The wolf was nearly ready to spring, carefully positioning himself between the stall and the open door of the barn. The nostrils of the horse flared and the white of his eyes widened in alarm. He had been discovered. The wolf lunged at the horse with open jaws. The horse moved quickly, spinning and kicking. At the last instant, the wolf was able to twist his body to avoid the kick, but at the cost of slamming head first into the stone wall of the barn. He was dazed momentarily as the horse reared and began stamping and kicking wildly. Shaking his head to clear it, the wolf scrambled, trying to avoid the deadly assault. The hooves slammed into the wolf’s tail and leg. Blinding pain shot through him. Rage filled the wolf. How dare his prey challenge him?
He struck out with knife-like claws to destroy the offending horse leg. Rising to his hind legs, the wolf grappled with the stallion and began pushing it against the side of the stall. The horse screamed and foamed at the mouth as it struggled to escape, but the wolf pinned it stubbornly in place. He ignored the superficial bites and inflicted deeper ones into the exposed flank of the horse. The wooden stall cracked and splintered, giving way under the tremendous weight of the two animals.
With straining muscles, the wolf partially lifted the horse as they fell. He was able to tilt the heavy frame and land on top of the animal with a thunderous crash. The stallion thrashed on the ground desperately trying to rise, but the wolf ignored the injuries he had received and closed his jaws on the carotid artery of his prey. For long minutes, he held the neck of the horse down as it slowly died. His claws opened the warm stomach and chest of the animal, and he released his hold to consume the still beating heart.
The farmers burst in through the door a moment later. The light from their lanterns illuminated the damage done to the stall and the blood-spattered carcass of the stallion. They brought their fire-sticks to bear, but there was nothing else in the stall. The wolf had leaped straight upwards and he now clung to the rafters with a large beam supporting the weight of his legs. As the men approached the stall they did not immediately think to look up.
The wolf saw his way out through the trap door to the second loft above. He readied his muscles for the jump. The men finally raised their lights and pointed their weapons upward.
Before he could be exposed, the wolf crashed through the trap door. He raced along the threshing floor and smashed through the loft doors to fall two stories to the ground below. Shots of lead balls rang out just behind him as he made his frantic escape. The wolf sprinted back to the cover of the forest as the alarm was raised throughout the village.
CHAPTER 11.
T
HE HUNT
Night descended on the wolf’s hunting ground. That territory had been growing wider and moving closer to the heart of the city. The forests had recently provided fewer animals to sustain his hunger. Many had been massacred by the wolf and the rest had learned his scent and now gave him a wide berth. Some had abandoned their habitat entirely. The caged prey-animals on the outskirts of the city no longer offered any challenge for the wolf, nor any pleasure in the kill. They were also becoming increasingly better defended by the men that lived in the surrounding villages.
As a result, the wolf had taken to ranging through the stone buildings and paved streets of the town, in pursuit of more challenging prey. He would now take the occasional Bulldog or an unattended carriage horse. Whenever possible, he would stick to the shadows or move amongst the trees of the parks and green areas. Avoiding the detection of man was quite easily done for the cunning beast. If the slightest scent or sound indicated the approach of someone, he could fall onto all fours and lope away at a terrific speed. If needed he would leap high onto buildings and move across the rooftops. His long claws and powerful legs provided all the purchase needed for climbing.
It had been far too long since the wolf had last eaten and the insistent hunger was upon him yet again. The wolf moved through the darkened streets silently. He had the scent of a cart horse and followed along as it moved across the cobbled road. However, he dared not take the animal while the man sat astride the carriage attached to it. After a few more miles, he gave up the pursuit to look for more suitable prey. He followed the fading tracks of a pack of stray dogs into an abandoned alley, but was frustrated to find them long gone from the area. It was possible that no sufficient food would be found this night.
The previous night, he had raided the London Zoo. The high iron bars had initially perplexed the wolf. They were stronger and taller than any of the wooden fences he typically encountered. As he circled the zoo, he eventually found a nearby tree that allowed him to jump the spiked fencing. The scents of many new and strange animals excited the wolf as he wandered among the enclosures.
Many of the larger animals seemed too costly to kill, like the fierce-looking hippo that was over nine feet long and weighed over three tons. Its hide was tough, not to mention it was mostly submerged in a pool of water as it brandished its fearsome tusks. The wolf was also tempted by the large male African elephant. Eventually, he was put off by the almost eleven ton weight and approximate thirteen foot height of the thing. The animal also had large tusks and would put up a vicious fight.
He finally settled for taking the striped female zebra that was slumbering in her roofless enclosure. The white and black animal awoke as the bulk of the wolf landed nearby after leaping the fence. She had less than a few seconds to scream and attempt in vain to flee, before the powerful jaws of her attacker ended her once peaceful life. The warm flesh sated his bloodlust. The wolf was able to devour the carcass almost entirely before the night watchman approached on his regular rounds, whistling a tune and swinging his lantern as he walked. The wolf was gone before the watchman knew what was happening.
