indigo,
and
brightened by the full moon. Although the
blizzard had finally passed, the bitter cold
prevented the snow from melting. It had
drifted to cover the first floor windows of
some buildings. The world was frozen.
Ice covered every surface. Sparkles on the
surface of the snow glittered like earth-
bound stars.
Maralee had already packed most of
her belongings into her knapsack. It sat
upon her bed waiting for her departure the
following morning. As she gazed out the
window, she pulled her leather gauntlets
on over her long-sleeved, white blouse
and secured them around her forearms and
wrists. Turning into the room, she swung
her cloak around her shoulders and tied
the laces beneath her chin. She reached for
the sheathed sword on the dresser and
fastened it to her belt. She pulled the
sword, loving the resonating sound it
made when freed of its sheath. The blade
was sharp and shiny, just how she liked it.
She returned the sword to its sheath and
left her room.
The Smithy’s were already asleep, so
the inn was silent. She took care to tread
lightly so she would not wake them.
Maralee stepped out of the inn’s front
door. She closed the door silently behind
her, not even jangling the welcome bell.
She descended the four steps to stand in
the lane and glanced in either direction.
Breath pluming, exposed flesh stinging
in the biting wind, the lone figure turned
up the fur collar of her cloak and started
through the dark village, heavy boots
trudging through thick snow banks. It was
an uncommonly quiet night. The orb of
white above reflected off the heavy
blanket of snow, giving the town a surreal,
lighted glow even though it was
approaching the midnight hour. It was
quiet now, but Maralee knew that within a
few short moments the Wolves would
arrive and so the huntress watched, and
waited, and kept her sword at ready.
She slowly made her way through the
village, hand resting on the hilt of her
sword, to the place where she had seen
the Wolves emerge from the forest four
weeks before. She had met Nash on that
night, but she shoved thoughts of him
aside. She was getting better at denying
him the chance to rule her life in his
absence. She told herself she didn’t want
him to step out of the shadows. She didn’t
need to hear his deep voice say it was a
dangerous night for a stroll. She wasn’t
longing for the sight of his gorgeous,
crooked smile or the smell of tobacco and
oiled leather. She wasn’t.
She passed a narrow alley situated
between two adjacent houses. A rustle
came from the darkness. She paused and
gazed into the shadows, but saw nothing.
After a moment, she decided she was
hearing things and moved on, continuing
towards the forest.
The howling began deep in the woods.
She was surprised when what seemed like
hundreds of answering howls shattered the
still of the night. A shiver raced down her
spine as the chorus of howls grew closer.
She unsheathed her sword, standing ready
at the crossroad to the forest. She couldn’t
figure out why her heart raced. She wasn’t
afraid. Something felt wrong, but what?
Her hand shook when the first set of
amber eyes emerged from the forest at the
far end of the road. The Wolf growled,
lowering its head in warning. Another
Wolf appeared, followed by another and
another. There were too many for her to
count—more than a hundred of them, in
any case. Something was wrong.
Maralee’s entire body trembled.
Something was wrong.
Her eyes fell on a small Wolf cub near
the front of the enormous pack—a dark
gray pup with a barrette in the shape of a
row of small daisies fastened to the fur
above one ear.
“Carsha,” Maralee realized in a rush
of breath.
These other Wolves, the monsters,
No, it couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t
allow it to be true. She shook her head in
denial, her hold on her sword slackening.
The Wolves came closer. She couldn’t
move, had no will to fight, even at the cost
of her own life. She couldn’t take her eyes
off Carsha who was growling and snarling
—a madness in her eyes beyond the
child’s ability to control.
Maralee lowered her weapon. The
Wolves skirted around her, flooding into
the wide crossroad, surrounding her,
blocking any escape she might attempt.
She didn’t try to get away. She was trying
to understand.
Why had Nash let her live instead of
avenging his brother’s death? She
wouldn’t have blamed him. She had
slaughtered his brother right in front him.
Nash had known his brother’s death
would leave behind a widow and three
fatherless children. Yet rather than ending
her life, he had locked her in a shed. The
following day, when she had stumbled
upon his village, he had showed her
hospitality, his humanity, his capacity to
love. She’d glimpsed his wildness as
well, but he wasn’t a monster, despite
what she had called him. She had
convinced herself that he was an oddity of
nature, rather than accepting what she had
known in her heart. He was as much a
human as she was. Maybe more.
