Night of the Wolf

by Sean Kikkert

  Ajax’s note had summoned her to the crossroads that lay outside the city gates, and the roads were deserted by the time Cassandra arrived. It was a dark, moonless night, the sky filled with swollen, black clouds.

  The minutes ticked by with no sign of Ajax. The bitter night air sent icy chills through Cassandra’s body; she shivered and wrapped the tunic around her numb hands. Cassandra sniffled back the moist dribbles from her nose as she inhaled the crisp, chilling air into her lungs, absorbing more and more cold into her body with every breath she took.

  Even though she was standing alone at the city’s crossroads with only the soft glow from her oil lamp for company, Cassandra tried her best not to feel too scared. That was difficult, however, as it was creepy being just a little down the road from where the three thugs had attacked her. Cassandra’s breath caught in her throat as the wind suddenly whipped up and howled through the trees.

  As quickly as it had begun, it quieted down. Then, all Cassandra could hear was the sound of her own heart thump-thumping.

  As Cassandra waited, a few raindrops landed upon her head. Great, she thought. Not only had Ajax stood her up, but now she was going to get caught in a rainstorm in this dreary place. This was turning out to be one miserable evening!

  Cassandra seethed with anger. What kind of jackass kept a girl waiting on her own at night? A shiver crawled up her spine as she thought about how exposed she was; anything could happen to her at the crossroads, and there wouldn’t be anyone around to help her.

  Cassandra was so caught up in her fear that she almost didn’t notice the dark silhouette creeping toward her. Too late, she turned just as the figure pounced and grabbed her roughly with both hands.

  Cassandra opened her mouth wide and screamed and screamed.

  Chapter 8

  Adrenaline flooded Cassandra’s body as she was roughly shaken to and fro. She wanted to fight back but was too paralyzed with fear. . . .

  And then, the figure cracked up laughing.

  Cassandra took in a long, deep breath and let it all out. A flood of wild rage rushed over her as she recognized Ajax’s voice. “What are you doing?” Cassandra yelled at him, her pulse racing like a galloping horse. “Just what kind of knave asks a girl to wait on her own in a dark, secluded place like this—and then attacks her?”

  A hurt expression crossed Ajax’s face. He raised his hands, palms facing up. “I wasn’t trying to be creepy. I just wanted you to face your fear of getting attacked the other day. And that meant going back to the place where it happened.”

  His response caught Cassandra off guard. “What are you talking about, Ajax?” she demanded. “We’re not going back to where I was attacked.”

  Although the rain had stopped, the wind began to howl again. Cassandra had to listen intently to hear Ajax’s voice.

  “Trust me,” Ajax said, “there’s only one way to live.” He looked Cassandra straight in the eye. “And that is a life without fear. My father taught me that.”

  Cassandra nodded. During the pack’s last persecution, both of Ajax’s parents had been massacred on the same day. It wasn’t too long after their deaths that Cassandra’s father was also murdered.

  Cassandra and Ajax walked along in silence. Cassandra was lost in her thoughts and feeling uncomfortable about returning to Brakchester. And yet, she had to admit that Ajax had a point. Maybe it would be good for her to revisit the place and overcome her fear.

  When Ajax finally spoke, his voice was soft. “It was really difficult growing up without parents.” He had a sad look in his eyes and sounded so unlike the brash, cocky guy that Cassandra had known her whole life.

  Her heart went out to Ajax. It had been so hard for her to lose her father, and she’d often thought losing both her parents would destroy her completely.

  The moon drifted out from behind the clouds to cast a pale, silvery light on Ajax’s handsome face. His expression lightened. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go to the inn for dinner.”

  “Surely you don’t mean the one where I was attacked?” Cassandra asked in disbelief.

  “Exactly.” Ajax smiled. “That’s precisely why I invited you here—to overcome your fear. And if those same fellows are hanging around again, they’ll be sorry to cross my path.”

  “O-okay.” Cassandra’s nervousness showed through in her trembling voice. Her heart skipped a beat as Ajax led her by the hand beneath the silvery moonlight. The flame from Cassandra’s lamp cut through the darkness as Ajax guided her through the city gates; the soft, dancing light it cast against the walls was both beautiful and eerie.

  “So, how did you learn to fight so well?” Cassandra asked as they each ate a whole roasted chicken at The Swan Inn. They had chosen a secluded table facing the fireplace. A group of old men played cards across from them and a young couple chatted to the innkeeper, but in their cozy corner, Ajax and Cassandra felt as if they had the whole place to themselves.

  “As you well know, I became a bit of a rascal after my parents died.” Ajax gave Cassandra a sly grin. “My uncle did the best he could, but he couldn’t fill the gap they left behind. I missed them both so much, and acting up was just my way of coping.” Ajax gave a light laugh. “I was driving Telemachus and Nestor crazy—I think they were about ready to send me off to obedience school!” His eyes twinkled mischievously at the very thought. “Then, one day, Telemachus pulled me aside to teach me some unarmed combat. He told me he thought it would help me work out my aggression. He was right, too; it was exactly what I needed. It focused and disciplined me—I probably would have gone crazy without it. Don’t you think it’s important to know how to fight?”

