Aldrich
I gape at the apparition lying on the pallet of hay in my hut, unable, unwilling to believe my eyes. I move closer, making as little noise as I can in order to get a better look. My feet feel heavy, leaden, as I inch forward. If she indeed is who I think she is, it’ll mean a world of trouble for me and the pack. More trouble than we can handle at the moment.
First rays of sunlight illuminate the inside of this hut, which is my secret safe place. I come here when it all gets too much, when I need an escape. Nobody is aware of its existence. Well, nobody was, I think with a grimace.
I’m now standing only a couple of feet away from her. She’s lying on her side, her face turned away from me.
It is her. There’s no mistaking her identity, not with the unique color of her hair. It is tied in a single, disheveled braid and falls down her back. The very end of it sinuously curves around her slender waist. It is silver, and even shines like the metal when polished to perfection.
I swallow as I close my eyes and rub a hand over them, as if the very action might turn her into somebody else, anybody else when I open them again. But of course, nothing changes.
It is Princess Avalea Starr. I resist the urge to swear out loud. Not only is it our heir-apparent, but she’s in a terrible state. Her naked feet, her exposed calves, the skin of her arms underneath the tattered sleeves of her gown are peppered with several cuts and scrapes. The nightgown, ruined beyond redemption, is streaked with blood and dirt. I wonder how she slept through the cold night without freezing to death. Maybe she used magic. My mouth twists into a bitter smile at that thought.
The need to worry about mundane things such as warmth and shelter and gnawing hunger are for lesser beings like me and my pack. The Venusian Witches, the highest amongst all Altairian inhabitants, certainly aren’t bothered by such trifling things.
For as long as any of us can remember, the lack of magic of my kind has been used to create a divide between us and all the other higher classes of beings residing in the magical kingdom of Altair. Us Werewolves are on the lowest rung. If there were humans living in Altair, we would be lower than them as well. Humans might not possess magic, but they don’t carry a curse either.
What is Princess Avalea doing here? Most Venusian Witches wouldn’t even be caught dead in this hut. At that, my heart skips several beats. What if she is dead? My hands and feet go cold as I inch forward until I’m touching the edge of the pallet. I bend over close to her face to check if she’s breathing.
And that’s when she turns around and opens her eyes. Her eyes, the color of spun gold, are wide and filled with terror. Her mouth opens into a silent scream as she scoots away from me until her back hits the wall.
Her reaction to me is nothing unexpected. I’m used to being treated with a varying mixture of horror, terror and pity by most of the higher classes, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like somebody has twisted a knife in my gut.
She is shivering; from fright or from the cold, I cannot say. When I was observing her from up close before she woke up, I thought I saw goosebumps erupting on her skin. So she isn’t unaffected by the elements as I previously thought. I back away from her slowly, untying the laces of my leather jacket.
She shrinks away even farther, her eyes wildly roaming around the hut, possibly looking for something to defend herself with, or looking for a means of escape.
My mouth compresses into a thin line, but I stop untying my jacket and hold both my hands up, palms facing outwards in the universal gesture of surrender.
“I’m not going to harm you.”
It doesn’t seem like she believes me.
She’s hugging her knees to her chest now, peeking at me over the tops of her knees. Her eyes have the same expression as that of a cornered prey. She’s shaking like a leaf, and this time, it’s purely from fear. I can smell it.
It’s strange that she isn’t lashing out her magic at me, but I’m grateful for it. I have no defense against magic, and if I go back to my pack with magic-inflicted wounds, there’ll be a barrage of questions I’m in no mood to answer. The rift between Werewolves and the magical folk is wider than ever at the moment.
“I’m going to take my jacket off and give it to you. Seems like you need it more than I do.”
Her head snaps up and her mouth falls open. Taking advantage of her momentary shock, I quickly remove my jacket and toss it to her. She looks at me, then the jacket, then back again at me, but doesn’t touch the jacket. I run a hand through my hair in frustration.
“Fine. Suit yourself. I don’t know how you ended up here, but surely you know you can’t be here? I’ll get you a change of clothes and some food, and you can be on your way.”
She’s still silent, studying me carefully. She looks at me for the longest time before the wariness and fear in her eyes mostly melts away, leaving only a hint.
“You’re not…” she begins, but then thinks better of it and simply shakes her head.
“You can’t be here,” I repeat.
More silence.
