by Cheree Alsop
“Did Sam?” Ben asked softly.
I leaped at him and it took four werewolves to hold me back. Larger than any of them, I often felt more like a bear than a wolf. I waited until I felt under control again, then shrugged them off. The knife wound across my back had open again and start to bleed. I rubbed my forehead and sighed. “Zach, Max, take the trucks and haul the Hunters' bodies to White Horse Canyon.” I met Ben's eyes. “We need to prepare our friends' bodies to send home to their families.”
He looked like he wanted to say something, then he nodded and turned away. I sat next to Johnny. “How's the arm?”
He grimaced when Thomas touched a particularly painful area. “Just peachy,” he said from between gritted teeth.
I gave a small smile. “What's the other guy look like?”
He let out a laugh. “You don't want to know.”
Traer entered the room with his physician bag. He tended to Johnny's arm in silence, stitching the wound with just enough thread to hold it together so it would heal without scarring. He then nodded toward my back. “You gonna let me take care of that?”
“It's fine.” I shrugged, then winced. It should have started healing, which meant the knife she had used was silver and there were possibly fragments in the wound. I gave up and pulled my shirt off, then leaned forward in my chair.
“By fine, you mean still bleeding and full of silver slivers?” Traer replied, frowning. He pulled instruments from his bag and got to work.
Chapter 2
I met Ben and Thomas in the storage room. The bodies of our friends had been laid gently on the tables we usually used to clean our weapons. It felt wrong to smell their blood mixed with the tang of steel and oil. Sam’s pale face stared unseeing at the recessed lights above. The life was gone from his gaze. It was as though I looked into the vacant eyes of a fallen elk. I reached out and closed his eyelids with a hand that covered up most of his face. His cool skin sent a rush of regret through my body and I fought down the urge to phase and run away, leaving the others to do the job I dreaded.
I dressed Sam in the clothes he saved to wear when his parents came to visit. The black shirt, red tie, and slacks failed to hide the haunting wound in his forehead that glared at the edge of my vision no matter where I looked. I combed his hair, smoothing down the cowlick that persisted stubbornly in front. His black hair stuck up again despite my efforts and I blinked back tears at memories of him running through Two, his eyes bright and hair a mess as he followed me around. Three years younger than me, the kid was constantly into everything to show me he was old enough to be my second despite the lack of the usual hierarchy of a pack within Two. I turned away with the painful thought that I wouldn’t hear his footsteps trailing me any longer.
Ben and Thomas finished with the other bodies, and then as if on cue the remaining werewolves in our group filed into the room. It felt small, cramped with the scent of werewolves and blood, steel and pain. No one spoke and eyes flitted over the bodies to rest on me, waiting.
I dreaded the words I had never spoken, words that were inevitable now. I took a breath, let it out, then said quietly, “My brothers, bodies of flesh and blood no longer your souls hold. Run without the confines of bone and sinew, howl without the constriction of lungs or breath, and live within the embrace of the moon and her welcoming light. Your lives are one with wolvenkind, and your hearts will beat with ours forevermore. You will not be forgotten.”
The other werewolves repeated the words four times, once for each slain brother, in a low chant that echoed mine. The voices spoke the words that had been passed on to us by our parents and drilled into our thoughts when we were young. The words were older than our parents’ parents. Each werewolf at Two knew the chant, but none had ever wished to repeat it. It felt final, as though as the last word faded away it took the souls of the werewolves with it.
I closed my eyes and a howl reverberated from my chest. I never howled in human form, but the Uniting Chant required it, combining both the human words with the mourning cry of the wolf. A wolf howl expressed pain and sorrow far above the limited words of the human, and I put every throb of pain and loss from my heart into the howl. The others waited until my voice rose, then theirs lifted as well to mingle heavy and full of sorrow in the room. When I stopped, the tones echoed down the long red rock corridors, whispering back to us as though the souls of those who had been slain called in answer, their voices faint from the life beyond.
