Season of the Wolf Pt. 03

"With every death you slip a little further away from the person you used to be. Believe me, I know first hand how far and how fast a person can slide. Don't you think it's interesting that Van has let you do all the killing?

"You look so shocked. My guards think I'm bat shit insane. They don't bother to sensor what they say. Your pack is afraid of you, Han. It won't be long before they work up the courage to appeal for someone to challenge you and who do you suppose has the best odds of surviving the fight? Not Bear. Not Angela. Van does. I'd say.

"Oh, don't give me that look. I know you don't expect to live through the war. You think you'll die in battle. Well, you will. But, not the battle you're expecting. In fact, I'm betting that once Van takes over the pack the war will mysteriously end and where does that leave Grace?"

"Grace is safe," I grit.

"Is she?" Christine sips into a fit of laughter and the sound of it is the joviality of the truly insane. "Someday she will come back. When she does toting that beautiful bouncing baby along with her and finds you gone and everything she's ever known burned to ash. What do you think will happen? Van will make a meal of her and that baby too."

"How do you know? Why should I believe you?"

Christine snickers. "Vampire politics are a bitch. All that plotting and scheming boggles the mind. Oh, it took me a while to overcome the bloodlust. I admit. That's how they get to us, you know. For a while, you are nothing but a mindless beast. Trust me, Han. I can hear the blood coursing through your veins and it makes me so hungry." She shivers and the predatory gleam is back in her eyes.

"The vampires consider us mindless animals so far beneath them on the evolutionary chain it isn't even the least bit funny. To them, we're prey and nothing more. You'd be surprised at the things they say when they think nobody is listening." She lifts her eyes and pins me with their blue stare.

"I learned to listen. That's why I came here ahead of the rest of them. To warn you of what was coming. I'm sorry, Han. I led them right to you. I had no choice than to act crazier than I truly am. It was either that or risk blowing my cover and tipping off Van that I'm onto him."

"But Rod. He attacked Grace and Coyote in the woods."

"All part of the game. Unfortunately, we lost that round." Christine looks away and blinks back a tear. No plan no matter how carefully laid out goes off without some price to pay. She has paid in full as far as I'm concerned.

"I almost killed you."

"I asked you to and I haven't changed my mind about that. You have no idea what it's like to live like this. I'm not a wolf. I'm not a vampire. I'm not human. I'm nothing. I've lost my mate. But, I don't want to die just yet. I think, now that we've had this little heart to heart. I'd rather wait. I want revenge first, Han. I want to make them pay for what they've done to me, to Rod, and to all of us. You have to kill them...all of them."

I'm on my feet and my hand is wrapped around the hilt of my blade. "I know exactly where to start." I'm going after Van. I promised myself I would never tear apart another living thing in the name of vengeance ever again. I vowed to make my kills quick and clean. As is the way of the wolf. But, there's a part of me that's too human to let Van die such a good death. He deserves to suffer.

Christine is on her feet and pinning me to the wall before I realize she's even moved off the floor. She has a vampire's speed and a wolf's cunning. "No! Not Van. Not first. Save him and that bastard that bled immortality into him for last. Use him the way he's used us. Play him, Han, like the pawn he is."

I leave Christine. She plays the part of an insane prisoner too well. Crouched in the corner she growls and bears her fangs. I slam the door closed and march off, leaving my second in command trailing behind. I've got plenty to think about, but only one thing to consider. How I'm going to put this war to an end.

Chapter 10

Nothing is sacred. No place is safe. The life I once lived seems as meaningless and distant as a dream I can scarcely recall. Bear and I ride out on horseback, past the charred remains of the burned out woods and the flat acres of fields left fallow for winter. This far from the front line I can pretend the war doesn't exist at all. We're too close to humanity. Riding along the boundaries of a peaceful burg no paranormal will trespass. I want to make certain what I have to say is for his ears alone.

I've made a decision. I don't know how, yet, but I'm going to get us out of this war. My redemption is going to be a hard earned thing. I've killed hybrids, thinking them mindless beasts beyond the point of no return. Talking to Christine today showed me how wrong I was about that. The hybrids can be saved.

