by L. E. Horn
He fell silent for a moment, then pinned me with his dark eyes. “That’s why you have to deal with your secrets. The wulf will always find them, you can’t hide from him.” He measured me with his steady gaze.
I nodded and glanced at Dillon’s drawing. I had issues, no doubt. But now that Chris knew about them, he’d help me. My eyes fell on Chloe’s portrait, and I realized how confused my feelings were. My instincts were to protect, and yet—I didn’t trust her. She could tie me in knots. The thought gave me pause. Like she does Dillon?
“I’m not sure I believe Chloe,” I said, the words out before I’d considered them.
Chris’s gaze sharpened. “Peter believes she’s helping Dillon because she feels guilty about what happened to him.” His expression said if I knew differently, I should share. Now.
“I’m sure that’s partly true. But she came on strong to me one day when we went for a jog in the woods. And afterward, she kissed Dillon . . .” I shook my head. “I could be totally wrong, but the way she defends him—it seems off, like there’s more there than just messing around.”
“She might be confused,” Chris suggested. “Dillon’s pretty intense.”
“Possibly,” I conceded. “But I think he’s more out of control than she’ll admit.” I’d promised not to tell, but I was worried Peter was in over his head. “He killed two bison the night he arrived here. Tore them to pieces—ate their hearts, livers and brains.”
Chris’s brows shadowed his eyes. “I still have friends in Texas. When I heard Chloe came here with Dillon, I made inquiries. No reply yet, so I’ll follow up on it.”
Mention of Texas returned my thoughts to Chris’s scars, and the terrible wounds that must have caused them. You couldn’t take a wulfan to the hospital or even to a vet. “When you get hurt, do you guys go to emergency?”
“Lord, no.” Chris laughed. “Wulfan reactions to anesthetic and unconsciousness are extreme—the wulf often wakes up first. It can be . . . messy. We rely on a few wulfan doctors.” He waved a hand at me. “You know, your skills will come in very convenient around here. We might heal quick, but we still need patching up.”
“Well, if I get through this, I’ll offer you reasonable rates.”
It was a silly thing to say, but Chris laughed, so it was worth it.
* * *
That evening we moved me into the cage, visualization board and all. Actually, Chris hung the board across the aisle where it was visible through the bars, but not within reach. He said he’d seen enough bulletin boards shredded over the years. The barn had heat, fortunately, for the nights were still cool. Keen would sleep in the house. I didn’t want to risk her if I had a nightmare and started to wulf out. Although Chris seemed certain I would continue with only the “edge” shifts—teeth, eyes, and claws—I didn’t blame him for moving me.
He got me set up in the cage and made me work. I hadn’t noticed the bars welded in criss-cross fashion a foot below the ceiling. First, he had me do crunches until my gut muscles ached, then he had me swing from the metal like an ape.
“Your arms are used to hanging off your shoulders, not carrying your weight. You need to build your upper body strength and core muscles to travel on all fours.”
Panting, I swung between the bars, my arms burning with effort. “But it takes months to make those kinds of changes,” I gasped while suspended from arms that already felt three inches longer.
“Not if you’re a wulfleng. Your body will adapt fast. So keep swinging.”
I gritted my teeth and swung. When he finally let me drop off the bars, he made me do push-ups. Oddly, although I swore several times—out loud—that I was going to bite the dirt, my arms continued to hold me up.
I was sweating like a racehorse by the time he declared me done for the night. He directed me to the bathroom at the other end of the aisle. “You can shower there now, but if you need to use the washroom at night, you’ll have to make do with a bucket. I’m not replacing fixtures whenever a wulfleng has a snit fit.”
I shot him a look. Just how strong were these things?
When I returned from my shower, Chris showed me a button on the wall, outside the cage. I could just reach it through the bars. “If you need me, ring,” he said, pointing to the closed-circuit camera mounted across from the cage. “I’ll be able to see everything except the corner with the bucket. And I’ll keep a watch on you.”
I should have felt like a monkey on exhibit, but instead his precautions were reassuring. “Don’t let Keen on the bed.” My eyebrow raised. “She has her own, so you don’t have to spoil her.”
