by Sean Kikkert
Adrenaline pumped through Cassandra’s body as she ran with all the speed she could muster. However, Red Riding Hood was already up on her feet and sprinting after her. Cassandra fought back the rising panic in her chest as she realized Red Riding Hood was almost on top of her.
Cassandra reached the door and tried to rip the door open—but her body wasn’t cooperating; she was shaking too much to coordinate anything, and it felt as if she were moving in slow motion. Before Cassandra could get the door open, Red Riding Hood was upon her.
Red Riding Hood landed a massive slug to Cassandra’s jaw. Pain exploded in her head, and she saw bright pinpoints of light dancing in front of her eyes. Cassandra’s knees buckled, and she crumpled in an ungainly heap upon the floor. Desperate and terrified for her life, Cassandra squirmed and thrashed around as Red Riding Hood grabbed her around the neck.
Cassandra threw her head back and head-butted Red Riding Hood hard on the mouth. There came the sharp, wet cracking sound of breaking teeth. Red Riding Hood winced in pain as her lip split open, and blood poured out onto Cassandra’s tunic.
Red Riding Hood grabbed Cassandra, lifted her up with an almost preternatural strength, and threw her back down to the floorboards.
Stunned, Cassandra lay there at her assailant’s feet. She was terrified, in unbelievable pain, and struggling to catch her breath.
With her one good arm, Red Riding Hood unsheathed a long, curved dagger from underneath her magnificent red cloak.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Cassandra gasped. “What did I ever do to you?”
Red Riding Hood gave her an evil smile. “You don’t recognize me, but we have met before, Cassandra. In fact, you were the one who gave me this scar on my chin.” Red Riding Hood tapped at the dainty white line with a forefinger. “Ever since my dear grandmother was murdered by one of your kind, I’ve led mobs against werewolves wherever they might be. I even led the mob that killed your father.”
Cassandra felt as if the air had been knocked out of her body; she could barely breathe from the pain Red Riding Hood’s words had caused. Cassandra’s breathing became ever shallower as her mind flew in all directions. Could it be true? Had Cassandra come across Red Riding Hood before? Was this beautiful blonde-haired girl really the person responsible for Cassandra’s heartache and misery?
Frantically, Cassandra searched her memory. The night when her father was murdered was powerfully carved into her psyche, and yet there was nothing about Red Riding Hood that seemed familiar to her. . . .
Cassandra’s thoughts spun to that terrible night her father had taken her into the forest to hunt for deer. Cassandra had been just ten at the time, and her big, flapping ears seemed too large in comparison to her small and delicate snout. Cassandra’s gray fur was soft and smooth compared to her father’s thick, coarse coat, and while she had strong claws and sharp teeth, her young, slender body seemed tiny next to the bulky, muscular frame of her father in his wolf form.
Eyes gleaming red, Cassandra’s father sniffed hard at the leafy ground; he’d picked up the fresh scent of a stag. Suddenly, Cassandra heard a swish. As her father yelped in pain, she saw with horror that he had an arrow embedded in his shoulder. A shower of arrows quickly followed, and Cassandra’s father threw himself on top of her. From beneath the protective shield of her father’s huge body, Cassandra felt the impact of the cruel barrage of arrows. She also felt her father wince as each arrow found its mark and pierced his flesh. Eventually, Cassandra’s father stopped moving altogether, and hot, sticky blood seeped through his fur to coat Cassandra in red.
Too scared to even breathe, Cassandra lay there beneath her father’s still body. Someone was approaching! In fact, judging by the myriad of footsteps crunching through the dry leaves, it sounded like a whole crowd. Cassandra felt a sharp tug. Her father rolled over onto the ground next to her with his still, lifeless eyes staring at her.
Cassandra glanced at the mob that surrounded her and jumped into action. In a rage, she lashed out with her claws and connected with a target. A shrill voice cried out; the warm wetness of blood splashed onto her paw. . . .
Had that been Red Riding Hood?
