by Tracy Falbe
The cries of the woman chained behind Altea indicated that she was already being fully raped. Altea squeezed shut her eyes and prepared to endure the great violation. Sick dread swooped through her stomach. She would have vomited if she had eaten anything that day.
“Nasty dry witch,” complained the man in the other cell. “Hey, finish up with that young thing so I can get on her.”
“Don’t rush me,” the man holding Altea said. He opened his pants and pressed his cock against her. She clenched her body and tried to send her mind to another place, but even the imaginary places of her bleak world shut their doors on her.
The man in the other cell suddenly cried out. His prisoner had yanked her chain out of the bars and swung it at him. He pulled his knife and plunged it into her chest. Gasping and gurgling she dropped to her knees.
“You killed her!” exclaimed the man with Altea. He pulled away. “Vito wants them alive. Damn, he’ll be mad.”
The other man stepped away from the body toppling at his feet. He was rubbing his shoulder where she had hit him. “It just happened,” he said.
“I’m not taking any blame,” said the blonde man. Irritated by the interruption, he seized Altea again.
“Did you hear that?” the other man said.
“Shut up,” the man with Altea grunted. He pressed on her ribs and the pain made her stop twisting away from him. The iron bars were cold against her bare buttocks. He thrust at her vengefully. His hardness shocked her. There was no resisting it.
Then he froze. A long howl resonated through the walls from nearby.
“I told you,” the other man said. He looked down the hall.
“Thal!” Altea cried. Then with searing hatred she finally looked her attacker in the eyes and said, “He’ll kill you.”
The threat carried great weight considering Thal had just murdered everyone on duty in the jail the night before. Fear replaced his dominating glee. In his moment of distraction, Altea smashed a knee into his scrotum.
“Ahhhh!” he yelled and blundered backward clutching his withering genitals.
“Thal!” Altea screamed with all the voice she had left. Hope flooded back into her heart with astonishing force. “Thal!”
The other man came into her cell and hit her. “Shut up!” he yelled and helped his companion.
Altea tried to pull her hands free, but the grip of the links upon her swollen hands remained tight.
“Thal!” she screamed again.
The blonde man glared at her with murderous fury. His pants were pulled up now and he meant to assault her in new ways. Altea’s chains chimed against the bars as she shook them in a desperate frenzy. Her sudden hope for rescue quailed from the immediate danger.
“You’re going in the maiden!” the blonde man yelled. He started unwinding the chains. Once her hands fell free he grabbed her hair and pulled her out of the cell. She wailed wildly.
Gun fire blasted in the street. Yelling and screaming gave way to snarling. A man in the street flopped down to a window in the cell block.
“Help us!” he yelled. Then he was pulled backwards.
“Let her go! We have to fight,” cried the jailer to the man hauling Altea into the torture chamber, but his comrade was too intent on his revenge.
He bashed into a table in the dark room and cussed. Altea tried to grab a table leg but her hands were useless. A fistful of her hair tore out and her tormentor had to renew his grip. He clamped both hands over her throat and lifted her. With a clatter, he bashed her across a rack of nasty tools on the wall and then pressed her into the nightmare box. He held her there with hands on her throat. Her whimpering sobs pleased him while he caught his breath.
******
Thal beat on the jail door. It was locked tonight. His urgent madness masked the pain of his wounds. On the street his blood mingled with the spattered gore of those who had opposed him. Bracing his shoulder against the burly door, he pushed with all his might. His claws scraped across the cobbles.
He stepped back to gather himself for another attempt. He reconsidered going back to the court building and using the back entrance. That door was less sturdy, but he had needed to clear out the men outside the jail if he was to rescue Altea.
During the hectic and short lived battle, he had not heard her screams, but now her shriek penetrated into his bones. Panic urged him to bash himself mindlessly against the door, but then his sensitive ears perceived someone approaching from within. He quieted his breath and hoped to get lucky. The final pleas of the men-at-arms for help were apparently drawing someone out.
When he heard the bar lift inside, he propelled his body through the door. He knocked the man aside and pounced on him. He never got a chance to lift his sword before Thal clamped his jaws on his head. After one twist the neck was broken.
He thundered on all fours down the hall, drawn by Altea’s sobbing like air to a fire. His eyes pierced the reeking darkness and he tasted the scent of the scoundrel tormenting her. He was heaving shut a door to enclose Altea in some horrible confinement. He turned when Thal burst into the chamber, but could only fling up his hands in useless defense. Thal chomped onto an arm. Bones crunched and blood spurted. The werewolf flung him across the room. He crashed across the collection of scattered torture devices. Thal jumped on him and tore him apart with ungodly abandon. His screams did not last long.
Thal rose up on his back legs with the hot blood of his victim dripping from his teeth. Altea’s stuttering gasps marked her futile struggle to push back the half open door of the iron maiden. In an instant Thal flung open the door. Altea tumbled out and he caught her in his furry arms. The hard bloody slickness of his armor distressed her when she fell upon it and she tried to pull away. He held her tightly yet tenderly and dragged her out of the torture chamber. She gasped and squeaked in a state of terror.
