Season of the Wolf Pt. 03

Her mouth is heaven and hell as her lips slide along my swollen head. I close my eyes and pretend that she is indeed the only woman I need. I'm stark still letting her do all the work to earn her prize. Grace would hate me if she knew the lengths I go just to make from one day to the next. I quickly push away the unwelcome and too familiar feelings of guilt. I could die today or the next. In fact, I'm counting on it.

The warm sensation takes over and my mind drifts off to the only place it wants to be. The woman mounts me and arches her back. I don't know if she's enjoying it or not. As for me, my body surges with pleasure, and I succumb to it, but in my mind's eye it isn't this woman I'm fucking. It's Grace and we're making love.

I've convinced myself that today is as good as any other day to die. I'm certain I won't see Grace again. Somehow, that makes it easier to envision her lovely face while some unnamed woman takes me to the places only Grace has. I grit my molars and dig my fingers deeply into her flesh. Guiding her hips as my orgasm builds. She shudders and gasps. I don't know and don't care if it's for my benefit or not or if she has truly found her release. I come, pouring inside of her. I try not to. But, I moan Grace's name and the sound of it plummets me further into the pits of my private hell.

Afterwards, the woman gives me a sleepy satisfied smile. I tell myself that it's because I've kept Van waiting long enough that I'm on my feet and hurrying to dress. But, it isn't the truth. In the weak glow of the morning light filtering through the cracks in the canvas tent I can plainly see this woman isn't Grace. I'm desperate to get away from her. I don't promise to visit her again. I might. But, it's just as likely that I won't.

As I walk to Van's tent. I ignore the gazes of the curious, the condemning and condemned, the worshipful, and most of all, the blank lifeless eyes of the dead we have yet to bury. My sidearm is heavy on my hip. But, it's not the weight of the weapon that I feel bearing down on me.

I've got a long blade resting in a sheath strapped across my back. The weaponry is more for show than actual use. The vampires move too quickly and to stealthily for any blade or bullet to be of much value. That's what gets us killed or captured. Too many of us are still, even after everything we've seen, too human unleash our beasts. I have no such compunctions. I am the beast.

I walk past the guards posted outside of Van's tent and barge my way inside. "Has there been any headway with the woman?" I ask. I can't say her name. It's too personal. It makes the reality of this hellish war hit home.

Christine is the only hybrid we've managed to capture. Van is hopeful, or so he says. He thinks we can get her back. I'm not nearly as optimistic. I wanted to put her down immediately, but Van stopped me from delivering her to her peace.

Christine is Grace's best friend, or at least she was until the vampires sank their fangs into her and turned her into this thing she has become. I'm fortunate Christine didn't find Grace before Coyote managed to subdue her. If she had, if Grace had been killed and my unborn child along with her, I would have burned the entire world to ash to reap my vengeance.

I can tell by the expression on Van's face that there has been no progress. Christine is safely tucked away exactly as Coyote left her. Locked up and under guard in the old walk in freezer at the bar. I reach behind my back and wrap my fingers around the hilt of the long blade. Decapitation is an effective and less messy way of dealing with the enemy. And at this point, that's how I see Christine. I feel pity for her. It's time to end her suffering and add her death to my long list of sins Grace will never forgive me for.

Van wrinkles his nose as if he has scented something unpleasant. He has. It's me. He can smell my infidelity. I reek of sex and the blood of the enemy. He says nothing. Smart man. Van is clean, fresh as a daisy, compared to me. He rarely gets his hands dirty and plans this war from behind a desk. I'm out there willing to die alongside my men. But, as he so easily says, the pack is cannon fodder and the few of us left alive at the end are nothing but the spoils of war.

"I have a plan," Van says.

I can tell by the wicked glint in his eyes. His idea is a good one. Perhaps, he has a plan that will finally end this war. "You don't say," I grumble sarcastically. Weary to the bone I sit in a chair and prop my muddy boots up on the edge of his desk.

"Christine is the way she is because she's weak. We've kept her hungry. Deprived her of blood. I believe I can bring her back through giving her the very thing her body craves."

"We've offered her human food," I retort sickened by the idea of offering the neck of one of my people to her.

"She needs blood. I'm going to give it to her." Van gives me a look. "She needs wolf blood if we have a hope of her becoming herself again."