Unlike her, he wasn’t a murderer
pretending to be a hero.
Surrounded by Nash’s brethren now,
she couldn’t deny it any longer. She was a
murderer. She was a slayer of people.
People who had families, dreams, lives.
People who were much different than she,
yet the same. She killed them without
mercy to fulfill a destiny that was as bleak
as endless winter months. The spring
would never come for her. Nash had been
her solitary spot of bright color, a brilliant
crocus blooming in the snow. She had
discarded him as if plucking him from a
fragile stem, taking one glorious sniff of
his fragrance and tossing him aside to
wither. She had been such a fool.
As she stood there, having so many
untimely epiphanies, she remembered the
two young boys in her dream. The pair she
liked to think of as her and Nash’s sons.
She remembered their words. It was as if
they spoke to her now in the moments
before her inevitable death.
“I have to stop this. I can’t do this
anymore!” she cried into the ni
ght.
She tossed her sword far beyond reach
into a snow bank.
The Wolves surged forward as a unit.
She was barely aware of the fangs sinking
into her throat as she fell backwards…
backwards…slowly as if in some dream.
A long, low howl carried into the infinite
darkness, well beyond the moment she
answered the blissful beckoning of
nothingness.
CHAPTER 27
As Nash’s howl carried above the
threatening growls, the Wolves paused.
They turned in his direction, listening. All
Wolves were attentive except the one with
Maralee’s fragile throat in her mouth. His
mother.
Nash had watched Maralee as she
made her way through the village. He had
wanted her to give him a reason to save
her. When she had tossed her sword aside,
he knew she was the woman he thought
she was. The woman he had fallen in love
with, not the murderer fate had destined
her to be. The Wolves had moved more
quickly than he anticipated. His hesitation
might be her end.
Nash moved to stand over Maralee
and his mother. He knew he couldn’t force
Stacia away from Maralee. If Stacia made
any sudden moves, she’d rip out
Maralee’s throat.
Return to the village, Nash howled.
Find strength within yourself to fight
your madness.
Most of the Wolves glanced around, as
if they weren’t sure how they’d arrived at
their current destination. Those who had
easily shaken off the curse, who would
have never left their homes under normal
circumstances, turned and fled into the
forest—a writhing sea of furry bodies.
The twenty or so remaining behind, those
particularly prone to the moon’s affects—
Nash’s brother Cort had once been a part
of this stubborn lot—remained behind,
circling Maralee and Stacia, who still had
her fangs in the human’s neck. This
surprised Nash. His mother never
struggled against the curse as long as he
was present to shatter its affects.
Mother, let go of her, Nash woofed.
Stacia growled, a wordless sound of
warning. Her eyes were not glazed by the
effects of the full moon curse. She was
fully in control of her actions.
What has gotten into you? Nash asked
her.
She
growled
again,
and
then
whimpered, Cort.
Will killing her bring Cort back?
Nash snarled. Will it? You said I could
handle this my way. She will no longer
hunt our people. Let her go.
Stacia hesitated. Her bite loosened;
released. She took a step backwards.
Go back to the village, Nash told her.
She turned and trotted off in the
direction of the forest, her head and tail
low. Nash turned his attention to the
remaining
Wolves.
The
smell
of
Maralee’s blood flowing from the deep
puncture wounds on her throat worked
them into a frenzied state. Nash stood
protectively over her motionless body and
emitted a low, long howl. The Wolves
paused briefly to look at him. Nash locked
eyes with those facing him. They froze,
lost in his stare.
Return home. You do not belong here ,
he told them in soft, murmur of a howl. He
blinked, breaking their trancelike state.
They immediately left for the Wolf
village. Nash continued in this manner,
locking gazes with small groups of the
Wolves until all had regained their senses
and vanished. It had taken less than two
minutes. With his people gone, and the
village safe, he turned his attention to
Maralee.
Blood leaked in thick rivulets from
both sides of her neck. The melting snow
beneath her head was crimson. He lapped
at the injury on one side of her neck,
attempting to close the wound. She was
losing too much blood, too quickly. Even
though the bleeding slowed with his
healing saliva, blood gushed from the
other side unfettered.
