Season of the Wolf Pt. 02

I've got to pee too badly to consider in any depth what Coyote is doing in my bedroom at this ungodly hour. The sun is just now beginning to streak the sky with rays of golden light. It's early and I'm not a morning person. I don't bother with pulling on my robe. Coyote has seen it before, besides the nightgown covers enough. I shuffle to the bathroom and close the door to do my business with at least some measure of privacy. I'd kill for a hot shower. But, Coyote is pacing back and forth through the small apartment, agitated and wound up tighter than an eight day clock about something. I don't think he'd wait for me to indulge in such a luxury. I settle instead for washing my face, brushing my teeth, and combing my hair.

He seems pleased that I got the hint to hurry up and shoves the wad of clothes he yanked out of the closet into my arms. I notice he's dressed for the weather in a thick flannel shirt, a fleece lined barn coat, jeans, and serviceable work boots. It is cold this morning. I can feel the chill seeping up through the floorboards against the soles of my bare feet. He has a coat for me too, similar to his but with a hood. I wrinkle my nose at the smell of it and of him. My wolf recognizes the odor and snuffles curiously at the borders of my mind to identify the scent. "Is that fox urine?" I ask in horror.

He grins and nods before shoving me into the bathroom to change. "Don't want to scare the deer away," he offers as means of an explanation.

"Deer?" I pull on the thermal underwear and wiggle my way into jeans. With the extra layer, they're snug, but I manage. "We're going deer hunting?" I can't imagine shooting a living creature. My wolf does the hunting when she's at the helm. I'm there, but not there. I've always left her to do her thing. I've never considered stalking prey and taking it down in my human form. I think, however, the deer are safe from me. Han has tried to teach me to shoot, but quite honestly, I suck at it.

Well, at least that explains where Han is. He's out in the woods hunting. Since the vampires showed up, I don't question his odd hours. I wish he would have come to bed and taken a nap before traipsing out into the woods at this ungodly hour. But, I understand. The fragile time between dawn and true daylight are the only moments to a very long day that he gets to himself.

I'm usually still in bed. The vampires, nocturnal despite their ability to move about in the sunlight, are crawling into their coffins or wherever it is they sleep. And the pack is bedded down, sleeping off the effects of Coyote's most recent batch of homebrew. Han needs this time to simply be and decompress. Strip off the yolk of leadership and relax by any means he can find.

I'm sweating by the time I've dressed in all the layers Coyote found for me to wear. The ground and the trees are covered in a thick blanket of glistening frost. I have no doubt I'll be grateful for the warmth once the chill seeps in. I can barely put my arms down so burdened by the clothing and Coyote helps me slide into the coat. He tucks my hair up carefully underneath a black stocking cap and yanks one on himself. Usually Coyote's mouth runs a mile a minute, but his lips are drawn tightly into a firm line of concentration.

He zips me up nice and snug and wraps a heavy scarf around my neck. Maybe, it's the city girl in me, but I think it'd be easier to go to the grocery store and buy a couple of nice steaks rather than go through all this preparation and come home freezing and empty handed for my trouble. I don't know. Perhaps, it's a rite of passage. Going deer hunting.

Coyote fastens a belt around my hips and checks the gun before slipping it into the holster. I don't know shit about hunting, but a 9mm handgun with laser sights seems a bit excessive and more than just a little unfair to the deer. "The safety is off," he says. "You do know how to use it, right?"

I shrug and answer. "I think so."

He grunts and pulls the buckle tighter. "It'll do. Just don't shoot me, ok?" The weight of the weapon on my hip is awkward and unwieldy. I notice Coyote is wearing a sidearm, a bigger gun than mine and one certainly never intended to hunt deer. He slings another gun, a huge gun, lethal looking and shiny black, over his shoulder. The rifle looks like the kind of guns you see in the movies and it isn't till then that I realize we're not going deer hunting. You would never use an automatic weapon to hunt anything but people.

"Coyote, we're not going deer hunting, are we." I'm scared and wishing Han were here so badly that a tear starts to form in the corner of my eye. He reaches for me and I try to back away, but he's too fast. Capturing me by the sleeve of my jacket, Coyote grips just a little too hard and I feel the bite of his fingertips through the thick layers. "Where's Han?"

