by Lynn Red
A heavy silence hung between them as a plume of ash tree smoke curled upwards and a leaf popped as it caught.
“I... he’s just a guy from school. Never liked me much. I keep having visions of him and I don’t know why.” He took a deep breath to calm his shaking hands. That’s the other thing Poko always did to him; frazzled his nerves. “It’s always during my blackouts. I have these visions of him when I wake up, but I don’t have any idea why.”
The old man rocked back and forth. In the firelight, Damon watched his eyes dart back and forth beneath the lids. “Well?” He asked impatiently. “Why do I keep seeing him and why can’t I get him out of my mind?” He didn’t bother to ask how Poko knew.
Poko swallowed and his throat clicked. “You need to go, Damon. The girl, your mate, she’s—”
“Wait, what? You keep saying this stuff and I don’t know what you mean, Poko, just use names. Are you talking about Lily? Because I ruined any chance of that happening.”
“No,” Poko whispered. “Destiny isn’t something you can ruin. Even when you want to go down a different path, it isn’t possible unless something prevents it from coming true.”
Damon squeezed his fists so tight his knuckles went white. “I’m so tired of this. All I want is to be a normal guy. I want to stop blacking out for a week at a time. I missed graduation! I don’t know who I am or where I am half the time.” He stopped for a breath.
After clucking a laugh, Poko said, “I remember these things, too. It isn’t an easy path we must go weather. Especially not those who are like us.” The word had a deep gravity that made Damon uncomfortable.
“Please just tell me about Devin and why I can’t get that jackass out of my mind.” He was practically begging by then, but it had no effect on the old man, who was going to go at his pace, no matter what.
One time, he’d told Damon that time only matters when you’re young enough to see things change. Maybe that was true.
“What do you think these visions are telling you?” Poko said.
“Ugh,” Damon scratched his knee through the torn fabric, where he used to have a cut. “I don’t know. I don’t... I don’t even know if they are visions. Is that what you’re getting at?”
Poko cocked an eyebrow, and Damon’s rage boiled up even as he sat there fuming. “Why won’t you just tell me?”
“Breathe, Damon,” the old man said in that voice that was so calm it made Damon even angrier. “You are one of the forest, Damon, that’s why your mother and father brought you here. You’re almost grown. You’ll be halfway between man and wolf, and soon, unless you claim your mate, you will be stuck as such without her touch. You recall Devin because... because he aims to claim her too.”
“No,” Damon groaned, the blood pounding in his head. “No that’s impossible, I’ll... I’ll kill him first.”
“You will not.” Poko spat, his voice suddenly harsh. “You will not kill him, nor anyone else. If you do, you’ll be outcast. We of the forest may live on the outside of what normal humanity understands. But you must never kill. People might not understand us, but murder, that’s for the others. Not for us. Skarachee protect. Carak... they’re the uncontrolled ones.” He opened those horrible, sightless eyes, those grotesque white orbs, and stared into Damon’s soul.
“Do you understand?”
“Y – yes,” Damon replied, hardly able to contain his rage but knowing well he best not cross the elder.
The old man coughed. “You’re my young. You are the young of my pack, the next of my line. We, the Skarachee, do not kill. The others, though, they have less control over their emotions.”
“Others?” this was the first Damon had heard of anyone – anything – like himself that wasn’t Poko’s pack.
“Ah, I see I’ve neglected to mention this to you. Come closer, my voice, it’s weakening.”
Damon leaned in, reticent to get any closer to the old man, but knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“There are other packs, and they converge here. Your friend, your rival, I mean, he is Carak. The others.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Damon put his hands up and gnawed on his lip. “Devin? The greaseball from school with the motorcycle and the horrible attitude... is one of us?”
Poko shook his head emphatically. “No, he is Carak. We are Skarachee. Now go. Go to your mate, I fear something is happening she can’t control, but you must.”