At the time, Cassandra had no idea who she’d struck—she’d simply lashed out in panic and anger. Now that she thought about it, she did have a vague memory of a blonde-haired girl being among the mob. Cassandra hadn’t paid her much attention, though, as she’d been far more concerned about the burly, savage-looking men with clubs and swords.
One of the men swung his club at her. He caught Cassandra over her left ear, and she sprawled onto the leafy ground by a tall oak. Looking up, helpless, she saw the brawny men with scraggly beards and weathered faces closing in on her. Quaking with fear, she transformed back into a trembling ten-year-old. Cassandra crouched at the base of the tree and gazed up at her assailants with fear-filled eyes.
One of the men looked down on Cassandra with pity. “This one’s just a child. Let her be!”
The rest of the mob eyed the poor, miserable girl, and no one disagreed. Although Cassandra heard a girl’s voice utter a protest, the rest of the mob were paralyzed by pity. Seizing her chance, Cassandra upped and ran all the way home to the arms of her heart-broken mother.
“You were there?” Cassandra asked Red Riding Hood. “You were the one I scratched?”
“Yes,” Red Riding Hood snapped. Absently, she rubbed at her chin with her good hand. “It hurt like hell and left me with this ugly scar. Now you get to pay for it. I should have killed you that day when I had the chance, but I had to keep the mob on my side. You were just a child then, but what those fools didn’t understand was that just as nits become lice, little girls become full-grown werewolves. I’m going to finish the job I started all those years ago.”
Red Riding Hood lifted the curved dagger high over her head, ready to plunge it into Cassandra’s heart.
It was as if every ounce of strength had been knocked from Cassandra’s body. Beaten, she closed her eyes and waited for Red Riding Hood to pierce her rib cage.
Chapter 24
Cassandra cringed as Red Riding Hood grunted loudly and brought the blade down toward her chest.
Just before the dagger struck Cassandra, a figure lurched from the darkness and tackled Red Riding Hood.
“Castor?” Cassandra gasped in surprise as Red Riding Hood hit the floor hard, her thin legs high in the air and the dagger rolling harmlessly away. Cassandra’s heart skipped as she saw that it was indeed Castor—he’d come to save her!
Cassandra watched, powerless, as Red Riding Hood and Castor rolled around on the floor, grappling, punching, and kicking. Red Riding Hood very quickly overpowered the injured Castor, and a wave of nausea swept through Cassandra as the girl raised the dagger high over Castor’s heart.
Heart pounding, her body still unable to function, Cassandra could only look on helplessly at Red Riding Hood’s triumphant look as she plunged the blade so hard into Castor’s chest that it became embedded in his rib cage.
“Noooo!” Cassandra screamed, but the scream was cut short as Red Riding Hood straddled Cassandra and wrapped powerful hands around her throat. Cassandra couldn’t breathe under Red Riding Hood’s vise-like grip, and she became lightheaded and dizzy. She clawed at Red Riding Hood’s hands, but she couldn’t loosen the young woman’s hold. Everything clouded over and darkened.
Through the distant ringing in her ears, Cassandra heard a small voice shout, “Stop it!”
Cassandra looked over to see Harmonia standing there with tears in her eyes. “Harmonia, get out of here! Run!” Cassandra managed to gasp.
Harmonia shook her head. “No. We’re family. We stick together.”
Red Riding Hood laughed a cold, hard laugh. “What do you think you’re going to do?” she snorted. “What can a little puppy like you do?”
“Me, nothing.” Harmonia was quite matter-of-fact. “But Nestor will stop you. I’ve sent my neighbor to fetch him—he’ll be on his way right now.”
Red Riding Hood’s eyes narrowed on Harmonia, and her brow furrowed as she read the earnest expression on the little girl’s face. Then Red Riding Hood smiled as she stared into Cassandra’s eyes. “Never mind. This will have to wait for another day, my dear Cassandra.”
There came a cacophonous, splintering crash at the door. In an instant, Nestor was flying through the air in full wolf form—fangs and claws raised and ready to kill.
