Mother of Wolves: A dark suspenseful paranormal shifter origin novella (The Dark Creatures Saga)

by Ella Stone

  Two years. Somehow two years had passed and yet I still couldn’t come to terms with what I was. Refused to accept the fact that I was no different from the monsters around me, despite the fact that our dining habits were the same, our lusts, our urges, were identical. But what went on in my mind, the endless conflict between who I was, what I had done and worse still, what I was capable of doing, never ended.

  I still marvelled at my former arrogance, my naivety before I had encountered the Duchess. I had been a farmer’s son. My father had a good-sized patch of land that I had learned to work from an early age. But my size meant that I stood out from the crowd. Back then, it was something I used to my advantage. Long days spent heavy lifting and working with the animals meant that, before I was even thirteen, I was winning brawls with men twice my age.

  By sixteen, I had learned that this could be very profitable and I would spend my days on the farm and my nights earning money in any village staging a fist fight. I lost two back teeth, cracked so many ribs I lost count but, by eighteen, I had saved enough to buy myself my own patch of land and the materials to build a house to go on it. But I wasn’t just doing it for the money. It was for the adrenalin and for the glory.

  The day I met her, I had gone into a nearby town for a contest. According to rumours, there was a new challenger visiting, one who only wanted to fight the best of the best, and had already laid out several of the men in the region. Something like that would guarantee a lot of wagers and therefore big winnings, if I could take him out. Not to mention the notoriety that would come with it. That was what mattered the most. Truth be told, I would probably have taken the bait even without the prize money involved. It almost makes me laugh, thinking back to how arrogant I was. How little I knew of the world.

  As was customary, I ate dinner around the table with my parents and two younger sisters, before rising to take my leave.

  “Not again, Rhett,” my mother said, wincing visibly as I moved to fetch my coat. “One of these days, you will come home with worse than bruising or a few cracked ribs.”

  “Or not come home at all,” my father added.

  After leaning in to kiss her forehead, I slipped my arms inside my coat.

  “You shouldn’t worry so much. There’s not a fighter within twenty miles I can’t beat. This is a huge opportunity—the winnings will be enough to set us up for life.”

  “We already have enough, Rhett. Please don’t say you are doing this for us.”

  “Of course I am. I am doing it for all of us.”

  I blew a kiss to my sisters, ignoring the worry lines that were etched deep into my mother’s forehead.

  It is impossible to explain how my last words to them haunt me. How they were so flippant at the time, but must now hurt them so much. When I imagine what must have been my mother’s devastation when I didn’t return home that night. Her sorrow at all the rumours that must have flown around the village. All the hardships she and my sisters must have endured, helping my father on the farm, now that I was no longer there. And all without any explanation as to where I had gone, what had happened. Her last memory of her only son was him telling her that he was doing it all for them. She must have felt that she was responsible. Maybe I do deserve this, after all.

  Most of the fights took place in barns, far enough away from houses so as not to disturb the families, although much of the community would gather around to watch. I had fought in everything, from stables— rich with manure and, in one case, a sleeping bull in one corner—to the yards of manor houses, where the servants had decided to earn themselves some extra money, while their lords and ladies were away. Many of the faces you saw each time were the same, week in, week out. The ones with the drinking problems, who hoped that maybe they would win a few coins to help feed their habit that night. The ones who were closer to gentry themselves than many would ever have guessed, disguising themselves in commoners’ clothes and using foul language. Those who came because the familiar faces they saw each time were the closest thing to friends that they had. They were, in a bizarre sense, a family, who made wagers on my ability to throw and take a punch better than the person I was facing. But, right from my arrival that night, I knew something was off.

  It had been an hour’s walk, along narrow paths and through copses and, though I saw a few people heading in the same direction, I kept a slow pace behind them. I had learned from years of experience that listening to stories about who I would be fighting never put me in the right mindset for the fight ahead. But as I approached the barn, the lamps a beacon in the darkness, I started to feel uneasy.

  The quiet. That was the first thing that struck me. These events were usually a hive of activity—shrieks of laughter and drunken bellows; peddlers trying to barter their latest wares—but, that night, it was all so subdued, so low key, that I wondered if I had even come to the right place. As I stepped inside, there was no reaction. Very little talking. Just furtive whispers running between the men and women, like a night-time breeze through long grass.

  “Edmund?” I found the man who took the wagers, from whom I would get a sizable cut of the profits. “Where is he? Who am I fighting?”

  His eyes could barely meet mine for all their shifting about. “You shouldn’t do this, Rhett. This is not good.”

  “What’s not?”

  “Please, just take my word for it.”

  “I’ve never backed out of a fight in my life before. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but this ain’t right.”

  And that’s when I saw her. The woman in the centre of the crowd. The woman in the ring.

  I could hardly believe it and found myself laughing. Sure, there were some women I would think twice about taking on. Gertrude, who owns the dairy farm in the village, for one. I’ve seen her dragging heifers around twice her size. There’s no chance I’d mess with her. My mother had a strong left hook on her too, I’d learned. But this woman wasn’t anything like Gertrude. She wasn’t like any woman I’d ever seen before. Her violet eyes shone out in that dim place, and she moved with an unusual grace, a fluidity. At the time, it reminded me of a cat. Now I know it’s a far more deadly creature that has a bearing like that. Poor, naive me.

