The Bonding Chronicles Ch. 16

She followed the trail of organs and blood, picking up a large rock with her one good hand before she pushed her way into a bush. A few moments later Sara came through the other side of the thick foliage with the rock held high, looking fearsome with the moonlight cascading around her, but where she expected to find the wolf, either dead or dieing, she found nothing.

She sniffed the air and knew that the beast had vanished, the lack of a trail confirming what her senses had already revealed. Looking around she saw no sign of it, so she returned to the other side of the deep and dense bush. Blood and carnage lead its way to the shrub, claw marks showing how the beast had somehow pulled its way there, but as she followed the trail through the brush, paying close attention to the blood and meat, the trail ended.

There was no explanation she could find for what she witnessed. Pieces of meat clung to branches within the bush, blood dripping from leaves and clinging to bark, and then there was nothing. No sign that the wolf had even continued forward, it all just ceased, as if the wolf just stopped existing altogether.

The rock fell to the ground, the thud startling her as she shook her head in complete disbelief.

"Everything okay?" Andrew asked from back where they had taken shelter from the grenade.

"Damnit, no!" she responded, her voice full of anger. "The fucker vanished."

Andrew was there a moment later, shock crossing his expression as the truth of her statement was revealed.

They remained silent for a while, only speaking enough to decide that they needed to gather Thunderfoot and Tani'm before returning to Karen. Despite their victory, the mood was somber, the disappearance of the wolf casting a shadow over what they had expected to be a great celebration.

Thunderfoot was just where Sara had left him, excitement in the animal's eyes as it watched them approach. Their mood was not lost on the animal, who struggled to reconcile their return with their emotions. They must have beaten the wolf to have come back for him, and he saw no sign that either of them were worried about the beast. His ears darted from side to side, but he heard no tell of the fearsome monster.

Sara lifted the large rabbit by gripping it with her hand and scooping it into her other arm, cradling it against her once she had it off the ground. It had been a tricky maneuver, but she made it look simple.

"Is the wolf dead? Is it? Well, is it? Dead, it must be dead."

The questions kept repeating in Andrew's head, Thunderfoot's childlike voice echoing out within his mind.

"We're not sure," Andrew stated, surprised by the clarity of the jackalopes thoughts. The voice sounded almost identical to what he had heard a few nights back, but there was a focus behind the words that spoke of the animals growing intellect.

Sara looked at him with confusion, sensing that Thunderfoot was curious and concerned, and knowing that Andrew had directed his statement towards the rabbit, but not knowing the question that had been asked. He saw her eyes squint in frustration, and shook his head.

"Thunderfoot wants confirmation that the wolf is dead."

Their mood again darkened, the rabbits question reminding them of their uncertainty. There was no way the beast could have survived the blast, but Sara could tell it had dragged itself to that bush, before it vanished mid-way through. It didn't help when Andrew began explaining what had happened to Thunderfoot, the inquisitive creature's large innocent eyes studying him as he spoke.

Somehow, Andrew and Sara could tell that the magical rabbit understood him, and comprehended what it had been told. Andrew's recounting of the events forced Sara to think back over the battle, trying to piece together how the wolf could have survived or escaped. So much did not make sense, and questions built, one on top of another.

"Andrew," she began, her voice almost silent as she continued to think back. "How did you make that mop look like you? Who the hell was shooting that M16? I mean, there's no way you were shooting that out there, and then got back to me before the wolf could get there..."

Her questions were still building, and her confusion was continuing to grow as the memory played out in her head. "I mean, at the end there, it sounded like there was pistol fire too... What did you-"

Her final question was cut short in that moment, as they found Tani'm and Sara release a deep breath that seemed to calm her nerves. Andrew could sense the profound relief that washed over his mate, and turned his gaze towards her, silently demanding an explanation for her shift in mood, anxiety giving way to calm.

"What? I thought... I was worried she might have bled out, okay?"

Andrew understood why she had that fear the moment he laid his eyes on the small woman. The wolf had been vicious that night, each of them having suffered horrible disfigurement at the unforgiving teeth of that beast. Her entire arm was missing, and by all rights she should have bled out almost immediately, but as they studied her body they could see that her gift had saved her life.

Roots came out of the soft mossy soil, threading themselves into the open wound where her arm used to be. Several roots pulsed with every beat of her heart, each beat causing a different series of viridian roots to expand or contract, feeding fluids into, or out of her body.

Andrew found himself looking down upon her with awe, and wondered if the miracles of that evening would ever cease. He was shaken from his reverie by the lilting tone of Sara's laughter, a slight chuckle turning into a ruckus laugh as she set Thunderfoot down.