Chris grinned. “I’ll be in the spare room, anyway. That’s where the monitor’s set up for the camera. So I suspect Josh will enjoy her company.”
I nodded as he closed the door. The locks rotated into place with a hiss of oiled metal. Again, I wondered about the Fort Knox treatment. The wulfleng looked strong, but they surely couldn’t get through steel.
Chris peered at me through the bars. “Don’t keep anything valuable in there with you. I forgot to ask for your electronics.”
Digging into my pack, I pulled out my iPad and handed it to him. “Can I keep my phone? I’ll replace it easily enough if I smash it.”
“Up to you. You grabbed the protein bars?” I nodded. “Okay. I’ll be back before you want to see me, to start it all over again. Good night.” I watched him go, experiencing the usual pang. Which made me wonder if the wulf would seize hold of my separation anxieties and warp them into something else.
I glanced at the board, keeping my focus on the good side. I couldn’t help but notice that Chris had turned the small spotlight over the aisle to light only that section. Dillon’s image and the drawings around it remained in darkness.
Sweet dreams, I thought, laying back on the cot and pulling the covers over me. I missed Keen. When I checked my phone, there was a single text from Peter.
Strength of will is strength of mind. Quite an eloquent statement for a technophobe. Had Chloe helped him with it? Which led to thoughts that made me sit up to stare at my board for a while. I hadn’t realized how well puppy images, even my own drawings, could soothe the soul.
Sixteen days. Would I make it through?
10
When Chris woke me the next morning, I noticed my sheets had tears. I debated pointing it out, but he beat me to it.
“Restless night,” he said, glancing at them. “You need new sheets, or can you get another night out of these?”
“They’re fine.” I hugged an exuberant Keen. How much does it cost to bring a wulfleng to maturity? “I can buy you new ones.”
“No biggie. I get them at the thrift store.” He rubbed his hands together. “Okay, change into your running gear.”
While I got dressed, he stripped. I had a hard time looking away from the vicious scars tracing his body. When I declared myself ready, he had me place my hands on his shoulders and then his skull while he shifted. Seeing the change was very different from feeling it. It made me aware on a visceral level.
After he’d changed, we ran. Chris had me keep pace from various placements around him so I could observe how the wulfan moved up close. He spoke in his bestial form, although only in stilted sentences. The words were pronounced oddly, with the “u” sound prevalent and replacing many vowels, but I understood him well enough. We stopped several times so he could show me the full range of movement of his limbs. He also demonstrated a few other things his wulf body could do. The first time he leaped into the trees, I slid to a stop to stare, and Keen barked, bewildered. The forest in this region was a mix of deciduous and evergreen, but none of them were huge. This meant that the trunks kicked and bent under his onslaught, but I soon detected a pattern to his movement. When he jumped, the trunk or branch swayed away from him, and at the farthest aspect of the swing, he sprang to the next branch. Like an enormous black squirrel, he traveled as fast or faster in the air than he did on the ground. I made note of his technique: claws to grip, hind l
egs to push off trunks, and arms that rotated to swing from one to another.
My furry friend and I barely kept pace on the path below as he swung through the trees. We panted by the time he dropped twenty feet to the ground. His feet only touched down before he leaped again, pushing off his strong hind legs to send him thirty, then forty feet along the trail with a single bound. I couldn’t keep up with him, even at full sprint, and I suspected he could go faster if he wanted to. Even Keen flagged after half a mile.
Our training area became boggy, and when we reached a small pond, he paused, and shifted back to human. “The wulf form doesn’t swim well,” he explained. “We can’t paddle like a dog or stroke like a human. The front half of our body is much heavier than the hindquarters, and we have almost zero body fat to help us float. So we sink, head first. If you’re in the water, you’re better off as human.”
“Can you do a partial shift to help you swim?” I asked, visualizing how it might be possible by slimming the front half, cutting back on the heavy neck and shoulder musculature.