Coyote has been too evasive. He has not answered any of my questions and has allowed me to come up with my own explanations. He made me think we were going deer hunting. He misled me to believe for a few brief moments that this was just an ordinary day. But, in his silence he hasn't lied. Coyote never lies. He just never divulges anything he doesn't want you to know. He cups my cheek with his free hand and forces my eyes to meet his. His eyes beg me to trust and to understand. And that's the thing, I do trust Coyote and so does Han. He trusts him with my life and the life of his unborn child.

"Aw hell, Grace," Coyote grits out. He pulls me to him and his lips land on mine before I can react. His kiss is filled with wild desperation and the knowledge of all the things he wants but can't have. I'm in shock and kissing him back, matching his unbridled despair. Our tongues search one another out and it's the tart sweetness of forbidden fruit, ripe and in season, freshly plucked from the tree. Coyote releases me using every bit of will he possesses to push me away. His eyes are filled with fire and burning me to ash as they travel over my swollen lips. Coyote's voice is rough and gritty, thick with things I don't want to and can't consider. "This is a war, Grace," he says.

I don't know if he's talking about the pack versus the vampires or the good vampires versus the bad vampires, or maybe, he means us, that we're at war with the innermost parts of ourselves. I think possibly, I should just pick one, because Coyote in his round about honesty could be talking about all three things.

He doesn't give me time to dwell on it. The sun is coming up and the deep purple cover of the woods is beginning to fade. We leave through an exit at the back of the apartment that I didn't even know was there and rush down the stairs. I didn't realize the old carriage house had a hidden way out, but it does. From here, exiting from the rear of the carriage house, we can't be seen from the main house. I can just barely see the peak of the slate tiles of the roof. The horses are saddled up and waiting for us. Coyote practically shoves me onto Ginger's back before mounting Horse and we're riding at a fast gallop into the dense trees.

Coyote has tied a lead to the horn of his saddle and affixed the rope to Ginger's bridle. That's a good thing because he drives us so hard and so fast I've got all I can do to manage staying on her back. Steam rises of the horses and dissipates into the morning fog. We're riding a trail I've never ridden on before. The barren trees rush past my peripheral vision and the horses' hooves pound against the frosted ground. We come to a wide flat clearing. The place would be scenic, with the glowing red sun barely peeking over the hills and reflecting in the rushing water of the river.

Ginger and Horse have broken out into a thick lather and the white froth cakes their fur. I want to beg Coyote to slow down. Ginger is beginning to falter and so am I. Her sides expand and contract as she pants from the rapid pace and her nostrils flair to take in more precious oxygen. The landscape changes from picturesque to barren and desolate. Mud flies from the horses' hooves and splatters my jeans. I have no idea where we are. I think we've been at a fast gallop for miles, though it seems we've ridden much farther. Every hoof beat carries me away from Han.

I want to ask a thousand questions, but I hold my tongue and concentrate on the task at hand. Staying in the saddle. There's movement in the thick tangled brush up ahead and at first I think its Han. Then I see a flash of pale blond hair and almost shout in relief as the male figure emerges from the brush. "Rod!"

Coyote jerks hard on the reins, bringing Horse to a stop. The sudden absence of forward motion almost throws me from the saddle and I cling to Ginger's reddish brown mane to stay on her back. Coyote reaches for the rifle slung over his shoulder and aims the barrel at Rod. "NO!" I'm shouting and scrabbling for him. Ginger is skittish and startles at my shouts, she rears up and I'm tumbling out of the saddle.

I barely manage to clear my feet from the stirrups in time, before I fall to the ground. I don't let the sudden whoosh of air from my lungs or the pain from the fall register. Horse doesn't even flinch as Coyote takes the shot. He's doing what he's been trained to do, stand steady in the face of war and gunfire. Thanks to me though, the bullet goes wild and misses Rod, crashing into the bush and sending splinters of wood into the sky.

There's something different about Rod. The way he moves, graceful as a cat on the prowl, has a feral quality to it. He's fast, faster than any wolf in human form than I've ever seen. Coyote cuts the rope tying Ginger to Horse and gives her a hard swat on the hindquarter with the butt of his rifle. She whinnies and trots off. The flash of her reddish fur distracts Rod and draws his attention off of us, which was what Coyote intended. The distraction lasts long enough for Coyote to jerk me by the collar of my coat onto Horse's broad back.

