by Marie Fraser
“Beer, please.”
A pitcher full of frothy beer was placed in front of him. Noah downed a large gulp, and leaned his head back. Under the mellow light of the bulb above, he could discern a long, thin slash peeping from beneath the bartender’s shirt collar. He’d wrapped around a muffler to hide it, but as he worked with the drinks, it occasionally slipped, revealing the tragedy beneath. Noah’s brows furrowed in thought.
“Have you seen any hairy men around here at the pub?” Noah said finally, eyes surveying the man closely, “Vicious looking and a little grimy?”
The man’s head shot up. “No! No – no wolf-like creatures around.”
“Are you certain?” Noah pressed.
Sweat began to bead the man’s forehead, and Noah could sense his worst suspicion being confirmed.
The man maintained his silence, glancing frantically around.
“They were here, weren’t they?” Noah stuck his face into his, until they were standing only a breath away, and whispered, “That scar at your neck, it’s there work, isn’t?”
The man took in a jagged breath, his eyes rolling inwards. Noah steadied him instantly. “Please,” Noah said, a little softly this time, “I need to know. I promise they wouldn’t hurt you.”
But the man looked ready to throw up. Noah sighed. He shut his eyes, and focused on the bartender’s thoughts, his mind slipping easily through the other man’s.
‘The pub was full as usual. The bartender busy with serving a thick crowd. Suddenly, the door burst open and in walked a man. A man that had gray hair that came down to his chest, thick eyebrows, a bushy mustache - and eyes as blue as Noah’s. A man that made Noah’s blood run cold.
Lord Dalton.
Wearing a cunning smile, he strode into the pub, the other teil werewolves parting at his sides.
“Drinks for all my men!” Dalton raised a finger at the bartender, smiling gleefully.
“Sir, you – you have to wait at the end of the line.” The bartender kept his head low, hands moving across the counter swiftly as he tried clearing as many orders as possible.
“What did you say to me?” Dalton’s voice was grim and slow, his eyes tightened to slits. The lights began to flicker around them; the pub falling into even thicker darkness.
Dalton shot up to the bartender’s side, his speed nearly as fast as Noah’s. He grabbed the man by the neck, his sharp talons scratching past the skin. The bartender let out a soft yelp. And then he passed out under Dalton’s grip.’
When Noah’s vision drifted back into focus, he was still overwhelmed by what he had seen. Lord Dalton, his father’s step-brother, the person who’d orchestrated a vicious rebellion against the throne of Vilas only months ago, was also the leader of the teil werewolves. That explained the existence of the part werewolves in one easy statement. Dalton’s magic had always been exceptional; he’d managed to accomplish a new lethal feat.
The teil werewolves visit at a pub south of Antigo could only mean one thing – they were heading to the Forest County. And that’s exactly where Noah was meant to go next.
* * * * * * *
He stood facing the forest grimly. Long hours of perpetual running and he didn’t even break a sweat. The woods rose high and demeaning, lanky trees filling the sky overhead. Wind sneaked through Noah’s hair, sharp and ice-cold, slapping his ruddy cheeks, as he fixed his gaze upon the early dawn seeping through the horizon. The dark clouds swept away, pulling the moon along. Noah felt himself longing for its energy. Though, being the Marked One, he was still far more powerful than the other wolves during daylight. But it was no comparison to his night state, which was simply – lethal and unstoppable.
He was back in his human form now.
Noah leapt to his knees. Digging his fingers into the still-moist earth, he drew in one long deep breath. And sprinted ahead. Noah’s swift body spun around the incoming sharp branches effortlessly, his lean legs meandering past the trees as he rushed onward. His eyes stood out, alert and listening. Nose pinched, whiffing at the air. In only a matter of few seconds, he had traveled deep into the woods. Yet Noah kept bounding forward. His sharp senses caught no unusual sign; his body pulling only towards some evil power pulsing right at the heart of the forest.
And then Noah stopped dead in his tracks.
