Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  The moon was rising. The wolf was waking, and Caleb was falling, falling away.

  • • •

  Closing her eyes, she pictures the prison, its walls white in the pale light of the moon, the chill of evening settling upon it. Shadows lengthen, time spins, quickens. The space in between minutes melts to nothing. The moon dims. The sun rises. The sky brightens. She sees the heat of the day, the way the heat calls the clouds, how the clouds form, until there’s rain pouring down. She hears it hissing as it harshly slaps the hard stone walls. The sun rises, beats upon the stone. Then night again. Then sun again. Rain again. Weeds growing into the walls, deep into the rock. Then night again. Then sun again. Rain again. Sun again. Night again. Now snow. More snow. Then night again. Then sun again. Night again. A dance of days, twirling in numberless revolutions. Now summer. Now snow. Now summer. Now snow. The days passing fast now, circling, whirling, wheeling past. Day. Night. Day. Night. Again and again and again, until, slowly, the building starts to change. The stones round, the lines between the stones fill with their own dust, gradually grow thicker, deeper, thicker, deeper. More rain. More weather. More sun. Growing old. Growing weak. More rain. More weather. More sun.

  Looking beyond the stones outside, looking through a window high above the ground, looking, down, into the prison, there walks a guard, pacing, pacing, pacing, a march of moments, the parade of time. He grows gray. He grows white. His back bends. The weight of his days press against him. On and on and on. She pictures the two together, captor and cage, husband and home, locked together, aging together, falling together, resting together.

  A rushing sound, like sand pouring in a glass, the wall of the prison dissolves before her. The wall disappears, turning to dust, the guard sleeps, alive, but needing rest, deep rest, he is too deep to be disturbed by the music of falling sand.

  • • •

  The drums were beating. Too early. The drums were meant to beat at his change. The shift was coming. The moon was rising. The wolf was waking, and Caleb was falling, falling away. But he was still Caleb, just barely Caleb, half-transformed, but still in control of his own mind.

  Libby … something was happening at the prison.

  The King’s Guard should be freed from watching him to help at the prison. Caleb needed to make them go. But the pain. His body screaming with it. His tearing muscles. His broken bones. His mind splitting. The wolf. Laying waste to him. Claiming his body as its own. The ruler ruled by the animal within. The boy. The man. Gone. The king. The Mutt King. The mongrel. The monster. And Libby. Libby …

  Chapter 18: IN RUINS

  Drums were beating, thickly, about one beat every thirty seconds or so, probably the vampires sending the message about her escape. They would begin to hunt her, and standing between her and freedom was the immense stone labyrinth of the vampire city. Having climbed up to the roofline, hoping to find a path away from the prison, she saw the cold, white Capitol City sprawled before her.

  Out of the rock mountain wall that stood behind the city like a sentinel, the city crawled, enormous, filled with vampires. It terrified her. The vampire city was unlike anything she had ever seen before. The simple carpentry of her people was nothing like the cold stone of this city, and wolves lived in much smaller packs. They did not group together in large colonies like this. She was going to be surrounded by her enemies. Could she escape? Could she survive?

  Could she find her way home? Where was home? Could Caleb help her while she was still in the Capitol? How would she contact Caleb if she escaped? Assuming she found a way out of here, where was she going?

  She would answer those questions later. Now, all that mattered was moving through the city and getting as far away from the prison as she could. She studied the world below her.

  Made of white stone, the city was a large, stretching, white hand, the buildings spread out in rows, like reaching fingers, the governmental annex raised, ending with the palace at its rear, the wrist from which the whole city began its grasp. The city was raised in three separate levels. The palace, the government buildings, and the main city — a maze of homes and shops, a maze she had to find her way out of.

  She would never be able to use these roofs for travel, and there would be no way to maintain her current vantage point. Yet, below her, the city seemed even more impossible to navigate on foot, the thin main streets and even thinner alleyways, all flooded with vampires. How was she ever going to do this?

