Wolf’s Fox by Juniper Hart
2
Ruthie couldn’t be sure if she was being followed or not, but that didn’t stop her from running. The feel of the wolf was close. When she turned, though, she didn’t see him on her trail.
Why did I stop to pet him? she asked herself dubiously. The sight of the smoky gray wolf had taken her by surprise out there in the woods. It was not that she had never seen animals in the wild—on the contrary. Most of her encounters with living, breathing creatures were those on four legs. However, over the years, Ruthie had learned to find solitude in various places on nights of the full moon, and never had she ever been seen by any creature—at least not to her knowledge. If she had been observed in the past, it had never come to her attention.
I’m getting too comfortable, she thought grimly, racing onward. Her lungs were full of air, almost bursting before she dared to stop, but by then, she knew she had dodged and woven through enough of the flora that if the wolf had followed, she had lost him.
A deep, panging regret shot through her. For a fleeting second, she considered turning back toward him. She couldn’t say what had drawn her so easily toward the wolf, but now that he was gone, she wanted him back in her view. She could still feel the softness of his fur beneath her fingers.
Don’t be a fool, she barked at herself, her naked form falling against a tree. The temperatures were below freezing, but the running had roused her adrenaline. She wasn’t far from the cave where she would find the cache of clothes she had left last month, but at that moment, she was too hot to consider dressing. Even so, she started toward the hidden area, certain now that the wolf had left her alone.
Slowly, as if she half-hoped he might find her again, Ruthie made her way over the icy path until she again felt the snow. Her limbs tingled with cold by the time she arrived in the cave, startling a family of rabbits who had found solace from the storm.
“You don’t have to go,” she called out to them as they scampered away, afraid of her arrival. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her voice was scratchy, unused for so long. Ruthie took several long swallows, sighing when she was once more on her own in the blackness of the cave. She dug out the bag of warm sweaters and pants, yanking them onto her long frame. In minutes, she was fully dressed in a pair of wool socks, a hat, scarf, and goose down winter jacket, trapping in the body heat she had created in the run.
The winterwear was most expensive and hardest to come by. In the summer months, Ruthie spent her limited time hunting down means to acquire them. It was difficult with such a short time frame to steal what she needed. It didn’t make her feel good, but there was little other choice for her, even after all those years. In fact, technology had made her endeavors more complicated, cameras and security light hindering her nighttime heists.
After so many decades of thievery, Ruthie would have thought that the stealing would get easier. After all, it only occurred once every few months, and only for necessities, but she’d had so many close encounters with being caught, she sometimes wondered if it wasn’t time to merely let nature take its course and let the winter elements end her in those few hours every month.
Or I could just move down south somewhere, to Florida or maybe out west to California.
It was a thought she’d had many times over the years. It would certainly make her winters easier and save her from having to rob unsuspecting households in Minneapolis so that she might clothe herself during nights like this.
But there was a reason that Ruthie didn’t leave, dangerous as it was to remain in Minnesota. She knew no other way. There was no recollection of a life before her escape, and the thought of running off into the unknown was just as terrifying as what waited for her in the area.
She rubbed her fingers together inside her mittens and zipped up the parka higher, looking around the dismal darkness for means to start a fire. Given the dampness, it would be futile to go searching for firewood outside the cave, but some industrious rodent had dragged branches and leaves inside the cavern at some point, giving Ruthie enough with which to work.
She pulled the previously stored lighter out of her pocket and ensured that it was still working, despite the temperatures. To her relief, the Zippo connected instantly, and she had a flame to start a fire inside.
I’ll have to locate some more lighter fluid on my next heist, she thought, trying to recall when she had last filled the device. That was not a night for thievery or hunting. That was a night to lay low and wait for the storm to blow over. In minutes, the warm glow radiated toward her, casting strange, eerie shadows on the gray walls of the cave, and Ruthie sat back, cuddled inside the oversized coat. There was nothing to do now but wait.
Like always, she wished she had something to pass the time in those hours. A book would have been perfect, if only she had ever been taught to read properly.
“White foxes don’t need intellectual education, dear,”she could hear Miss Whitaker coo in her nasal tone as she nodded toward the piecework. “Sewing, cooking, mild housework will suffice, although you will have servants for most of the chores.”
“Then what am I supposed to do all day?”Ruthie protested. “If I can’t read or write or cook or clean?”
In her mind’s eye, she could still see the governess’ scowl of disapproval.
“You should start by thanking the gods and being grateful that you are promised to such a powerful being,”she snapped back. “Focus on your stitch! Start again!”
Even then, Ruthie could feel the sharp sting of a ruler on her knuckles. Reyna had tried to sneak in lessons of various kinds, but they had been too closely watched for anything beyond the very basics, lest Luthor catch them. No one needed to tell Ruthie what the punishment for insubordination would be. She might have been protected, but Reyna certainly was not.
I miss Reyna.
A wave of sadness washed over Ruthie, though it was to be expected. After all, Reyna had been the closest thing to a friend that she had ever had, and there was little else for her to do but ponder the past in these times of solitude. Unfortunately, it also meant playing a terrible game of unknowing. She had no way of guessing what had become of Reyna, or anyone else, for that matter. In Ruthie’s mind, the witch was dead, and Luthor had more than likely ordered her execution—if he hadn’t simply murdered her in a rage.