She didn't need to look at Andrew to know he was rolling his eyes at her.

"Is it crazy that losing my hand is the least weird thing that has happened tonight?"

Andrew joined her in laughing, her observation allowing the weight of his anxiety about the wolf's disappearance to fade away. The sound of their cathartic guffaw woke Tani'm, who shook her head before blinking the sleep from her eyes.

As she tried to rise, the roots broke off just above the surface of the soil before coiling back towards her wound and wrapping themselves tightly over her damaged flesh. Once the roots were all in place, they began to dry up at an alarming rate, green giving way to brown before a thick and durable bark formed over their entire surface.

Andrew walked over and extended his hand as he watched Tani'm struggle to stand.

"Here, let me help," he offered, and as she reached up, a spark jumped between them a moment before their grips locked. A tingling sensation traveling up each of their arms, and instilling in them an understanding.

One of Tani'm's greatest enemies had been vanquished that night, but her greatest fear had just come true, a bond had just been born.

***** Darkness Moves *****

Fog clung to the ground in a thick, waist-high sheet, and as always, Victor found it comforting as it rose and fell like a great mysterious lake. Everything was cast in a sleepy haze, silver hues of faint light dancing through the mist that hung in the air, telling him that it was night, and keeping him from seeing more than sixty yards in any direction. The trees that rested between the long abandoned buildings were spindly and frail in appearance, moss hanging from each branch, threatening to drip with the moisture that clung to everything.

The stone work had once been remarkable, but countless years of neglect had gotten the better of the once proud buildings, which were shattered and crumbling into the streets of the forgotten village. Victor ruminated on those thoughts of neglect and decay, how one often fed into the other, and just how much could be hidden between those two states of being.

The structure before him was a testament to the wisdom of that knowledge, its walls nothing more than rubble, leaving a single doorway that stood in defiance to the ravages of time. Clumps of moss decorated the edges of that lone frame, and a few glowing mushrooms rose out of the decaying fragments of the hardwood door that were scattered about. Each fungus was about the size of an egg, with bright white flesh that glowed with a pale, eerie light that cut through the fog, illuminating a space much larger than seemed possible.

He stood there, in that perpetual night, basking in the familiarity of his homeland, while he considered what had brought him there. Acheron had been pleased by the dream that the beast had shown him those nights back, the revelation of its darkest desires a welcome gift to Victor's master.

"Fetch the wolf, and make it my offer. If it should refuse, kill it, and bring me its body. It will serve in one way, or another," his master had commanded through the ward that had been etched into his body, dark arousal and eager anticipation infused into every word.

After nearly two centuries, Victor still didn't understand his master's will, the joy and playfulness that often saturated the menacing man's commands stood in stark contrast to the maleficent nature of everything he did. Not that the dark tasks that Victor performed in his service were a problem for him, he rather enjoyed the sight of men and woman left broken and shattered, wills crushed beneath a mountain of torture and rape.

The long strips of black and dark-gray cloth that made up his robes reached out around him as he grew aroused at the memory of past deeds and screaming conquests, the thin and gossamer pieces of cloth stretching out as if searching for something to grasp. The front of his robe expanded out at his lower thigh, the massive bulge rising up as his tool came to life. Victor's erection was slow to build, giving him time to focus on his desires and force them down, before they could overwhelm him.

With a firm grip, he placed his pale-skinned hand on the top of his semi erect cock, the girth and firmness of his package reminding him of the gift his master had given him all those years before. It was not even half hard and still it ached to be used, and then, as he exerted his control, its growth began to subside, leaving only a dull ache of needs unmet.

"Focus," he reminded himself. "I can visit the stockyard when my task is complete."

Faint moans and sobbing cries visited him from the memory of his previous visits to that wonderful place, and solidified his resolve to get the job done.

It was time, the moon had just risen into perfect position, and the wolf's tainted blood spoke to him of a wound most foul. Dim arcane symbols came to life at the edges of the doorframe, and as Victor reached out his will, supplying the required symbols his master had taught him, the portal came to life, releasing a violent breath as wind rushed out to greet him. Victor rose a fraction of an inch off the ground, the bottom of his robes seeming to turn to black mist as mystical symbols began to glow along several strands of cloth that hung from his body. It only took a moment before he began to fade from sight, and as he did, Victor sped through the yawning portal.

At that same moment, somewhere in Spain, a deep and foreboding groan bellowed out from an old and abandoned cathedral that rested at the edge of town. The few citizens who dared to walk the streets that late at night whispered to themselves and tried to avert their gaze as their steps picked up a frantic speed, rushing to whatever destination had dragged them into that fearful night. Several wooden shutters which normally creaked through the night on the dark and foreboding structure slammed shut as the gasping breath of the house carried on.