We'll have to keep quiet about it. Otherwise, Van will become suspicious. The less he thinks I know. The easier it will be to manipulate the situation. The hybrids can't be part of this war. The only way I can guard against it is to get them out of the line of fire.

This little burg, no more than a wide spot in the road, has fallen on hard times like most small towns beyond the city's reach. I have no human allies. I thought keeping to ourselves was the best way to ensure the humans remained ignorant to the truth about what we really are. That's one thing about Van and the California pack. They've showed me differently. We can live among the humans and what better place to hide a hybrid than among them.

There are plenty of houses with for sale signs in the yard and vacant storefronts on Main Street. Most of the families that call this place home are farmers or make their living off livestock. You'd think Bear and I would stand out, riding on horseback through the center of this little town, but we don't. There are too few eyes to see us ride past, but just enough eyes to make this place beyond the war's reach. It's the perfect place to hide the hybrids.

The abandoned church should do fine. Tucked away on a short stretch of gravel road, it's far enough from the main drag to avoid prying eyes. There hasn't been a prayer said or a hymn sung in this church in a very long time. But, the building is sturdy. She has weathered more than her fair share of storms. I'll have to hope she has it in her to weather one more.

I'm not exactly a faithful man. These days faith is a commodity I can no longer afford. I have no belief beyond what I can see and touch. Bringing the hybrids here has a certain sense of irony I can appreciate. I've learned most of the folklore about vampires is bullshit and I have no doubt the fanged bastards can cross the threshold of the church or any other threshold of their choosing, for that matter.

Bear narrows his eyes and scans the church. As a second in command, I couldn't ask for a better man. Coyote would argue with me, if he didn't agree with my decision. Bear won't. He'll do as I say without question, whether he agrees or not. "I was wrong, about the hybrids. They can be saved," I confess.

He knows that what I've said may cost me my life. I've committed murder and ordered murder to be committed. Pack justice is swift and final. Once this war is over. I will have to pay for my crimes against my own people. The pack won't care that at the time I based my decisions on what I knew to be the truth and I honestly thought I was doing the hybrids a kindness in ordering their deaths. But, before my life is forfeit and I'm turned over to the pack for justice to be dispensed. We have to win this war.

I'm trusting Bear with my secrets and my life. He understands this. When this war is over. I'm not walking away. He understands this too. I'll face what I've done and the pack's justice, swift and terrible as it is. The pack will want their blood and pound of flesh as payment for my crimes and they'll get it. At least, I'll die knowing Grace is away from this place. I'll never get to see my son. I'll never look upon Grace's sweet face again. But, she and the baby are safe and that's the only mercy I'll ever need.

A change in leadership could tilt the scales in this war. The pack doesn't need the upheaval right now and both Bear and I know, good as he is as a second. He is no leader. I won't roll out the red carpet for Van to take control of this pack. I see Bear considering how we're going to spread the word about capturing the hybrids and I realize we can't. This has to be kept between the two of us and nobody else. We're going hunting, he and I, for hybrids.

"The pack will never accept the hybrids as one of their own," Bear says.

"I know."

"They may very well rip the hybrids to shreds rather than let them live."

"I'll protect them."

"How?"

"With my life if I have to."

Bear nods and holds Ginger steady with the reins. He was the pack's enforcer before the war began. I'm asking a lot of him, to trust me, and then when the time comes for justice, to betray me. I have to admit. I'm not looking forward to my execution. Being bound to a tree and having the pack rip me apart piece by piece till there's nothing recognizable left. It's a punishment that has never been needed before. No one has murdered one of our own in cold blood. Ever. There's never been a murder or a murderer before me.

The threat of pack justice has kept the peace for over two hundred years. I've killed before. But, under a very different set of circumstances. It wasn't murder, my killing Grace's father. It was a battle between two men fought to the death for the right to lead this pack. Josiah had just as good of a chance of winning as I did. The hybrids, against me, against the men I ordered to kill on sight, they never stood a chance. Paying the hybrids back, my life for the ones I took, is a small price to pay.