“How did you get hurt?”
“It’s… not important.”
Her answers are frustrating, but I shouldn’t have expected any forthrightness. She belongs to the ruling elite, and I’m worse than a stable hand.
I survey her injuries, but none of them seem life-threatening. Minor scrapes and bruises. For my kind, injuries such as these are a matter of routine. And we don’t even have magic to heal ourselves. It’s true that we heal faster than our human ancestors, but we cannot simply make our hurts and illnesses disappear like the higher classes can.
“Why don’t you heal yourself? I can guide you as far as the forest’s edge.”
She bites her lower lip and looks away.
“Well?” I prompt.
“I… I’ll find my way.”
I shrug nonchalantly, but I feel a stab of anger. How deep the prejudice must run for her to refuse every offer of help from me, even when she’s in dire need of it. Or at least, I think she needs my help. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she can magic her way to wherever she needs to be. I realize there’s a big flaw in my reasoning. If she could magic her way out, she wouldn’t be here in the first place, and that too, in the state she is in right now. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that she’s lived through an ordeal.
“Fine. Leave as soon as you can. We all know what happened the last time they found a Venusian Witch in the company of a Werewolf.”
Bile rises up my throat at the memory, and bitterness has crept into my voice. Her eyes widen in fear again. I sigh, forcing myself to assume an impassive expression. I’m sick of the other beings looking at me, at my kind, with fear and mistrust.
“Look, all I meant was I want no more trouble for my pack. But you can stay until you feel well enough to travel. I’ll get some food and a change of clothes. I have little, and what I get might not be to your standards, but I’ll do my best.”
To my utter horror, her eyes fill with tears and she hugs her knees even closer to her body.
“No, don’t do that,” I say, shifting from one foot to the other, reaching my hand toward her before withdrawing it when she merely places her head on her knees and begins to sob. I’m uncomfortable and out of my depth. What in the buggering hell do I do now?
“I’m sorry.”
She only cries harder.
“I’ll get the food and clothes.”
I’m out of the hut before she can respond, shifting into my wolf form, running as fast as I can. I head straight for the ghetto where my clan is allowed to live.
Not live, exist. Merely exist.
My tunic and breeches are ripped to bits as my body changes from a man’s to that of a beast, but I can’t worry about that now. It would have taken me twice as long to reach the ghetto in my human form, and the sooner I feed her, give her a change of clothes and send her on her way, the better it will be for everybody concerned.
With every fiber of my being, I’m hoping that when I go back, I don’t find her there. And yet… I’m intrigued. What is she doing here? How was she injured? And maybe I was imagining it, but why did it seem like she doesn’t want to go back to the palace any time soon?
AvaleaWhen the Werewolf leaves, I force myself to rein my tears in. Shame and unease wash over me. I should not have shown him just how much of a wreck I am right now. Werewolves are savages. And after what the Council and Father did just last month, they hate my kind more than ever. What’s to stop him from killing me once he knows how weak I am?I don’t know what caused me to shed tears. Perhaps it was a delayed reaction to the happenings of last night, perhaps it was realizing how well and truly alone I am now, or perhaps it was just relief, knowing this Werewolf isn’t one of those who invaded our palace last night and murdered my father. Ann and I might not have seen the faces of the assassins, but we heard them speak. I know with an unshakable certainty that this Werewolf wasn’t one of the assassins.Or perhaps it was his kindness towards me that caused me to shed tears.Despite my vulnerability, despite knowing I was probably defenseless at that moment, he did nothing to hurt m
AldrichI run through the forest as fast as I can, my powerful legs eating up the floor. The forest serves as a boundary between the city with its civilized, refined residents, and us beasts. Until a month previously, we too lived in the city, albeit on the very fringes, in cheap housing complexes constructed for our ‘benefit’ by the ‘benevolent’ rulers. If only Connor hadn’t…I force the thought to the back of my mind. What’s the use thinking about it now? It’s in the past. All we can now do is make the most of the situation. Not everybody agrees with my views though. Not everyone in my pack wants to make the best of a bad situation. My folks are extremely angry at the injustice of it all. Yes, the Council was within its rights to mete out this harsh punishment, yes the terms of the treaty were violated, but not everything is black and white. The ruling elite often choose to ignore the various shades of gray. I cut through the thinning woods on the edges of the forest and emerge int
AvaleaI 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 ba
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