Of Wolves and Wardens by Sylvia Mercedes
I lift my muzzle, sniff the air.
There’s a werebeast on my trail. I’m sure of it.
Throughout the day and into the night, I fled deeper and deeper into the wilder parts of Granny’s ward, where the Wood grows thick and dense and not even the fae would dare venture without utmost caution. Here, the shadows themselves seem infused with predatory purpose.
But nothing in this place is more deadly than I.
By now, Elorata must know her newest creation has failed to take me down. What’s more, Brielle is gone, beyond her boundaries, no longer subject to her will. If she wants to make a final end of me, she’ll need to use other means, and if her two remaining werebeasts can’t do it, she’ll hire another Monster Hunter. One way or another, I can’t be allowed to live.
My lip ripples back in a snarling grin. I don’t intend to go down quietly. I’ll make as much trouble for her as I can.
Kill . . .
The instinct is there. To stalk the witch, to break through her defenses, to savage her, end her. But something in me recoils from that bloodthirsty urging . . . that part of me which, even at this time of night, is still somewhat human. I must hold onto that humanity right up until the end. If I let myself go, if I let the beast fully take over, then Elorata will win. Even as I rip her to shreds, she’ll win.
I shake my heavy head and trot on through the trees. A full day has passed, and night has returned to Whispering Wood. I’ve survived again. A little longer at least. But now that telltale scent tickles my nose. I dare not ignore it.
Turning my head, I peer back over my hunched shoulder, my ears cupped, my nostrils quivering. There’s a werebeast out there. And it’s getting closer.
I am more wolf than man by now, and it’s easy enough for me to blend into the shadows, becoming like a shadow myself as I begin the careful, predatory dance of circling my pursuer. It takes a little time, a little caution, a great deal of precision . . . but soon I am downwind of the creature. Which means I am now the predator, not the prey.
My nose guides me through the trees and underbrush. I glide soft footed, taking care to make no sound despite the bulk of my transforming body. The other werebeast, by contrast, is clumsy in its movements. When at last I spy it creeping through a patch of moonlight, its head is down, too intent upon the trail it follows, too intent upon its immediate surroundings. Unaware of the shift in dynamic.
I smile.
Then I lunge from hiding, using the muscled power in my hind legs to send me flying across the distance. I slam into that other monster and knock it clean off its feet. We roll, snarling, and I feel claws trying to tear through my thick coat. When the rolling stops, I’m on top, my foe pinned beneath me.
And I look down into the face of a green-eyed werecat.
All the animal instincts in me vanish in a sudden flood of humanity. My mouth moves, my awful jaws, teeth, and tongue trying to speak her name. It comes out a barking growl. Frustrated, I shake my head and back off, my ears pinned back, a whine vibrating in my throat.
She picks herself up with great dignity, shaking out her coat. Her forelimbs are still overlong for her body, and a trace of her curved, womanly torso remains. Her long tail twitches with a life of its own, fur standing up along her spine.
Then she looks at me, half closes her eyes, and begins to purr. It’s such a loud, rumbling sound, I almost mistake it for a growl at first. But when she approaches me, there is no menace in her stance. She stretches out her face, rubs her cheek against mine. A completely catlike and possessive gesture.
Startled, I cringe away. But she continues purring and rubbing, pressing her warm body up against me. Her tail flicks under my nose as she loops around me, then she pads alongside me and sticks her head under my chin.
Oh, Brielle! Brielle! Why did you not flee when you had the chance? If I had a voice, I would urge you even now to go, to escape.
But I don’t have a voice. And . . . I’m glad.
Whining again, I lick her face. It’s such a ridiculous animal gesture. But it’s the most I can give. She shakes her head, surprised, and puts her ears back irritably. The next moment, a little yowl burbles in her throat, and she springs into motion, darting away into the trees.
I don’t stop to think, to consider. I simply rush after her, chasing her at first, then running alongside her. Our long limbs tear up the ground beneath us, and the trees seem almost to part and make room for our passing. We glory in the freedom of movement, in the power of our strange forms. I’m faster, but she is far nimbler, sometimes leaping up into tree branches and springing to the tops of jutting boulders.
We run through the night. We run until we are fully animal with no trace of humanity remaining. We run until the animal begins to recede, and our human selves slowly creep back. As our limbs lengthen and become more awkward, we slow our pace and eventually begin to walk upright. We don’t speak. Even now that our voices have returned, we hold our silence.
At some point, our hands clasp. Our fingers intwine.
Dawn finds us on the edge of a cliff, high above a rushing river. Not far from the place where Conrad fell, I suspect, though I can’t say for sure. We sit there and watch the moon fade and the sun begin to rise. When at last I turn to look at her, there’s very little cat remaining in her features. The pink dawn light falls on Brielle’s face, so fierce, so strong.
My gaze drifts downward, despite my best efforts. She’s wearing next to nothing—just a loose garment that serves to cover some of her nakedness, but not much. Just enough to make what is visible all the more enticing.
I, by contrast, am completely naked. I should be embarrassed, but strangely, I am not. After our wild run together, after the night shared as animals, modesty simply doesn’t matter as it once did.
She’s aware of my gaze on her. I can see by the way her jaw tightens and her intense concentration on the view before us. She’s aware, but she’s afraid of breaking this silence between us, of breaking this tentative connection we share.
But I’m not afraid. Not anymore.
I reach out and gently tuck a strand of tangled red hair behind her ear. She shivers at the brush of my fingertips and closes her eyes.
“I love you,” I say.
It’s funny how simple it is to speak the words now. For some reason, I’d thought it would be more difficult. But here they come, lightly spilling from my lips. Simple though they are, there is nothing frail about them, however. They are the strongest words I’ve ever spoken.
Brielle opens her eyes, her gaze still directed at the rising sun rather than at me. But I’m in no rush. I wait, watching her, drinking in the loveliness of her face in the glow of the new day.
Finally, she says, “I . . . I think I might love you too.”
My lips quirk. “You think so?” I chuckle and shake my head. “Well, I suppose I’ll be satisfied with that.”
She turns then, facing me. And there’s so much feeling in her eyes, her human eyes. Things I can’t even fully comprehend. I realize all over again how complicated this girl is. Loving her won’t be a simple matter.
As though responding to an impulse, she reaches out, catches me by the back of my head, and pulls me into a kiss. A smile breaks across my lips, making it difficult to kiss her back, despite my best efforts. She pulls away, stares into my eyes, and gasps, “You know I love you. You know I do.”
“Maybe,” I admit, still smiling. “But it’s nice to hear you say it.”
Then I wrap my arms around her, drawing her close for another kiss and another. And suddenly it both matters and doesn’t matter that we are so naked. In some ways, it’s a bit embarrassing . . . but also undeniably convenient.