"Maybe they were dreams, but I've never felt anything more real."
"Is that so?"
"That is so. When I was thirteen, I dreamt my cousin Trish and I decided to go for a roll in the hay. It was so vivid that I couldn't look at her after without feeling like an incestuous mountain man. But these dreams...I'd rather fuck my cousin for real than think about them ever again."
"Thankfully, life doesn't require those kinds of hypotheticals."
"Where does that stuff even come from?"
"That bad?"
"I'll tell you about it some other time. Once my brain understands that it never really happened."
He felt feverish and his skin was soaked. There was a long road of recovery before him, though he seemed alert. A good sign, even if his flesh was pasty white.
"I'll get you something to drink. You must be dehydrated."
She returned with a large stein of iced tea. The cubes clanked as she set it down on the nearby hutch.
"This will cool you down some."
Allen gulped it down and licked his lips before handing the cupful of cubes back to her.
"That could be the most refreshing thing I've ever had."
He took his time with the next glass, asking about his injury in between sips.
Elisabeth did not have a problem with stretching the truth. She told him that he had been the victim of an animal attack ("probably a coyote") and set his mind at ease by lying through her teeth about how he had staggered back here before passing out cold.
"I don't remember that at all."
"I do not wish to think about what would've happened had you not been able to make it back. I would still be wondering what had become of you. Thinking that you had left me..."
He reached for her but she pushed his hand back down onto his chest.
"Conserve your strength."
"I'm sorry if I scared you. You must've gone out of your mind when you found me all messed up."
She shook his apology away, wishing she could remove pangs of guilt as easily. She maintained the charade by telling him the town doctor had already been out here twice to check on him.
"Twice? Shit, is it September already? I may need you to buy my school books for me."
She laughed and his eyes softened following the sound. "It's not even twenty-four hours, but I am not taking chances. We were worried about your heart, but it appears to be steadying itself out."
"I should call Jack..."
"Already done. I spoke to him this morning when I stopped by the resort to collect your things. I even invited him to stop by. He said it could wait until you were feeling better. Your friends all know where you are. Safe and sound…with me."
"What would I do without you?"
You would be knee deep in banality.
"Just get better." She stroked his wet cheek with soft fingers, losing her thoughts in his summer sky eyes.
"I am feeling better."
"Not by a long shot. You look better, true, but only because you looked dead. You are in the eye of the storm now, just as the doctor predicted. Finish your drink and go back to sleep..."
"I really feel okay...here, I'll prove it." Allen tried to stand, wincing as his mangled shoulder moved. He fell back onto the mattress and swore.
"Believe me now?" She took his cup and scraped a hand across his face, ignoring the sweaty scruff. "I just want you to feel better. So that we can pick up where we left off the other night."
"Maybe that's what I need to feel better…"
"Do you really want our first time to be rife with the possibility of disappointment?"
"Good point."
"See." Elisabeth kissed him. She was gentle to start but applied more force when she saw that he could stand a little of it. "I want you back in top shape. Get some sleep for me."
Allen's smile was meek. "I'm not through with you."
"I would be disappointed if you were. I shall be in the next room if you need anything."
Hopefully he would not. Not until he was through the Turning. This was just the start and she was not excited about the glut of questions that would follow.
How would he respond to her answers? What if he blamed her? Resented her? Not everyone was happy to receive this gift. Still, he had been wrapped around her finger before last night and she figured he would continue to be.
Really, he had no choice now. He'd be much too cowardly to go at this alone.
Worrying about the future was tiresome. With Allen improving for the better, she figured it best to be productive with the rest of the day.
One of the many challenges of adapting to domestic life was home upkeep. This place was furnished with all the trappings, right down to a sophisticated washer and dryer. They were tucked into an alcove off of the main hallway, and she kept her dirty laundry piled there with every intention of using them.
She could not.
When it came time to do a wash, she hoisted the basket of clothes and headed outside. Adapting to needless advances was the quickest way to lose one's roots, even if she lamented broken air conditioning.
A brook ran through the back yard, splitting the land with a zigzag of babbling water. She dipped loose sundresses into the stream one piece at a time. The water was cool as she forced the fabric against the assembled stones, careful not to stretch the material. Her mother had shown her this technique that separated the dirt from the fabric by slapping the damp material against flat-faced stones. Something about this manual labor was preferable. A properly executed stone wash preserved the integrity of fabric in a way that chemically dependent machine washes could not match. She never went out in public reeking of bleach, and the luster of her outfit didn't die a little with every wash. Keeping the art of stone washing alive was important to her because it was one of the last memories she had of her mother that wasn't a distant haze.
Smacking the dampened fabric against the submerged rock was all she could do to remember her face. Her warm smile and sunny eyes—it might have been nostalgia that made her features irreversibly affectionate, though she did not intend to question it. That final image before the holy men came to Iasi.
Before they came, Elisabeth would watch her mother drape garments over two massive rocks that poked from the river bend just outside the village. She used to sit on the bank, a little girl no older than nine, wondering about her future.
