Don't Call the Wolf

by Aleksandra Ross

  She was, against all odds, some kind of queen. The mavka had proved that.

  As if feeling his gaze, she looked up. He saw, for the barest second, a flash of gold in her green eyes.

  The air thickened with things unsaid.

  She got to her feet. She wore only shades of blue. The color of vila. He wondered if it was on purpose. She moved deliberately. No move out of place. No sign of nerves. Lukasz wasn’t sure if it was magic or the tutelage of cats, but even covered in dirt and with tangled hair, she looked like royalty.

  Lukasz didn’t move. Didn’t reach for his lighter. Didn’t reach for a cigarette. God knew he wanted to, if only for something to do. But she had him, God. She had him, and he didn’t want her to know it.

  She stood in front of him, looking down, thin arms crossed. Fingernails like claws rested on the torn lace of her shirtsleeves, and her hair had only gotten wilder overnight.

  He wasn’t quite sure why he said it, but when the silence reached a breaking point, Lukasz offered, “I understand if you hate me.”

  With great care, she lowered herself to a kneeling position beside him. Lukasz stared warily back. With the unwavering stare of an animal, she took him in her gaze and held him there.

  A growl caught the edges of the words, making her voice rasp.

  “I do not hate you.”

  Her long hand reached out and brushed over his shoulder. Her fingers slipped under the edge of his coat, moving it away. Lukasz wondered if she could hear his heart quicken.

  “First rusalki. Now nawia,” she murmured. She had an odd way of speaking, placing the emphasis on the wrong parts of each word. He could have listened to her mistakes forever. “Where does it end?”

  “It ends with my brother.”

  Still, she did not look up.

  “But where is he?” she asked, almost more to herself than to him.

  “I’m looking for him,” said Lukasz levelly.

  “No,” she returned. “You are looking for trouble.”

  She pushed aside the half-opened shirt. He felt her lift the silver cross out of the way. Her nails scraped lightly over his bare skin. He felt her spread out the five fingers, fitting them into where the five cuts from the nawia had been. Her fingers curled in like claws.

  “You’re not the first one to tell me that,” he said, as evenly as he could.

  Her perfect face, with those high cheekbones, those thick lashes, fell slightly to the side. Then her eyes flashed to his. He hoped she did not feel his heart stumble under her palm.

  “And how has it worked out for you?” she asked. “Looking for trouble?”

  He didn’t know what made his throat tighten, her or her words. All he knew was that, one way or another, as long as she didn’t move, she had him.

  “It varies,” he said at last.

  She smirked. It was soft, almost mischievous. God, she had him. Maybe they were right. Maybe she was a monster. Maybe she only lived in darkness, only in this forest; maybe she bled silver instead of red.

  She took her hand away. Lukasz let out a breath and wanted it back.

  “I propose a deal,” she said.

  Her hands were folded in her lap. They looked like the pale translucent hands of a rusalka. And he wanted them back on his skin.

  “What deal?” asked Lukasz, still dazed.

  Her gaze burned. She had the unshakable calm of a predator at the top of the food chain.

  “I am queen. I will take you to the Mountains. You are a dragon slayer. You will slay the Dragon.”

  He could hardly believe it. Relief flooded through him; for the first time in months, the sense of dread, of responsibility—it all lifted. He could hardly believe his good luck. With her guiding them, they could be in the Mountains in a few days’ time. In a week, maybe less . . .

  Franciszek.

  It felt almost like hope.

  Then Lukasz remembered his hand. Shaking when he’d raised it to the Dragon, then betraying him when he’d swung for the nawia. His heart sank. He was finished hunting dragons. Even if he’d wanted to—and he didn’t—there was no way he could take down the Golden Dragon. He knew it.

  But she didn’t.

  “All right,” he said, holding out his right hand. “Deal.”

  The queen stared. Distrust flickered in her eyes, reminded him that whatever she was—monster, human—she wasn’t anything like him.

  “We’re going to shake on it,” he said. “It’s a human custom.”

  Tentatively, she reached out.

