The Vampire King's Cage

by T. S. Ryder

When he came back, she was going to do it. Her nerves trembled just thinking about it, but she was going to tell him that she loved him.

  Some hours later, she saw him coming out of the forest, his Bear glossy and beautiful in the white snow. What had he been doing? He would often disappear like this, and he never really answered her when she asked.

  He headed for the barn first, so Mary put on some bacon for lunch and set the table.

  A bruise stretched from his jaw to ear when he came in. Mary stifled a gasp, then screamed. Blood ran down his chest from three deep gouges just below his collarbone. His shirt was ripped to shreds, his jeans in a condition just as bad.

  Andre stumbled to the table and collapsed into a chair. Mary stood frozen, hands pressed to her mouth, heart slamming against her ribs. She couldn't move. How could Andre, the Bear, the strong, powerful man she had come to know, end up in such a state?

  "Water," he mumbled.

  "Water," she repeated, breaking from the spell.

  Her hands shook, but she rushed to get a glass and filled it at the tap pausing only to take the bacon off the burner. Andre gulped the water down, wincing when she peeled his shirt back from his skin. There were more gouges on his shoulders, long claw marks down his back, and blood dripped onto the floor.

  The wounds had to be cleaned and dressed. She knew that much from patching up her brothers when they got into brawls. "Where do you keep bandages?"

  "Cupboard in the bathroom."

  Mary put a pot of water on to boil and fetched the bandages. "Andre?"

  He slumped against the table and shook his head. Mary rushed to his side, putting a hand on his forehead. He didn't feel overly warm, but his temperature was elevated. Probably the adrenaline was wearing off.

  "Andre, you need to take off your shirt and lay on the floor."

  He straightened. "I'm okay. It's not that bad."

  "Not that bad?" Mary shook her head. "You're bleeding all over the floor. You are not okay. Now do as I say. What happened?"

  Andre grunted as he slid from the chair. Mary ran for a pillow and plumped it under his head before unbuttoning his shirt, checking for bruises on his torso that would indicate internal bruising. Fortunately, it didn't seem like that was the case. He still hadn't answered her by the time the water boiled.

  "What happened?" she repeated, wetting a cloth and dabbing at the wound bleeding most heavily, one on his shoulder.

  "It was a bear," he said. "Not a shifter. Just a regular old bear. Damn grizzly thought I was encroaching on its territory. But I'm fine. I'm fine. There is nothing to worry about. There is nothing to worry about at all."

  Chapter Seven

  He lied to her. As Mary cleaned the bite wounds on the back of his neck, her stomach dropped. Bile rose in her throat. Her hands shook, but she kept cleaning the wound. She recognized the bite as coming from a Wolf. She had seen enough of them, from when her brothers' roughhousing got too heated, or when they got into fights with other young Wolves.

  He was attacked by Wolves from my community. Why wouldn't he tell her? Had he come across them as they were looking for her? Or had they come to him, knowing she was here? Had they scented him in the forest and attacked, trying to kill him for the sole reason he was a Bear?

  "Was it my father?" The words escaped unbidden.

  Andre startled, jerking away from her hands. "What?"

  "The Wolf that made these marks, was it my father?" Why did tears have to come into her eyes now? She blinked rapidly, pouring a little hydrogen peroxide into the bite. White foam instantly bubbled and Andre flinched. Because of the stinging or her words? "Please just tell me."

  "Yes. Him and your brothers."

  "They attacked you because of me."

  Andre shook his head, his long hair falling out of his bun. "Not because of you, Mary. If they knew you were here, some would have come to get to you while the rest drew me away."

  Would they have? Mary bit her lip. Yes, they would have. Peter, only a year younger than she was, had always been very protective of her. Before he got married, he often took some time during his day to help her with things that needed to be done in the house such as changing light bulbs, checking the fire alarms. He was also the one who convinced her father to let her start driving. If he knew she was here, he'd come with a shotgun to get her back. And her father would, too, if he thought she was being held prisoner by a Bear.