  • • •

  The drums were beating wildly now, rolling in waves for a few seconds, cutting off, retuning every two or three minutes. What they said, Libby could only guess.

  She had finally found her way out of the main residential area twenty minutes ago as the city slowly thinned out. She was near the high outer wall, the one that held the only way in or out — the metal gate she had walked through so many weeks ago. She still hadn’t found that gate or any other exit yet, but being near the wall put her close to her final goal.

  This area housed no one, held no shops. It was a military quarter, and there were guards here, moving around her. In the city, she had managed to keep out of sight. It was easier in the heart of the city with so much to hide behind. Here, though, she was more exposed. Worse, a few moments ago, as she rounded a corner, she had heard two soldiers, and although she had found a small place to hide in to avoid them, she knew that news of her escape was out. They were looking for her now. It stood to reason that these two were hunting her, but they gave no sign that they saw her. After a few minutes of talking together in the alley, minutes during which they never looked in her direction, they finally walked away. She had to stop panicking. Maybe they had been excited over whatever else the drums were telling them. She had to keep it together. If she didn’t remain calm, she was never going to make it out of here alive. Crawling out of her hiding place, she gripped the wood of the building behind her and started to climb, needing a look at where she was.

  Careful to make as little noise as possible, she softly pawed the wood as she climbed. Just a little farther and she would be able to see a way out of this mess. Continuing to glance down, she ascended again, scanning for any sign of the two vampires. She had gotten about fifteen feet off the ground when a shadow loomed above her, high on the roof, standing in silhouette in front of the moon. Could it be …

  “Out of the pound then?”

  Looking up, she saw him, tiny flicks of metal along his shoulders, a soldier, maybe even the soldier she had seen before; it was too dark to know. His hands were sitting on his hips, lazy, calm. Still unable to see his face, she could feel that he was also, despite his posture, excited. Yes, the same soldier, the same feelings.

  “Sorry about the game,” he laughed, “But we didn’t favor a run. Right, Marcas?”

  “Right,” said a happy voice from below her.

  Another vampire, just under her — what could she do? Continue climbing and have the one at the top simply shove her back down? Fight here out in the open on top of an exposed roof, drawing everyone to her? Or should she fall down into the waiting arms of the one below? Nothing seemed promising. Making her decision quickly, she let go of the wall and fell, landing on her feet, in a crouched position. She needed to find the soldier, the one named Marcas, as quickly as possible. Where was he?

  “Looking for me?” he said coming up behind her. Reaching out to grab her arms, he almost captured her, but she moved at the last second.

  “Can’t you catch one stray, Marcas?” the vampire on the roof teased.

  “Torin, if you would stop meddling I would have had her by now.”

  Seeing an opportunity, Libby added, “You’re bickering like an old married couple. Maybe you don’t need me here to spoil the party.” As she said this, she gained Marcas’s full attention — clasping her hands together, she pictured him, tired with sleep in the glow of the draining afternoon sun, wanting rest, w
anting sleep. In front of her, the vampire’s eyes were blinking closed …

  Suddenly, she was face down on the floor in incredible pain. Torin, the one on the roof had jumped down and landed directly on top of her. A few of her bones were probably broken. The burning in her ribs made it almost impossible to breathe.

  “Oh no, you don’t, witch,” he whispered in her ear. “I know all about your spells. Try that again, and I will gut you.” He had pulled a sharp knife out and rested it against her cheek.

  She tried to struggle, but his long body held her captive. Then he moved from her, pulling her into a standing position. Dragging her from the floor, he tossed her toward the other vampire. “Now, go with my friend Marcas. He was pretty desperate to catch you.”

  Marcas tossed his head back and forth, trying to clear it, and grabbed her with both arms around her waist. When she had seen them earlier, she worried that they would take her back to the prison, but being so close to Marcas revealed the reason for his excitement. Squirming, she tried to loosen his hold, but he simply laughed in her ear. His breath on her neck was not the open heat of wolf males, but the unnatural thrill of the vampire, lukewarm and tepid. One of his arms unlocked, un-forming the circle around her waist, but the other did not break its tight hold. His hand moved to touch her.