I set a hand on Sam’s head and closed my eyes again. “Never forgotten, always one,” I whispered. I moved to Sy’s table and did the same. The others followed me, their voices quiet after the howl. When I finished with Jason and Riff, I left the room and walked down the corridor to one of the back exits we rarely used. The footsteps of the others faded away behind me. The ritual was done, now everyone would have their space to mourn alone.
Once my feet touched the sand still warm from the sun, I took off my shirt and phased. I padded away from Two, my mind escaping into the simpler thoughts of the wolf. The loss pounded with every beat of my heart, and the thought that I had failed those who looked to me for protection echoed over and over in my head. I bowed my head and let me paws take me away from Two and the sorrow that would meet me when I returned.
***
I walked back to my room later that evening, my mind heavy with loss. I kept seeing Sam’s blue eyes, open but blank to the world, no reflection of life left where such a spark of joy and excitement had been.
I put my forehead against the door to my quarters for a minute; the cool metal brought a slight relief to my pounding headache. I pushed the door open, shut it behind me, then was blinded by a spark and something slammed into my shoulder. It took me a second for my eyes to clear so I could make out the Hunter girl crouched beside my couch with a gun in her hand.
“Are you crazy?” I demanded. I gestured toward the door. “I'm the only thing standing between you getting torn to pieces by a dozen angry werewolves.”
She glanced uncertainly at her gun, then glared at me. “Don't you feel pain? Shouldn't you be dead on the floor or something?”
I fought back a growl and took a step toward her. “I'm concentrating on not tearing you apart myself right now.”
“Like an animal,” she said with a satisfied tone as if I had answered a question she hadn't voiced.
“Like someone who just got shot.” I crossed the space between us and ripped the gun from her hands, then threw it across the room. “If you recall, you attacked us. We were minding our own business when you came to camp with guns blazing.”
“You're werewolves,” she said as if that should answer it.
“We bleed just like you,” I shot back.
Footsteps ran down the hall followed by pounding on the door. “Vance, you alright?”
I glared at the girl and she cowered against the couch. I made my way back to the door and leaned against it, my shoulder on fire. “Everything's alright. I was just testing out these new guns.”
Thomas' voice was doubtful. “Try it outside next time. It'll keep you from going deaf.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” I replied dryly.
He waited for a minute outside the door, then his footsteps receded down the hall.
My arm tingled and fingers were numb. I flexed them and turned back to the girl. “What did you guys add to these bullets, anyway?”
Her face was pale as if she realized I had just saved her life again. I didn't have any doubts as to what Thomas would do if he found out she had shot me. She swallowed. “Uh, I'm not sure. My dad's the one who makes them.”
The numbness was spreading up my arm to my chest and throat. It started getting harder to breathe. I made my way to the kitchen and fumbled through the drawers for anything I could use. I found tongs, a sharp knife, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, then sat down at the table still laden with guns. I was careful to face the girl in case she tried anything.
I gingerly took off my shirt and tossed it to t
he floor. The girl's breath caught at the sight of the wound. I met her eyes and was taken back again by how bright green they were. She held my gaze, her expression unreadable. “You going to take out the bullet by yourself?” she asked; my ears caught a slight tremble to her voice.
I shrugged, then winced. “You see anyone else here?” I dumped some rubbing alcohol on a rag, then used it to the clean the knife and tongs. I glanced at my shoulder. Angry red lines streaked away from the wound. I hesitated, then poured rubbing alcohol on it as well. My shoulder throbbed at the burn. I slammed the bottle back down and held the edge of the table. My vision blurred and it took several minutes for it to clear.
“You okay?” the girl asked, a worried edge to her voice
I forced myself to stay upright. “Whatever your dad coated around these bullets is strong. Tell him kudos for that.” I touched the wound. The edges were hot and angry and hadn't started to close. I picked up the tongs, fought down the urge to throw up, and stuck it in the wound. I breathed through my nose to keep from passing out at the pain. White streaks danced in front of my vision.