Slowly, the old man fell into a back and forth rocking, moaning and inhaling the scent from powder he tossed into the fire. When Damon tried to rouse him, there was no response except the fluttering of his eyelids, and a slightly louder chant.
As he turned to leave, the old man spoke into his mind, not through his ears. “Remember what I said, Damon. If nothing else, you must never, never kill. The only thing that keeps us from becoming like them – like your rival... is that we won’t... kill.”
And then his voice faded.
*
Damon reached the brushy shrubs around Lily’s house just as the sun had started to set.
For several minutes Damon lay on the ground and stared at the house, intent on seeing what he could before charging headlong into some sort of danger.
And that’s what he was convinced awaited him. After all, the elder told him he had to go to her right then without a moment’s delay. She was in danger, he said, though he hadn’t been exactly clear about what sort of danger it was. When Damon’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he wasn’t quite sure what he was watching.
Two women, one of whom he knew was Lily, though the other had her back turned, were arguing. He wished for one of his spells of heightened senses, so he might have listened. Damon strained to hear whatever he could, wondering if this was what the elder meant.
“How many times do I have to say it?” It was Lily talking, and from the sound of it, she was pissed. That was a tone Damon was quite familiar with. He couldn’t help but wince and grin every time she delivered another punchy, accusatory question. “Why would I know where your boyfriend is?”
Is that Caitlyn Hodges? What the hell are they doing together? They can’t stand each other.
Caitlyn looked so defeated that Damon felt a little bad for her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “All I know is that I haven’t heard from him in over a week and the last time anyone saw him, Craig Willis said he was drinking at the barn party after graduation, and saw your ex-boyfriend beating the shit out of him.”
“Well, no, Caitlyn, I haven’t seen him.” Lily put her hands on her hips. She was serious. “And just so you know, I haven’t seen... what did you call him? My ex-boyfriend? Whatever. I haven’t seen him in almost a week either.”
Damon furrowed his brow at her lie. Why would she say that? What did she have to hide? Unless she was trying to protect him from whatever might happen if his connection to Devin was made clear. But how could she possibly know about that? Had all those texts he sent gave it away? Why would she lie though? How could she know?
“Look, Lily, I’m not trying to start a fight with you, all I want—”
Lily crossed her arms. Even from his distance, Damon saw the slouch in her shoulders. God she’s mad. I’m glad it’s not at me.
“You came to my house, and you accused me of running around with your boyfriend. When I asked you why the hell you’d think me and Devin of all people, who I can hardly stand, mind you, would be running around behind your back, you start spewing stuff at me about my boyfr – my ex-boyfriend beating him up? What are you?”
Her slip of the tongue wasn’t lost on either Damon or Caitlyn. Lily edged toward the house. “You know what?” she continued. “I think you better just go, Cat. I think it’s best if you went on your way. I’ll tell you this though, I promise that if I see or hear or anything, of Devin, I’ll let you know. I might not like you very much, but I can tell you’re worried, so I’m not gonna be queen bitch and keep things from you if I hear them. Okay?”
Damon laugh
ed under his breath.
“That’s... yeah, I mean,” Caitlyn was obviously terrified. “I can’t ask for anything else. Th – thanks.”
As Caitlyn ran back to her BMW, Lily’s scowl deepened and she went inside, slamming the door.
When everyone was gone and the world went quiet again, something horrible started running through Damon’s mind. If Craig Willis saw he and Devin fighting, and if no one had seen Devin since, was his worst fear possible?
“No,” he said, pounding his fist into the dirt.
“No, no, no,” he grunted, scratching the ground.
Blood pounded in Damon’s head, his temples throbbing and his forehead full of pain, of fury, of rage. It was too much. The stress, the worry over Lily and over Devin; it became too much right at that second.
Damon’s legs twisted, his head bent back and hard, wiry fur sprouted from the pores covering every inch of his skin. He scratched the ground until his hands – his claws he realized when he looked down – ached.