  “I suppose so,” Cassandra replied. “I do want to be able to defend myself, but I’d much rather live in peace with others.”

  “And where has living in peace ever gotten us?” Ajax asked bitterly. “Our pack has been persecuted for hundreds of years. Nothing ever changes. You’ve lost your father. I’ve lost both my parents. As werewolves, we have the power to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. We should show our persecutors once and for all that we’re not to be trifled with.”

  Cassandra reached over and placed her hand on Ajax’s. He had such strong, manly hands. “You know that’s not our way,” she said. “We believe in living in peace with others—even if we have to conceal our identity. We may have to shed blood to protect ourselves, but we will never be the first to strike.”

  Ajax sighed. “I know. But it seems we have always been looking for a place to live in peace . . . but we never seem to find it. Perhaps I will live my whole life and grow old without knowing anything other than persecution.”

  Cassandra studied Ajax and couldn’t help but admire his perfectly proportioned, muscular body.

  Ajax caught her staring and gave a big grin, which showed off his pearly-white teeth. “Hey, quit staring at me,” he said.

  Cassandra blushed. “I’m not,” she insisted, a wide, sheepish grin spreading across her face.

  Cassandra edged closer to Ajax as he escorted her all the way to her door at the end of their night out.

  “How about we go out again tomorrow night?” he asked.

  “Maybe.” Cassandra played coy. Mother had always told her it was best to not appear too keen when courting.

  Ajax made sure Cassandra was safely inside before he left, which impressed her. While Ajax might not be as chivalrous as some, he also wasn’t the scoundrel that she had initially taken him for. In his own way, Ajax was a real gentleman.

  That night, Cassandra fell into a deep, contented sleep with a big smile on her face. But her dreams were anything but peaceful. . . .

  She was in the midst of a burning pine forest. The acrid stink made her eyes itch and her nose run. Cassandra tried to move as the flames crept closer to where she stood, but her feet refused to budge—i
t was as if they were glued to the ground. She could actually feel the heat of the fierce flames on her face as they cast an eerie orange glow over her body.

  Looking around, Cassandra made out thirteen shadowy figures who danced in circles and chanted in some strange, unrecognizable language. As the tempo of the dance increased, so did the intensity of their chanting. Fear gripped Cassandra’s heart as the figures lurched toward her. She screamed out for help. Oh, how she longed to see a friendly face. . . .

  Suddenly, both the flames and the dancers froze in time. A figure materialized from behind the flames. Cassandra’s heart leaped with excitement as she recognized him.

  Could it really be?

  How she had ached to see him again!

  The man standing before Cassandra was tall and broad. He had curly, brown hair and piercing, brown eyes. And, unlike the last time that Cassandra had seen him, he no longer bore the wounds of mortal injury. In fact, he glowed with youth and strength.

  It was impossible—even in a dream!

  But it was true, nevertheless.

  Cassandra’s father stood before her.

  Chapter 9

  Cassandra’s father called out to her, his voice nothing more than a whisper. Willing her feet to move, she ran toward him and threw her arms around his neck. Protectively, Cassandra’s father wrapped his arms tight around her; she felt safe and warm in his embrace.

  Tears streamed down Cassandra’s cheeks as she looked up. She couldn’t believe it was her father. He radiated energy and light; Cassandra wanted her father to hold her in his powerful arms forever.

  After what seemed like an eternity, he slowly, reluctantly, let her go. He kept hold of Cassandra’s hand and looked down at her, his eyes filled with love. Then he released her hand and slowly walked away.

  No! He couldn’t be leaving!

  Cassandra wanted to run after him, but she couldn’t; her feet were frozen once more to the floor of that burning forest. Her tears flowed again, but this time they were tears of despair, not happiness. And this time there was no one to comfort her.

  Cassandra wiped the tears away from her face with both hands. “Father, stop!” she yelled after him. “Why do you have to leave me again? I love you so much!”

  Her father stopped. He turned around to look deep into her eyes. A warm, loving smile crept across his lips. “I know you do,” he said tenderly. “And I love you, too.”

  “Father, I’m so lonely. My life is so sad without you.”

  Her father’s expression changed. A pained look swept over his face as his voice faded into a whisper. “Whenever you need me, I won’t be far away from you,” he promised. “Cassandra, as a people, we have become accustomed to swimming in deep water. You will find strength in your adversity. Things will get dark for you. Your legs and arms will get scratched, but you’ll make it through. I promise you, everything will be okay in the end. And, someday, we’ll see each other again.”

  The flames burst into life once more, and they burned even higher and brighter than before. Cassandra’s father kept his eyes fixed on her as he stepped back behind them. A moment later, he disappeared completely.

  Cassandra woke up to the morning sun streaming through the window of her home. The stark, bright light hurt her eyes. She brushed a hand against her pillow and noticed it was soaked through with tears.

  She lay on her sleeping mat and thought about her dream. It had been such a vivid one, and whatever its meaning, it had felt so good to see her father again—even if it hadn’t been real.