Hair stuck slick to his forehead, he keeked his cold eyes around. The air had suddenly turned still. And absolutely silent. Noah could sense magic breathing under the very folds of the wind. To any outsider, it was just another part of the forest. Another spot to move past. But the malice here pulled Noah’s legs sharply to a halt. He wheeled his gaze slowly around. At normal circumstances, it was a matter of only a few seconds of uncertainty and he would have stolen past the dense spells. However, this…was certainly Dalton’s work.
Noah flexed his fingers, head rock-still. He focused his eyes upon the earth, and suddenly felt the vision gradually shift. There were deep, black marks carved into the ground. Circles encrypted with spells. Spells of old magic. Something people would have forgotten now. But Noah had studied for long hours during his teenage under the tutorship of Vilas’s former mage, and was thus accustomed to even the oldest of tricks. He worked on a counter spell in his mind, sensed the words leap to his lips, and dash to the still air in front.
Sunlight sieved through the leaves overhead, casting spirally shadows on the ground. However, the moment Noah’s lips halted in anticipation, the yellow ball overhead turned charcoal-black. The world entering a thick black darkness. Noah sprang to a huge tree ahead, his back against its trunk. He slipped into the shadows, and smothered himself.
A few paces ahead, a pair of teil werewolves guards were stationed. Noah stuck his ear out to listen.
“Hunt and the men are bringing the girl back in the afternoon-”
“Remind me again, how long does Dalton intend to stay here?”
“Hardly a week. Possibly less, since word is that the girl is picking a lot of pace. Something peculiar about her too.”
“I know nothing about that, pal, but she sure is a spunky thing!” He laughed, and added winking, “And totally fuckable!”
Noah caught himself gagging. Sometimes men could get so gross talking about women.
The sound of hooves caught Noah’s ears, and he craned his head, gaze fixed ahead. The world rolled down under his feet. His lips turned pale, all color drained from his face. Noah let out a feeble gasp.
For ahead, right next to a broad-chested man, stood Emma Summers.
Chapter 9
Emma stepped out of the truck. Her dress lapped around her feet as the wind roared past her, sweeping her hair in her face. Around her, the light was pale and livid. The sun dipped into the horizon, the last yellow remnants fading rapidly from sky. The other teil werewolves were also out, unloading their weapons and goods. Two men strode towards Emma. They grabbed her by the wrists, a little gentler than they would have intended had she not been in Hunt’s books, and pulled her forward.
Emma spun her gaze around. And, there, only ten paces away, she caught Hunt muttering something silently under his breath. He glanced once forward, and next at her, his crocodile-green eyes locking with hers. Emma’s breath caught in her chest. She clutched at her heart, her vision blurring, and feet buckling beneath her. But no one rushed to her aid. The men continued engaging in pointless banter, some getting about their own chores, but nobody – not even Hunt himself came to steady her. Emma staggered sideways. She felt her insides melting, all life drained from her body as she finally toppled to the dirty ground under.
Emma’s eyes shot up. Her chest was heaving, her body flat upon he earth. Clouds of dark smoke encroached her vision, and she rubbed at her instinctively, meaning to wipe away the dirt. But the darkness persisted. A hand was pressed to her face. She glanced up, and found Hunt standing on her head. Grabbing his big hand, she hauled herself on her feet.
“Not so good, huh?”
“Horrifying.” Emma grimaced.
“You’ll get used to it.” He cupped her cheek and Emma glanced away, refusing to meet his gaze. Even though Hunt was a lot better than the rest of the grimy guys, Emma couldn’t let herself be absolutely flirtatious with him. The spring scene had burned her mind for hours. She’s lied awake all night in bed, gagging with disgust at her appalling exhibition of grossness. At worst times, she was reminded of the kiss she’d shared with Noah, and she curled even deeper under her sheets.
Emma felt the heat of Hunt’s hurt gaze, and was expected some incredulous statement next. But he said nothing. They simply walked ahead, Hunt leading them to a tall and baleful edifice built into the ground.
“What is that?” Emma clapped a hand over mouth, eyes too shocked to absorb the incoming scene.
Hunt’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Lord Dalton’s work of magic.”
They marched past the heavily armed guards, and into the gray-stoned castle. Inside, the corridors were alight by numerous goblets of fire lining the walls. The floor was carpeted, and portraits occupied the walls. Emma continued following Hunt forward. They turned around a corridor halfway, walked into another, dismounted a long set of stairs, and entered a rather dismal looking part of the castle.