Things did not shape up the way she’d imagined…
They came when she was a woman in her twenties, torn between caring for her then-ailing mother and leaving in search of a better life.
History has been rewritten so many times that those religious barbarians are now heroes. There had been nothing heroic about their massacre of her homeland—about their door-to-door exterminations. They had taken her far away, same as every woman her age and much, much younger. Young and clueless, they were prisoners to be prepared for a life of servitude in the sisterhood of Christ.
After they tended to lonely killers and their more immediate needs.
"You know it's not the Dark Ages anymore, gorgeous..."
Elisabeth felt her neck hairs stiffen.
"We've got people to do that for you...don't gotta use the stream, either. Life can be grand."
Mestipen stood behind her. Elisabeth tensed at the sound of his voice. How had he been able to sneak up on her unnoticed? As deep as her thoughts ran, her senses remained attuned to her surroundings no matter which form she took.
She turned toward the gypsy's voice. He strutted from the driveway wearing loose-fitting jeans and an open chest moccasin vest—an outfit intended to showcase his admittedly impressive physique.
Indelible anger returned at the sight of him. He was not intimidating, with his gelled-up hair and spiked wristbands, rather his mere presence was an insult—and intended as such.
It would be nothing to take his life now, even in this form. The thought of sinking her teeth into his jugular made her heart flutter.
It would be so easy.
But not without a price.
"You and I are not on a formal basis, Mestipen."
"I'm here to talk, babe. And trust me...you want to hear what I have to say, ok?" Mestipen's English was better than last time, with only a hint of European intonation outlined in his vowels.
Why couldn't she remember when she'd lost hers?
She got to her feet and glared at the unwelcome visitor. At his back, discomforted cries carried through an open window. She kept her poker face and pretended they weren't there. Mestipen didn't appear to notice.
"I'll take your silence as my cue to continue, yeh?"
She said nothing.
"Well...it's like this, then. Our mutual acquaintance wants a word. I'm here to ask when you feel like having it..."
"Never."
"He told me you'd say that. Also told me to extend the most gracious of invites. He would be honored to host you tomorrow night. If that doesn't work, he is happy to come here."
"Tell him he'd better not do that."
"Said you'd say that too. Said that I shouldn't let you say that."
She laughed, and it was more than just an act of defiance. It was because Mestipen thought he was untouchable. Even though his threats carried no weight, and he could inflict no pain, he acted above her station. It incensed her so much it was funny.
"Tell Fane to forget about me. I did not come here for his sake and he knows it."
"Why would anyone believe that? Don't think that Mister Fane didn't realize when you showed up. It might've been the very night you arrived when he took me aside and whispered, 'the Huntress is close by.' He told me all about you. And Mister Fane says that if he can feel your presence, then you, Huntress, can surely feel his. That's why he does not believe that your arrival in Greifsfield was coincidence. Know what? I don't believe it, either."
"I don't care what you believe. Just because Fane and I have history together does not mean I owe him an audience."
Mestipen glared at her thighs. The shirt stopped after her hips, covering her modesty but not her legs. He lacked the perspective to understand that the only reason he lived was out of courtesy for Anton Fane.
"I would have you tell Fane to send a real diplomat next time, but I do not want there to be a next time."
The gypsy smiled. His grin was as sleazy as his hairdo. "Will you really be so quick to refuse an old acquaintance?"
"Look around you. Things are different...just as they have been for a very long time. Does Fane believe that I came here for him? All the way out here...to the middle of nowhere? I've chosen to avoid the interference of outsiders."
"Why the isolation?" The gypsy continued to undress her with long, obvious looks. His limited intelligence and imagination didn't need to extend much farther to obtain a full picture.
She was not shy about her body or sexuality, but she would not be ogled like a pinup girl by a trespasser on her property.
"With filth like you in these woods, I realize I am not isolated enough."
Allen screamed. This time his agony morphed mid-protest into a howl.
The gypsy snapped his head toward the house, and then looked back at Elisabeth as if she'd been caught red-handed.
He was off and running for the house.
Elisabeth was faster. A fistful of hair closed around flexed fingers. The gypsy snapped back and choked. She threw him to the ground with an animal's snarl, tossing the torn clump and bloody scalp roots atop him.
Her bestial side pounced. Her muscles tensed as bones shifted. Instinct raged to the forefront. Her lower jaw writhed in tiny, concentric circles while her lips wound back to offer a snarl.
There was no longer a cowering gypsy beneath her, just prey. The panic on his face incited the inner beast—taunting her to unleash it. Between wolf and woman, she leaned in like they were old lovers and bared her teeth.
"If you kill me he'll find you...and him!" His voice was choppy.
She licked her lips with anticipation, eager for a feast that would satisfy the animal's hunger. She needed a small distraction from Allen and this would do.
Allen...
The gypsy was right about one thing: if she killed him, Allen would suffer the consequences.
Mestipen was lucky. One more moment and her instincts would've been in complete control. She wanted to tear him to pieces and worry about the repercussions later.