Bear grunts, but keeps his comments to himself. "The church should do," he says in resignation. His brown eyes scan the winter barren landscape. He can't look me in the eye. He has already accepted the inevitable, that I'm just another casualty of this war. Well, I'm not ready to die yet. I've got things to do beyond leading the pack and winning this war. If I'm to be executed as a killer then let me be a killer. Before I meet my death. I'm sending Van to his.

We go our separate ways, me, guiding Horse along the familiar roads to home and Bear, going in search of hybrids. Horse whinnies at the sight of the stables. I suppose, if an animal can. He misses the creature comforts of home as much as I do. I don't even know why I'm here. I guess I need to walk the floors one last time or maybe I need reminding of what it is I'm so willing to die for. This house is my legacy and as long as she stands so does my hope for the future I'll never see.

The old Victorian manor is quiet as I walk in through the back door. Sunlight streams through the red and white checked gingham curtains hanging over the kitchen windows. The place smells like home, of wolf and wildflowers, of earthy herbs and pine, and of the generations of Galloways that have gathered around the scarred wooden table to break bread together. The floorboards creak beneath my feet as I venture further into the house, through the dining room and past the stairway leading up to the second story.

Everything in this house has a past and a story to tell. It's no wonder I find myself standing in the wide double doorway leading into the study. The air here is filled with the mingled scents of smoke from the old fireplace, the musty scent of aging leather-bound books and pungent whiskey, and the smells of the crisp paper and ink that I used to plot what I thought was my future.

I'm a stranger now, to this room and this house. I turn and walk back the way I cam. I guess that I feel like a voyeur looking into someone else's life. It doesn't seem possible that once upon a time I was the man that belonged to this house as much as she belonged to me. I'm an impostor posing as Hanson Galloway. The man I used to be died the day the war started and I killed without a second thought.

Maybe it's because I need a sense of normalcy that I climb the stairs and wander through the vacant bedrooms. Everything is exactly as I left it. The place is as quiet and preserved as a museum or perhaps, a mausoleum. Van and his brood took up residency here, for a short while, before the war broke out in earnest. But, I suppose the dead know a memorial when they see one. There's not as much as a bed ruffle out of place. Other than the slightly sweet lingering of their scent in the air, you'd never know they'd been here at all.

I go into the bathroom and strip off my gear. I'm too soiled to be in such a pristine reminder of the past. The old copper pipes clang in complaint as I turn on the hot water and climb into the claw footed tub. Filth rolls off of me and turns the water circling the drain a murky brown. I haven't bathed in anything but a cold stream for weeks. I don't deserve the pleasure of a steaming bath when my warriors are sleeping on stone pillows and living in tents.

I reach for the shower gel and the steam fills with the smell of flowers in bloom. It's Grace's soap. I scrub until my skin is red and stinging from the shower's heat and the abrasive force of my attentions with the washcloth and soap. I keep it up, the scrubbing and soaping up with Grace's shower gel until her scent is embedded into my flesh.

I'm still not clean enough, but the water has gone cold and the frigid temperatures remind me too much of the streams I washed the blood off my hands in. I climb out of the tub, dripping all over the tile floor and leaving footprints in the puddles.

I don't recognize the man staring out at me from the mirror. He's a far cry from the man he used to be. Gathering my hair into a ponytail I find scissors and haphazardly cut off the excess length. I work a razor over my beard and reveal a too haggard face. My clothes are caked with mud and worn from living rough. I dump them in the hamper. Not that anyone will probably ever return here until the war is over to gather up any laundry, but I toss the towels into the heap as well.

I'm naked as I pad my way to Nathaniel's room, the room Grace and I shared. We had so few good times together before the war tore us apart. Maybe, once the war is over, she'll recall me fondly, maybe not. It is a comfort to know she won't sleep in this bed alone. I'm certain Coyote will see to it that she doesn't.

I pull something out of the closet and dress. I don't feel cleaner. I don't feel any more like my old self after the shower than I did before. I'm sure I smell better. But, these are abnormal times and the bathing and grooming routine don't make me feel normal again.

I freeze at the sound of someone puttering around in the kitchen. I don't need weapons other than myself, but I strap the holster around my hip and the blade to my back anyway. Until my eventual execution or death, whichever comes first, this is still my home and I resent the intrusion into the only remnant of my past with Grace that I've got left.