The brief distraction isn't enough though and Rod turns his full attention on us. He's crouching in the mud, wild and feral as any beast about to attack. Coyote abandons the rifle for his handgun. With me clinging to his waist with my trembling hands and my eyes fixed on Rod. Coyote doesn't have enough maneuverability to take aim with the rifle. It's too late and Rod launches into motion. My screams and the loud boom of the handgun ring in my ears. My eyes can't register the speed of the wolf bounding out of the brush and launching into the air onto Rod's back.

It'd recognize that buff colored wolf anywhere. It's Han. His claws tear into Rod's chest and sink in deep. Blood flows in a red river from the wounds to puddle onto the mud and frost. Han's wolf's jaws find purchase in Rod's neck and hold the vulnerable flesh in a steel grip. I'm staring, open mouthed, crying, and shouting incomprehensible words, straining to look over my shoulder as Coyote kicks Horse in the ribs and we gallop away as fast as Horse can run.

Han's wolf went for the kill. There was so much blood. I burry my face in the warmth of Coyote's back and refuse to acknowledge what my eyes have seen. I couldn't have looked away then. Even now, I lift my face and stare over my shoulder at the changing landscape hoping for a glimpse of my buff colored wolf. I don't want my last memory of him and of this place to be of something so bloody as his wolf tearing Rod to shreds piece by piece.

Once Coyote is certain we're a safe enough distance away, he slows Horse to a slow trot. We're riding through a cornfield that hasn't yet been harvested. The sun dried stalks crackle beneath Horse's hooves. My tears have ceased to fall and the salt stings my frostbitten cheeks. I'm hanging onto Coyote far tighter than I need to, but I can't seem to force my arms to open or my fists to unclench to let him go.

I've never seen war before, not real war. Sure, I've glazed over pictures in history books and watched movies on TV. But, I never really understood it, the bloodiness, the violence, or the pain of it until now. Rod is dead. Perhaps, he's the first causality of this little war between the vampires and the pack. I don't have to be a psychic to know he won't be the last. I'm terrified for Han. I want him safe and away from this nightmare, but I know that isn't possible. There are too many other lives at stake for me to be so selfish.

I want to tell myself that this war will be brief and Han will be by my side long before I bring our child into the world. But, I'd be telling myself the biggest lie I've ever told. I'm scared for him. I've always heard that war and bloodshed, no matter how worthy the cause, changes a man. I don't know who he'll be or who he'll become when we finally are reunited again.

I have to believe that we will be together again. I need to cling to that one hope above all others. I realize this might be the lie I need to tell myself to make it through from one day to the next. But, I much as I can't manage to let Coyote out of my grip, I can't let that hope go either. The alternative is simply too painful to consider and I refuse to let the seed of doubt take root in my mind.

Coyote rides in silence. We've ridden so far that I have no idea where we are or what our destination is. I know Han arranged this, for him to be my protector, and maybe, it's because I'm in shock, but I don't question it. I pretend that this is an ordinary day. Somehow, it's easier this way, with my mind playing tricks on me. The sun is shining and we're just two people out enjoying a frosty morning horseback ride. I ignore the thump of the automatic rifle against my thigh and the weight of the loaded gun on my hip.

I soak up the peacefulness of the morning and tuck the feeling of absolute calm into the recesses of my mind for safekeeping. Inside, I'm trembling and terrified, uncertain of anything, especially the future. But, I know I appear cool and composed, on the outside. I do this, not for myself or for Coyote but for Han. As Coyote said, this is war. I'm doing what I need to do to survive it.

The sun rises high into the sky before Coyote finally reins Horse to a stop. We've ridden for miles and miles, out of the hilly woods and onto the flat lands beyond pack territory. Gently, he pries my hands from their grip on his coat and eases my arms open. He slides out of the saddle and gives Horse a scratch behind the ears and a pat on the muzzle. He whispers words to Horse that are meant for the two of them alone. I don't intrude and stay seated in the saddle.

Coyote helps me out of the saddle. My legs are wobbly and I lean heavily on him for support. "Give me your cell phone, Grace." I reach into my coat pocket and hand over the device. He tucks the phone into a saddlebag and adds his as well. With a hard slap on the rear to get him going, Horse trots off. I watch his black fur coat disappear into the distance. I may not know the way back home, but Coyote assures me that Horse does and he'll be back in time for supper.

