Season of the Wolf Pt. 03

Coyote's wolf is every bit as capable as the man sharing his body. We tracked prey and managed to score a rabbit or two for supper and it's the coppery taste of fresh prey coating my tongue.

Tears pool beneath my lashes at the memories flooding my mind. I almost regret my wolf didn't stay at the helm just a little while longer. She knows nothing of the games people play. She isn't confined by my sense of right and wrong. Guilt has never hampered her or gotten in the way of the sheer pleasure of simply being alive. Worry doesn't plague her mind. She lives in the moment and grabs onto everything it has to offer. She is the exact opposite of me in every way. And sometimes it's so tempting just to let it all go, leave the human world behind, and allow her complete dominion over this body we share.

I want to sit on the floor of this dank, dark cave and cry over her retreat and my reemergence. As every human thought and emotion slam into my hazy mind a tear slides down my cheek. Most people never know the true meaning or how encompassing joy in its simplest and purest form can be. But, I do.

Han said there was a price to pay for being what we are. I suppose for everyone the cost is different. But, I know how expensive it is to me. It's making the choice to abandon the freedom of not being human.

My human consciousness is fully aware. I'm naked beneath the parka and I find myself suddenly shy and embarrassed to have Coyote see me in the buff. Nudity is just a way of life for the pack. Clothing gets expensive to replace. Elastic and zippers and bits of cloth can trap and strangle a wolf emerging from a shift. I'm not really certain, but the pack's unspoken keep your eyes to yourself rule doesn't apply in Coyote's case, or mine either for that matter.

I try not to look, but I do. Coyote is naked. I can tell it's cold, really cold, by how tightly certain parts are tucked up against his body. A naked Coyote is every bit as splendid as a clothed Coyote. His body is firm and lean, compact and not made for impressive bursts of strength, but rather for going the distance over the long haul. The width of his back is adorned with a tattoo that stretches from shoulder to shoulder and down his spine. I find myself wanting to kiss every inch of the impressive ink work that has turned his skin into a living canvas.

All members of the pack have a tattoo. Everyone, except for me, that is. I'd honestly like to say I haven't had time to surrender my flesh to the rite of passage. But, it isn't exactly true. At first I was so unwilling to accept the truth about what I was that I couldn't stand the thought of permanently marring my skin. And now, knowing that the indigo markings signify a wolf's place in the pack, I'm not so certain of where I belong anymore.

Some say that when you become a wife and a mother, you lose pieces of yourself in the process. I guess, it's just another price to be paid in exchange for what you get in return. I am more than Han's other half. I am more than a mother to be. I am more than the object of Coyote's desire. I am wolf and pack, a woman, and a member of the human race bound by the mortal coil that seals all people together as one. I am more human than I'll ever admit. I am more than just the sum of all these different bits and pieces of myself. I just simply haven't done the math yet to know exactly who, in entirety, I exactly am.

It's not easy to maintain a concept of who you are when the world you thought you knew has changed so dramatically. I started out this life as one person. And in the wake of so many changes I am in the process transforming into another version of myself.

I don't like to think about it. But, maybe it's true. Han is a great one to speak of choices. I wonder if he'd choose to change his mind on his position about choices if he knew how close I've come to choosing Coyote over him. Maybe, Han knew the attraction between Coyote and I was already there and he willingly designed his own demise. I can think of only one reason that he'd do such a thing. He doesn't expect to survive this war.

If I was cold before, I'm freezing to death now. The very thought that Han is choosing war and perhaps, his death over me has frozen me solid. Coyote tugs at my hand to help me onto my feet, but I can't seem to comply. He reaches under my arms and hefts me up. My legs buckle, but he catches me before I tumble into a shattered heap.

He lifts me as if my weight is no burden to bear and cradles me against his body, cupping one arm under my knees and the other snugly around my shoulders. My cheek rests against the cool skin of his chest as he carries me. His voice is gruff and gravelly as if he hasn't spoken in weeks. "We've got to get inside, Grace," he rasps. Tucked in nice and tight, I nod against his chest. We do. We need to get out of the weather, out of the ice and snow, before the cold freezes us both.

