, she kissed Libby’s head and walked out the door.
Most of her mother was lost. Libby had few memories left, but this was vivid, probably because it was repeated night after night. This guard was poisoning her memory of her mother with this painful ritual and, worse, suggesting the one thing that was sure to scare her. Every single night, his last words to her were exactly the same, and every night he never forgot to end his stories with reminders that she meant nothing to anyone. Every night, he insisted that she had been a fool. He reminded her, as her father would say, that fools deserved their own company.
Was it possible, though? Had Caleb forgotten her? Had she been banished from his mind as cleanly as she had been banished from her pack? Was she really never leaving?