But Red Riding Hood was gone, having already jumped out the window. Deftly, the young woman landed on her feet and disappeared into the darkness in an instant.
Cassandra coughed and fought for breath as she crawled over to Castor. “Castor, are you okay?” she whimpered. She shook his lifeless body, but there was no response. Cassandra’s stomach lurched as realization hit her, and she screamed so intensely, so unnaturally loud, that her own ears hurt. Harmonia rested her hand upon her grieving sister’s shoulder and tried to lead her away.
Cassandra shrugged the little girl off and kept screaming until darkness swept over her and she passed out on the floor.
Chapter 25
When Cassandra opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, she was still on the floor in her house. Her head throbbed like the devil himself had taken up residence in her skull. Her mouth was as dry as cotton, and she was groggy and confused. As she pulled herself up, Cassandra’s head spun, and she had to squeeze her eyes tight to fight off the dizziness and accompanying nausea that threatened to overtake her.
“Are you all right, Cassandra?” a gruff voice asked.
“Castor?” she croaked.
Nestor shook his head. “I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet. “Castor didn’t make it.”
Cassandra took in deep breath after deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Her tears streamed down her cheeks, and she cried huge, heaving sobs as Nestor tenderly picked up Castor’s lifeless body and carried him away. Harmonia, who had backed away to give the giant Nestor room to tend to her sister and Castor, now ran over to Cassandra and gave her a bear hug. She pressed her forehead into her big sister’s shoulder as she, too, began to cry, her tears rolling down to stain Cassandra’s tunic.
Cassandra was still sobbing uncontrollably and shaking from head to toe when her mother rushed through the door. Helen embraced Cassandra and held her tight to her bosom. “It’s okay,” Helen soothed. “It’s all over now,” she whispered into her daughter’s ear as she stroked her hair.
The three held each other for a long time as Helen allowed Cassandra to cry out all of her pain.
Slowly, Cassandra stopped shaking. Her tears dried up, but the pain lingered on. She was far too exhausted to do anything more than stare blankly at the spot on the floor where Castor had fallen—Nestor had thoughtfully laid a blanket over the pool of Castor’s blood, but it was soaked through now. It hadn’t been all that long ago that Castor had been second to Cassandra’s affections—after Ajax, of course. Now, however, Cassandra felt as if she couldn’t live another day without him.
On the morning of the mass funeral for all those who had fallen, Cassandra watched the warm sunlight spill through the chapel window. Her heart was numb and cold, but she savored the warmth of the sun—it was a welcome, if all too brief, escape.
As Cassandra waited to say her last goodbye to her friend, her throat was impossibly tight, and a strange coldness had taken over her body. Cassandra wondered if she—if anything—would ever feel right again.
At the service, everyone described Castor in the same way: kind, genuine, pure, and sincere. It wasn’t right that someone as good as Castor had been taken out of this world so suddenly—it was definitely a worse place without him.
Cassandra shivered at a faint, gentle breeze as the pack moved from the chapel to the burial site. She had a hard, painful lump in her throat as she looked down into Castor’s empty, open grave. She did her best to hold back the tears when Telemachus offered a prayer for the fallen, and the lump in her throat grew bigger as Castor’s coffin was lowered into the cool ground.
While Cassandra knew in her heart she would one day see him again, Castor had walked out of her life for the very last time here on earth; Cassandra would never be the same again. More than anything in the world, she wanted to thank him for giving his life for her—but she would never have that opportunity.
Although Castor had never had the chance to become anything more than Cassandra’s close friend, she realized that, instead of Ajax, he should have been her special friend. Castor would have made her life better in every way and would never have pressured her to lower her standards or betray her friends. Cassandra would always remember him with a unique, sweet sadness, and someday, she hoped, she would marry a good, decent man just like him. As for Ajax, while Cassandra would always remember with gratitude how he’d saved her from the three thugs outside the inn and the king’s soldiers, her memory of him was now tainted by his unforgivable betrayal.
