Avalea
I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I come to, I’m once again staring into the Werewolf’s silver-gray eyes. They’re not glowing this time, thanks to the bright sunlight flooding the hut. I try to sit up, but wince as pain shoots up my leg. I’m still feeling light-headed.
The Werewolf is looking at the blood-soaked remains of my nightgown and the pool of blood on the floor with horror.
“What the hell!” he exclaims.
“My thigh…”
He reaches for the hem of my nightgown with hesitant fingers.
“Go ahead,” I whisper.
He tries to push the fabric up my leg, but it’s stuck to the open wound along with the bit of the fabric from my sleeve I had used to staunch the flow of blood.
“I’ll have to cut it away.”
I nod, too tired to speak. My eyelids feel heavy, and I feel myself slipping back into unconsciousness.
“No!” His sharp cry serves to open my eyes. “Don’t close your eyes. Here, look at me.”
The authority in his voice forces me to follow his command. Somewhere in the back of my pain-addled mind, I register the fact that he has returned alone, and is trying to save my life.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he repeats as he looks around the room, then on a muttered oath, moves away from me. “I need to find something to cut the fabric.”
Will he leave the hut again to find the necessary implement? I don’t want him to leave. His presence next to me makes me feel safe.
He runs a hand through his thick, unkempt dark hair, and swears, finding nothing.
“I’m going to use my fingernail. Don’t be scared. I won’t harm you.”
I’m surprised to find that I trust him.
“Don’t close your eyes, but maybe don’t look at my hand either. I know your kind are squeamish of us in our wolf form.
I nod and bite my lip. I try not to look, but am unable to tear my eyes away from his hand as his index finger becomes stout, rounded and furry. A sharp claw pops out. I would have screamed if I had the energy. His nail is sharp as an arrow and gleams in the sunlight. Using it, he cuts away a portion of my gown, leaving the fabric stuck to the wound untouched.
“I’ll have to get something to clean it. It needs to be closed.”
He rises to his feet, his brow furrowed as if he’s trying to work out a complicated problem.
“Don’t move. I’ll be back. And don’t close your eyes. Keep your mind occupied. Recite multiplication tables if you have to.”
Don’t go, I say in my mind as I watch his retreating back, feeling bereft of his company. It is tempting to shut my eyes. It would be so easy to give in. What difference does it make if I live or die? Ann might finally be the queen. She’s more qualified than I am. She deserves it. But what if she hasn’t escaped? What if they have found her?
My eyes snap open at that thought. I can’t let anything happen to her. I have to find her. Taking the Werewolf’s advice, I try to keep my mind occupied by strategizing. Uncle Horace lives in Deneb, and Deneb lies south of Vega. I’ll have to head south once I’m strong enough. The ghetto lies south of Vega as well. I’ll have to find a way to cross it undetected. Perhaps I might have to seek the Werewolf’s help after all. What if he refuses to help? Thinking about it is giving me a headache. Multiplication tables it is.
But I’m saved from having to recite the multiplication tables as he returns with an armful of odd objects.
He places an earthen basin and a waterskin on the floor next to me. There are strips of rough hemp cloth, and a sharp paring knife in the basin. Underneath his arm, he’s carrying logs of firewood. I instinctively want to shrink away at the sight of that knife, but quickly realize how silly I’m being. He’s had a hundred chances to harm me, but he has chosen not to. Instead, he is caring for me. I think he noticed my reaction, however.
“I’m growing tired of repeating myself. I won’t harm you.”
His expression is impassive, but there’s a hint of hurt in his voice. I feel about an inch tall.
“I’m sorry.”
He nods as he lays down the various items.
“I can’t heal cuts and wounds magically, and it’s evident that your thigh wound is beyond your capabilities. We’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way. I’m going to rip away the fabric sticking to your wound. Then I’m going to tie a strip of cloth above the bleeding point. I’ll have to use a hot knife to sear the wound. It’s going to hurt like hell.”
I'm sure it's going to, but what choice do I have? "Okay."
He pours water from the waterskin into the basin.
"Do you think you can heat it magically?"
"Yes."
I might be weak right now, but I wouldn't be a witch if I couldn't perform such a basic spell. When I wave my hand over the basin, steam rises from it.
"Thank heavens. I hope you can heat the knife as well when the time comes."
It'll be a little more tricky since metal is denser, but I might be able to manage.
"I'll try."
"Alright."
His jaw is firmly set and there's grim determination in his eyes. In a quick movement, he rips the fabric away from my wound. I scream.
"It will be okay. It'll stop hurting in a bit."
His voice is calm, and his words are soothing. I derive strength from his assurances. He ties the strip of cloth above the wound with brisk movements before dipping a strip of cloth into the scalding hot water and cleaning the wound as best as he can without making it bleed.
"Now comes the difficult part," he whispers, holding up the knife.
My hand trembles when I wave it over the knife, channeling my power through my fingers. Within moments, the blade turns red hot. The Werewolf inhales and exhales noisily as he pinches the edges of the open wound together. It hurts, but I know I’ll be experiencing a different level of pain when the hot knife seals my wound. I turn my face away; my hands clenched into fists when he brings the knife closer to my thigh.
