by Eve Langlais
Am I imagining this? It seemed so real.
The wolf padded toward her, pounds and pounds of muscle and teeth. Adara held tightly to a hysterical giggle. How’s that for luck? I avoided rape so I could be mauled and eaten.
Run, you idiot. Run before he gets you. Because she could totally escape a wolf on foot. Wouldn’t giving in to her fear and making herself into fleeing prey paint a larger target on her?
Despite the icy cold coursing through her veins, she stood her ground. Clenched her fingers into tight fists and waited breathlessly as the beast approached. At least the wolf had stopped growling, and its hackles were down again.
Could it possibly mean me no harm? I should be so lucky.
Stopping in front of her, the large wolf sat. The big shaggy head tilted as it stared.
Adara’s heart stopped, and she held herself extremely still. This close, she could truly size up the beast. Immense, at least compared to her.
The vivid green eyes stared at her. No hint of Cujo in the gaze. More like reassurance and, oddly enough, intelligence.
Does it understand what it saved me from tonight?
He dipped his head then glanced at her again, his muzzle parted, but gave the impression of a grin, not a growl.
She blinked. If this weren’t a wolf, she’d almost get the impression he wanted her to pet him.
He is a canine. Why not pet him?
Because he was liable to bite off her hand.
If he wanted to bite her, he could. But he hadn’t. He’d done nothing but save her. Surely, that deserved a reward.
Swallowing hard, and with a courage she didn’t know she possessed, she held out a trembling hand and stroked the top of the wolf’s head. She didn’t speak, though. Somehow, saying “good doggie” seemed insulting. Besides, she didn’t trust the words to come out.
The fur between the wolf’s ears slid softly across her fingers, softer than she would have thought given its shaggy length. Like warm silk. She rubbed him, the contrast of her pale flesh against his fur stark. In the dimness of the street, he was pure darkness, making him blend well with the night.
Her body relaxed as she realized that the wolf didn’t intend to eat her. A miracle she didn’t want to question.
“Thank you,” she whispered to her bestial savior. Never mind that it probably couldn’t understand her, and his very appearance was strange. After all, wild beasts did not roam the city. But then again, dead things should not walk either, after being laid to rest. Perhaps she hallucinated or dreamed still.
At least this is a good fantasy for once. Perhaps her luck was about to change.
“I should go home now.” Before she tempted the Fates.
Those nasty bitches always meddling…
She blinked. The voice in her head quieted, but the wolf was still there.
The beast stood and faced the direction she’d traveled in before the untimely encounter. It glanced back at her as if to say, Are you coming? Maybe she did imagine it. Maybe she was already at home in bed. She didn’t care. Adara smiled at her unlikely hero, a tremulous curve of her lips that felt alien. “Will you walk me home, sir wolf?”
Again, as if it understood, the great beast nodded its head and, with a slow pace to match hers, escorted her home. And for the first time since she’d woken in the hospital, Adara felt safe.
Chapter Four
You let her pet you.
I did. His wolf’s smug reply.
Alpha wolves aren’t supposed to be petted. Especially not the leader of a pack.
This is what I think of rules. His beast’s visual idea of what he thought involved a lot of hip thrusting.
It seemed his wolf was feeling cocky since he was currently in the driver’s seat, which meant that Logan got to sit back and reflect on what the fuck had just happened. Starting with his pathetic need to follow the girl.
Transforming into his four-legged self, he ghosted after the girl—more like a woman, he realized. The fragile nature of her beauty just made her seem younger. He was calling himself all kinds of stalker when those asshats had stepped from the shadows to accost her.
Should have eaten them.
His wolf still wasn’t happy at his restraint. Usually, that kind of behavior would have resulted in a torn throat or two, definitely some blood, and a whole lot of warning to anyone else who thought it was okay to attack women in his part of town.