  "So you're going to have to leave, then," she said, taping some gauze over the bite. "You can't stay here if my community knows you're here. They'll kill you."

  Andre did not respond, and Mary shuddered at the implications his silence held. She knelt at his feet, grasping his hands. His black eyes stared at the wall behind her.

  "Andre, you are going to leave, aren't you? You're not going to stay here. My father hates Bears. He'll try to kill you!"

  His eyes finally flickered to hers, but his face was expressionless. "If he tries, I'll kill him first."

  His words punched her in the gut and left her gasping for air. She hadn't considered this–that if her father came, if he faced Andre, that one would kill the other. That Andre would kill her father. In an instant every happy memory with her father flashed through her mind: the way she used to sit on his knee when she was a child, him reading to her, teaching her how to feed the chickens and gather the eggs, being gathered around the fire and listening to his stories.

  How could she stay and watch one or the other die?

  "But you could leave," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You could run away and not be put in that situation."

  "I can't."

  "Why?" Her voice rose until she was shouting. "Why not? What is so important that it's worth dying over?"

  One of his massive hands stroked her hair from her face. She leaned into his warmth despite herself. "Eve."

  She jerked.

  "Isadore."

  Mary pulled away from him. She knew an Eve in the community, but Isadore? It was a woman's name, but not one she recognized. Her stomach flip-flopped. He had other women? Were they tucked away in cabins around here, too? Is that where he disappeared to? "Who are they?"

  "Isadore was my wife. Eve was my daughter."

  Was? Mary pressed her hand to her mouth.

  "They were both Bears like me. We had this farm. It had belonged to Isadore's father. He was a human. But we were happy here, together, Isadore, Eve and I. And then one day, I lost everything."

  He dropped his gaze again for a moment, closing his eyes. He inhaled deeply, and Mary knew every word he spoke pained him to the core. She pulled a chair to his side and held his hand silently. What was she supposed to say?

  "Isadore and Eve were up in the mountains when… when some hunters found them. They were with their Bears, and… I suppose they didn't have time to change. I found them. Bullets ripped into their hearts, their throats cut." Andre shuddered. "They were just left there, like garbage. Left to be scavenged, to rot."

  Tears ran down Mary's face. She leaned against Andre, her heart breaking for him. His face was bleak, eyes haunted. He turned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then wrapped his arms around her. He shook against her, breathing hitched, but no tears came from his eyes. Mary buried her face in his shoulder, wishing she could take away all his pain.

  "I buried them here. And then I left. I ran as far as I could. I couldn't stand to be here, with their memories all around me. I had been with Isadore since I was eighteen. Eve was only six years old. I didn't know how to cope. I didn't know what I had to live for." His head came up, and his body went rigid.

  Mary pulled back, glancing around, sure that his sudden tension came from some danger in the room. But Andre stared straight ahead again, hands clenched as he glared at the wall.

  "And then I vowed I would kill the hunters that had killed my wife and daughter. I strengthened my body, I hunted them. And—" He glanced at her and seemed to freeze a moment. The tension drained from his body. "I found them. I killed them. And I came
back here, to where Isadore and Eve were. I got the sheep and goat, and now this place is all I live for. I can't leave."

  Leave for me. Live for me. She wanted to beg him to come with her, but after that harrowing story, how was she supposed to tell him that she loved him? Would he believe her? Would he even want her love, or would he turn her away because he couldn't accept it?

  "I'm so sorry," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him again. What was she supposed to do? All she could do was hold him, try to ease his heartache for a little while longer.

  But he pulled away from her, shaking his head. "Mary, I can't."

  "You can't… what?"

  "I told you once before that I can't give you my life. It was selfish of me to draw this out, to keep you here this long. I am going to start the truck. You need to go. It's not safe for you anymore."

  Her heart stopped. No! The word got caught in her throat, choking her. No, she couldn't leave! Not now! How could she just walk away when the man she loved was going to kill and be killed by her family? She jumped to her feet, but Andre was already out of the cabin.