A moment later, everything went silent, as if the entire village held its breath, and just as people began to relax, several shutters flew open, bouncing off the side of the dark gray structure with a loud and terrifying clatter.

Victor swept into the town, floating unseen down streets and between buildings, his eyes scanning every shadow for what he required, but everywhere he looked there was far too much light.

Arriving in a seldom used alley, another strand of cloth came to life on his robes as he cast his gaze upon the light that shone down from the poll far above, and a moment later, every light within thirty yards dimmed and went out. Frightened voices whispered in nearby buildings, telling Victor that the town still remembered the price that would be paid if anyone interfered with his comings and goings.

The instant darkness descended, he saw his opening, a shadow that filled an unused carport, so dark and deep that he knew he could make his journey though it. The wispy smoke that made up his body dashed into the inky black surface at the back wall of the carport, Victors gut wrenching as he traveled some great distance in that lightless void, before coming out close to the pain he had felt from the wolf.

Dirt, branches, blood and meat were still raining down as Victor exited the void. Much of the wolf's blood had been turned into a mist that filled Victor's nostrils and caused him to idly lick the back of his teeth as saliva gathered in his traditionally dry mouth.

He was no fool, and had chosen his exit point carefully; a few dozen yards away and high above in a tree. From there, he could see the boy and his mate huddled beneath a sheet, their heat visible through their thin covering as their racing hearts screamed out to him. Despite the adrenaline that coursed through their veins, Victor could tell that they were unconscious, and that his window would be brief.

He scanned the scene, realizing what had happened within a second, and as his eyes followed the trail of gore that led towards the final resting place of the wolf, he could not believe what he saw.

The wolf had been at the center of the explosion, the crude but effective device had devastated the magical creature, and reminded Victor of one of the many reasons that humans should never be underestimated. The entire back half of the wolf had been destroyed, entrails and meat reaching out from just below the wolf's ribs.

Blood gushed from the massive open wound in thick waves, each spurt a bit smaller than the last. No creature should have survived such a blast, save for few, and Victor had never counted the wolf among them. Much of the body that remained was torn open and bleeding, guttural growls bellowing out as the wolf extended its one remaining paw, slammed it to the ground and dragged itself into a bush, struggling not to faint while making its escape.

Magic hung in the air, and Wildfang's once proud body was a frail fragment of what it had once been. The creature had already consumed what energy it had left trying to heal itself, and was forced to sacrifice much of its body to try and repair or restore the barest of essentials. Muscle vanished as arteries closed, anything to stay alive, and Victor respected the beast all the more for it. The wolf fought when anyone else would have accepted their fate and died, and in that Victor understood what his master saw in the pitiful creature.

Victor descended from the tree on smokey black feet, landing in silence just before the wolf within the shroud of that veridian shelter. While some of the strands of his robe went dark, others lit up, lifting and shifting around as magic enveloped them, and as Victor spoke, Wildfang understood.

"Would you like revenge?"

A large section of the wolf's face had been ripped off, bare skull glistening with a sheen of blood in the pale light of the moon. There were no words, just a deep and seething hatred, images of the boy and his girls flashing before Victor's eyes.

"Not just against them, you short sighted buffoon," Victor spat, waving his hand towards the two lovers who rested within their blanketed cave. "But those that brought you to this terrible place. Those that forced you from the land you love, and the creatures which rightfully feared and respected you."

Victor loved those moments, his sugar sweet words were like ambrosia to the dying wolf, a light in the darkest of despairs. Images of mighty wolves flashed through Victor's mind, of trees vast and tall, impossible deer and creatures majestic and unknowable, all if it blanketed in a bottomless need to consume and control. The wolf understood what was being offered, and the hatred filled joy that blanketed the beast's every thought told Victor that any price would be worth that reward to the wolf.

Acheron could explain the conditions that he required for the gifts he would bestow when the wolf was in his presence, for in that moment, Victor had just one job.

"This isn't going to feel good," Victor stated, looking down at the wolf and laughing with the knowledge of how much pain stood on the other side of the pact the wolf had just signed.

After grasping the largest patch of undamaged fur he could find, many strands of cloth on Victor's robes came to life, reaching out with ethereal light as pain redoubled across what remained of Wildfang's body. A deep and horifying howl declared the wolf's anguish for the briefest of moments, until Victor yanked him into the void, and they both vanished from the Pacific Northwest.