Logan had restrained himself more because he instinctively knew violence would frighten his skittish puzzle. Although why he should care about her feelings, he couldn’t answer. Which meant the thugs got away. For now.
But they’ll pay later.
That kind of douchery did not belong in his town. He would return to hunt them down and ensure that they didn’t hurt anyone else. It was his job. The punks, obviously new to this part of the city, needed to be reminded who ruled the night here. They might not believe in the monster under the bed yet, but they would soon learn to fear. Mortals sat at the bottom of the food chain, and they’d do well to remember that fact.
As Logan kept pace with his mystery lady, he tried to figure out why she’d proven less afraid of him—a big, bad wolf—than those two thugs. Hadn’t she ever read Little Red Riding Hood?
Apparently not, because she’d petted him like an overgrown dog, and the worst part—the part he would never admit to his pack—he’d liked it. When she smiled at him, her whole face lighting up, he might have promised her anything had he worn his man shape in that moment. As it was, his bestial side had appointed itself her protector.
Who will protect me from her? Whatever magic this female hid, it had to be potent to affect a rough-around-the-edges male such as him.
You should run, little girl, because this wolf wants to eat you.
But he wouldn’t because eating people—even strangely fascinating ones—was wrong. Just like peeing on the neighbor’s car was wrong. As was howling at chickens in order to make them lay some fresh eggs.
Of course, Mother only chastised Logan after they’d collected the warm eggs. And she never wasted them. He’d enjoyed his ill-howled gains with thick-cut toast, sausage, bacon, grits, and freshly squeezed orange juice.
Having managed to exchange one hunger for another—his momma’s home-cooked meals—he managed to concentrate better on his surroundings. The woman walked by his side, her fingers lightly resting atop his fur even though he didn’t need her to guide him.
Now that he’d homed in on it, her scent stuck out from the rest, and it was easy to trace her path home. A long walk past many blocks. Past alleys with watching eyes—and hungry mouths. Past rooftops whereupon perched the more aerially inclined predators. Past the grates alongside the sidewalks where things slithered.
A good thing he’d come across her. Her very innocent nature acted as a lodestone for bad things.
She needs a keeper.
Someone to keep her safe from harm. That person won’t be me. Logan’s only interest in her centered around finding out who and what she was. If she proved a threat, he’d eliminate her in a heartbeat.
His wolf didn’t like that one bit. His canine lip peeled back, and a growl rumbled forth, causing the slight steps beside them to stumble.
Stop that. You’re scaring her, Logan growled back.
Now, who’s protecting her?
Logan had fallen into a trap. If he could have, he would have scowled.
Arriving at a tenement building that, judging by its dilapidation, had never seen better days, she slowed down.
Keep going. You don’t want to stray here.
Except she turned toward the steps going in. Surely, she didn’t live here?
Logan’s nose wrinkled, his keen sense of smell overcome by the fetid stench that hung like a miasma around the building. The scent of human urine reigned supreme but vied with that of garbage left exposed long enough to draw maggots.
This is where she lives? He couldn’t imagine this delicate creature living in this vilest of habitats.
Even the rats steered clear of this place. Had Logan worn his human form, he would have shaken her and asked what she was thinking. Surely, she could find somewhere better to live. Even the homeless in their boxes enjoyed a cleaner environment.
He felt her fingers tangle in his fur, and to his even greater surprise, she threw her arms around him and hugged his muscled, furry body. Logan’s gaze darted around, and he was ready to snarl at anyone who might be looking and laughing. To his relief, they appeared alone.
“I wish I had something to give you.”
How about answers?
“I don’t even have a bone.”
Now that was just insulting.
“Thank you,” she whispered by his ear, her fresh scent a sweet ambrosia that momentarily overpowered the funk. Then she left, her slight frame darting inside and up the dark stairs, skittish as a rabbit.