The door of a house across the street
opened and two figures stepped onto the
porch. “She should be fine in couple of
days. Keep giving her the medicine I gave
you, but come get me at once if her fever
escalates.” The confident voice of a man
carried across the intersection.
“Are you sure that you won’t stay until
morning? The Wolves seem uncommonly
restless tonight.” This was a woman’s
voice.
“It seems to have quieted down,” the
man said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well, thank you for coming so late.
We all rest easier knowing we have such
a fine and capable doctor in our humble
village.”
Doctor? Nash lifted his head and
caught the outline of the man’s medical
bag just before the woman closed the
door. Nash licked Maralee’s cheek and
dashed across the street to the doctor. He
startled the man when he grabbed the
sleeve of his coat between his teeth, but
Nash didn’t care. Maralee was in
desperate need of assistance. First
impressions were of no importance.
“My, aren’t you a large…er…dog?”
the man said as Nash pulled him across
the street. The doctor caught sight of
Maralee lying in the snow. Nash was now
the one being pulled across the street as
the man sprinted across the road.
“Oh my God,” the doctor said,
dropping down to his knees and touching
Maralee’s pale cheek with his knuckles.
“Maralee.”
He knew her? Nash hoped that was a
good sign.
The doctor opened his medical bag
and extracted a roll of bandages.
“What on earth?”
He examined the marks on the side of
her neck more closely. His blue eyes
hardened as he looked up at the Wolf
watching him anxiously.
“Did you do this to her?”
Nash shook his head and whined.
The doctor gave him a puzzled look,
but then turned his attention back to his
patient.
“I’ll need to stitch this,” he said. “Just
a few centimeters to one side or the other
and there would have been no stopping the
flow of blood. These wounds just missed
the major arteries in her neck.”
He secured a bandage around her
throat to slow the bleeding, while Nash
looked on worriedly. Once the bandage
was secured, the doctor stood. He bent to
lift her. Nash growled. The man took a
step backwards.
�
��I have to take her to the clinic,” he
said. “I don’t have the necessary
equipment with me. It’s too cold to leave
her here.”
Nash picked up the doctor’s medical
bag in his mouth. He waited for the man to
pick up ashen-faced Maralee.
“It’s almost as if you can understand
me,” he said with a nervous laugh. He
scooped Maralee into his arms and
headed down the road at a fast walk.
Nash trotted after him, watching
Maralee’s face for any signs of life. She
was as still as death. Nash suppressed his
urge to howl forlornly at the moon.
They stopped in front of a well-kept
brick building with a blue door and
awnings. The doctor fumbled with his
pocket while trying to balance Maralee in
his arms. Nash dropped the medical bag.
He buried his nose in the man’s pocket
and nudged the man’s hand aside. He
quickly located a small key with his teeth,
pulled it out of the pocket and placed it in
the man’s hand. The doctor stared down at
Nash in disbelief before inserting the key
in the lock. He unlocked and opened the
door before rushing into the clinic. The
man hurried through the lobby and into a
treatment room. Nash closed the front
door to keep out the cold air, picked up
the medical bag in his mouth, and
followed.
Nash found the doctor by following the
bright light given off by several kerosene
lamps. The man was cleaning Maralee’s
wound with a strange-smelling orange
substance. He then took up a surgical
needle and thread, and began to make the
small, neat stitches that would close the
wound. He noticed Nash standing just
inside the door watching him. Nash placed
the medical bag on the floor. He craned
his neck to look at Maralee.
“You should wait outside, Fido,” the
doctor said.
Fido? Nash barked at him and came
further into the room. The man gave him a
curious look before turning back to his
task. “It looks like I won’t be able to
change your mind,” he said. “Just make
sure that you stay out of my light.”
Nash moved to the opposite side of the
narrow table. He licked Maralee’s hand
then rested his broad head on her abdomen
as he watched the doctor work. Once the
wound was closed the doctor tied off the
thread and clipped it close to her skin
with a small pair of scissors. He then
moved to the other side, the side Nash had
cleaned.
“A bandage should be enough to stop