In the weak lantern light, he beheld the details of her abuse. Chunks were gone from her hair. Blood seeped off her scalp. Her breasts and torso were revealed in the gaps in her tattered garment. Bloody splotches marred the pale fabric in lines up and down her body where blood seeped from tiny holes. Her dangling thumbs were a wreckage of torn flesh and cracked bone.
He growled with outrage but the sound scared her. Calming his natural sounds of displeasure, he held her gently and nuzzled her with his broad wet nose.
Her severe trembling vibrated against his nostrils, yet still he delighted in her living scent.
“Thal?” she whispered.
He grunted, longing to say her name with all the love he felt. His tongue touched her cheek. The sweet gesture seemed to reassure her, but Thal knew they were far from safety, if such a place existed for them.
With his powerful arms he swept her off her failing legs and carried her out of the jail. Bodies slumped in the street. The moonlight enhanced the darkness of the wet puddles beneath them. One groaning man was dragging himself up some steps. He shrank down upon the stones as Thal passed by.
Thal crossed the Old Town Square openly. A few people peeked at him from dark side streets but no one rushed out to engage the monster.
The banging and chiming of the wondrous Town Hall clock began its dance to mark the late hour. The skeleton of death paraded appropriately with the moonshine upon its skull face.
Thal returned to the Magistrate’s house. Pistol rushed out to greet him. Gently Thal set Altea down. Pistol sniffed her and curled upon next to her to offer his sweet sympathy.
Standing on all fours, Thal sagged with weariness. Carrying Altea after his prolonged battles had not been easy. He tried to calm the tempest of emotions bashing the shores of his mind. He was still in the heart of the city with an incapacitated woman and he had to think of what to do.
He let go of his magic and jerked and writhed through the transformation back to a man. His naked body within the armor throbbed and his wounds stung sharply. He retrieved his bundle from under the cart.
“Thal?” Altea whispered. She had clung to the dog while lis
tening to his painful thrashing.
“I’m here,” he whispered while he dressed.
“You came for me,” she said.
He returned to her side and set a hand on her cheek. The warmth of his palm and the delicate pressure of his finger tips infused her with the magic of his compassion. After so many horrors, this man who was also a beast showed her true humanity.
Thal wanted to apologize and confess all his flawed actions, but there was no time. He had caused this atrocity and now she could never be returned to the society he had imagined that she should belong to. He was responsible for what had happened and now responsible for her life. Although he knew there was no making things up to her, he promised himself that he would take care of her.
“I’ll be back,” he said and stood up.
“Don’t go,” she whimpered.
He ran up the back steps into her house. Thal ran to her bedroom. He seized the disheveled blankets and threw in a few objects off her dressing table. He wished he could do better for her but her survival depended on speed. The quiet streets did not lessen his worry. A sense of being hunted clung to the edge of his mind.
He took the bundle outside and wrapped Altea in blankets. She tried to stifle her cries of pain when he moved her. He lifted her into the cart and set Pistol next to her.
Ignoring his pain, Thal lifted the cart handles and rolled her away. Blood was flowing under his clothing in several places. Through the quiet streets he pushed the cart as fast as he could. He approached the New Tower gate openly even though it was guarded.
“Don’t say anything,” he whispered to Altea.
The guard house door opened and a man stepped out with a spear and a lantern.
“Who’s there at this hour?” the guard challenged.
Thal flipped back his cloak and set a hand conspicuously on a pistol. “This is an emergency. This girl got cut up in a brothel and I’m taking her to a surgeon I know outside the walls,” Thal explained.
Someone inside said something to the man in the door, but he hushed him. “Why care so much about a whore?” asked the guard.
“That’s no business of yours. Stand aside. It’s your job to keep people out fools,” Thal said.
“Plenty of surgeons in Old Town,” the voice from inside argued.
“And they’re busy. Do you even know what’s been happening in the city tonight? A werewolf is on the rampage. Men are dead. I’m getting out,” Thal said.
Voices kept whispering behind inside, but Thal started pushing his cart even without their leave. He carted Altea through the great archway and no one chose to stop him. With plodding steps he marched in the predawn dark through the winding lanes and up a hill until he reached the ruin of his mother’s cottage.
He parked the cart behind the charred remains of the little home and checked on Altea. She was unconscious but breathing.
Thal sought the herb garden where he had watched his mother trim and dig many times. Growing up as her son, he had learned more herb lore than most. Her garden was desecrated. Most of the plants had been torn out, but as he expected the stubborn comfrey had grown back splendidly. He tore off many of the big leaves. He gleaned a few more tattered herbs. While still on his knees, he paused to remember his mother. She had always looked content while tending her garden. A memory of her as a younger woman covered in sunshine and surrounded by flowers cleared some of the bloody mayhem from his mind.
“Be at peace, Mother. I’ve done your bidding and given you justice,” he said.
Slowly he got to his feet. He could not stay here. Many people lived at the bottom of the hill. Returning to the cart, he cut a bed sheet into strips to make bandages. He took off his armor and stripped down to tend his wounds. A lead ball had grazed his right arm and left a wide cut. Both his legs had cuts but the worst cut was on his hip where a spear had grazed him. It stung with every step. He found a lead ball embedded in his armor. It had almost gone through and the inward bulge of metal had bruised his pectoral.