  She took a step towards the door but stopped. Running after him and begging him to let her stay wasn't going to do any good. No. She needed to have another plan.

  ***

  What had he been thinking? Of all the lies he had prepared for this moment, he had to tell the truth! Andre's hand shook as he turned on his truck. He had told the truth and almost too much of it. For a brief, wild moment he had wanted to tell her everything. Everything! He could have laughed at himself.

  Mary, your father and two of your brothers, Peter and Philip, were the ones who killed Isadore and Eve. I didn't have to hunt them down, I saw them cut my daughter's throat, I heard them laughing. I was there. I barely escaped with my life. And I am here because I am hunting them. I am going to kill them. As soon as the time is right, I am going to go to your community and kill every werewolf I can before they kill me.

  An angry, bitter laugh bubbled up his throat. He hated to imagine her expression of horror, the fear that would be in her eyes. She would think everything he did was because he wanted revenge. She would distrust every tender touch, every kiss, everything that was between them. He could never hurt her like that!

  Every time she was in his arms, the rage of hate in his chest cooled a little. Her smile, her laugh, made him think that maybe he could be happy again. If she asked him to go with her, what would he do? Was revenge worth losing her?

  I can't burden her with my life.

  Mary emerged from the cabin, her face downcast, carrying the blanket and Ziploc bag of money that she had come with. She wore her dress, and it looked wrong on her. It was shapeless, like a potato sack, and showed none of her curves. But even worse were the tears on her face.

  She slid into the passenger side of the truck. He shifted gears, but a small hand laid on his forearm. Andre couldn't look at her. Seeing her long green eyes, with her beautiful black hair haloing her pale face would be too much.

  "Before I go, can I see their graves?"

  The question startled him, and he looked up involuntarily. She looked just as he knew she would, and the tenderness in her face was too much for him to deny. A lump rose in his throat, and he nodded silently. Mary tucked her hands back into her own lap as he drove down the dirt road. His heart beat uncomfortably.

  Is revenge worth losing her? He asked himself again, and he didn't have an answer.

  Chapter Eight

  Journeying to the graves of Andre's wife and daughter was a silent affair. They were buried high on a nearby mountain. While Andre easily climbed up the path on two legs, Mary had had to embrace her Wolf in order to get up the steep, slippery slope. She padded alongside Andre while he carried her dress, always close enough that her shoulder brushed his thigh.

  It was a nice location. They could see the spread of land below, the blanket of snow smooth and glistening in the sunlight, broken down in the valley by the pine trees that grew along the twisting road. Mary could picture the waving grasses of summer would look just as striking, and when she closed her eyes and rose her face to the sun, she could imagine what fun a child would have here, playing with her mother, knocking rocks down the mountainside.

  Her eyes were red and itchy with tears when Andre quietly told her they had to leave. He hadn't touched her the whole time they were there. He just stared at the headstones laid into the ground.

  Returning to the truck was even quieter than their way up. She desperately wished she knew what to say, but what words could possibly ease his pain?

  "It'll be dark before we get to the city," Mary murmured. "Perhaps it would be best if I stayed one more night."

  His shoulders were low, hunched forward, and Andre hardly seemed to be looking at the road as he drove. He nodded once and was silent.

  When they got back to the cabin, they sat in the truck, just being with each other. Mary didn't want to leave alone. She wanted to let him know she was there for him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but after all this, he'd think she was trying to replace his wife and daughter. How could they ever be replaced? So she just sat holding his hand.

  "I need to feed the animals." Andre straightened himself.

  "I'll come with you," Mary said.

  "You don't have to."

  "I want to."

  She twined her hand in his as they headed for the barn, noting with alarm how cold he was to the touch. His skin was usually so warm, hot even, that this drop in temperature alarmed her greatly. She rubbed his fingers between her hands and brought them to her mouth to blow on them.

  A voice suddenly ran out, harsh and cutting in the silence. "Let her go!"

  "Peter!" Mary's head whipped up, her breath catching in her throat.