Cassandra wouldn’t think of Ajax as her first love ever again; the memory of first love mixed with betrayal was just too painful. But Castor’s memory, on the other hand, would always be pure and innocent in Cassandra’s heart.
Chapter 26
The werewolves would have liked a bit of time to process their grief for everyone that they had lost that dark night. But that was not what they got. That very night, mobs and rogue soldiers again stormed their village. Soldiers armed with swords and shields burst down doors and threw belongings into the street. Mobs of young men pelted houses and people with stones. Peasants carrying flaming torches set fire to haystacks and crops.
A number of Telemachus’ pack transformed into wolves, but it was no use—there were just too many soldiers and the mob too big. Razor werewolf teeth gnashed at the humans, and the night was filled with their screams as the wolves bit through flesh, bone, and arteries. Soon, though, each wolf was surrounded by blood-spattered soldiers and mob members. They thrust flaming torches at their terrified faces and poked them with swords, spears, and pitchforks. And before long, the village streets ran red with the blood of the injured mob and the limp bodies of slain wolves.
Telemachus knelt in prayer in a solitary room in the chapel. After his home was torched, Telemachus had gathered his people in that final sanctuary of his village. A tear trickled down his cheek as he prayed for his people who’d been lost, along with those left behind to suffer. He let out a big, gasping sigh as Castor’s face flashed through his mind. His voice trembled with emotion as he lifted it up to God in prayer.
Everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
They were coming for him—Telemachus instinctively knew it. He got up and pulled the door open. It gave a loud, groaning creak that grated through his soul and made him shiver. The eyes of the pack gathered in the chapel studied him as he stepped by.
Nestor was on his feet in an instant. “It’s time for us,” was all he said.
Telemachus smiled. “No, my loyal friend.” He rested a hand on Nestor’s broad shoulder. “It’s time for me. You need to stay here and lead our people.”
Nestor opened his mouth to speak, but Telemachus hushed him before he could say another word.
“Please, my friend, don’t make this any harder for me than it already is. I need to know you’ll be watching over the pack. All I care about now is that they’ll be safe.”
Nestor nodded sadly and bowed his head. As Telemachus pulled open the chapel door, six men with dirt-streaked faces greeted him. Holding a massive log between them, they seemed poised to smash down the chapel doors. Didn’t these men have any respect for sacred places? Their mob compatriots, all of whom wore red hoods and carried flaming torches, surrounded them. And there, glowing in the light of the bright red
and orange flames, stood Red Riding Hood.
“I’m here to finish my work, Telemachus,” Red Riding Hood declared. She had a self-satisfied grin upon her handsome face. “Will you come with us quietly?”
Telemachus nodded solemnly.
Red Riding Hood motioned to him with her head, and Telemachus began walking. He glanced behind to see several large, bearded men pointing spears directly at his back. Thus flanked by his enemies, Telemachus was led as a sheep to the slaughter.
Unresisting, Telemachus marched with the mob past the edge of the village to the top of the cliffs.
Cassandra held onto her mother and Harmonia as they, too, were led by the mob. Surrounding them, their fellow villagers had been rounded up and led along. Cassandra’s beloved tunic was splotched with mud, rain, and Red Riding Hood’s blood; her hair was soaked through and plastered to her head.
Looking across the green fields, Cassandra saw Telemachus being marched along by the brutish mob. Shoulders slumped, long, dark hair uncombed and wild, and large, dark circles beneath his eyes, the pack leader looked so utterly exhausted. Nonetheless, Telemachus managed to give Cassandra a reassuring smile and a nod when their eyes met.
His demeanor toward the mob, however, was less sunny once they reached the cliff’s edge. Telemachus glared at them, his face taut with anger. “Okay, I’ve come peacefully with you,” he yelled. “What do you want of me?”
Red Riding Hood stepped out in front of the pack leader. Her lip was swollen and blue, and her arm was held across her chest in a linen sling. “We’ve gathered your people here to let you know it’s time for you to leave,” she said coldly. “You and your people have worn out your welcome in our land.”