The girl walked toward me. I stood up to defend myself, then my legs gave out and I fell to the floor. The jolt sent the tongs deeper into my shoulder and I bit back a yell.
“I'm trying to help you,” the girl said, her voice anxious. Her hands were soft and tiny over mine. She kept one hand on my chest and took the tongs in the other. Fire raced through my body as she worked to pull out the bullet. She breathed softly, her face inches from mine and her eyes tight with concentration.
“Almost got it,” she whispered to herself.
A spasm shook my body. She grabbed the bullet with the tongs and pulled it free, then held me down the best she could and poured more rubbing alcohol into the wound. The burn of the liquid slowly stole through my body and chased away the paralyzing effects of the bullet’s coating. My labored breathing eased and vision slowly came back into focus. I squinted and made out the girl crouched over me, her eyes wide with concern and fear.
“Did I kill you?” she whispered.
I nodded and a tight smile touched the corners of her lips. “That's what you get for saving me,” she said softly.
I rested my head back against the cold tile floor and took several deep, calming breaths. The pain of the wound was already fading and I could think again. I eased myself up so that my back rested against the oven.
“I don't think you should move,” the girl protested.
“I'm just glad I can,” I replied. I flexed my hand, relieved to find that the numbness was almost gone. I set my head back and concentrated on breathing.
“Are any other werewolves as big as you?” she asked quietly.
I fought back a small smile. “Not that I’ve met,” I replied with my eyes closed, “But that number is limited.” I let out a breath and tipped my head to look at the girl. “Your Hunters killed four of my friends today.”
The sadness that swept across her face was genuine. She dropped her eyes and nodded. “I know. We were just scouting. They weren't supposed to attack, but Jerome’s always itching to kill.”
“Do others know you're here?” I studied her face, looking for any sign that she would lie to me.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “We weren't even supposed to be this far south. Rumor had it that a werewolf was spotted at a town about twenty miles north. We didn't find any sign and kept going. We practically ran into your sentry.”
The tracks and Riff's unfired flare gun told the same story. It took a lot to ambush an Alpha. I wondered if he had fallen asleep from his late night with Marcie. I rubbed my eyes with my right hand. I shouldn't have let him keep his scheduled watch, but he insisted and sometimes it was easier to give in than to argue. Arguing Alphas wasn’t a pretty sight, and Two had taken more than its fair share of brawling. Now he was dead.
“What about the other Hunters?” the girl asked softly, dread in her voice.
I didn't know how to soften the blow. I let out a slow breath. “They're all dead.”
She leaned against the table with her eyes closed. A tear leaked from between her lashes and rolled down her cheek.
“Were they your friends?”
She nodded. “Most of them. They were Hunters in training. I wasn't supposed to go out with them, but Jerome convinced me.” She turned her head and met my eyes, her own heavy with sorrow. “I shouldn't have gone.”
I took a deep breath and winced when it pulled at my shoulder. “I know I'd be in better shape.”
Her eyes took on a brief glimpse of humor that was quickly chased away by sorrow. She pushed up from the ground, then stumbled on her injured leg. I caught her before she could fall, biting my teeth against the pain that jolted through my shoulder. I noticed for the first time that blood had soaked through the bandage on her thigh.
“You should be resting,” I rebuked gently.
“I will if you will,” she replied in a weary voice.
I glanced at the guns on the table. “Do I need to hide these first?”
A pained smile touched her lips. “I promise I won't shoot you again.”
“And the other werewolves?”
She nodded.
“And no more slicing people?”
She rolled her eyes and stood slowly. I rose next to her, fighting back a smile when she tried to help. “Not so big and bad, right?”