  Those violet eyes provoked a sense of excitement in me. Noticing me watching, her lips turned upwards in a smile. I pulled off my jacket, handed it to Edmund and made my way towards the ring.

  “What are you doing, Rhett?” he said, chasing after me. “You can’t be serious. You can’t fight her.”

  “Why not? She’s already in the ring. And you know what they say. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.”

  I stepped through the crowd of spectators and across the imaginary line defining the perimeter of the fighting area. The nervous whispering continued. One lone cheer came from the back. A drunk, no doubt, but it gave me all the encouragement I needed. I wasn’t about to let him down now. The woman’s smile had not faltered from the moment she had caught me looking at her. It widened as I approached, causing a shiver to run the length of my spine.

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to fight,” she said.

  “Because you’re a woman?”

  “Because you’re going to lose,” she chuckled, as she started circling me, the way these fights always begin. The predator and the prey. That was what this little dance was all about.

  “So, you don’t think it’s wrong to hit a lady?” she asked. “Your friend there thinks it is.”

  I began my own circling, widening out the circle, trying to make her follow me.

  “I think a lady should get to make her own decisions in life. Just the same as a man can.”

  “I like your thinking. Perhaps, when I beat you, I’ll keep you for myself. How about that for a wager? If you win, you get all the money. If I win, I get you.”

  “You’d have to beat me first.”

  “So, it’s a deal?”

  “Okay. What are you waiting for?”

  “You’re right. I should get on with it.”r />
  She had barely finished what she was saying, when she slammed her fist into my gut. Clean, precise. Just below my ribs. I doubled over. A punch like that would normally result in just a winding, but I could feel it all the way up my chest, as if the bones were crumbling beneath my skin.

  Gasping, I righted myself, lifting my arms again to protect against another blow. I needed a minute before I could try a counter attack.

  “Do you want to give up?” she asked, the smile now bordering on a sneer.

  “Because of one lucky shot? I’m good.”

  “Now you don’t really believe that was luck, do you?”

  However, at that point, I did. I had let her distract me, that was all. But it wasn't happening again. After a few bluffs, I lunged. My aim was good, but she twisted away and my knuckles barely grazed the fabric of her blouse. As my fist went past her, she struck again, this time on my back, square and sharp and just below my shoulder blades. I toppled forward. Dust from the ground sprayed up into my mouth.

  “Most people go down on the first one,” she laughed. “I’m impressed you needed two.”

  I wanted to get on my feet as quickly as possible. I had to get back up, ready to punch again, but a throbbing pain was burning through my shoulders. My vision darkened as she loomed over me, which was when I swung my leg out, catching her behind the knees. It took everything I had. I was certain it was enough to topple her yet, when I rolled over, my jaw clenched against the pain, there she was, still perfectly upright, eyes filled with satisfaction.

  “Yes, I’m definitely keeping you.”

  For the first time since I’d turned fifteen, I had lost a fight. But not to a woman. I already knew that, as I lay there on the ground, feeling the heat leaching from the air around me. This was no woman. And I was hers.

  She hoisted me up, gripping me under the arms, as if she were helping an old man.

  “He lost the fight,” she said. “He’s mine now.”

  I must have fainted with the pain.

  When I came to, I was here in the castle, along with tens of others. It was a feast night and Edmund was on the menu.

  “I’m glad you’ve woken up at last,” she said, those violet eyes gleaming at me. “We were almost out of food.”

  I buried the girl, Joanna, outside the castle grounds in a copse that had been full of bluebells a few weeks earlier. I couldn’t bring myself to leave a cross in the earth, or say a prayer, for I can no longer believe that any god would allow such creatures as me to roam the earth. But I found a stone, large and white, that glimmered with flecks like moonlight on a pond, and I placed it on the spot. It was a better burial than the rest of them got, I told myself. It would have to be enough.

  3

  EVE

  The mood in the dungeon the following day was, if possible, even more sombre.

  “When will they come back?” I asked. “How long until they try again?”

  “A couple of days,” Victor told me. It was hard to be sure in the dim light of the dungeon, but he looked around the same age as my father. His hair was grey and his skin weather-beaten and leathery. “Whatever that serum is, it takes time to prepare. They won’t want to risk it again until the physician thinks he is ready.”

  “A couple of days,” I said, wondering if there was any way to know what hour of day it was even now. “So, we have time.”

  “For what?”

  “To plan our escape.”

  That was the first and only time I heard laughter in that awful place. Not from Victor, but from another woman, Martha, who was sitting in the cage next to his.

  “Where would you go? Couldn’t you see where we are when they brought you in?”

  “It was dark and trees were hiding the moon”

  “Yes, there’s nothing but forest for miles. And have you not heard the wolves?”

  I had to admit I hadn’t although, at that exact moment, a solo howl echoed through the night.