Hot, searing pain rips through me as the heated blade touches the wound. I think I scream, but can’t be certain. The pain has blinded me to everything else.
Strong arms engulf me in the next second.
“Hush. It’s okay. The worst is over. Deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth.”
The strength in his muscles is enough to break me like a twig, but I lean into his warmth, feeling safer than I have ever felt in my life. I do as instructed, clinging to him, until eventually the pain begins to subside.
He props me against the wall and lets go of me to retrieve something from a sack lying in one corner. I had not noticed it before, nor had I noticed the wicker basket. When he lets go of me, it takes all I have not to beg him to take me back in his arms.
He returns shortly with a vial of a clear liquid. Pouring several drops of it on a strip of cloth, he places it on the wound. A soothing, cooling sensation replaces the throbbing ache.
The fog surrounding my brain begins to clear, and I realize how parched I am.
“Water,” I croak.
“Ah, I forgot to bring a cup,” he says, running a hand through his hair. I have come to realize it’s something he does quite often. A thick lock of his hair falls on his forehead. I reach for it and almost brush it away before I realize how inappropriate it is, and withdraw my hand abruptly, hoping he hasn’t noticed. The strange expression in his eyes tells me he has noticed. I close my eyes for a moment and pray that he will attribute my actions to the peculiarity of the situation.
He clears his throat. “Right. Cup your hands.”
I do as asked, but my hands are trembling violently. Another curse escapes his lips. The water skin is too large to drink from directly. He tilts it and holds it at an angle, hoping that the water will drip down in a thin stream, but it sloshes over the rim, splashing water all over me. I gasp.
He swears and looks thoroughly put out. I should be worried; I should be scared that he’s not in the best of moods, and who knows how the beast within him will react when he’s angry? But I feel an insane urge to giggle. Perhaps I have finally lost my mind after my travails. I can’t help thinking he looks quite adorable right now, with his bottom lip sticking out. And he’s handsome, in a dark, dangerous sort of way.
Yes, I have surely lost my mind to entertain such thoughts at such a time.
He catches me staring at him, and I quickly look away.
“We’ll have to make do for now. Open your mouth.”
He pours some water from the skin into his cupped palm and brings it to my mouth. I hesitate. It’s oddly intimate, him giving me a drink of water in this manner. He brings his hand closer to my mouth. I bend my head forward and touch my lips to the tips of his rough, callused fingers. Every other thought goes out of my head when the cool liquid runs down my throat. I greedily drink up the rest of the water. By the time my thirst is finally quenched, he’s had to refill his palm three times.
I wipe my lips with the back of my hand and look up at him with a smile. His eyes have gone strangely dark, and there’s an intensity in his gaze that makes my heart beat just a little faster.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. There are fresh clothes in the sack, food in the basket. Eat and get some rest. I’ll return later in the day.”
He helpfully places the basket and the sack within my reach, avoiding the puddle of dried blood on the floor.
“I’ll clean it when I come back.”
Before I can say anything, he strides out of the hut, shutting the rickety wooden door behind him.
Once he leaves, I inch across the floor towards the pallet where his jacket is. I wrap it around my shoulders and close my eyes. It has his scent, and that oddly comforts me. I can make myself believe I am cocooned in the safety of his arms.
Tumultuous thoughts swirl in my head.
Have we misjudged the Cursed Ones?
Aldrich I don't want to leave her, but the alpha is expecting us. I’m dragging my feet as I walk back, too tired to shift. I think Roark suspects I’m up to something. When Roark walked into the hovel earlier this morning just as I’d finished packing the essentials to take back to the hut, he was too distracted to question me. I left when he fell asleep for a few brief minutes. But when I made my way back to our hovel the second time to get all those things to treat the princess’s wound, he looked at me questioningly. I fibbed; told him a Werewolf was badly injured during training earlier this morning. I don’t know if Roark believed the lie or not, although it is very common for us Werewolves to sustain severe injuries during our intensive training sessions. What are we training for? I don’t know. All I know is all able-bodied Werewolves gather in batches in the clearing nearly to hone their fighting skills. Myself, and Kimur, who is the other guard, oversee these training session
Aldrich Roark and I head for the alpha’s cave in silence. I glance at Roark a time or two, wondering if he will question me, but he seems to be lost in his own thoughts. He is no doubt thinking about the testimony he’ll be giving. There will be uncomfortable questions thrown his way. I wish I could stand by him and support him, but I cannot break protocol. As the alpha’s personal guard, my primary duty today is to maintain order during the meeting and make sure that the alpha is safe. Today more than ever, I think the younger members might actually become disruptive. We head upstream, walking briskly along the hard rocky surface. Up ahead, we can see some other members of the pack heading for the cave. Since both of us are keen to avoid conversation, we maintain our distance. The alpha’s cave is located in a small hillock at the edge of our settlement. It’s not a single cave, but a series of interconnected caves with some of them extending underground. The largest cave is large enou
