by Connie Wood
Dane roared and pushed up, sending the wendigo flying. It landed with a dull thud in the snow. Dane rolled and stood on his hind legs but the wendigo was already up, coming at him again.
It swung at Dane, this time connecting with his chest. Dane howled as the wendigo’s long talons slashed his chest open, deep red blood covering and matting his fur. Anger surged deeper than the pain and Dane smashed his arm across the wendigo. Dane’s claws ripped four deep cuts across its stomach, it opened up like dead flesh, oozing congealed black blood.
The wendigo looked down in surprise, dipping its own clawed talon into one of the wounds, exploring the cut. Dane took advantage of its distraction and pounced. He landed on top of the creature, his considerable weight pinning it deep into the snow. Dane sneered, showing his teeth and bit down across the wendigo’s shoulder. The taste repulsed him and his reflex action almost made him let go. But Dane tightened his jaws until he felt the skin pop and open under his jaw.
The wendigo bellowed and threw Dane off with immense strength. Dane landed, vaguely dazed, but righted himself immediately, rising to his full height. He panted hard, a rush of excitement and pain urging him toward the battle. The wendigo stood up and Dane glanced at its stomach. The open wounds were now closed and semi healed, rotten green flesh stretching over the cuts.
The creature glanced down at its own stomach and noticed Dane watching, it grinned and swept a talon like claw over its belly in a sick caress. It laughed, more like a thick gurgle and eyed Dane again.
Dane charged at it, swiping its throat open and knocking it to the ground. They both slid through the snow and Dane had the open tendons of the beast’s throat in his jaws before they stopped moving.
Dane reared up, ready to tear its throat open. The wendigo howled, the sound screeching, pulling at the very nerve endings throughout Dane’s body. Dane bit down to silence the creature forever. Pain shot through Dane’s midsection and he released his grip on the creature and bellowed. He looked down to find razor sharp claws buried deep within his stomach.
Dane whimpered before he clamped his jaw shut. He unwittingly transformed back into a man. The wendigo hissed in shock and pulled his talons from Dane’s belly. Dane slumped forward before he threw out a hand to support himself. If he was about to die it wouldn’t be with the stink of wendigo in his nostrils.
The wendigo stilled and sniffed. Dane braced himself for the final blow, unable to transform back into a bear. But the wendigo only continued to sniff, the sound wet and obscene. It raised its head and smelled Dane’s face and then moved down his chest. It cocked its head and smiled grotesquely.
Repulsed, Dane used the last of his strength to push against the wendigo beneath him, and stood on his feet. He wanted to be standing, fighting when he died, not fodder for this disgusting animal.
Grimacing, Dane raised himself up, as he straightened the slashes across his chest opened up, the puncture wounds to his stomach deepening. He bit down on the pain.
The wendigo jumped to its claw like feet and ran at Dane. He buried his feet deep into the snow and readied himself to at least do some damage in return.
The wendigo howled and knocked Dane flying. He exhaled roughly, his body screaming as he landed hard on the ground. He looked up, expecting the creature to be above him. He saw the animal racing away back toward the village.
Dane flung his head back, pain assailing him, overwhelming his senses. Why hadn’t the wendigo finished him off? As soon as he’d become human, the creature had smelled something on him. Something that appealed to the animal more than killing Dane.
Lea.
Dane jumped to his feet, blinding pain racking him. They’d made love less than an hour ago, he would still be covered with her scent. Any animal would be able to sense it.
He tried to take a step and doubled over in agony, his palms hitting the snow hard. Blood dripped from his wounds, covering his hands and the white snow. Dane shut his eyes and summoned his strength. His body yearned to transform back into a bear, curl up and recover from his injuries. If he could recover.
He opened his eyes and clenched his jaw, so hard his teeth ached. Dane pulled himself up, his stomach tearing open again as he did so. His blood-covered hand shook as he gripped his stomach. He turned toward where the wendigo had disappeared into the valley, toward Lea.