  Their fingers touched, and then Lukasz seized her hand and shook it once. It was cold even through the dragon-leather gloves, with sharp, prominent bones. But for some reason, despite the claws and the fangs, it struck Lukasz as being almost fragile.

  He was already formulating a plan—hopefully, Franciszek would still be in the forest. They’d follow his most likely route, and with her guiding them, maybe even catch up with him before the Mountains. And then they’d make a break for it. They’d be back in Miasto in under a week, sipping vodka and enjoying their gold. The last two Brothers Smokówi, doing what none had done before them: growing old.

  He released her hand. She turned it over, looking dubious.

  “It’s a promise,” he said, irritated with the guilt already stirring in him. “To do what we say.”

  “No games?” she asked. Her voice was rough and growling.

  But she couldn’t know. Not when he needed her. Not when he was so close. Lukasz ignored the cold feeling spreading through his chest, replacing that flicker of hope.

  He shook his head.

  “No games.”

  She continued to stare at her palm. Then she curled her fingers under and folded the hand back in her lap, still not looking at it. She ran her tongue over her lips. And then she said, in the same hoarse voice:

  “My name is Ren.”

  15

  “ONE NIGHT?” REPEATED CZARN IN the morning. “Is that what it takes, Ren? For you to change your mind?”

  Ren drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Lukasz had insisted that they try to take the same path as his brother, in the hopes that they might catch up with him on their journey. Ren personally thought the missing Wolf-Lord was lying dead at the bottom of a river somewhere, but she kept the suspicion to herself. She was happy to take whatever route Lukasz wanted. She needed that Dragon dead.

  So, together with Czarn and Ryś, she had spent most of the night figuring out how a human might try to get to the Mountains. And at every step, Czarn kept badgering her not to go.

  “You can’t trust them!” he insisted.

  “Drop it, Czarn,” she growled.

  On the other side of the clearing, the humans had built a fire. They paced back and forth in front of the embers, sipping drinks from tin mugs and watching the sun crest the trees. Ren was cold and hungry, but—whatever Czarn might have thought—she still didn’t trust them enough to move to their side of the clearing.

  And besides, she did not like fire.

  “My God,” muttered Ryś, opening one eye. “Make up your mind. Now that Ren’s actually made a deal, you’re backing out?”

  “Did you see those things last night?” growled Czarn. “We—”

  “They knew how to get rid of them,” said Ren, even though she only meant the Wolf-Lord. “We didn’t. They could help us, Czarn. Not just with the Dragon, but . . .”

  Her voice trailed away, but both Czarn and Ryś knew exactly what she meant.

  Without the humans—without Lukasz—they might not have survived the nawia. Whatever that bap—bat— Whatever that thing was Ren had done, only the humans had known how to do it. It was the first time that Ren’s experience had not been enough. The realization was sobering.

  On the other side of the clearing, the Wolf-Lord leaned down to wake Felka, offering her a cup of something hot. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Ren felt a stab of jealousy as Lukasz lowered himself beside Felka to talk. His eye caught hers across the
clearing, and Ren turned quickly back to Czarn.

  “Czarn,” she said, “they’re our best chance. The Wolf-Lord has promised to kill the Dragon.”

  The black wolf growled. The one-eyed man—Rybak—glanced up nervously.

  “I do not trust them,” Czarn murmured.

  “Come on,” groaned Ryś, rolling onto his back and stretching out as far as he could, until he looked like a furrier, toothier crescent moon. “He’s a Wolf-Lord, Czarn. You’re supposed to like these idiots.”

  Czarn jerked his slim muzzle toward the one-eyed villager, Rybak. He wore a long cream-colored coat with dark embroidered trousers and boots. The coat had rusty stains, and Ren wondered if it was old blood.

  “It’s not the Wolf-Lord I mind,” said Czarn.

  Ren wondered, with a sudden twist, whether it was the same coat he’d been wearing when she attacked him. Even worse, she realized she could not remember.