On this night, the wolf was lurking amongst the tall beech trees in the park of a particularly poor area of town. He abruptly caught a familiar scent—the Master! He was nearby. The wolf ran across the gentle grass in the park and reached the border of the street. Ignoring all caution, the wolf continued to move towards the scent. His movements were brazen in the late hour of the evening and emboldened by the deserted silence of the road.
The wolf was only three yards away from the source of the smell when he stopped and realized his mistake. No, that was not the Master. His scent was there faintly, but it was overlaid onto a mate. The young female. She had recently been cast out from the pack. The stink of shame was upon her. He briefly considered taking her for his own mate, but that would displease the Master. Instead, he retreated behind the bushes and followed her silently, to see what she would do.
Sibyl had been distraught over the breakup for what had seemed like weeks. She could not get over the pain that Dorian had inflicted on her. The bitter tears fell like rain from the sky, leaving dark streaks to mire her otherwise pretty cheeks. A thousand thoughts whirled through her foggy mind. Foremost among them was the confusion and disbelief that her Prince Charming had shunned her. These were followed closely by a terrible emptiness in her heart, and an obsessive replaying of what she had done wrong.
She was so grief struck that it took several moments for her to remember how dangerous it could be to walk home alone in her neighborhood at night. The streets were eerily empty, but she had the nagging feeling that she was being watched. She came to a stop and turned slowly to look behind her. She could see very little from the dimly-lit lamps along the sizable park. She quickened her pace, fear temporarily replacing her wretched sadness. She thought she heard a sound behind her and turned around to look once more. This time, she could just make out two dark-red, glowing eyes. They were watching her amidst the trees and she could see the hazy outline of an enormous, black shape.
The wolf stalked the female silently. He followed her route along the edge of the park. There must be something special about this one for the Master to take such an interest in her. Perhaps it was how small and slender she was, or something about her scent. The wolf drew closer to try and discover the secret. With a start, he reali
zed that the female seemed suddenly aware of his presence. He inhaled the air deeply as the smell of fear unfolded in her.
His blood began to heat at the aroma. The wolf had never before hunted human prey, only animals—for fear of upsetting the Master. But the Master had cast this female out from the pack and now hated her. Even now, the wolf could sense the loathing rolling off her like black waves of mist. She must have greatly offended the Master to make him hate her so. She should be punished. She would be punished. The female turned back, just as the wolf abandoned the cover of trees. She stared unbelievingly at him for a moment, then screamed in a shrill manner and began to run away. The instinct to chase fleeing prey grew too strong to resist. With a growl, the wolf began the hunt.
Sibyl could not believe her blurry eyes. There was a hideous monster in the park and it was staring right at her. She shrieked and her fear spiked as she turned and ran as fast as her slender legs would allow. The terror caused her to move faster than she had in years, since racing with her brother in the open fields as a child. Risking a glance backward, she saw that it was a giant wolf that was rapidly gaining on her. That was impossible, but still she ran. Her house lay on the opposite side of the park, so she turned from the street and took the path of the shortest distance—through the tall trees in the park. Some primal instinct convinced her that if she could just make it to her door, she would be safe.
How different it was to pursue the female than to chase after a simple-minded animal. Wonderfully complex waves of fear wafted off from her as she ran blindly through the trees. The wolf took his time, savoring the pursuit. The female fell over some exposed tree roots and the wolf allowed her the necessary time to regain her feet. The fall had not slowed her down significantly, but she had cut her knee on a jagged rock in the fall. This caused a small amount of blood to flow freely down her leg. Just a whiff of it sent bursts of energy and pleasure through the wolf’s body. So, this is what it meant to hunt human prey.
As they reached the middle of the park, the female foolishly tried to hide behind a fallen oak tree. The wolf felt a growing thrill as he let her believe she had evaded him. He circled around the other side. He could hear her breathing as she crouched in the mud. When he was directly behind her, he leaped out to surprise the shaking female. His massive claws swung out at her, but he was surprised as she dodged the blow and dove away from him, rolling in the mud. This was amusing prey. Two more times, the wolf closed on her, each time scoring minor hits from his claws as they raked the female’s legs. The bloody lacerations slowed her flight down to a crawl. She screamed and wept as she dragged her injured body across the uneven ground. The wolf waited until she was propped against a large beech tree to make his final advance. He could see the fear in the female’s eyes as he rose up onto his hind legs for the killing blow.
Sibyl was in hysterics as she fought against the burning in her legs and the urge to faint away from blood loss. Her breath came in ragged heaves as she struggled to drive oxygen into her lungs. She was barely able to pull herself up against a large beech tree as the beast closed in on her. With horror, she witnessed the animal rise up to its full height on its two hind legs. She realized now that this was not some common wolf, but an abomination out of Hell that was half-man and half-beast.
The creature seemed to take pleasure in her fear and pain. It had a disturbingly intelligent look as it approached her position against the tree. She screamed out for help as the evil animal came within a few feet of her. But no one was around to give her aid or to save her from this nightmare. Her Prince Charming had abandoned her and now she was to be murdered by this demon from the Underworld. As the monstrosity’s hot, putrid breath hit her face she half-fainted from the severe shock of it all. Relentless pain, fatigue and increasing loss of blood had taken its toll. She was still conscious, but quite dazed. The world took on a dreamlike, fluid quality. When the wolf finally disemboweled her and the vicious jaws closed on her neck, she was lost in the memory of the last time her Prince Charming had removed her dress to make love to her—kissing her neck in that very place.