She didn't answer and limped toward the couch. I shook my head. “You take the bed. I won’t be sleeping much tonight anyway.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but weariness reflected in her expression; she nodded wordlessly before heading toward the bedroom. I followed her, grabbing some clean bandages from the table on my way past. She glanced back at me with a guarded expression. I lifted the bandages and she sat on the edge of the bed.
Traer had cut her pants high enough to tend to the thigh wound. The girl pulled the cloth back and let me wrap another set of bandages around her leg. Her face was white, her green eyes and black hair a sharp contrast to her pale skin. Dark circles had begun around her eyes. She watched me quietly with unreadable thoughts hiding behind her searching gaze.
“You need to sleep,” I said. I helped her back on the bed and put a light blanket over her.
“I feel bad taking your bed,” she said softly.
“I hear roughing it on the couch is good for character,” I replied. I went to the door and watched her for a minute in case she needed anything, but her soft, steady breathing said that she was already asleep. She looked so small in the bed my mother had specially ordered to fit my hulking size.
I turned away at the thought that she was a Hunter who had come to kill my friends. She might not have been the instigator, but I had no way of knowing if any of the deaths I mourned had been at her hand. I settled on the couch, weary and with a throbbing shoulder. I glanced back once at the bedroom, then rose and shut the door. The sound of it opening should awaken me if I didn’t sleep too deeply.
I sat back on the couch and leaned my head on the cushion. The scent of my parents had long since vanished from its fabric, and only the smell of the girl tangled with my scent that colored everything in my room. No one else came in here. The thought comforted me and brought bitterness at the same time. I rolled over and gave in to the dark shadow of sleep.
Chapter 3
I awoke to the sound of running water. It took me a minute to remember where I was and why my shoulder throbbed with each beat of my heart. I pushed up from the couch gingerly and followed the sound to the bathroom. The door was open a crack and the scent of water drifted out. I put a hand on the doorknob to pull it shut and give the girl some privacy, but the mirror showed her huddled on the floor of the shower, her arms around her knees, her head bowed, and her clothes still on. My heart slowed at the scent of blood and the memory of her injuries.
“Are you okay?” I asked just loud enough to be heard over the shower.
When she didn't answer, I stepped inside. I
crossed the bathroom and pulled open the clear plastic shower door. She didn't look up at me, her head on her knees despite the pain it must cause to her thigh. I reached down slowly and touched the top of her head. The water that soaked it was freezing.
“What are you trying to do, die of hypothermia?” I asked. I adjusted the water so that it was warm, but she didn’t move. I took a steeling breath and, for lack of other options, eased myself slowly down beside her. I felt like a giant next to her tiny, graceful form. I didn’t know what to do with my arms, so settled for crossing them in front of my chest. My shoulder ached, but I ignored it.
Several minutes passed in an empty silence. I didn't know what to do. She was a Hunter and her friends had killed mine. My parents would demand that I execute her, yet she looked so small and pitiful sitting on the floor of the shower. The sorrow in her eyes reflected the ache in my heart. The silence lengthened, broken only by the patter of water against the tile. She then turned her head to look at me, her eyes red along with her cheeks and nose. “All my friends are dead.” Water dripped down her face, adding to the miserable sadness I read there.
I swallowed against the knot that formed in my throat. “Mine, too.” I lifted my good arm and she ducked under it. She shivered against my side and I held her close until the warm water chased away her chills. Her muscles relaxed and I felt her lean into me. I tipped my cheek against the top of her head and felt the soft brush of her hair against my chin. We stared off together in silence, no longer alone in our pain. The minutes stretched until time didn’t matter; all that mattered was that my enemy needed me, and I needed her, too.
***
Her breathing slowed and it eventually turned to the steady rhythm of sleep. I reached up and turned off the shower with one hand while keeping her in place with the other. I fumbled for the towel hanging on the outside of the shower door, then wrapped it around her the best that I could. I knelt and gathered her in my arms, afraid that I would hurt her with any quick movements. I pushed open the shower door with my foot and made my way quietly down the hall.