  Her brother stood in the door to the barn, a heavy hunting rifle aimed at Andre's heart. Mary stared, eyes wide. Peter's green eyes were locked on Andre, ignoring Mary entirely. His black hair was singed short, a sign of mourning, and the gun in his hands did not waver.

  "Peter," Mary started again.

  "Get away from him, Mary, now! Run!"

  Andre growled low in his throat, eyes darkening. Every inch of his body was rigid. He was going to transform, and Mary knew she was going to watch the brother she loved most kill her soulmate. Even a Bear wouldn't stand a chance against a bullet! Another growl, and Mary jumped in front of Andre.

  "No!"

  Peter's eyes widened, and Andre stiffened. Mary turned her back to her brother and put her hands on her lover's chest, staring at him in the eye.

  "Andre, no. Please, we can talk about this." She turned to her brother, who still had the gun aimed. His expression was uncertain and alarmed. "Peter, put the gun down."

  "Mary, what are you doing?"

  "I lost control of the car, and Andre found me," she said in a rush. "He brought me back here and took care of me."

  Peter's grip on the gun tightened. "Kidnapped you, you mean!"

  Mary shook her head. Her mouth was dry, and she didn't know how she was going to admit this to her brother. But if she didn't, then he would kill Andre for sure, and she could never let that happen. She took a step towards him, her hands outstretched in a placating gesture.

  "He didn't kidnap me. I was running away, Peter. I was leaving the community."

  "What?" Shock crossed Peter's face, and he slowly lowered the gun. His gaze flickered from Mary to Andre. "What are you saying?"

  "I couldn't stand it anymore! Always working, always taking care of everything. And nobody cared." Mary felt her throat closing. "It had been three weeks since anybody said thank you to me. Three weeks! I ran that house, but everybody acted as though I was a servant!

  "And then to listen to Mother's constant criticisms about how I looked, my weight, and the way I dressed?" Mary couldn't stop now that she had started. "And Father, keeping the money so tightly clenched in his fist that I couldn't even buy clothes that looked halfway decent on me, and not being able to finish s
chool because I was so busy taking care of children, wiping their noses, making sure they were fed!"

  Peter ran a hand over his singed hair. "Why didn't you tell anybody how you felt?"

  "I did! Nobody believed me because they think I am an overly emotional woman with my mood swings and because I didn't embrace my Wolf. When did I have time?" Tears were beginning to flow down her cheeks. "Being with Andre has been the happiest time of my life. I've been able to read, to play in the snow, to go running with my Wolf. I don't have to cook and clean all day long, I can do it because I want to, not because Father will belt me if I don't have supper on the table for him!"

  Andre put a hand on her shoulder. "You should leave, Peter Locke."

  Peter didn't look at him. He picked up his rifle again and took the bullets out, tucking them into his pocket. "I would like to thank you for taking good care of my sister. And now I would appreciate it if we could speak alone."

  "What makes you think I want to?" Mary asked, but Andre had already squeezed her shoulder and headed back to the cabin.

  "Mary?" Peter looked uncertain. "Can we sit, and… and talk?"

  "Yes." Mary dragged her feet as she went to Peter, and led him into the barn. They sat on hay bales in front of the sheep pen. "I'm not going back."

  Peter cautiously put a hand over hers. "Not to Father's house, no. I won't let him treat you this way. By why didn't you tell me how badly you were feeling? I could have done something to help."

  "You know exactly what that house is like," Mary said roughly, looking at the ground. "You know what Father and Mother are like, you know how hard I worked all the time. You know how miserable I was. I shouldn't have had to tell you."

  "You can come to my house. You can live with Amy and me. And if Father won't arrange a courtship for you, I will."

  She knew she couldn't tell him that she had already found her soulmate, and he was a Bear. Mary pushed the loose hay near her feet into a pile. "No."

  "No?"

  Mary looked up, setting her jaw. "No. I am not going back there, Peter. I am going to find my own mate. I am going to forge my own life. I am a Wolf, not a den mother or a pup."