And then a moment later, Damon King began to shake, and collapsed.
As his consciousness faded into oblivion, the last thing he thought as a human was of what Poko told him. Without his spirit bond, without the mate destined for him from before either of them was born, he would be lost to the rage, the fury, the darkness, forever.
Seven
“Where are you going so early?” I asked grandpa as he blew some steam off the top of his so-sweet-it’s-tan coffee. “Sun’s barely up.” That was a little bit of a stretch. Clock on the wall said half past nine.
I still shook from the battle I had with Caitlyn Hodges the day before, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t get her out of my head. Then on top of that, the dreams I kept having – if that’s really what they were – never left me alone for long.
There was another one last night, though a little different. I was in a cave, or a grotto or something, and there was the one wolf, I kept seeing, but also a very old one. The two seemed to be talking, or, I dunno, discussing me.
They kept glancing over in the direction where I lay or, I guess hovered, a few inches off the ground. I wasn’t able to move, but it wasn’t a fearful sort of paralysis, mostly just a present one. In the dream it all made sense, like there was some kind of ritual that needed to be done.
No fear, no uncertainty, none of the normal things that bothered me on an almost daily basis. That was something at least.
The last frame, or scene, or whatever you want to call it of the dream was frenzied and wild, just like the first one, except it felt more natural to have this massive wolf push me to the floor. Only that time the monster didn’t go quite as far as he did the first time... or he didn’t before the kettle whistled and woke me up.
Life’s full of little regrets, I guess. I giggled to myself.
“Business in town,” grandpa said after a few moments’ pause. “Farmer’s market, then going to the YMCA for a few hours, you know, to loiter and be a general no-good.”
No good... so good. Something stirred in my brain, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. I rubbed my eyes. “Sounds fun, are you –”
“Nope,” he slid the keys across the table. “Evelda’s picking me up in three minutes. No, four minutes. Although probably she won’t show up for eight.” Grandpa cracked a wry grin.
We sat in silence for a moment before he pushed his coffee toward me, into a semi-circle made by the keys spreading around its base. “You look like you need this more than I do. You were carrying on all night, sounded like nightmares. Runs in the family, I think. Sorry about that.”
“Sorry?” I asked. “For what? I didn’t –”
“It was a joke, Leroy. I used to get horrible nightmares, and last night you were moaning and groaning just like I always did, so I apologized.”
“Oh,” my voice sunk into my chest as more memories surface. Memories of the werewolf, or whatever I was supposed to call him, with his teeth on my neck, his claws dragging my skin. A hot flush crept up my back right where he’d scratched, almost like it was real.
A horn honking outside broke my trance. “Oh!” I sat up and opened my eyes as wide as they’d go. “I drifted off there for a second. But no.” I patted his hand, softly rubbing the thin, aged skin. “Everybody gets nightmares, right? I doubt you had anything to do with mine.”
He stared at me with a strange, knowing look. “Gotta go,” he said as he stood. “Be careful on those back roads, Lily. They get wet this time of year. It’s easy to lose track of the ground and take a tumble.” I swear I heard his voice quail when he kissed the top of my head, but it wasn’t until he was out of the door and halfway down the driveway by the time I figured out what he’d actually said.
Careful of what?
With no conscious thought, I collected the keys and headed straight for the Bronco, which I was reasonably sure was older than me. A name touched the tip of my tongue as I turned the key and the ancient engine groaned, sputtered, and finally kicked to life. That’s all it was though, a hint of a name that faded as soon as I focused.
Fading as soon as I focused? It couldn’t be, could it? I shook my head, still not sure why I was doing what I was doing, but kept on nonetheless. My tires crunched over a flat bit of desert. The ground was so hard there wasn’t much use for a road, so I just drove straight to the woods, ignoring the asphalt.
All because of a vision I had, a ridiculous fantasy that I never would have had if I just went and got myself a boyfriend! No, it wasn’t a vision, I don’t have visions – no one does. It was a dream.