  “There has to be somewhere we could reach.”

  “There is nowhere you would manage from here.”

  All eyes turned to the doorway. A vampire had slipped into the dungeon, so silently we hadn’t even heard him arrive. The light of the torches glinted off his skin. And, as every human scurried to the back of their cage, he remained perfectly still. And he was looking at me. Goosebumps spread along my arms.

  “I wanted you to know that I buried her. I will bury them all from now on.”

  “Or, better still, you could just not kill us,” I replied.

  His lips flickered up in a half snarl and my heart started to hammer against my ribs, but I held his gaze. What was the worst he could do?

  “Try to understand, not all prisons are made of iron.”

  That was when I saw it for the first time. Saw all the pain so clearly in his eyes. But they were monsters. They were all monsters and I wasn’t going to let one small act of respect, burying a human, lead me to believe otherwise.

  “You helped them kill her,” I said, possibly as much for my own benefit.

  “I don’t have a choice in that. Besides, maybe death is kinder.”

  “Kinder than what?” I asked, but he had gone and the dungeon door was left swinging on its hinges. Kinder that what? A new sense of dread hung in the air. After all, what could be worse than death at the hands of a vampire? It didn’t take us long to find out.

  When the physician next came, he was not accompanied by just one or two vampires, but a full dozen. Among them, was mine. It feels wrong calling him that, after what he had done but, at this point, I didn’t know his name. I was to learn that later. Still, for the ease of narration, I will tell you now. Rhett. The vampire that damned me forever was called Rhett and I was already beginning to make the error of mistaking him for someone with human qualities.

  Of all the vampires that had entered the room, one drew our particular attention. The Duchess. It wasn’t because she had once been a woman—nearly half of them had been—it was the way she commanded authority. Her eyes glowed with a violet hue and her skin was almost luminescent in the pale light. She was petite, with an almost cherubic face. Her long, dark hair fell in perfect curls and her fingers were heavily decorated with rings, with large gemstones that glinted and gleamed, even in the half-light of the dungeon.

  The physician trembled. A moment of sympathy flickered through me and I extinguished it immediately. However he had been forced to do this, whoever had control over him, it had led to the death of innocent people at his hands. I thought in that moment that had I been in his place, I would rather have killed myself than been forced down such a path. I have learned since that things are seldom so black and white.

  “All of the trials so far have failed.” The Duchess’s voice was deep and resonant. “You told me you would have perfected the serum by now.”

  “It is a work in progress, Your Highness. Science is about trial and error.”

  “I do not accept errors.”

  He cowered. “I apologise. I merely meant that—”

  “I do not care what you meant. I was clear about my terms. You understand what will happen if this does not work?”

  “I do, and it shall, Your Highness. It shall. I have refined the serum. This time it will work.”

  “Good.” She turned her attention to the vampire at her side. “Dimitar, fetch me two specimens. Strong ones. I don’t want any more excuses.”

  It took less than a second to realise that he was heading straight for me. All the muscles in my body went weak with fear, as I racked my mind for a way out. His hand reached for the padlock.

  “No. You don’t want her.” Rhett stepped forward. “She’s been ill all night.”

  Dimitar frowned. “She doesn’t look sick.”

  “Trust me, I was here. I came down and had to listen to all the whining. The fever can only have broken an hour or so ago. She will still be weak. We can’t risk it. Not when we need this to work.”

  His eyes narrowed on Rhett, who held his gaze, n
ot looking away. Even though I knew every word from his lips was a lie, I could have believed him. The way he held himself, so relaxed, so confident.

  “Fine,” Dimitar relented. “Although I was looking forward to this one. I guess there will be plenty of opportunity for me to have my fun.”

  A wave of relief washed over me, as I caught Rhett’s eye. The acts of kindness were adding up now. As much as I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I could feel my loathing wavering.

  “Thank you,” I mouthed. He shook his head a fraction and followed after Dimitar, who had just raised his hand and pointed to a different cage.

  “We’ll take this one instead.”

  It took a moment for me to see exactly where he was indicating. Victor. One of the few people who had spoken to me since my arrival, or had made any effort to get to know me. And I was about to lose him. He stifled a gasp as his door was yanked open. He held his head high as he was led forward, not a whimper or a tear. And then it was Martha’s turn to be pulled from her cage.

  “This is the latest serum?” the Duchess asked as, just like before, the pair were shackled with chains to the rings in the floor.

  “It is. It is Your Highness,” the physician replied. “I have modified it since the last attempt.”

  “The last failure, you mean.”

  Ignoring the remark, he busied himself with the tubing and syringe.

  There were no screams from Victor, no writhing. No wails of protest from Martha either. My respect for the pair grew even greater. To have seen everything that they had and still hold their nerve, was exceptional. I didn’t think I would be able to face my doom so calmly. Everyone in the dungeon held their breath, once again, although none so noticeably as the physician himself. His hands were shaking so badly, that he could barely hold the equipment.

  “This is taking a long time.”

  “I apologise, Your Highness. I’m sorry. Yes … it’s ready. I will proceed now.”