Ah, hell. Despite all the reasons to ignore the woman, he dashed for the door before it closed. Holding his breath, he quietly followed her in and up. He hung back when she reached the third floor, emerging only when he heard the metallic sound of a key scraping in the lock as she let herself in then the click and rattle as she bolted and chained the door shut.
No screams. No thuds from inside. He paused a moment longer to listen before he padded down the hall, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Say, like another reanimated corpse.
The only things he discovered were the usual scents that came with human misery—the lingering smell of things cooked in too many spices, the pall of nicotine smoke that hung in the air, and the skunkier aroma of weed that clung to the very fibers of the wall.
But those were everyday scents. None justified staying.
Time to leave. He didn’t want to. He knew he had to.
Logan couldn’t spend the night here. A pack leader had responsibilities, and those didn’t include minding a strange slip of a girl.
She’ll be fine as long as she doesn’t open the door.
He told himself that many times as he left. It didn’t reassure.
Which was why he had to promise himself—and his wolf—that he’d return tomorrow.
He only hoped she lived through the night.
Chapter Five
Adara dropped wearily into the armchair she’d covered with an old, clean blanket. The ruined springs dug into her backside, but it was still more comfortable than the floor.
What a night. A zombie I may or may not have dreamed. Thugs. And then a giant wolf to my rescue.
Alice and her Wonderland had nothing on Adara’s life. All she lacked was an evil villain cackling “Off with her head.”
Your life isn’t a movie or a story. This was her reality. One that defied explanation.
“Why me?” she whispered. “Why?” Finally alone, her nerves stretched taut, she gave up trying to hold it in and giggled hysterically.
A wolf? Of all the things to imagine, she’d chosen a canine. I don’t even like dogs. Her body shuddered with forced mirth until the laughter turned into racking sobs as the shock set in.
I’m so scared. Something she could only admit to herself. She couldn’t tell the doctor; he’d lock her away again. She couldn’t tell anyone because she was alone.
Forsaken…
The safety she’d wallowed in while recovering in the hospital, coupled with an inability to remember, had kept her free of fear. That cocoon disappeared when she found herself dumped from her safe asylum nest and subjected to a splintering mind.
How long before I completely lose it?
Zombies and wolves. Even she knew it was crazy. And it would only get worse. How would she survive? When would the fear and nightmares she lived with each day stop feeling like a heavy stone dragging her down?
There’re pills in the bathroom. The ones the doctor gave you to help you sleep. Enough to end it all. Now.
No. I don’t want to die. Adara hiccupped and tried to rein in her emotions. She didn’t want her insidious thoughts to win. Suicide wasn’t the answer. Things would get better. They had to because, seriously, how much worse could it get? She’d already hit rock bottom.
Fearful that she might not control herself by taking just one sleeping pill, she decided to go without. She certainly felt tired enough to sleep for several days.
In the asylum, she’d eagerly waited for the little pill each night. It sent her into blissful oblivion. She liked that dark, quiet place.
But she couldn’t keep hiding in it.
So…no pill tonight. Just sleep. Adara left her uncomfortable chair to huddle on her mattress, which lay directly on the floor. She cocooned herself in several blankets, trying to stay warm, but still, her teeth chattered. It wasn’t the chill of the room but rather the shock.
Why do bad things keep happening to me? I’m not completely stupid. I know something occurred in the store, much as I’d like to pretend it didn’t, and as absurd as it seems. However, something saved me from that creature, and then, I was rescued again from those thugs. Why? And the better question, who? Who cared enough to bother?
Did it matter? Despite the danger she’d courted this evening, there was a bright side. At least she’d escaped the hospital. In the end, it wasn’t any safer than the real world. Not with the covetous eyes of the new male intern making her cringe every time she turned. All she’d had was fear—her constant companion after everyone else had abandoned her.
Exhaustion overcame Adara, yet her eyes refused to shut. How crazy to fear sleep?
Relax.