Chapter 8

Grace weighs nothing in my arms. It's cold in the cave. My body begins to thaw from the warmth of the bundle I'm carrying. Grace doesn't handle the transformation from wolf to biped human well. In actuality, none of us do. But, over time I've learned to adjust and sometimes even welcome the pain and confusion that comes along with the shift.

I haven't gone far into the black depths of the cave. The entrance to down below is so well hidden that even with the aid of lights if you weren't looking for it you wouldn't find it. I love Nathaniel's sense of irony. How he managed to hide things in plain sight. Shuffling Grace's weight, I free my hand to key in the sequence of numbers that will activate the magnetic locks and get us out of the cold.

Grace shivers with the fierceness of an epileptic attack. Her skin is cool and waxy pale and her gaze distant with the hazy confusion of her scattered thoughts. I guess I've gotten used to the cold. Sure, my body reacts to the cave's temperature, but the damp frigid air doesn't affect me the way it does her. My concern for Grace is forefront in my mind. I hiss impatiently as the locks begin to disengage. The process seems to take hours instead of seconds. I remind myself that Grace has the constitution of a wolf. She's fine. It isn't till she stops shivering that I've really got to worry.

There are times when I hate my wolf. The furry bastard is every bit as wily and cocky as I am. The minute he took control of our shared body and I disappeared into the backdrop of our consciousness the true show began. He strutted his stuff for Grace's wolf with the finesse of a fully pedigreed show dog finally getting his turn in the ring. He sniffed out prey and proved what a good little pup he was by dropping the rabbit he'd miraculously managed to catch at her feet.

He courted and romanced the little she wolf, pouring on the charm I somehow can't manage to muster in my human form. He offered her his fucking throat and what do you know? She accepted. Oh, the game is on, so on, and along with it every bit of honor I possess. Grace may still be able to fool herself into thinking that at the end of that kiss there was still a chance of turning back. I know better. We are wolves, no matter what form we're in. My wolf has never given up the chase. It doesn't matter what my human sense of right and wrong have to say about it. Although, when it comes to Grace, unfortunately my wolf and I are of the same opinion. She belongs to us.

A warm blast of air sends my skin prickling as the door finally opens. In the closed confines of the narrow hallway leading deep down into the bowels of the mountain I can smell the musk of Grace's wolf lingering on her skin. Grace's natural scent is the sweet smell of ocean waves, warm sand, and open sky. The marriage of wolf and woman is an intoxicating fragrance that calls to both sides of me. I want to get her naked and bathe in her essence. Fuck her senseless until every worry of this war and thought of Han is out of her head and there's nothing in their place but me.

And doesn't that idea send heat surging to my frozen groin. I shift Grace's weight in my arms so that her hip isn't pressing into my no-zone. There's no need for her to know exactly how happy Mr. Happy is to see her. I don't know what I'm thinking other than the fact that holding her and knowing she's naked beneath my thick parka is killing me. Hell, I'm a virgin. The myths about mating for life have me made me far too choosy to risk bonding to just anyone so that I can finally have the experience of popping my cherry. I don't want to get stuck with the wrong woman permanently. But, Grace isn't the wrong woman. Even if she is, it's a risk I'd gladly take.

Grace and I are damn close to careening head first off the side of a very big mountain. Keeping her from falling won't happen this time. I can't. Not when I'm considering pushing her over the edge and following her down the steep slope.

Taking her wolf out for a run was supposed to be a diversion. It's only served to make things worse. Sure it wasn't the flowers and candy kind of romance a woman like Grace deserves. But, neither one of us are exactly conventional. There are so many things that are and aren't supposed to be. Han shouldn't be in a war. Grace should be knitting baby booties. And as for me, I'm supposed to be tending bar, jerking off in the shower, and perfecting my homebrew recipe while I wait for Miss Right to come along.

When I first scented Grace's pregnancy I thought maybe she was carrying my future bride. I had resolved myself to spending another twenty long, lonely years as a bachelor. Now, I feel as if waiting another minute is simply too long to wait. I'm holding my future in my arms, protecting it, and keeping it safe.

Nothing in love or war is fair and in so many ways Grace and I are just the victims of such poetic irony. I can smell the turn in Grace's scent and feel it in the tension running through her body. She's very aware of me. She might resent the affect I have on her and she, on me, but nonetheless it's there. I set her on her feet outside of her bedroom door. "Take a hot shower and get some rest."