The dungeons.
Emma caught Hunt’s lips purse beside her. Her pulse was rocking too rapidly now. She took in a deep breath, eyes glancing around. It was a cozy space, cells lined up against the walls, one after the other, their insiders dark and indiscernible. The horrible miasma of piss pervaded the air, and Emma caught herself choking.
“Of course, I’ll be nothing more than a prisoner here,” she said bitterly. “I must say Hunt, you’d really made me forget my place.”
Hunt’s arms sneaked around her bare shoulders, and though Emma instinctively scowled, she let them stay there for their warmth; it was incredibly cold this far beneath the ground.
“Emma,” he whispered, “surely you must know that orders from a superior are not something I can intercept.”
Emma stayed silent, her eyes fixed on the man in the cell. He was clad in rags, skin peeled off to reveal red, alive flesh beneath. His eyes were rolling into his head, bony limbs curled into a ball. Emma gulped. She looked quickly away.
“I’ll help you out,” Hunt was saying, “in every possible way I can.”
Finally, Emma looked up to meet his anguished gaze.
“Hunt,” she said, “why are you with Dalton?”
Hunt’s eyes grew wide in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you work for him? You know how ruthless he is,” she said, grabbing his jaw and turning it to face the man behind, “how to tortures young, innocent people – he’s a monster.” Emma’s voice broke midway, tears interrupting the flow of her words.
Hunt’s face was pinched, features withdrawn and tired. Emma pressed his hands in hers, “You’re not an evil man at heart. You know the difference between right and wrong, and this is certainly the latter.”
“I-I can’t,” Hunt’s voice was heavy, “I’ve a mother to feed at home. Without Lord Dalton, I’ll be nothing. He’s given me all I need – a nice home, a luxurious life; he’s even given me you.”
Emma wrenched his hand from his grip, and marched away. Suddenly angry at his possessive nature. She stormed into her own cell, and slumped into the rake-thin bed. Hunt stood at the threshold. He turned the key into the lock, eyes hooded and head bent low.
For long moments, they maintained their distant positions, lips zipped tight.
“I’ll come back at midnight,” he said finally, “there’s something that Lord Dalton needs you to do.”
“Dalton and his needs can go fuck in hell!” Emma snapped, but by that time, Hunt had walked away, his heavy steps echoing loudly in his wake.
Emma stuck her fingers in her eyes, arms wrapped around each other to ward off the cold. Hunt had dropped his jacket on her bed. Emma ignored it for a long time. But finally, when the persisting chill had proved to be more stubborn than her furious self, she threw the jacket around her shoulders and curled into its warmth. Her arms slouched into the hard surface beneath, and Emma was hit by a sudden urge to cry. Despair tugged at her mind like some vicious devil, and she felt herself feeling angry at almost everything. She was angry at her own stupid self. Angry at Hunt.
Angry at Noah. Furious at him, in fact; why was he still not here anyways?
* * * * * * * *
Emma was slouched in her bed, back strained, and eyes peeled with sleep deprivation. Could any human actually sleep in this wretched bin? Often times, she would loll her head back, eyes searching the darkness outside, full of anticipation. Hope to see those silky black strands of hair yet against. Those sapphire-blue eyes staring deep into hers, knocking all air out. Emma longed for it every second. Every melancholic second that she lived in that cell, waiting for what abominable task Dalton was going to put her up for.
She was lying on her stomach now, eyes shut, and legs hovering overhead, when the lock to her cell clicked. The sound pinched the air, and Emma’s ear stood out, eyes cracking open. She sat up instantly, pulling at her dress.
Hunt was back. As promised. Though this time, there was a very careful expression playing around his face. Emma hardly cared anymore. She was too tired and miserable to spare any though to Hunt’s every changing moods.
He was carrying a small cage. The walls were completely opaque, save the front one which had thin long iron bars. Emma screwed her eyes, looking past the bars, and found deep-blue eyes glinting amidst the darkness. Staring curiously back. Emma’s breath hitched in her throat.