Don’t think about him! she cautioned herself, remembering the dire warning that Reyna had given the last time Ruthie had seen her.
“He can still find you, Ruthie, if only in those six hours that you’re human. Channeling him will bring him closer. You must stay hidden and clear your mind. Try to forget about this place and Luthor.”
Of course, it was all easier said than done. Ruthie wondered if Luthor was still a threat to her or if he had given up by now. The optimist in her wanted to believe that he had moved on, perhaps taken on another bride. But the realist in her said that she would never be out of danger, not as long as there were beings like Luthor around.
She shifted her thoughts away from Luthor, not wanting to tempt fate. She had spent fifty-seven years evading him, and she would not disgrace Reyna’s memory by being caught now.
The wolf she had just seen was a much easier topic on her mind.
She closed her opaque blue eyes and rested her head against the cave wall, willing the mental image of him forward. A warmth that had nothing to do with the fire burning in front of her slid down her neck at the memory of his blazing green eyes. She couldn’t recall ever feeling so entranced by anything the way she had that wolf.
Perhaps it had been the surprise of seeing it in the middle of the storm or being caught shifting when she never had before, but Ruthie found herself wishing that she had stayed at least another minute with the creature. She could still feel the linger of his soft fur against her fingers, and a soft smile touched her lips.
It would have been nice to have a companion in these woods for a while, she thought wistfully. Maybe I’ll still encounter him when the storm passes.
It dawned on her that she might be losing her mind now, after so many years on her own. Even if she did chance upon this wolf again, what could possibly become of it?
Sighing, she opened her eyes and stared blankly into the fire.
I can’t do any more time like this, she thought miserably. Hiding out in caves on full moons, sneaking around in the woods on my own.
Yet it was just a thought without a solution. There was no other option.
Actually, that’s not true, she thought grimly, her spine stiffening. I could turn myself in.
The notion caused her neck to harden, and a surge of defiance coursed through her veins. Even after all those years, she was still certain that she could not deal with an eternity with Luthor. She was sure that men like him didn’t ever change, and she was not about to risk finding out—even if the alternative was a lifetime of loneliness. She again pushed the thought of Luthor and the life she had left behind far into the back of her mind.
A song flittered into her head then, one that had come and gone over the years, seeping into her subconscious as if in a dream.
“Sleep now, little one, have no fears, dream of fairies, of pixies, of bears. When the night is over and done, I’ll be right here, my little one.”
The voice was hauntingly familiar, and Ruthie was sure it was the last piece she had of her mother. It always brought tears to her eyes, even though she couldn’t be sure if the song truly was one that her mother had ever sung to her. Her earliest memories were of Miss Whitaker’s sharp words and stern stares, not love and affection.
Miss Whitaker hadn’t bothered to coddle her with songs or anything else, even in Ruthie’s earliest infancy, and Reyna hadn’t come into Luthor’s employ until much later on. No, it had to be her mother, whoever she was.
Much as Ruthie tried to conjure an image of the woman who had birthed her, she couldn’t envision the color of her hair or the shade of her eyes. The same remained true of her father, assuming he had existed at the time. The white fox had never received a straight answer as to when she had actually been taken from her parents, much as she had tried to glean the information she wanted.
“Bequeathed,”Miss Whitaker corrected her mockingly in Ruthie’s mind. “You were bequeathed to Mr. Luthor because of your special qualities. And you should always be grateful to Mr. Luthor for taking you in.”
She had no way of knowing how much of the story she learned was true or how much were lies that Miss Whitaker also believed. All she knew was that she would likely never know the real story of how she had come to live in Luthor’s private lair, being groomed to be his bride the minute she turned eighteen.
Ruthie willed the song back again, settling against the wall as comfortably as she could. It was never relaxing in the caves she found, but she had never bothered with a pillow or blanket for the same reason she’d never troubled with any source of entertainment. A part of her considered these nights her penance.
It didn’t matter that Ruthie hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not in her own mind. She still felt terribly guilty for accepting Reyna’s help in escaping the being who most certainly would have made her life a living hell if she’d remained.
A few hours a month of discomfort was not going to change anything, but at least it was a time for Ruthie to fully reflect on all the choices she had made—and that had been made for her.
Again, she lowered her lids, the lullaby melting away to a gentle humming in her tone. Before she knew it, the emotional exhaustion of full moon nights overtook her, and Ruthie was fast asleep as the blizzard continued outside.
When her eyes opened again, morning had broken, and the snow had finally stopped. The fire had long since gone out, and the cave was chilly and dark once more. Slowly, Ruthie ambled to her feet and padded toward the entranceway. Dawn had barely started over the crystalline pines above, but the glimmer of sunlight sparked diamonds over the frosted landscape.
Ruthie inhaled deeply, taking in the fresh, cold air before sprinting out into the woods, her paws kicking up the fluffy upper layer. In a pile at her back lay the parka, sweaters, and other warm wear she had claimed only six hours earlier. Ruthie wouldn’t need them again for another month.