  “No! Stop it! I surrender! No!” she screamed.

  “‘No?’ Aren’t you a rare one? I didn’t know the bitches of your pack knew the word. You’re one of the rutting Conall dogs. Surely you’ll be more than eager to spend some time with us,” Marcas mocked.

  “I don’t care what you think you know about my people, you will not touch me,” she said, managing to sound calm and forceful. She could feel that Marcas was rabid and uncontrollable — except, he would listen to Torin. She would have to control Torin before getting to Marcas … but where was he? “I am the pack heir. You will not touch me. My people will have vengeance.”

  “Do you hear her, Marcas? Her people?” Torin said. He was behind her, slightly to her right, completely out of her line of sight. “She actually considers herself more human than beast. How … quaint. Stop fantasizing. You will return to your natural position soon enough. Our new king will see to it. Fate has decreed it.” He was moving, but always behind her — he knew more about her spells than he should. “We only need a little time, and our king will end this war. Your kind will be as they once were, our natural servants.”

  “But in the meantime,” Marcas whispered, “you’ll serve us.” He pressed his body forward until it rested fully against her, until his mouth was close enough to whisper through her hair. “Won’t you?” From behind her, he reached over her shoulder and grabbed her breast. He started to grind against her. His breathing was getting heavier and faster. She had to do something. He was pulling at the wrappings around her waist. Oh God. They were going to … She tried to fight, to pull away, but he was too powerful. He must have fed recently. She couldn’t escape his grip. How could she fight him off? He backed her into the wall behind her, his body forming a prison around her. She was caged by his arms, by his weight. What could she do? All around her stood the crumbled buildings, destroyed by war, dead sentinels, their windows witnessing everything, but seeing nothing. Their bodies haunted, ruined, rebuilt, ruined again.

  Chapter 19: HEROES

  “Torin, I saw her first. I get the first taste.”

  “I assure you, I do not relish the second course. Do what you will. I just wanted to meet the little beast, to see the young king’s consort.”

  Damn these creatures. Her father had told her they were evil, but she had been unable to believe him. She couldn’t ignore him now. As her father had told her, they were like stone — inside and out. They were soulless and emotionless. They could never understand what she felt.

  Wait. That was it. If she could make them feel what she felt, then maybe, just maybe, they couldn’t do this. Her fear might be too much for them. Marcas, the one on top of her, was touching her. He was squeezing her breast so tightly it hurt. He wanted to rape her. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to be inside her while her blood was inside him. He wanted her bleeding in as many ways as he could imagine. He was dangerous and cruel. He would kill her. He would kill her. She repeated this thought over and over. She pictured focusing all of her fear into a weapon. Like a blacksmith, she continued to hammer her thoughts into shape with the litany: he would kill her, rip her, feed on her. He would kill her, rip her, feed on her. Once she felt sure that her feelings were focused, she looked straight at Marcus. She waited for him to look into her eyes. Her spell would be strongest that way. But he wouldn’t look at her.

  Hoping to get his attention, she begged, “Marcus, don’t do this. Don’t. Look. I … Marcus.”

  Nothing she said registered on him. He continued to stare below her waist, waiting, waiting. My God. He was waiting for Torin to watch. He wanted an audience before baring her body, but Torin wasn’t cooperating. She groaned in fear, and his attention almost flickered up to her face. He seemed to know enough of her pack to not glance into her eyes, information he had probably gained from Torin, who had understood her magic when he saw it. But Marcas wanted to see her pain. She thought quickly and, on a moan of fear, she cried out, and forced Marcus finally to look up. Catching his gaze, she sent her feelings flying out at him. Her feelings were so strong and concentrated that he was actually pushed away from her, back several feet.