After getting dressed, he tried to tend Altea. She moaned for water but he had none. The dark made it hard to assess her wounds and he dared not risk a fire so close to people. He packed up and started pushing the cart down the back side of the hill. Moving the cart across rough ground was a trial but better than carrying her.
Thal tried to recall his youthful days spent exploring this area. Trusting in himself, he headed toward a woods. The land rose and became rockier. He had to heave the cart over numerous tree roots and rocks. When the dawn came, its golden light made love to the leafy landscape. Mist clung to the low places and the dew left his boots and pant legs wet.
The unblemished natural surroundings were a great contrast to Altea’s battered body. Her eyes were shut. Her vital glow was gone. Blood and bruises were her jewelry now, and Thal fought back tears because his guilt was undeniable. His only comforts were that the men who had brutalized her were dead and that she was alive.
I will heal her, he pledged.
Once he was deep in the woodland, he found a stream and struggled through the tangled vegetation until he found the spring that fed it.
Altea moaned when he took her out of the cramped cart and arranged her gently upon the ground. He brought her a cup of the springwater and gently lifted her head. It took a long time to help her drink, sip by sip, but the water revived her a little.
Pain pinched her face. She tried to speak but Thal put a finger upon her lips to hush her. She watched him with grateful eyes as he washed the blood and grime from her face and body. His tender care touched her heart deeply.
She watched him frown as he puzzled over the little punctures up and down her torso and thighs. Remembering how very close the teeth of the iron maiden had come to sinking in, Altea shuddered.
“Sorry,” Thal said.
She shook her head and he understood that she was reacting to her trauma and not his touch. Gently he pressed his fingers around the gruesome black and green bruises forming around her lower ribs. Several ribs were broken and he worked with the comfrey leaves to make a paste that he applied all over her sides and chest.
After he explained that he wanted to wrap bandages around her torso, she let him help her sit up. He drew down her torn nightgown to her waist. Bare chested, Altea felt no flush of modesty but rather disappointment because she could not be beautiful for him.
Thal worked with long strips of the cut bed sheet and wound them around her broken ribs. She winced many times while holding up her arms so he could work. He covered her breasts with the bindings as well. When he tied the last knot, he looked into her eyes.
He kissed her forehead and then her lips. She leaned against him, needing his strength and grateful for his tenderness.
“I will make you better,” he whispered.
Her throat choked with emotion. She kissed him back, knowing already that the torture she had experienced would make her appreciate love all the more.
Sympathetic to her piteous pain, he eased her back onto the blanket. Her long yellow hair pooled around her face. Thal thought the blank patches in her tresses helped him notice more of the loveliness of her face.
After his lingering moment of admiration, he took a deep breath. The time to tend her thumbs had come. Thal felt inadequate to the task. He was a hunter. A killer. He took flesh apart, and he understood now that those were easy things. Now he must heal, and he respected the abilities of his mother more than ever before. Trying to remember the many times he had seen her tend people, he prepared himself to tackle the challenge. He understood suddenly those moments when he had seen her close her eyes and physically brace herself before helping people.
He washed the crusty wounds and found the edges of skin and tissue. The cracked bones were in there too and he put them back in line as best he could. Many times Altea cried out. He got her a stick to bite on while he worked. Valiantly she tried to stifle her moans while he concentrated. He took his time but the reconstruction was not as hopeless as he had feared. While
he worked sweat beaded on his forehead and flies gathered, drawn by the blood. Thal brushed them away many times. Altea suffered while he set her thumbs, applied comfrey poultices, and bandaged them with tiny splints he carved from sticks with a hunting knife.
When he finished Altea was very pale. “Thank you,” she sobbed.
Thal walked into the trees down the stream. He hung his face into his hands, overwhelmed by what he had just accomplished. Forcing himself to work upon her while knowing it caused her terrible pain had been very difficult. Eventually he wiped his eyes and nose and went back to her. He stretched out alongside her and spread his cloak and fur over them. Despite her awful state and his shame, Thal took great comfort from simply holding her close. He went to sleep with a hand upon her shoulder. Pistol snuggled up too, hungry and with an aching heart.
Chapter 47. He Bids Thee Come
With Pistol’s help Thal killed a rabbit. He sat by his fire roasting it and watching Altea. She was sleeping and he was thankful for that.
Many times that day twitching fits had shuddered through her body while she pleaded for mercy in her sleep. Thal had held her through each nightmare until her bloodshot eyes opened. Upon seeing him she had melted with relief and gone back to sleep.
Pain troubled her as well and woke her often. Thal wished he could do more to comfort her. He expected the food to help a little.
His stomach rumbled ravenously as the aroma of the rabbit drifted up from the fire. Pistol rolled around in the leaves playing with the fresh rabbit skin. He had eaten the entrails and was close to content. Thal checked the meat. Some bloody juice still oozed out and he adjusted its position over the fire.
When it was done, he let it cool and then roused Altea.
“You must eat,” he said.
“I don’t think I can,” she whispered.