She lifted her head from the nape of his neck and took her weight off him. Mestipen did not stick around, scampering down the gravel driveway in tears. Elisabeth watched until she could see him no longer. The roar of a motorcycle started up, and sped back to town at life-threatening speed.
Crash and die.
Coming down off of a partial transformation was about as uncomfortable and unsatisfying as fucking all night without orgasm—an unfulfilling experience in every regard. She stretched her arms and legs as her muscles tightened. The wolf did not wish for excuses, but she made them anyway, promising a Greifsfield buffet in the near future.
She walked back to the house, to the living room confines where she felt as caged as the wolf. Part of Mt. Greyrock's base was visible through the large bay windows, the sun blotted by an onslaught of drab clouds casting gloom over the Greifsfield sky.
Her ears flinched, wondering if Fane had more underlings nearby. It was unlike him to be this foolish, but she didn't know him anymore. No telling how time had changed him. Nor did she wish to find out. It was bad enough that he had been living in town for a few months before her arrival, now he wanted to relive their past.
How unappealing.
I should have devoured that gypsy and his innards.
The truce with Fane was forfeit if she moved against him, though there never should have been a truce to begin with. Their kind wasn’t intended for bureaucracy. She wouldn't have known the meaning of that word if not for Fane and his ridiculous treaties. Why Queen Alina tolerated his impositions was another mystery.
Unease dissipated as her thoughts returned to Allen. Warmth filled her as she curled up on the uncomfortable leather sofa and imagined life with her soon-to-be cub.
Outside, thunder tore through the sky, pelting the quiet valley with raindrops. Rain splashed the windows as the final semblances of sunlight gave way to stormy darkness.
She remembered the unfinished basket of laundry left abandoned by the stream and shrugged. No sense in trotting out there. What mattered more than anything was getting Allen though the next few hours. There was temptation to sleep them away, but that would be foolish. If anything happened, if he needed her for something, she would never forgive herself.
Her stomach rumbled, aware now that she hadn't eaten anything since the girl. The refrigerator was loaded with slabs of beef from the town butcher, but it was never as satisfying as a living meal.
The easiest solution was a return trip to that abysmal tourist trap resort. Any vacationer would do, but there was one in particular she wanted. A delicacy. No better time to separate Allen from his friend. If not, he was bound to show up here, asking questions and demanding answers.
He would have to die, and it was easier if Allen did not know. At least not until his humanity had waned. Hopefully, he would leave it behind easier than she did.
Allen's friend would be this evening's main course. The way he had looked at her two nights ago, with repressed desire, it wouldn't be difficult getting him to drop his guard. The poor soul wasn't comfortable around women—that much was clear. He had been unable to meet her eyes, despite wanting her badly.
This could be fun.
But how much fun was too much? She had to think about Allen now. A meal could only be a meal if she was going to take a lover. Monogamy was of no interest—not when sights, feelings and tastes of the flesh offered countless pleasures—but Allen deserved a say.
Relationship obligations. It felt like hundreds of years since she last worried about them, realizing that was about to change.
If he makes it, yo
u'll have a cub.
She stripped off Allen's shirt in anticipation, stalking through the house in restless motion. A caged animal waiting to escape. The thought of taking another person from Allen's life put her in a good mood, despite the unwanted visitor. Before last night, it had been years since she had planned her victims. Molly had been so pleasurable—the build-up, the meeting and the prolonged feast—that this felt necessary.
It was a part of her old life coming back.
She looked in on Allen. He had rolled onto his good shoulder. His breathing was shallow, but steady, and his heart was calm.
She sighed with relief.
A trail of darkened hair ran from the base of his neck to the small of his back. Thick clumps that hadn't been there earlier. His beautiful complexion was gone, replaced by patchy tufts of hair. His ears were slightly pointed, but had a long way to go.
He was a beautiful sight.
"That's right," she whispered, unable to contain her excitement. "You're mine now."
***
"I already told you, the police were here for two hours." The assistant manager acknowledged Jack's pressing inquiry with a patient smile that revealed two rows of absurdly white teeth. His high forehead housed a perfectly kempt head of hair. Every strand was brushed into place and showed no signs of graying, despite his age. His face was dark and leathery, a man who spent his nights sleeping in a tanning bed, most likely. He was big, with a large frame heightened by the extended shoulder pads atop the white sport coat. Pinned to it was a bronze, sparkling nametag that read: ASSISTANT MANAGER BALTHAZAR DAVIES.
"I never saw them."
"Well I'm sorry they didn't stop to check all the rooms."
"You look broken up about it."
"It was more than enough time for our guests to wonder what in the blazes is happening. We pushed the panic button today, forced all our people in for a mandatory shift to get our ducks in a row. Damage control, Mr. Markle, because one of your friends would rather play adolescent games."
"Not one of my friends," Jack said. "One of Lucy Eastman's friends."
The namedropping didn't faze him. He straightened his New Wave tie and pulled the linen sport coat over his bulging stomach.
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