Chris’s brows lowered, throwing his eyes into shadow and giving me a formidable glimpse of the predator within. “Even for experienced wulfan, partial shifts are dangerous. Very few can do them at all. They can go horribly wrong if you’re inexperienced.”
Like me. I made a note: no partial shifts. Except wasn’t that what I had already done?
When I voiced that concern, Chris shook his head. “That’s the wulf attempting to take control—that’s different, and normal. Mistakes at the extremities are seldom lethal, only uncomfortable. Deliberate attempts to morph things at the core are very dangerous.”
Right. No core changes. If I wanted broader shoulders, I’d have to earn them.
When we returned to the barn, a panting Keen flung herself on the concrete floor, and I stood with my entire form trembling. Ignoring my exhaustion, Chris put me through another upper body workout. This must be what boot camp is like. Ugh. Yet my arms didn’t give out, and I saw what Chris was on about. Unlike my human body, the wulf kept accommodating the changes. I could swear I already swung from the bars with greater strength and accuracy.
Lunch had never tasted so good. Josh fixed a meal fit for several humans, and I wolfed—pardon the term—most of it down. By the time I sat back, I wanted nothing more than to nap. But Chris had other plans.
So, I found myself sitting cross-legged on the heated cage floor, listening as Chris first described how to meditate, and then guided me into a reflective state. Being sleepy helped me clear my mind, but when he started on the guided visualization, I woke up in a hurry. Chris set out to poke the bear, and he did a good job of it.
He started with pleasant memories based on my photos and drawings, but then he moved to the dark side. My eyes were always the precursor of the wulf within. When they changed, the hands were soon to follow. Chris would switch back to good memories, helping me regain control.
After an hour of such yo-yoing, I discovered that my teeth were the next on the list, and man, did they hurt when the big fangs dropped from my upper gums. These teeth were huge. Not something that should be able to hide. How long have they frigging been there?
Chris kept at it until I poured sweat and every bone in my body ached. Finally, he fell silent, staring over my head into the depths of the barn.
“You have a pattern, you know,” he said, his voice low.
“Yeah,” my breath came in gasps as I fought the waves of pain. “Animals, women, children. Victims.”
“But not yourself.” He looked right at me, and the shadows were back in his eyes. “You had a childhood that would scar most, yet other than the separation anxiety, you don’t react to personal stuff. You were as much a victim as Keen, yet you don’t seem to care.”
I considered. As a young boy, I had certainly cared. I’d fought to preserve my right to be left alone. And most of the time, I’d avoided trouble rather than looking for it. Unless someone needed my help. Then the fangs, as it were, showed.
“Is that abnormal? Was Alec like that?”
“Not Alec,” Chris said, and smiled. “I was, though. Still am. The desire to protect is as strong in you as it was in me, perhaps even more so.” He leaned forward, elbows on his crossed legs. “I’ll tell you something, Liam. Your wulf is showing signs of being powerful, possibly the strongest I’ve seen in a wulfleng. But your control is amazing for the training we’ve been able to do. I have high hopes for you.”
I didn’t know what to make of that. “If it’s so strong, will I be able to control it?”
“You will. Don’t worry.”
A sound from the end of the barn aisle distracted us. Josh, in a hurry. I stood, sensing trouble, and my teeth itched to drop again.
“You forget you have a phone?” Josh scolded.
“I turned it off.” Chris frowned. “What’s up?”
“Peter needs you. Dillon’s in a spot of trouble—he wants you to put the fear of God into him.”
I growled. Chris shot me a look, and his eyes narrowed. Josh patted the air with his hands. “It’s okay, Liam. They’re fine, no one got hurt. Dillon took out a few cows at the neighbor’s, and Peter wants Chris to do his enforcer shtick.”
I scanned the pictures on the wall and focused on the good memories. Tired as I was, it took me a while. To give Chris credit, he waited for me to gain control before he shut and locked the cage door.
“Go,” I said, my word slurred by the damned teeth. “Scare the hell out of the bastard.”
“I’ll get Chloe to text you, let you know they’re okay,” Chris said. He left with Josh. Less than ten minutes later, Josh returned, standing just outside the cage. He had a package wrapped in foil.