  “You don’t need to mind him,” said Ren. “The man is a wreck. If we’d left him with the nawia, he’d have been happy to die.”

  Czarn didn’t respond at first. At least not out loud. His reply echoed in the silence between them. Was caught in Rybak’s mangled face. Trapped in the stained fabric. Screaming, loud and clear, from the scar on his paw.

  At last the wolf’s lip curled.

  “Perhaps you should have let him.”

  Ren rubbed Ryś’s belly, and he purred appreciatively.

  She remembered that day very well. Whatever the villagers thought, he was the only human she had ever hurt on purpose. And so what? She wasn’t sorry—she couldn’t be sorry. She’d had to do it. She’d been a child, wandering far from her castle on a snowy day. She’d seen the wolf caught in the trap, and when the hunter had burst out of the trees with his rifle, she’d panicked.

  She’d been a child. She’d never expected—

  Ryś yelped.

  Ren snatched back her hand. Her fingers had transformed to claws and scratched him.

  “Sorry!” Ren hastily smoothed down his ears. “I’m so sorry—”

  Ryś grumbled, licking down the fur on his chest where she’d nicked him.

  “You think a little hairball like you could hurt me—”

  “We should go back,” interrupted Czarn, still harping on the same topic. “We should not help them.”

  “Oh, get a grip,” growled Ryś. “None of us like them. We can kill them if we need to. What we can’t kill is that Dragon.”

  “Ryś is right,” said Ren. “It’s the lesser of two evils.”

  Czarn glanced at Ren. His blue eyes lingered on her human clothes.

  “Czarn,” she said, trying to be reasonable. “Please. I don’t understand. You agreed this was a good idea, and now you’re just—”

  “They hurt you!”

  The words exploded in a flash of yellow fangs and pink gums.

  On the other side of the clearing, the humans had gone still. Only Lukasz looked unperturbed. He was still sitting with Felka, leaning back against a tree stump. Casually he struck a tiny flame and began to smoke again. He watched Ren, eyes slightly narrowed, dark brows low and thoughtful.

  The clearing filled, slowly, with the smell of tobacco smoke. Ren did not like it.

  “Oh, Czarn,” Ren whispered. She wrapped human arms around his thick neck and pulled him in, burying her face in the soft black fur. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I know this didn’t start right. But we can finish it.”

  He relaxed in her arms. She kissed his soft black cheek.

  “It’ll be okay,” she murmured. “We’re all going to be okay.”

  At that moment, a voice sounded above them. Ren took her face out of his fur.

  “Hey,” said Felka. Her eyes swiveled between Ren and the wild animals. She did not seem especially intimidated. “This is yours.”

  Felka held out some pale blue fabric, and it took Ren a moment to realize it was the cloak she’d worn to the village.

  “It’ll get cold at night,” she said. “You should hang on to it.”

  “So we are clear,” said Ren, taking the cloak, “I have slept in this forest before.”

  Felka laughed. It was loud and, it suddenly occurred to Ren, probably the prettiest thing about her.

  “I wasn’t expecting someone like you to have a sense of humor,” she said.

  Ren folded the cloak over her arm and returned the girl’s gaze.

  “What do you mean, ‘someone like me’?” growled Ren.

  “Well,” said Felka matter-of-factly, “you’re not like us.”

  There it was. That little twist—the same twist in the village, seeing that family through their window. Seeing the cat. After all, it wasn’t as if the girl was wrong. If anything, Ren agreed. If anything, she was more like the nawia, or even the rusalki—a little bit human, a little bit magic, a little bit . . . wrong. That strange resemblance to humanity, tempered with all the darkness in the world. That same hypnotic fascination.

  The same thirst for vengeance.

  “I would do it again, you know,” she said abruptly.

  Felka looked confused.

  “I would attack him again,” she clarified. “Your one-eyed man. Jakub. Or Rybak. Whatever. But he is not yours, is he? Not really.” Ren put her head to the side, thinking. “But for some reason, still you came for him.”