She breathed deeply, focusing on one thing, something that made her feel comforted. It used to be a chair. A giant, worn, burgundy seat in the corner of the recreation room at the asylum. It hugged her. Protected her back. She could even tuck her toes under her and keep them from getting nibbled.
Nibbled by what?
She shuttered her mind and tried to imagine that chair, except it turned ebony and hairy. And suddenly had eyes, vivid green ones. The shaggy wolf sat in front of her closed lids, his gaze reassuring.
Sleep. I’ll guard you.
For some reason, she trusted him. She let loose her hold on the waking world, slipping into a deep slumber, but not an easy one. Without the drugging effect of the pills, she found herself in that other place—the one she forgot every time she woke. But I know this place.
Knew it with the hazy recollection of déjà vu, and yet she didn’t recall ever actually seeing it. Only in her dreams, and it was always the same. A vast field of swaying grass, the green fronds long, some of them gone to seed, the smell of it fragrant. Interspersed among the vibrant green were flowers, the blooms much like poppies but of every imaginable color. In her dream, she sometimes plucked them and inhaled their vibrant scent.
Thinking of it had her reaching for a bloom. She snapped it from its stem and held it up. Stared. The hand holding the flower didn’t appear like her hand. It was stronger. Callused. Capable of doing things.
Nothing about Adara’s dream-self resembled her. In this imaginary world, she was tall with waist-length platinum tresses. Her body toned rather than emaciated.
She always found herself dressed in white from head to toe—white leggings that hugged her skin, the material soft and stretchy. Her feet clad in boots made of a supple leather so malleable she would have said synthetic except that sounded wrong. She wore a slim-fitting silky tunic, buttons marching up the center. Almost like a uniform.
There was no mirror in this place, so she never saw the face. Would it even be her face? Nothing else resembled her.
Not even the attitude.
This brighter version of herself had something Adara had yet to find—courage. When dreaming as her alter ego, Adara felt as if she could take on the world. She always enjoyed this part of the dream, even knowing what was to come. The ugliness that left her shaking and weeping when she woke in bed.
As with every other time she dreamed, she walked across the field of green grass—on my way to see…
Who? She could never quite see
a face.
The verdant ocean of color and life brought her great joy—but not as much happiness as…
A blank spot. Something missing.
Forget.
She found herself at the edge of a huge forest. It loomed over her, ancient and mighty, a veritable wall of gnarly giants whose spreading branches blocked the bright sunlight that streamed from an unseen sun. Shadows hid under those boughs.
Secrets, too.
Adara screamed at her dream-self to turn away, to not enter the woods, but her brave projection never seemed to hear. Would this shining version stop if she knew what was to come?
Probably not, because in the moment before I enter, I am happy. The last time I recall ever being such.
I step into the forest and, immediately, the warmth of the sun ceases bathing my skin. Cool air, a light breeze hinting at the darkness of the woods, kisses my flesh.
But I don’t shiver. I’ve nothing to fear.
I move deeper into the forest. I’ve been here many times before. Too many to count.
The bright light fades the deeper I go whilst the pockets of darkness spread.
The forest is old, and I can almost hear its slumbering snore. Perhaps that is why they’ve warned people not to come here.
I am not afraid.
A mournful wail emerges from the gloom ahead of me. A pathetic sound that stabs me. With no fear and good intentions, I head toward the heart of the forest. Here, there is no daylight. Nothing to warm the earth and grow a seed. Brown leaves and twigs crackle underfoot. Dead brambles and thickets snag at my clothing and hair. Minor distractions. I brush them off and push on, the heartbreaking cries putting haste to my step.
Ahead, I can see a huddled figure, a tiny, fragile thing, her knees drawn up so that frail arms might hug them. Hair as dark as the coal burned to stave off the cold covers her features.
A part of me wants to stop now and turn. Run from what comes next.
Running is for cowards. That girl needs my help.
I head toward her, only to halt as a sound draws my attention. I whirl, and my smile starts out as one of welcome but quickly fades.