It finally dawns on my why I came here. This place has been untouched by the war. I've made sure of it and drawn the fight as far away as possible. This house is my final bid to preserve the future. I've come to say goodbye to it and to Grace. And I'm not going to let anyone sully this house she'll eventually turn into a home.

The sugary sweet vanilla smell of baking cookies fills the air and I loosen my grip on the hilt. Angela stands in the kitchen, gazing out of the window into the cold, sunny day. It seems incredulous that she, while we're in the middle of a war, would be leaning against the counter waiting for the oven timer to sound. But, then I realize she's not the woman she used to be either. Perhaps, much as it is for me. This house is the only retreat she has left.

I take a seat at the kitchen table and she sets a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. I sip and watch her take the cookies out of the oven and place them on the rack to cool. She is quick and has a second batch baking. Angela grunts at the mess I've made of my hair and riffles through a drawer for a pair of scissors. She snips away the strands I missed. Her fingers are gentle and efficient as they work to comb through my hair. "Grace will never forgive you. You know. If you get yourself killed in this war. She'll never forgive you."

Angela rinses away loose bits of hair from her fingertips in the sink and thrusts the plate of cookies under my nose. She's persistent, staying put until I take a cookie from the stack and begin to nibble at the corners. Grace is a lot like her mother. It doesn't seem like only a few weeks ago they'd finally met. Grace has Angela's fine features and expressions. Though, these days, like me, Angela's face is haggard from sleepless nights and lined with worry. "You barely know Grace." I remind her. She frowns at my verbal jab, but keeps whatever thoughts she has about my comment to herself.

"Grace forgave me. I know that. She'll forgive you too. This is a war. She'll forgive you for the women you've taken to your tent. What she won't forgive you for is making her a widow. I understand her well enough to know that."

"Do you think I want to die?" The cookie leaves a thick sweet coating on my tongue and I'm quick to wash it away with the bitterness of the coffee cooling in my mug. Angela contemplates me in a way that reminds me too much of Grace and I feel my heart begin to shatter all over again.

Angela sips her coffee, staring at me over the rim of the cup. "I don't know. Do you?"

"Dying to protect the woman you love. Sounds noble enough to me."

"I'm certain Grace would not agree."

I don't know why, but I reach for a second cookie and take a bite. Unlike Grace, Angela has always had an ulterior motive for anything she's ever done. I am curious why we're sitting here, just the two of us, sharing cookies and coffee like old friends too long parted when we're anything but. "You brought this war to our doorstep. Are you certain it's me you're worried about and not yourself? If I die, I won't be the only one Grace won't forgive. Will I. Or is it that you're worried I'll take Van to the grave with me? About what's going to happen to you, if something happens to Van?"

"Van is your grandfather," she snaps. I've pushed her and anger flashes in her eyes. Her posture is defensive as she walks across the kitchen and pulls the cookies out of the oven. She takes out her rage on the cookies, scraping them off the cookie sheet with a spatula and breaking them into bits in the process. "This war was coming. Nathaniel knew it, but he chose to ignore it. Josiah knew it. He acted and died for it. I had to protect my daughter."

"By hopping into bed with the enemy."

"You go too far, Han," Angela warns. "What do you know of Josiah's plans? He was supposed to take control of the pack, but you...he never anticipated you'd stand in his way."

"He killed Nathaniel. The man was like a father to me."

"You killed my husband!"

"I killed the man I once thought of as a son!" I'm on my feet and shouting in Angela's face. Tears pool in her eyes, but they have no effect on me. "It's a bitch when the spider gets caught up in her own web, isn't it," I growl between clenched molars.

"Josiah wanted us to live in peace with the vampires. Our race is dying out. The vampires are the only hope we have of surviving. Josiah and Van saw it as an even exchange, our gift of daylight for their gift of ensuring the next generation is born."

"I don't see it that way."

"Perhaps, you will when you look upon your own son and his mother and realize without Van's gift they'd both be dead. Did you really think sending Grace away would keep her out of Van's reach? You should know Coyote better than that. He's always got a plan B. He packed more than a change of socks for the trip. He knew you'd never keep Grace this close to the frontlines. While you were planning so was he. It was an even exchange. His blood for Van's.