If it was a dream, and that’s all it was, then why had I driven all the way out and up Carey’s Bluff, twenty or thirty miles, with no reason for doing so? What was happening to me? Something as unavoidable, as invisible and as powerful as gravity pulled me out of my car and as soon as my feet crunched on the dry grass that rimmed the bluff and I started up the hiker’s path to the top, that sweet, familiar tingle rose up again deep between my legs.
It felt like something was pulling me, calling me, toward the top of the bluff. It all felt very unreal as I moved along the path, as though I were in a waking dream, not in control of my actions.
A sound – no, not a sound, a sense – followed me for a time. Every time I turned when I heard a rustling of sage brush, or a crunch of gravelly sand, there was nothing.
Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing out here. No birds, no lizards, no people.
The only thing accompanying me on my slow descent was a broken memory... strange memories, of the night before, and of the wolf on top of the bluff.
And then another rustling sound caught my attention, but that time when I turned, two pale yellow eyes that seemed to materialize from nowhere pierced my very soul.
“What... what are you?” I reached out my hand with open, shaking fingers.
His fur slid between them, copper, then black, then silver as the sun struck his back, he turned slowly and pulled his lips back in a silent snarl. I jerked my hand away, terrified at his sudden aggression, and he did the same. Again his lips pulled away from terrible, finger-long teeth, but I didn’t feel fear that time like I had when he did the same thing a moment before.
“May I?” I reached out again, but tentatively kept my groping fingers a few inches form his fur.
The beast lay down and cocked his head.
What am I doing? There’s a wolf... staring at me, and I’m asking his permission to have a feel? What’s going on?
Another snapshot of my dream rolled through my mind at just that moment. It was just one word, mate that came to me, and I didn’t know why. Not right then, anyway.
He let out a soft whimpering sound and tilted his head in the other direction. I don’t know why, but it seemed like he was giving me permission. I reached out again, my trembling fingers warmed by his flame-and-copper fur. Through my fingers, it almost burned with warmth. I curled them, scratching him gently, and then flattened my palm against his back.
Pure, hard, muscle.
“They travel as far as they have to go to find their soul mates, or whatever you want to call them.” Soul mates rolled around in my head and I felt a quick swoon before I braced myself on the monster’s back and he stood to support my weight.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “This isn’t possible. You can’t exist, you can’t be real.” My lips started to quiver just like my fingers had moments before. But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that the wolf – the unearthly large, powerful wolf – under my sweaty palm wasn’t real, there he was, staring at me with those big, pale, soulful eyes. “Grandpa said... he couldn’t possibly have known about you. He was just making up a story.”
The wolf, standing then, with his head almost the same height as my shoulders, groaned and then nipped softly at my hand a couple of times. I giggled, moving my hand just at the last second, and stroked his snout.
“You’re not supposed to be this big,” I said. “Something’s not right here...”
That’s when I first had the chance to look straight into his eyes. Mesmerized for a second, when I came back to myself, I saw that they weren’t really anything like I’d witnessed. Up close, there were flecks of black, gold, and brown in the yellow discs of his irises. I’d seen wolves before in zoos plenty of times, so I knew they had weird eyes, but these were... different. Like flames that sparkled in the sun.
I drew closer, bending my head just to his level. The scent that wafted off his fur – the smell of dust and raw, animal musk – along with the tensing, flexing muscles of his legs and shoulders were just too much. It was all too much, too unreal.
He pulled away, dragging my open palm along his heavy fur, and took two steps further up the path. I followed, and when I was nearing, he took three more.
“What is it?” I asked aloud. “Do you want me to follow? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
At the end of a short sprint of not more than ten or fifteen yards, the wolf looked back at me and let out a short burst of sound, not a bark, not really. It sounded like a mixture of a grunt and a howl and even a little bit like a word, like when someone coughs and says ‘hey!’ at the same time.