  His eyes darted toward the doorway and toward Torin. He clearly believed that the other vampire would hurt him. He screamed out in terror and then groped toward the alley, warily watching Torin, his eyes wide and afraid. She glanced away from Marcus, and was starting to refocus her attention and her magic on Torin when she heard growling, coming from the alley where Marcas had fled.

  Hearing this, Torin and Libby froze, neither understanding what was happening. Torin glanced at her, questioning, wondering if she had created the sound as a distraction. She stared back at him, giving nothing away. Marcas screamed. Then they saw him. Caleb. He had come for her. Yet he was not shifted. He looked as he always did, dressed, though, in a military uniform she had never seen.

  Walking forward, approaching Marcas, Caleb grabbed the vampire by his neck, suspending him off the ground. Marcas wept, his legs flailing, desperate to escape.

  Distracted by Caleb, Libby had not noticed Torin. Glancing madly around, she realized too late that he was behind her.

  “Move and I will slice up that pretty neck,” he said, grabbing her with his free hand.

  Caleb tilted his head, watching Torin. She couldn’t tell if he was worried, confused, or … entertained. This was Caleb, but not Caleb. She had never seen that expression on his face before. He looked pleased somehow.

  Then, finally, Caleb spoke, simply, calmly, with very little emotion. “Release her,” he said, but the voice was not Caleb’s. It was deeper, much too deep.

  Ignoring Caleb’s order and the threat he presented, Torin smiled. “My king, I have captured the wolf.”

  “Release her now, or I will kill you.” Again, the voice that spoke was not the voice she had grown to know.

  “You would kill one of your own kind for a mutt?”

  “Release her. I will show you how.” His hand let Marcas go, and the vampire fell to the floor. He scurried away from Caleb.

  Instead of following Caleb’s example, Torin gripped Libby more tightly, his knife cutting into her neck, almost drawing blood.

  “Caleb,” she whispered, scared.

  “She calls you by your name! I have learned that the powers of the wolf females are formidable, but don’t tell me you, too, have been bewitched by this creature.”

  “What powers this woman has does not concern you. The only information you need now is this: that woman is mine. She belongs to me.”

  Libby wanted to close her eyes. Watching Caleb speak in that voice …
it scared her.

  “You’ve heard the stories about me, have you not?”

  “My king?”

  Caleb narrowed his eyes menacingly and slowly crossed his arms. He projected the air of a bored man losing patience with an underling. It was Caleb’s posture, Caleb’s body, but it was not Caleb. It was smiling, strangely, but Caleb did not smile. “Surely you have heard that I killed a man when I was a child. Do you remember why?”

  “Yes, everyone knows. You killed him because he was a worthless human who had ruined something of yours.”

  “Indeed. And do you know what he ‘ruined,’ as you put it?”

  “Caleb,” Libby cried out, afraid of what he might do to Torin. “Caleb, don’t. Caleb, wake up. Caleb — ”

  Torin stopped her, pressing the knife, finally drawing blood.

  “If you call my king by his name again, you will regret it.”

  “I asked you if you know what the human ruined.” Caleb spoke again, lifting his eyebrow in a typical gesture.

  “Yes, yes. It was some toy, some trifle. You couldn’t bear that the hands of a human had touched what was yours,” he spoke excitedly, almost hopefully. He attempted to smile at Caleb, unaware of the danger he was in. “Many of our clan saw this as a sign that you would change our destiny. Some of us are still waiting for you to do so.”

  “It was a sign, a sign that you, unfortunately, are misreading. I am satisfied that you know this story. The story should have taught you that I wouldn’t let others handle my things. So, I am curious. You know I killed a man for touching something that was mine, some trifling little thing as you say. I wonder, what do you think I will do to the man who has touched her?” he said, pointing to Libby casually, before recrossing with his arms.

  “The wolf?”

  “Yes, she’s mine, too,” he said roughly and angrily. He had sounded calm before — different, but calm. Now, finally emotion broke through his tight leash of control.