She leans against me, her legs unwilling to accept her full weight. "Ok," she says far too reluctant to allow my retreat as she clings to me. My wolf and my cock are doing a happy dance over her hesitancy. She lifts her pretty face and her eyes search mine. She bites her bottom lip in uncertainty and the trace of her pink tongue across the indentations drives me insane with things I'd rather not think about right now. I wiggle from under the gentle press of her fingertips. Making sure she is capable of remaining upright of her own volition and doing my best to hide my erection I quickly turn away. "Coyote."

I look over my shoulder and leave my hips and my hard cock pointing the opposite direction. "Yeah?" My voice sounds strained. Grace takes a deep breath and shakes her head. She doesn't have to say a word. But, it's her way to fill awkward silences with sentences. I want to turn around and show her what she does to me. I want...I want too much...so much and only she can sate my need.

Her eyes roam over my naked body. There's no way I can stifle my grin at the flush tinting her cheeks. She seems relieved even if I am grinning at her embarrassment. "Happy New Year," she says quickly. I give her a wink and saunter down the hallway.

It's a new year and anything is possible on this fist day of January. I hop into my shower and douse myself in the welcome heat of the spray. As I suds up I imagine Grace in her shower doing the things women do when there's nobody around and they're hot and bothered. I begin to do the things that men do when they're hard and in need of a woman's affections. I come too quickly, not even half sated by the efforts of my hand, gasping her name with quivering lips.

I'm in a good mood as I exit the shower and dry off. I realize that it's because to me. Anything could mean anything and there's a lot of power and potential in one little eight-letter word.

Chapter 9

I've been feeding Christine from my wrist for days. She shows no sign of improvement. The faint glimmers of reason in her blue eyes aren't enough for me to consider her redeemed. Van trusts me around her now. The act of having a woman suckle your wrist as if it were your cock and swallow you down is very intimate and personal. It's not a thing for witnesses. I think I've convinced Van that I'm not going to kill her, yet.

His trust is just goes to show how much Van has misjudged me and what I'm capable of. Christine crouches in the corner, licking her pointed fangs with the tip of her tongue and keeping her eyes pinned on me. It's almost as if she can read the direction of my thoughts and doesn't dare to come any closer. Bear stands guard outside of the cooler door. He'll take care of anyone who tries to get in my way. And if I've made a mistake and miscalculated Christine's particular brand of crazy, if she should kill me while I'm in the process of killing her. Bear will make sure, not only am I good and dead, but that she is as well.

I've spent hours contemplating how to do it. This isn't Christine's fault. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. Christine was defending Grace and I. Buying us the time we needed to escape and in the process she and Rod were captured. As I've realized, the enemy loves to turn us against ourselves. And that's exactly what happened to Christine and Rod. But, Rod is dead. And once again, it's my fault. My wolf ripped him to shreds in order to save Grace and Coyote.

There is no fucking loyalty or honor in this war. I can't tell anymore who is an enemy and who is a friend. I hate these bastards for what they've done to my people and I'll repay them in kind.

We managed to capture one of the fanged bastards. Van wanted to spare his life. Wanted me to feed and shelter the undead son of a bitch. Said we needed him for interrogation and leverage against the enemy. My wolf and my sense of vengeance weren't having it.

I reaped my revenge as awful and horrid as it was on that vampire. Bound to the trunk of a thick old oak with lengths of titanium coil it wasn't much of a challenge. The expression on that vampire, my enemy's face, as I shifted into a wolf and stalked toward him has become the face of this war for me.

I've seen men die in battle. But, I've never seen a look of such abject terror before. That one vampire paid the price for the sins committed by all the vampires. He paid it in blood and in agony, in flesh and bone, piece by gory piece as my wolf took his time and slowly ripped him apart.

Even now, in the still silence of the night, I can hear his agonized screams and piteous pleas for death. I eat and drink, but it's his blood I taste on my tongue. The scent of gore is permanently embedded into my nostrils. The things I did to that vampire haunt my dreams and always will. I know I'll never get a good night's sleep again. I deserve it. To relive the terror of that death over and over till the day I finally die.