He takes another deep breath. This next bit is going to be especially difficult for him. “I cannot be absolutely certain, but I thought I recognized one of them. It was Connor.” The pack erupts, and several members even take a few threatening steps towards Roark. “Isn’t your brother done with ruining our pack?” somebody demands. “We should have known it was your family responsible for this trouble again.” “Banish them both and be done with it!” My hackles rise as I prepare to leave the alpha’s side in a gross breach of protocol, to stand with my brother, but before I can, the alpha stands up, drawing himself up to his full height. His shoulders are hunched, his eyes glowing, and his canines have lengthened into sharp, pointed, gleaming fangs. He has partially shifted, and looks positively menacing. I see a hint of the strong alpha that he once was. A hush falls over the entire pack. “Anybody who interrupts will have to deal with me. Personally. Have I made myself clear?” Nob
Aldrich It is late evening by the time I am relieved of my duties. Roark left immediately after the meeting, but since I serve the alpha, I couldn’t leave, no matter how badly I wanted to get back to the princess. I have been distracted and half sick with worry. What if my pack members chance upon my hut? What if they find her? I have to hope that the Werewolves won’t venture that deep inside the forest. I have made up my mind to spend the night in the hut so I can guard her. I reach my hovel just as Roark is about to leave for his night duty, and I’m forced to wait until he leaves before I grab some more bread and cheese, wrap it up in a piece of cloth and head for the forest. I’m not going to be able to keep my nightly wanderings hidden from Roark forever. He’s also going to notice the missing food. We’re only allowed to keep meager amounts of dry rations in our individual hovels since we all gather in the community kitchen for meals. I missed breakfast this morning, being
Avalea When I wake up, it’s evening. I have been drifting in and out of sleep throughout the day. A couple of hours ago when I woke up briefly, I ate the bread and the cheese the Werewolf had left for me. The bread was stale, the cheese was almost moldy, but with hunger gnawing at my innards, it was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten. The light is now fading and temperature has begun to drop. I’ll have to find a way to keep myself warm. I realize now that I could have frozen to death last night. While I can use my magic to alter my body temperature, it doesn’t last too long. I know there are spells that can keep a space cool when it’s hot, and heat it up when it’s cold. They’re self-renewing spells, which means they feed on the magic in the environment once installed. Even the thought of attempting those complex spells makes me anxious. They’re beyond my magical capabilities. Last night, I survived because the Werewolf found me. Once sleep steals over one’s senses, it is
AvaleaBy the Goddess, what have I done? I have actually gone ahead and kissed the Werewolf. My first kiss. I never thought my first kiss would be with a Werewolf.Temporary insanity. That’s the only reason it must have happened. Except… I want to do it again. And I don’t particularly regret it. Earlier when his lateral incisors got all sharp and the muscles in his shoulders bulged impossibly, it sent an arrow of something hot, something molten and delicious right down to my core. And I felt something else too–a knowing, an awakening, a forgotten memory trying to break through to the surface of consciousness. Something inside me is telling me I know this Werewolf. But how is that possible? I’ve never met him before. My belly quivers as my desire for him intensifies.I press a hand to my lower belly to make the sensation go away. It doesn't help. If anything, I want to kiss him more than ever when he fixes me with a hot, intense look.I swallow.I want him to take me into his arms
AldrichI feel myself drowning in her molten gold eyes. The discs of her pupils are growing larger. I think I scent a whiff of her arousal, but I’m afraid to inhale deeply. Going down this path is dangerous.When I’m looking at her, it’s so easy to forget about the class difference, the rules of the land, the law… just about everything. Our warmth breaths mingle and our lips part. She leans in, conveying without words what she wants. I want it too, want it so badly that my hands are trembling as I let go of her chin and extend my fingers to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. In doing so, I lean forward, my knee accidentally brushing against her injured leg, causing her to wince.I come crashing down to reality. She’s a beautiful princess, delicate like a flower. She’s probably been sheltered all her life and told to stay away from the likes of me. I’m rough, uncouth Werewolf who doesn’t know the first fucking thing about how to behave in the presence of a princess. Just now w
AvaleaAldrich stepped out after ordering me to get out of my bloody clothes. The man’s moods are unpredictable. One minute he's so kind, so warm, and the next minute, he’s gruff. I want to think it’s because of the beast inside him, but I know that’s not the reason. After spending merely a few hours with Aldrich, I know with an unshakable certainty that Werewolves are not the wild, dangerous monsters we’ve believed them to be.What is more surprising is I do not fear him, or his beast. In fact, I find both his forms utterly fascinating. Just this morning when I saw the beast’s nail pop out to cut away the bit of my gown stuck to my thigh wound, I was afraid. I now know that I was afraid because I didn't know any better.What I now feel for him is… desire.My cheeks heat up as I hobble toward the sack and retrieve some clothes. Knowing what I now know, I feel a lot more sympathetic towards the witch who gave herself to that Werewolf. There’s something almost magnetic about the raw po