"It'd be easier to kill her."

Van nods pensively. "Perhaps. But, have you never heard the expression 'hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn'? We bring her back and let her unleash her fury on the enemy. They won't suspect one of their own."

"Huh. A Trojan Horse." I sit up. I'm listening now. I don't like the idea, but it has merit. A fast death, like the one I planned to deliver. I'm on board with. But, using Christine, somehow it seems wrong to let her die slowly in the enemy's hands. Then again, I was planning to kill her anyway and this is war. There are no rules and morality will only serve to get more people killed. "What if she's killed in the process?"

Van shrugs. It's one of his most redeeming qualities. That he's almost as ruthless and cold hearted as I am. We haven't tried blood as a means to return Christine to her senses. Except for Christine we haven't tried to redeem the hybrids at all. Everyone has been of the same opinion as me. That it's a mercy to kill them. "Casualty of war."

"Cannon fodder," I correct.

"Precisely."

Chapter 5

I'm restless and agitated and completely over being confined in this subterranean version of hell. Poor Coyote, he doesn't deserve my grouchiness. But, really, who else am I going to take out my bad mood on? He's the only person within a hundred miles of this godforsaken place.

I take a deep breath and rub my rapidly rounding stomach. Trying to remind myself that anxiety isn't good for the baby, I scan the movie collection once more to be sure I haven't missed a hidden treasure amongst the titles. I need something to divert my attention away from how helpless and hopeless I feel.

I don't know who stocked the vast collection of VHS tapes, but it hasn't been updated in the last twenty-five years or so. By some miracle, the player still works and the tapes aren't too badly degraded, but there's a decided slant to the titles. Most of the movies are geared to appeal to the male sex. I refuse to watch anything remotely having to do with war or any type of flick that has even a vague mention of vampires. And I can't suffer through Pretty in Pink or the Breakfast Club one more time.

The shelves are stocked with a halfway decent selection of books, if you like the classics. I've tried to read a couple of times, but there's no use. I can't keep my mind focused on the words on the page. All I can think about is Han and the war and how I'm here safe and sound and he's there, risking his life for the cause.

There's music, but I don't like oldies any more than I like the classics or movies I've seen a thousand times on TV. Most of the board games collecting dust on the shelves require more than two players, so they're a no go. Besides, I think I'm going to scream if Coyote lets me beat him at checkers one more time.

Once again, it's not his fault our gaming selections are limited to games without any real thought or strategy involved. He tried to teach me to play chess. It really didn't work in terms of diverting my mind. I felt sorry for the pawns. I could relate to them. And even though it cost me the win I simply couldn't sacrifice them to save my queen.

I keep in shape. Physical activity helps to calm my wolf. But, not even wearing myself out on the treadmill has helped today. I'm pacing the recreation room. Stopping to roll the eight ball across the pool table and watch it bounce off the green felt bumpers. My mind is always on Han and the war, but for some reason today my thoughts are off the chain. I can't seem to focus on anything for very long and my attempts at diversion haven't worked.

Though the place is stocked with art and craft supplies. I have no talent for drawing or painting. There's yarn for crocheting or knitting, but Coyote wasn't able to convince me to sit still long enough to learn a simple stitch. I suppose I could park myself at the ancient typewriter and peck out an attempt at bad poetry, but I have no patience for stringing words together either.

This place is a museum of technology. I'd kill to be able to hop on the Internet right now. But, if there is a computer around here and a connection, Coyote is keeping them under lock and key. He knows I wouldn't do it on purpose, but he's afraid I'll accidentally give away our location.

I don't have many people from my past, my previous human life I'd want to contact and I know Han certainly isn't surfing Facebook. Besides, I don't even have a Facebook page anymore anyway. When I entered into this clandestine world. Everything I had. The person I was before, the human version of myself was erased. I'm a ghost.

I feel a bit like a prisoner. I have no contact with the outside world. Every time I think about putting on a snow suit and going outside, Coyote reminds me that the temperature is well below freezing and with the snow and blowing winds I wouldn't make it five feet out the front door before I got hopelessly lost.