  Cassandra stretched her arms and legs, surprised at how physically good she felt. And yet, there was still that dull ache deep inside her heart; it had been a bittersweet dream, which had cut both ways. How she longed to see her father again. Her dark brown eyes filled with tears once more as she reminded herself it had all been a dream. Her father was gone, and she wouldn’t see him again in this life.

  Still emotional and sleepy, she stumbled into Telemachus’ combat class. Her eyes were puffy and her head was heavy from the emotionally draining dream, but Cassandra felt happier than she could remember being for a long time.

  There were butterflies in her stomach as she waited for Ajax. She was surprised by how excited she was to see him again. While doing stretching exercises with Castor, she surreptitiously watched everyone who approached the clearing.

  But there was no sign of Ajax by the time class began. Cassandra’s mood dropped, and she took out her frustration on the burlap sack filled with dirt that Castor held for her.

  “Wow, you’re really upset about something this morning!” Castor exclaimed. He rubbed his arms which Cassandra had made sore with her relentless attack upon the weighted sack.

  Telemachus stepped forward. He held a gleaming, curved-blade dagger in his hand. “Today I’m going to teach you how to defend yourself against dagger and knife attacks,” he said. He then handed the dagger to Nestor and motioned for him to attack.

  “My lord?” Nestor asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

  Cassandra’s mouth fell open into a wide O of surprise. She exchanged a worried look with Castor. That was a real dagger they were training with—and it looked sharp.

  Nestor hesitated for a moment, then thrust the dagger straight at Telemachus’ stomach. Telemachus caught Nestor’s ginormous arm with both hands and, despite the man’s massive frame, easily thrust the arm upward and stepped behind him. Telemachus shoved the arm toward Nestor’s own stomach, stopping just an inch before the blade would have disemboweled him. The pack leader then swept Nestor’s leg from under him, dropping Nestor on the clearing ground with a heavy thud.

  Telemachus held aloft the dagger he’d snatched from Nestor. “That’s how it’s done,” he told the class. “Until you can do it safely, we’ll be practicing with sticks instead of real daggers.”

  Telemachus held out a hand for Nestor. Nestor grasped it firmly to allow Telemachus to pull him to his feet. When Telemachus spoke again, he had everyone’s attention.

  “Of course, we would much rather defend ourselves in wolf form when at all possible,” he said, “for that is where our strength lies. But there will be times you will not be able to. There will be times when, as with Cassandra, Ajax, and Castor, you will have to fight as humans so as not to give away our identity. There will also be times when you won’t have the chance to change into wolves. It takes real concentration to shift form, and when you’re under attack and defending yourself against blows, you have to concentrate on staying alive. So, you must learn to fight in whatever form you are in.”

  The lecture over, the pack’s youth searched out suitable sticks to use as pretend daggers. Immediately, a few of the younger ones began to throw and fetch the sticks, scampering about the forest like unruly puppies. Telemachus shot them a stern look that froze each one on the spot.

  “From now on,” Telemachus hollered, “we will be practicing combat in human form and not as wolves. As wolves, your fighting will be instinctive. And while you will benefit from improving your conditioning and strength, it is these techniques that will keep you alive as humans.”

  Telemachus looked at Cassandra just as she was glancing around the clearing instead of defending herself against Castor’s stick. He let loose a deep sigh.

  “What’s the problem here, Cassandra? You seem to be distracted. Allow yourself to become distracted like this in a real knife fight, and you’re dead.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” Cassandra replied, embarrassed. “Would you happen to know where Ajax is today?”

  Telemachus’ eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Did you come here to train or to court?”

  A silence fell over the students, and Cassandra turned to look as Ajax approached the clearing. There was quite obviously something wrong with him—his eyes were bloodshot, and he walked with a pronounced limp
.

  “Ajax, you’re late!” Telemachus barked.

  Ajax just stared blankly at him.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Partner up and start practicing!”

  Ajax made his way toward Paris, who was practicing dagger defenses in the air without a partner. Ajax didn’t even glance Cassandra’s way.

  “Are you okay?” Cassandra whispered across to Ajax.

  He looked at her with that same blank expression. “I’m fine.”

  She kept on glancing over as Ajax trained with Paris. He looked to be merely going through the motions, almost as if he were some kind of zombie. Cassandra then tried to speak to him after class, but he didn’t want any part of it.

  “Look, I’ve got to get going,” he snapped, rude and dismissive. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  Once combat training was done, Cassandra and Castor made their way down to the seaside. Castor sat on the shore while Cassandra floated in the refreshing seawater for as long as she could. The sun burned gently against the back of her neck and shoulders while she floated face-down and held her breath. The water felt so wonderfully cool against her body. She flipped onto her back and, for a perfect moment, Cassandra savored the smell of the salt water and the warmth of the sun.

  She stepped out of the sea as the sun lowered itself behind the distant cliffs. She enjoyed the wet squish of the warm sand between her toes as she strode across the beach, making her way over to where Castor sat in quiet contemplation.

  Castor gave Cassandra a wide smile when she sat beside him. The rolling waves calmed her, and the ocean breeze caressed her face as it ruffled through her hair.

  The night looked threatening as darkness swept over everything. Harmonia eyed Cassandra as she braided her hair, a worried look on Cassandra’s face.