  At that, even Felka’s freckles paled. Her thin mouth opened and closed. “He’s been kind to me,” she said at last. “You’ve never lived with people. You wouldn’t know how rare that is.”

  Ren was curious. She waited for the other girl to elaborate, but Felka remained silent. It irritated Ren.

  “I don’t care,” Ren said. “Czarn is my best friend, and he was going to kill him.”

  She didn’t add the rest. That the day she had attacked Jakub had been the first time she had ever transformed. If it had not been for Jakub, she might never have grown claws, or fangs. She might never have grown the armor she needed to fight for her kingdom.

  And maybe that made her a monster, but she was not sorry.

  “You know,” said Felka after a moment, “the villagers think you did this. They think you control the monsters. That you’re doing this to us. Because of what you did to Jakub.”

  Ren stared.

  “Is that what you think?” she demanded. “Is that what they say, in the village? That I kill all of you? You are ignorant, arrogant fools. I keep this forest under control. I kill strzygi and rusalki. I warn you all to stay out, and still you come in. I have to protect my animals. I cannot protect you humans, too.”

  Felka nodded. She looked sad.

  “They could have helped you,” she said. “But after you hurt Jakub . . . they think the worst of you now.”

  Ren shrugged. In that moment, she was glad not to be a human.

  “I do not need the help of creatures who judge so quickly.”

  “And you don’t?” Felka shot back.

  Without waiting for an answer, she got up and returned to the humans’ side. Koszmar stepped in to cut her off, and they spoke quietly for a moment. Felka was so tiny she made him look like a giant.

  Ren watched her. They could have helped you, she had said. They think the worst of you now. The comment had hurt more than she wanted to admit. Anyway, it wasn’t as if she had to be sorry. It wasn’t as if she owed them anything.

  She’d given up her life to the forest. She’d opened the doors of her castle and spent her days running with wolves and her nights sleeping among lynxes. She’d spent years fighting back the darkness. And it hadn’t just been for the animals. It had been for the humans, too. But did they see it?

  No, she thought. These humans only saw scars.

  Five of them.

  They began on their journey, Ren and the animals in the lead.

  They moved steadily for most of the morning. The forest was dense and pathless, and the going was slow. They climbed over fallen trees and pushed their way through five-foot-tall weeds and scrub. It was a tricky pla
ce. But Ren didn’t dare mention that to the humans lest they panic.

  Trees tended to move around at random for better patches of sunlight, or better water, or simply for a change of scenery. The waterways liked to change directions spontaneously, just for the thrill of it, and you could never really be sure whether you were up- or downriver. And now that most of the animals had taken shelter in the castle, there weren’t many creatures available to give directions.

  The morning lengthened to afternoon, and the trees darkened. They leaned down to watch the little group, and a low whispering filled the quiet.

  Ren stopped abruptly. Ryś wandered a few feet up to investigate a root where it writhed and twisted in the forest floor.

  “What is it?” asked the Wolf-Lord. It was the first time they’d spoken since they’d set out.

  He leaned down from the big black horse to ask. The trees became still, and the low whispering stopped. Ren’s whole body prickled. He was smoking, and the gray tendril wound upward into the unmoving branches, where it congealed into a fog.

  Ryś sat back on his haunches, put his head to one side, and watched the twisting root.

  “This place is not safe,” Ren whispered. The trees leaned closer. “We must be careful.”

  Lukasz glanced sideways at Koszmar. The blond soldier nodded and wordlessly passed one of his revolvers back to Felka, sitting behind him. Lukasz and Jakub took their rifles off their shoulders.

  Ren and Czarn exchanged a look. She didn’t like guns and she didn’t like humans. But she also didn’t like the very real possibility of a violent death.

  The forest grew tense around them.

  “Careful what you say,” whispered Ren. “They are listening.”

  A visible shudder ran through the humans. Up ahead, Ryś sprang back as the root lashed out at him. He puffed up and hissed.

  “And put those out,” added Ren, pointing at the smoking things that Lukasz and Koszmar had in their teeth.

  “Why?” asked Lukasz, glancing upward. “They don’t like it?”