I know, other than the fact that my wilderness survival skills are nonexistent. Coyote keeps me cooked up in this place because of his promise to Han. I don't know exactly what Coyote promised Han in terms of the actual words that were spoken. But, I can bet they were something along the lines of vowing to return me to him in one piece.

Coyote isn't serious about much, but he has taken his oath to Han very seriously. He handles me with kid gloves. As if I'm a fragile bauble made of spun glass. I'm not that easily broken. And as far as his careful treatment of me goes, I can do without it.

I couldn't tell you what time or day of the week it is. Hell, being stuck down here. I can't even say for certain if it's nighttime or daytime. I judge the passing of time by the size of my growing belly.

The baby is getting bigger. The jeans I wore the day Coyote and I galloped off into the sunrise no longer fasten around my stomach. I can still see my toes though. I'm guessing I'm almost four months pregnant. I had just found out for certain that I was having a baby when this whole thing started. I was just beginning to grasp onto that idea the morning we ran for it. And now, I've accepted that the baby is an absolute. I am going to be a mother.

I refuse to accept that I could be a widow at anytime. It simply isn't a possibility in my mind that my baby might not ever know his father. This war will be over and when it is we'll be a family. There isn't any other conceivable outcome. But, it's so hard sometimes to keep the home fires burning when I'm running out of fuel to feed the spark.

Han and I were just beginning to fall in love when I got pregnant. Amazing, how one night can change your whole life. It certainly isn't how I imagined things going down. I always thought I'd be one of those girls who got the guy and then the house with the picket fence and the kids that come along afterwards, not the other way around. But, sometimes life has other plans.

I'm not a faithless woman. It's just that my heart is a whirlwind of feelings and emotions. Maybe, it's my hormones. Maybe, it's just that Han and I were so new at this love thing. Maybe, it's that the only person I've talked to in weeks is Coyote. Maybe, I am just that shallow and more faithless than I want to admit. But, Coyote is getting to me in ways I don't want to explore.

Han says wolves mate for life. I don't believe it. I think that's what he wants to believe. It simply isn't true. I was drawn to Han. It was kind of difficult not to be when he is the kind of man he is. He has the faith of ten thousand saints. He confessed that he has loved me since before I was born. His rock solid conviction that we were destined to be together never wavered. I was always the one so filled with doubt. I was the one who ran and he was the one who came after me. I wanted him to have choices. Maybe, in a way, I wanted to prove him wrong. Maybe, I subconsciously ran more for my own benefit than for his. Maybe, ultimately, I was the one who needed choices more than he did.

The hairs on my arm and the back of my neck stand on end. Up above, there's a hell of a storm hitting land. I can feel it in my bones. I can almost see the swirling snow in my mind's eye. Winter has hit in earnest and I'll be trapped here until the spring thaw. I envision Han out there in the cold fighting a war while I'm tucked away safe and sound, warm and pouting because I'm bored. I can imagine him alone holding onto the faith while I'm here thinking the thoughts of the faithless. And I realize how unfair I am to him, how unfair this war is to us, and the impossible situation the consequences of our separation have placed us in.

Coyote has been absent for hours. I have no idea what he's up to. But, that's usually the case. I've heard him scuffling about, but for the most part I've been left to my own devices today. That's ok. The less time I spend with him. The better it is. Easier to avoid complications when he isn't around to complicate things more than they already are.

I hear him now, whistling his way up the hall. I can hear the scraping sound of something heavy being dragged across the concrete floor. I can't help it. I'm grinning at the very idea of what he's come up with to keep me entertained. That's the one thing I like about Coyote. He's always so damned unpredictable, but somehow he manages to pull whatever he's up to off without a hitch.

I blink at the sight of an evergreen tree. The tree is a spindly little thing with barely a handful of needles on the branches. Coyote has fashioned a stand out of a few scraps of lumber and turns the tree upright. He's got a bowl of popcorn and a handful of glittery bits and pieces tucked under his arm. I take a whiff of the smell of freshly sawed pine and my wolf sighs in contentment at the hint of outdoors Coyote has brought inside. "Merry Christmas, Grace," Coyote says and I notice he's smiling too.