“Roast chicken,” he said, handing it through the bars.
“Thanks.”
He hesitated. “He’s pushing you hard. Harder than he has before, harder than he did Alec. But you can take it. It means he thinks you’ve got something special.”
I’ve got a bloody wulf that wants to sink his teeth into Dillon. But it was interesting to hear Josh’s assessment. And the truth was, as stretched as I felt, I could take it. Something inside me kept growing to accommodate the new demands.
“Keen is enjoying the bed. She’s a sweet dog.”
I appreciated his attempts to distract me from Peter and Chloe. “You should get a dog. You’re good with her.”
Josh chewed on his lip. “Yeah. Not a bad idea. He could run with us, might be fun.”
I considered Chris’s idea of a run. That would be the fittest dog on the planet.
“If you need anything, buzz me,” Josh said. “I’ll keep an eye on you until Chris is back.”
“Thanks.” I sucked air as the fangs disappeared into my gums, a uniquely painful process. When I next looked over, Josh had gone.
I set the chicken on the cot beside me and stared at my phone, waiting. I couldn’t relax until I knew they were okay. When the text came through, it was from Chloe.
We’re OK. Dillon killed 3 cows. He feels bad. Peter wanted Chris. Chris will make him pay attention.
I considered what she’d written, and what she hadn’t, and texted back: Not your fault. Dillon’s pushing it.
It wasn’t anything that Peter likely hadn’t told her by the hour, but I was relieved when she finally answered: I can handle Dillon. Don’t worry. How are u?
So much for her listening. Fangs hurt. Chris is a prick.
Fangs? U move fast. Chris is amazing. He’ll get u through.
I typed quickly, lest she misunderstood. Texting could give the wrong impression in a hurry. If anyone can get me through, it’s him. But he pushes hard.
She must have typed with super thumbs because her replies were lightning fast. He cares. Peter says he likes u, so look out. Gtg, take care.
With that, her contact terminated. I ground my teeth. Chloe was so wrong about Dillon; I could feel it in my bones. How do you save someone from themself? Her devotion to Dillon bordered on u
nbalanced. Had I misread the relationship? I stared at the screen for a while before putting down my phone and unwrapping the chicken. Despite having lost my appetite, I devoured every scrap and gnawed at the bones.
Wulf indeed.
* * *
It wasn’t Chris that let me out of the cage the next morning, but Josh, with Keen.
“He’s been held up,” Josh explained. “Wants you to run without him.” He caught my expression and added, “Nothing to do with Chloe or Dillon. There’s a situation developing in Brandon. He’s Skyping with Matt, the enforcer out there. He’ll see you when you get back.” Both Josh’s voice and his expression betrayed his worry.
I used the bathroom and washed the fever sweat off my face. To my surprise, my tee shirt now stretched tight across my chest and shoulders. I tugged at it, wondering how I could put on so much muscle in such a short time. Becoming a wulf certainly had the jump on a gym membership.
Keen bounded along the path ahead of me, and I used her four-legged agility as an inspiration. Chris didn’t keep his running paths clear of debris, which made them perfect for training young wulfleng. I removed my runners, left them dangling from a branch, and set off to embrace the wulf within.
After a mile, I abandoned the trail in deliberate pursuit of obstacles. I pushed myself well past my usual pace, scrambling over logs and shoving through bush, trying to see my world as a werewolf. Overhanging branches provided me with an excuse to leap and grab, swinging and releasing. I viewed tree trunks as pendulums to fling me over distance. Creeks full of melt water from the spring runoff existed to vault over or splash through. Twenty minutes into my run, I behaved like a man possessed, or perhaps, a wulf denied.
For the first mile, I fell often, and soon I was bleeding, but I picked myself up and pushed on. My feet took the brunt of the punishment. I tapped into the pain, using it and my anger to drive me, to encourage the growth of claws. As I leaped another creek full of icy water, landing on my hands and scrambling with my bare toes, I had an epiphany: I craved the wulf. Not because I needed to learn control, but because I couldn’t help Peter or Chloe as long as I remained trapped in this human form.