He gives me a vial of something dark and disgusting to drink and at his insistence and refusal to answer what it is, I swallow it down. The stuff tastes terrible and I have to really focus on keeping it down. Coyote thinks the combination of whatever was in the vial and the potent herbs so necessary to our wolves will break the blood bond I share with Van. I hope he's right.

We walk a little way, maybe a mile or two and emerge from the woods onto the shoulder of a paved highway. Coyote gives me the space I need and doesn't fill the silence stretching between us with small talk. I appreciate that. A mom and pop diner sits adjacent to the road. It's closed for the day and I notice a lone car parked in the gravel parking lot. The trees are sparse here, more for show than any encroachment of nature on civilization.

I'm glad the diner is closed. I'm not hungry anyway and would rather not waste somebody's efforts or Coyote's money. Coyote fishes a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocks the driver's side door. He stashes the rifle beneath the driver's seat and unbuckles the holster from around my hips. He keeps his firmly in place, but pulls the hem of his jacket down to hide it.

The car is an older model. Not really a showy classic car, but a serviceable two door coupe that hasn't been mass produced in decades. It's obvious that Han and Coyote are leaving nothing to chance. He's taken my cell phone and chosen this car. We're wearing coats saturated with fox urine. There's no way anyone can track us electronically or by scent. Everything has been so carefully thought out and I realize it's Coyote's best work yet.

I scan the woods and peel off my coat handing it over to Coyote. He tosses our coats into a dumpster behind the diner. He gives me time to say goodbye to this place. Pretending to adjust something under the hood for my sake. The engine is in perfect condition and purrs like a fat contented cat. We don't really have the time for sentimentality. Wherever it is that we're going. We need to get on the road. I'm looking for Han. Maybe, it's my imagination, but I can feel the prickle of awareness I get whenever he's around.

If I weren't looking for it, I would have missed the subtle rustle of the lower branches of a bushy pine tree. I see him, crouched stealthily under the cover of the evergreens. Han's wolf watching me from the distance with his all too human eyes. His buff fur is stained red and tacky with the dried blood of the enemy. I want to go to him, but I don't. This temporary goodbye is difficult enough as it is. "Grace, we need to go," Coyote says softly. I nod, give Han's wolf one final glance, and climb into the passenger side.

As we drive away I hear him howling in the distance. It's a soft soulful, mournful cry. Han's goodbye gives me chills. I press my hand to the window and stare out at the flat farmland left fallow for the long winter yet to come. We've done this before, Han's wolf and I. Only this time, I'm not running away. I'm running for my life. I catch a final glimpse of buff fur out of the corner of my eye as Coyote guns the engine and leaves him, this war, and what has become my world behind.

Epilogue

I woke up at the edge of a clear babbling stream. Naked and shivering from the cold I cleaned off the blood as best I could. My heart is shattered into so many pieces I don't know if I can ever put them together again. My wolf supplies the mental images I need to fill in the missing blanks. Grace is gone. She's safe with Coyote. Our plan worked and would have gone off without a hitch if not for Rod's sudden appearance.

I've killed a man. My hands tremble and droplets of water stained pink with blood drip from my quivering fingertips. I scrub hard, but nothing can wash away what I've done. I've killed before for the sake of peace, but never has it hit this close to home. It's always been at a distance, behind the frontlines and with a bullet aimed at the enemy's black heart. A bullet is a pretty impersonal way to kill. It's nothing personal, just the outcome of two opposing forces locked in battle. This was personal, too up close and personal. My wolf has taken a life to protect one of his own.

Memories of my battle for pack master come flashing back to me. I choke from the memory of the taste of Josiah's blood so thick on my tongue. I killed then, just like I've killed now, to protect my pack. Hell, I didn't even like Rod. But, unlike Josiah who plotted and planned the fight. Rod was simply an unexpected complication. He wasn't himself. He was, as Van so eloquently put it, cannon fodder and I killed him for it.

I got the call from Coyote a little after five in the morning. I was heading up the stairs to bed when I stupidly answered my cell phone. He had a late night/ early morning visitor. Christine, somehow he managed to contain her without killing her. She's on ice, literally, trapped in the ancient walk in freezer in the back storeroom of the bar. As a precaution, I've placed Bear to watch over her. But, I doubt she's getting out unless we let her out.