It's Christmas? When we went on the run it wasn't even Halloween. I do the math in my head and don't like the sum. The war has gone on for over two months. Coyote offers me no reprieve and gives me no time to dwell on the passing of time. He pulls a record off the shelf and puts it in the record player. Of course, since it is Coyote and I'd expect no less from him, he doesn't choose traditional Christmas carols. The beginning notes of Santa Baby start to play over the speakers.

He sets me to work stringing popcorn and after I've poked my fingers dozens of times and we've eaten half of the bowl. I've got a pretty decent strand of garland made. This place is a wonder of tidbits of this and that. Coyote has managed to find enough odds and ends to use as makeshift Christmas ornaments for our little tree. He bends paperclips to hook toy cars, wooden building blocks, and other odd lot things to the branches and then takes the garland out of my lap and drapes it around the tree. He even managed to make tinsel out of scraps of foil he found in the kitchen.

Coyote is a master of the make due. Nothing is wasted. Everything on the tree will be put to good use once we're finished with it. He flicks on a flashlight and uses bits of wire to secure it to the top of the tree to form a makeshift topper. I find myself getting into the spirit as my bad mood dissolves. Coyote is good at that too. Knowing exactly what I need and when I need it the most.

I can't sing and it's reassuring to know that there's something Coyote isn't good at either. We sing Grandma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer off key and making a mockery of the lyrics, laughing at one another as we work to make sure our tree is exactly right.

I have to admit the Christmas tree is as good as, perhaps better, than any tree I've ever helped decorate. I'm surprised when Coyote reaches behind the sofa and pulls out a couple of boxes wrapped in white butcher's paper and drops them into my lap. Gingerly and very ashamed that I didn't realize it was Christmas, I begin to unwrap the presents.

I'm not a girly girl, but my gift is absolutely perfect. Maybe, I needed something pretty and that's exactly what he got me. I pull out the pendant and hold it in the palm of my hand. With his fingertips lingering a little too long on the back of my neck he helps me tie the thin leather cord into place.

It's obvious that he carved the little heart shaped pendant for me. The workmanship is impeccable and the heart is carved with a five pointed flower in the center. "It's a forget me not," he explains. His expression has gone intense and pensive, almost longing, but he quickly covers the sudden turn with a sly grin. "The state flower of Alaska."

I nod and accept his explanation. Coyote doesn't want me to forget him after this war is over and I return to my life. He wants me to remember these moments when he has dropped his cocky façade and let his true self shine through. How could I? I couldn't even if I tried. "I didn't get you anything," I mumble.

The expression is back. "Yes you did. That smile is all the gift I'll ever need," he softly says. Coyote is covering again, grinning cockily. "And now for little Buda," he says motioning to the unopened package on my lap. I open it and inside is a wolf as equally and artfully carved as the pendant around my neck.

I used to have a wolf collection, but I left it behind. I set the wolf back in the box and run my fingertip over the glossy wooden exterior. I wonder if my wolf collection will be waiting for me when I finally return.

Coyote pulls out a flask and takes a long drink. He lounges on the couch. The no man's land of the center cushion is vacant between us. We sit staring at the Christmas tree in silence. I find myself wanting to bridge the space of the empty middle sofa cushion, but I stay put on my side of the couch. I smell the sharp, pungent scent of homebrew on his breath. "You made a still?"

He grins like a kid who has stolen cookies from the cookie jar and nods. "A little gift to myself." He raises the flask in a toast and takes another drink.

"Are you sure you're not going to blow this whole mountain to kingdom come?"

He shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. Totally worth it if I do. It's actually not bad. I can't guarantee it won't make you go blind though," he says as he takes another draught from the flask and winces at the burn.

I'm overwhelmed by Coyote's thoughtfulness and allow him his retreat into a nice homebrew induced state of mind. I don't hassle him about making a still. I suppose. Well, I hope he hasn't miscalculated and ends up bringing this mountain down on top of us. His body has lost its stiffness as the drink begins to take effect. He needs his reprieves as badly as I need mine.

I glance up at him and wince at how my heart skips a beat. Coyote truly is a handsome man. He lacks Han's bulk and muscle, but he's built in a lean wiry way. He doesn't have Han's sculpted features but rather is a contradiction of sharp planes and rugged good looks. His dark hair has grown long and shaggy and curls in a devil may care manner around the collar of his shirt. He hasn't shaved today and his jaw is lined with a dusting of thick stubble.