“Is it – is it the orphan wolf?” Emma’s voice was incredulous. She leaped up to her feet, diving for the cage, but Hunt brought his massive body in the way. She took a step back, surprised.
“Hey, hey,” Hunt brought his hand up to caress her cheek, but Emma snapped her head away. She caught his gaze darkening, eyes narrowing to slits.
“It’s about Flayer, isn’t it?”
“Wh- What about him?” Emma stammered, shocked by her own sudden discomfort.
“That he’s your soul mate and all? Heard all about it from the men. And you never told me.”
“He’s not- he’s not my…” Emma’s breath caught up in her chest, jaw locking, and tongue unwilling to roll lies any more.
Hunt looked at aghast. “I knew it! Lord…” He clasped his hands around his head, feet moving deftly towards the door. Emma followed after him.
“Hunt-”
The cage hit the ground with a loud thud. “You are to feed this wolf right at midnight-”
“Feed this? What do you mean feed this? I don’t have any food.”
“But you’re a woman. You got all the food right there,” he flashed a sly smile at her breasts, and Emma felt herself coloring not with shame but fierce rage.
“Are you insane? He’s a wolf!”
“Midnight,” he said, waving her words away with a casual flick of his hand, “make sure you do it, else – Emma, Lord Dalton will not be very merciful.” He cast an awkwardly apologetic look her way, despite his anger only moments ago, and strode out.
Emma blinked her eyes confusedly at the empty threshold, and glanced back at the cage. The wolf was whimpering within. She edged closer to it, picking it up in her arms, and peeped through. The wolf’s eyes were still fixed upon hers, a strange energy playing behind his gaze.
She clicked open the door, and the wolf dived out into her lap. Emma rubbed at its soft furs, smoothing back, and it wagged its tail agitatedly. There was a halo of energy skirting the wolf, and whenever Emma penetrated it, she felt its power course through her blood, whiz past her mind, and sharpen all senses. She rushed to the window at the far side of the cell, and perched on the floor beneath it. The wolf cradled in her arms, she leaned her body back, allowing the moonlight to fixate on the baby wolf’s body. It squirmed and shook its furs under the silvery light’s weight.
Emma peeled away her shirt. She tore through her bra, a rapidness
possessing her movements, and stuck her nipple to its mouth. The wolf sucked, mouth pressed to the soft flesh. Emma winced as its sharp canines scratched against her skin, panting. In normal circumstances, she would have tossed the wolf away, kicking at its mouth. But right now, there was something so strange, so desperate about the idea of feeding it…that she simply sat, waiting for its hunger to wane.
Could it really be Noah’s son? Emma caressed its face, the pearl-white fur coat glimmering in the pale light, her gaze always swaying back to its deep blue eyes… so much like Noah’s. Their lashes thick and heavy, framing those dazzling eyes. The snow-white fur coat reminded her of how grizzled its skin had looked that first time he’d transformed in her room. How much he resembled Noah, in those silky black hairs. Even the energy pulsing off its skin tasted of the same feeling Emma underwent when around Noah.
In that moment, there was no hesitation. No doubt about the identity of the wolf’s father. He was no longer an orphan. Emma pressed it deep into her chest, her chin resting atop its furry head. Anything that was Noah’s, was equally hers.
* * * * * *
The next afternoon Emma was returning from her daily walk with the orphan wolf and Hunt, when something strange caught her eye. Someone was hiding in the trees ahead. It was a very job of camouflaging oneself.
“Hunt,” she began, eyes screwed into distance, “who is that?”
But suddenly, the figure shifted and all Emma could see was the tree’s deep brown bark.
“What?” Hunt glanced down at her.
Emma shook her head, eyes returning to the path ahead, “Nothing.”
Abandoning Hunt halfway, she was walking back to her cell, when a deep voice across the mahogany door startled her. The door ahead was isolated. It led to Lord Dalton’s private chambers. However, it was not exactly the tone of the voice that had knocked all air out of Emma’s chest. In fact it was the name that was so angrily uttered.
Noah.
Instinctively, Emma pressed her ear to the door, body crouched low to avoid any attention. There was a curtain hanging beside the door frame and Emma lapped the dense cloth around her torso carefully.