~* * *~
The cold night air whipped through the gash in its throat, making a garish whistling sound. The wendigo swallowed through it. It would heal soon enough, especially after a feast of sweet human flesh.
It moved fast, spurred on by the scent of the woman, until it reached the hotel. The building sat in darkness; the wendigo could sense all the people resting peacefully within its walls, oblivious to the danger that lurked outside.
The wendigo sniffed. At least one person wasn’t peacefully asleep within the hotel. Now that he had her scent, it knew where she was. She was sleeping, but far-from-peaceful dreams had her tossing and moaning in her slumber. It smiled, its wind-cracked lips stretching and opening up. How nice it would be to take her while she was fully awake. Its long bluish tongue greedily licked the blood from its mouth.
He still tasted the bear. Bear meat had no liking for him, but as soon as it turned back into a man, it had been tempted to feed upon its flesh. That was until he caught the smell of the woman. For some reason it wanted her above all others.
Ravenous longing gripped at its stomach and he sniffed again, trying to get a bearing on where the woman was. It crept along the outside walls and had almost circumnavigated the building when it stopped. It flung its head backward and saw a small window, just like all the others, but it knew the woman lay inside.
Gleefully it pounced, clutching the outside of the building with its claws and began to climb. Its talons scratched into the walls, screeching as they slid, before they bit into the wall. It climbed to the second story window and smashed it with ease, unconcerned now about the noise in its pleasurable anticipation.
He heard a startled scream from within and its eyes burned with heated joy. It scampered through the broken window, enjoying the feel of the remaining shards of glass slice its thick, rotten skin.
The woman sat huddle up at the end of the bed, shaking in fear, a blanket clutched to her chest in some vain attempt to protect herself. Those brown eyes widened with terror and horror as she saw it. She screamed.
The wendigo stood watching, mesmerized for a moment, trying to comprehend the longings it now craved. The woman continued to scream. The wendigo rushed across the room and the woman tried to scamper away. It flung out its arms and grabbed her, its talons accidently tearing through her upper arm as she struggled.
It didn’t mean to draw her blood. Not now anyway. It had better plans for her. But now at the smell of her life force flowing from her, its own blood boiled and lust seized at it. It wanted to devour her, to taste her.
It hissed as she continued to scream hysterically and squirm. Hurried knocks at the door were now followed by frantic voices, screaming for her safety.
The wendigo pulled her from the bed. She was dressed in black and white stripped flannel pajamas and thick black socks. Her top was now smeared with blood, her trousers loose around her waist.
Bitter anger flared deep within the wendigo. It knew that she and the bear man had coupled only hours ago, he’d smelled it on both of them. But now she lay fully clothed.
Part of him expected her naked, wanted her that way. Vulnerable toward him in every way.
She continued to struggle and the wendigo tired of it. It cradled her against his chest. She finally fell silent. A revolted snear curved her mouth and she gagged, trying to get away, pushing at his chest and yet trying not to touch him.
Anger flared, this time more potent than ever before. The door finally burst open. Two men fell into the room followed by a quick succession of women, their concern evident.
They all halted as they saw the wendigo and it turned and grinned at them before heading toward t
he smashed window.
“Mine,” it rasped as he held the woman tight. “Mine.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Great! A fucking wendigo.” Tithe repressed the urge to sigh dramatically and roll his eyes. The last few months had been more trouble than he’d seen in a while. A massacre, attempted reincarnation, a leader who turned out to be the enemy. He’d had enough. Now an evil creature of myth and legend roamed the countryside slaughtering indiscriminately.
“I saw it with my own eyes,” Silvan said defensively.
“I believe you my friend.” Tithe walked past and clasped Silvan on the shoulder. “It certainly has been a while though.”
Tithe gave Silvan’s shoulder a quick squeeze and headed to the liquor cabinet. He scanned the glass cupboard, reached for the strongest drink he had and poured himself a glass. He drained it quickly before pouring another. Not that it made much of a difference, he could hardly get drunk from it, but the burn was marginally comforting.