CHAPTER 12.
D
ARK RUMORS
It was long past noon when Dorian finally awoke in his bedchamber. His valet had crept upstairs and into the room several times to see if his master had yet begun to stir. He wondered what made him sleep late so often. Finally, the bell rang and the valet entered with a pot of strong black tea, a selection of fine bacon and delicate sausage, the day’s correspondence, and yesterday’s edition of The Globe. All these were served meticulously on an ancient set of light-blue china.
The valet gave Dorian a cautious smile. “Monsieur has slept well this morning?”
Dorian let loose a lazy yawn as he stretched his neck and shoulders. “I suppose so. What o’clock is it, my good man?”
“One hour and a quarter, Monsieur.”
So late! Dorian sat up slowly and began sipping his tea while turning over his letters. How interesting. One had been hand delivered that morning from Lady Helena. He put that one aside for the moment and instead began opening the usual tedious dinner invitations, routine tickets to private shows, mundane charity programs, and other of the like that were constantly showered on fashionable young men of his caliber.
One letter in particular contained a heavy bill for a fanciful, chased silver Louis-Quinze toilet. The common people simply did not realize that unnecessary things are the only real necessities in life. The rest of the letters all contained very elegant and courteous communications from several Jermyn Street money-lenders, each offering to advance Dorian large sums of money—for the most reasonable of interest rates and at a moment’s notice.
After dressing in a new pair of silk trousers, he took the letter from Lady Helena to the library to continue his breakfast. As his valet slunk out of the room, his eye happened to track across the portrait that Sage had painted of him and the wolf cub. Dorian shook his head as if to clear his vision. Surely there was still some drowsiness in his eyes. He blinked rapidly and moved closer to the painting. Did the portrait look different? Was it his imagination, or was something terribly off about it?
The image of Dorian himself had not altered, of course. It was the same chiseled face of timeless beauty as always. But the image of the wolf cub had changed in a most impossible way. The wolf in the painting had become larger—much larger. Larger, and more terrifying! The eyes were filled will malice and rage. They shone with a bloodlust and intellect that was unnatural. It far surpassed the normal look of any deadly predator. The beast’s coat had become a much darker grey and no longer had a healthy sheen to it, but rather a mangy and sickly look. The wolf’s face too had changed substantially. The massive teeth had now become more pronounced and extended from the squared, yet somehow more human-looking jaw. In fact, the entire animal had changed in proportion and shape to take on a more elongated and bipedal appearance.
That was completely absurd. A painting could not alter! But what if it was true and reflected a real change of the wolf’s appearance? How long had it been since he had really seen how his wolf looked outside the cover of the shadows of the forest? Surely, it could not resemble this hideous creature before him. Yes, the painting had altered. That was a fact.
He gazed at the image with a growing sense of horror. The cruelty of the beast made him think of how cruel he had been to Sibyl Vane, how predatorily he had acted towards the other young ladies that he had hunted through the recent nights. A deep sense of guilt began to cloud his mind. Maybe it was not too late for him to change his ways. Maybe this strange picture was a warning sent through the magical brush of dear Sage. Perhaps it was meant to somehow guide him through life and transform him back into a more noble and unselfish version of himself. He recalled all of the illicit nights of sin. His mind was filled with memories of intoxication from the heavy drinking and the use of questionable stimulants. Like a flash, he relived all the instances of intense debauchery. His mind was flooded with a feeling of remors
e, which he had strangely never felt before. It was as if this painting had become a visible symbol of the degradation of his soul, but visited instead upon an innocent and helpless animal.
The hour struck three and then four, but still Dorian did not stir. He was too deep in contemplation and the study of his own profound sorrows and copious passions. His mind languished through a labyrinth of conflicting shame, entangled needs, and shifting desires. Finally, not knowing what else to do, Dorian sat at his writing table and penned out a passionate letter to Sibyl.
She was the girl he had once loved with his entire mind and body and he desperately implored her forgiveness while decrying his own selfish madness. Yes, he would set things right once more and begin again fresh. He would correct his path and return to the point where his life had deviated from the righteous course of a Godly and holy man. He would immediately marry Sibyl and all would be set right.
There is a true luxury in self-reproach. We can blame ourselves more thoroughly and imaginatively than any other can. It is surely the confession and resolve to change that provides the absolution, as much as the simple priest behind the lacquered screen.
A demanding knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He heard Lady Helena’s voice outside. “Mr. Gray, I must see you at once. It is most urgent.”
The knocking continued and quickened when Dorian made no immediate answer. Perhaps, it was better to let Lady Helena in and explain the important changes he would be making to his life, even if it meant the two would have to part ways. Better not to delay the change of direction in his life or the hurt it would cause to his dear friend. He quickly threw the screen across the picture and rose to unlock the door.
Box Set: The Wolf of Dorian Gray Series: Books 1-3 Page 8