I know I've condemned us all. There will be no mercy from the enemy. They will hunt us down to the ends of the earth and exact their revenge. It won't be enough to punish me for what I've done. I know that. They'll save me for last. I'll feel the weight of every loss we suffer heaped upon my shoulders. And when the last of us is finally gone. Then it'll be my turn and it won't be quick or painless.

I watch Christine watching me. I will never kill in such a manner again. Her death will be a good one, quick, painless, and so much better than the death that awaits me. I'm not a liar. I make no attempt to hide the blade strapped to my hip. What I'm about to do needs done. She is suffering and what I'm offering her is an escape from the agony of living one more day.

Christine's clothing hangs in tatters from her too thin frame. Her hair is a rat's nest of tangles. She is so far gone now. I'm convinced that there is no getting her back. Her eyes are the crazed eyes of a person on the brink of insanity, but they're shrewd and calculating with an intelligence beyond the rational. I do it before I change my mind. I score my wrist with the razor sharp edge of the blade. Her nostrils flare wide at the smell of blood. She eagerly scrambles across the floor and sinks her fangs into my flesh.

Now is the time to do it, while she's too distracted to look me in the eye. She's so crazed by the taste and scent of my blood. She probably won't even notice the blade sinking into her flesh. I grit my teeth against the pain of her fangs working the wound in my wrist wider to hasten the flowing of my life into her. I won't have to watch the life in her eyes flicker out. My fist grips the hilt and the muscles in my arm tense. NOW! But, then she looks up and our eyes meet and I realize that I can't.

I shove Christine away and drop the blade. I'm gripping my wrist to staunch the flow of blood from the wound. I owe this woman my life. I owe Grace's life to her as well. I have no right to end hers in an attempt to balance the scales. She scuffles away, back to the far corner out of my reach. Christine is a wraith from the depths of hell. But, it isn't the hell preachers preach from the pulpit on Sunday mornings. It's a hell of our making. And there is no redemption from it.

Hungrily she licks the blood from her stained fangs and smacks her lips. The beast within her is gone. Her mouth moves and I expect the speech of the crazed. Instead, I hear an all too human voice. Christine isn't begging for her life. She is begging for me to end it. Now it is I who am crouched in the far corner of the cell, such a madman crazed by so much death and blood. "I don't want to be this thing that I am," she says.

"I don't want this for you either," I grit out in reply.

"Grace? I saved her?" she asks.

I nod. "You did."

Her eyes meet mine and she resolves herself to ask another question. "Rod?" Now it's me who is looking away and can't meet her eyes. I shake my head. She understands what it is that I'm not saying. "Did you do it?" I nod. Christine rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. On a sigh she mutters, "Good. Nobody deserves this...this living death."

I sit with my back wedged into the corner. There's no point in lying to Christine. If blood carries the secrets of the soul, then she already knows all of mine. "Van thinks we can get you back. Are you? Christine? Are you back?"

Christine chuckles. "What do you think, Han? Van is a fool, but he's not an idiot. You'd be wise to shove a stake through his heart while you still can. I've been on the receiving end of his fangs. Believe me. To him, a wolf serves no other purpose. He isn't kind or altruistic. He has no motivation beyond himself."

"I know that."

"Well then, you're smarter than I gave you credit for. I really was a decent person, you know. Before all of this, I was a decent person."

Christine shifts into a sitting position and wraps her arms around her knees. She rocks back and forth, perhaps seeking our comfort or solace. She's been playing Van and me. She is stone cold beyond reasonable doubt, sane and probably has been the entire time. She wanted me to kill her. She wanted an escape from the pain of living. I almost gave it to her. Maybe, doing her in still would be a mercy, but nobody gets a free pass. Nobody. "So was I," I confess.

She smiles bitterly and nods in understanding. She knows exactly how far from grace I've fallen. Christine has caught a rare glimpse into the depths of my black heart. "Van wants to send you back into the hands of the enemy."

She tugs her earlobe. "So I heard. Vampire hearing," she explains. "Van was right, about the blood. It does bring you back. I...I simply didn't want to come back so, I didn't. You know, I didn't do it to save myself. I could care less at this point if I live or die. I did it to save you." Christine grins and gives me a wink as if we share some deep dark secret. "I'm not the only one in the room whose just a little crazy, am I.