He proffered both Silvan and Rin a glass, knowing full well neither man would accept it. Silvan shook his head and took a seat, the soft leather softly creaking beneath him. Rin continued to stand, stiff and formal, uncomfortable about being in his boss’s home. It was obviously a breach of protocol.
It was the first time he’d been home from the Hall in weeks and he had little inclination to return back to work just yet. So when Silvan had returned on the first flight back to Whitehorse, Tithe summoned both Silvan and Rin here.
The white and cream colored décor appeared cold and aloof. All the essentials were here, but nothing personal adorned the rooms. His house was immaculately clean, almost clinical. Even in the privacy of his own home, Tithe gave nothing of himself away.
Except in his privately secured rooms. That section of the house was closed off to every living soul. And some of the dead ones. It was there, and only there, he was truly able to be himself. To finally relax and take stock. And sometimes to remember.
Tithe turned and placed the bottle back into the cabinet. He saw Rin in the glass door’s reflection. The man didn’t move a muscle but Tithe felt his agitation. He could always read his men well.
“What do you suggest we do about the beast?” Rin clipped out.
Grinning, Tithe turned toward him.
“We kill it.”
“I surmised as much,” Rin replied, sarcasm dripping from his every word. “But how do you kill a wendigo?”
“Very difficult. They’re bastard things.” It was Silvan who answered.
“I assume you are able to kill it?” Rin asked.
“You can kill anything if you know how,” Tithe said. He walked in front of the mahogany bar that ran half the length of the room and leaned his lower back against it. He crossed his legs at the ankle, his arms against his broad muscular chest. “I know we’ve come up against some things that seem damn near indestructible. But we always managed to eradicate them in the end.” He cocked his head. “Mostly.”
“This one’s big, strong and ultra-violent.” Silvan sat forward and stared at Tithe, sadness and anger shining in his blue eyes. “It has a huge blood lust, one I haven’t seen in many years.” He paused and swallowed roughly. “It slaughtered an entire family in the snow. Hardly anything left of them. Man, woman or child.”
Tithes stomach tightened as he continued to look at Silvan. The man’s words conjured up memories that flashed through his mind. Scenes of death, blood and ice. Visions of Silvan on his knees, screaming at his family’s slaughtered remains. Blood coating his hands as he tried to save his child, as he attempted to put the pieces of his wife back together.
Silvan finally looked away and Tithe felt sickness rise within him, it mingled with guilt and gripped him. He knew Silvan hated the cold and ice for a reason, he shouldn’t have sent him on this mission. But he believed it was a straightforward routine job.
Check if the human deaths were attributed to the shifter bear, and if so take care of the situation. He never imagined it would turn into this. He’d never deliberately reopen festering wounds that should lie forever dormant.
“Apologies, Silvan,” was all he could grind out.
Silvan glanced at him a moment, his blue eyes vacant, even of pain. A muscle worked at his jaw. After a second, he nodded and the knot in Tithe’s chest loosened a fraction. The blood he saw in his visions was on Tithe’s hands and the immense guilt it burdened him with was more than justified.
Rin glanced from Tithe to Silvan, obviously understanding something went on between the two men, but unsure what to make of it.
Tithe cleared his throat and addressed Rin.
“Wendigo’s are notoriously difficult to kill, especially since very few remember the old legends and tales about them.”
“Do the legends tell how to kill it?” Rin inquired.
“Yes, they do. Luckily for us, an elder of the Algonquin tribe imparted the knowledge to me a very long time ago.” Tithe unlocked his arms and stepped forward, away from the bar. He stopped a few paces away from where Silvan sat in the armchair, his arms folded defensively, his face tense and hard.
“I will not order you to come with me to dispose of the wendigo,” Tithe said, choosing his words carefully. “I ask you as a friend and a brother, a request I know I have no right in asking.”
Silvan glared at him and Tithe knew the pain of his friendship and honor conflicting with his duty. But if the creature was as strong as was suggested, then he needed someone he trusted at his back.
The seconds stretched and Silvan continued to glower and Tithe stared back, both men unwilling to look away. Finally, Silvan nodded a quick jerk of his head.
Tithe inwardly sighed in relief. He turned on his heal to face the other venator.
“Rin, I need you to protect my city in my absence. I trust no other to the task.”
“Yes,” Rin curtly replied.
“My thanks,” Tithe said, inclining his head. “Return to the Hall, I left you instructions on my desk.”
Rin cocked an eyebrow. “You were very certain I would say yes.”
“Yes, I was,” Tithe said.
“In that case, I will take my leave,” Rin said, nodding toward Tithe. “Silvan,” he said in goodbye, turning toward the man. “Best fortunes on your mission,” he said to both.
Rin turned and walked across the room.
“Rin,” Tithe called as the man reached the doorway. Rin stopped and turned toward him. “Watch for Avery. She flies closer to you every day. I see her circling.”
Rin’s hand went to his sword strapped to his side. Anger blazed in the man’s face and Tithe could feel it permeating from him.
“I watch for her,” Rin spat out. “She is my responsibility.”
“It was her brother who turned her, not you.”
Rin’s face reddened as the knuckles grew whiter as he gripped the hilt of his sword. He held Tithes gaze for a moment and Tithe knew he wanted to strike out against him. Not that he could blame him, some pain was too great to hold in and only action could abate it.
After a moment, he looked down at his hand gripping his sword and some of the bitterness seeped from him. Only his eyes belied his anguish.
“I only remind you to appease your guilt and sorrow,” Tithe said softly.
“There are some instances which require a man to carry guilt.” Rin turned on his heal and walked out the door.
That was a premise Tithe could understand only too well. He carried guilt for many atrocities he’d both committed and contributed to, whether willingly or not. They all had burdens to carry. Every single man under his control had a past, usually of tragedy and pain. Some of it he had a hand in. But Tithe had been making amends for centuries, making sure those men now had at least some semblance of a life.
Perhaps even contentment, something he feared he would never find for himself. Too much hid in his past, too many demons, both literally and figuratively. Too many mistakes that he was paying penance for.
And one of t
hose was still sitting in his arm chair. The haunted look in Silvan’s usually cheerful eyes reminded him of the pain he’d inflicted. Tithe felt the sickness rise in him again, just as it did every time he began to feel the full extent of the guilt and anguish of his past mistakes.
Tithe gritted his teeth till his jaw ached, trying to rein in his wayward emotions. Slowly he approached Silvan.
“I am truly sorry you had to relieve those memories, Silvan.”
The man looked up, baulked slightly, then stood with slow deliberate moves.
“I can see you are sincere. Your eyes are glowing green again,” Silvan said with a mix of sadness and amusement.
Tithe blinked, felt the burning in his eyes and pushed his emotions into the background where they belonged.
“If only the others knew you glowed when your emotions get out of control,” Silvan said, standing in front of him, watching him curiously.
“A few do know.”
“And it’s a good thing it’s only a few too. You already freak out most people, you’d terrify them if they knew the truth of you.” Silvan sobered. “I know why your feelings are scattered. I told you before my friend, and I will tell you once again. What happened to my family was no doing of yours. You have no fault in it.”
Tithe nodded his gratitude, but couldn’t bring Silvan’s words to heart. He held fault. But there was little he could do about it now. Tithe swallowed the lump in his throat and called on his considerable willpower. He reined in his emotions.
“Come,” Tithe said, “We have a beast to slaughter.”
Chapter Nineteen
Light filtered in, creating slivers of brightness in the darkness. Lea shivered uncontrollably, and sniffled, trying to take long calming breaths. She gagged at the putrid stench that lay thick in the dark lair.
She regained consciousness here, in the blackness, after the creature had taken her from her room. She had screamed and fought its hold with everything she had in her, but to no avail. It had looked at her, head cocked in mild interest as it gripped her in its claws. The greed and lust had come to its dirty yellow glowing eyes and it guffawed, its thick oozing spittle dripping on her face. In abject horror, it was the last thing she remembered.