Page 72 of Werewolves Don't Howl
“Is that too familiar?” Of course it was.
He shook his head and stepped out of his bedroom, closing the door behind him. “Not at all.” Which was a well-mannered lie, but the whole world thought that we were engaged, so what could be too familiar after that?
We walked to the library slowly, me clutching my knitted blanket, him keeping pace with me, both of us comfortable in the darkness only interrupted by the silver gleam cast by the moon over the hall runner.
In the library, he went to the fireplace, lit the kindling, then went to the wingback chair before he hesitated. I bumped into his broad back and almost lost my grip on my blanket.
He turned to look at me, then took the book from the shelf and went back to a wingback near the fireplace. There was another one beside it, smaller, my size.
He sat down and I climbed on his lap. He stiffened up, shocked, but the fear was gnawing on me too much to care. He’d said ‘anything.’ For a moment we sat like that, him stiff and hard, but eventually he relaxed, turned on the lamp, opened his book, and started reading.
His voice and the familiar Elven words pushed back the fear enough that I could analyze it. It wasn’t the dream that had scared me so much, but the fear that had triggered the dream. There were spells like that, spells that would paralyze the victim with fear. I slowly started to relax as he described the mushrooms found in the ash tree, the bolete, dark-skinned and smoky flavored.
I shifted on his lap to get more comfortable, fitting my head into the crook between his neck and shoulder, and slowly felt warm, safe and content.
I was drowsing off when the memory stole my breath. It was so real, so intense. I was in the cage, my cheek against the metal floor. It smelled so bad, like bodily fluids and madness. My back’s skin kept tearing apart while my bones shifted, poking through the gaping wounds that never healed entirely. It hurt so much. I’d been there for an eternity, hurting more than you could hurt without dying, but he kept me alive.
I whimpered as he turned me over with his careful hands, the mask he wore with its glinting eye pieces, glinting like the needle in his hand.
No. I blinked the memory away. I was in Cross’s library. I wasn’t in the cage anymore. I didn’t have to hurt and struggle with my wolf. All of that was over. Except that Cross hadn’t apologized for it.
A dart of pain went through my chest while anger stirred deep in my heart, in the shadowy recesses where the pain still lingered. The elf still suffered from that betrayal. The night bloomed into song, a melody of violence and fierce anger. Justice needed to be done. He had to suffer like I suffered.
A seed on the windowsill outside the library burst open, threadlike roots growing soundlessly towards the seam at the bottom of the glass. The song of anger danced in my heart as that seedling grew, slipping beneath the window, breaking metal locks until it rose, and more roots spilled into the room, spreading across the floor towards the chair Cross sat in, his back to the window, his attention on the book and on me.
I took a breath and was back in the cage, back in that moment when he carefully turned me over, barely touching those gaping wounds and shifting bones, but even his gentle touch was agonizing. I looked up at him, at the needle in his hand. It was as long as his forearm. It looked like death. Was he finally going to give me the death I’d pleaded for until I had no words, no voice, no will?
He placed the tip of the needle over my heart as he looked down at me. I tried to smile. Finally. He was giving me death.
In the library, the roots pierced deep into the floor, soundless, while the branches spread, wrapping the chair while roots pierced through the fabric, spreading through the wooden frame until it was there, against his back, over his heart.
The past and the present became one. He shoved the needle deep in my chest while I speared through the chair with the living stake, through his back ribs, shattering them before pushing deep into his chest, into the pulsing heart that was so warm, so strong. Agony. My scream mingled with his as that needle flooded my system with more poison that would keep me alive, agony that never ended.
The past flickered out, and I was back in the library. Cross’s mouth opened and blood spilled down his chin as he looked at me with those fathomless indigo eyes. I hurt so much. We hurt together.
I whispered, “Why aren’t you sorry you hurt me? I keep waiting for the words that will heal the hurt you left in my heart, but you never say them.” I put my hand against his chest and felt the sharp prick of the branch I’d staked him with. It was waiting for my will to continue growing, breaking his heart into pieces like he’d broken me.
He coughed, swallowed down blood, then touched my face with gracefully powerful fingers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but you deserve peace. I’m so sorry. From the first moment I heard your song, you’ve had my heart. I kept you alive because I couldn’t kill you, because I love you.” He coughed and choked while his sweet blood filled the air. “A night elf’s love is always poison.” His eyes grew dim, unfocused, dark lashes fluttering as he struggled to keep them open.
He was dying? He wasn’t allowed to die! I swallowed down the pain, the memories that kept twining around me, dragging me into madness and hatred. He’d said he was sorry. And I’d made him suffer, as justice demanded.
I pressed my lips to his while I pushed the tip of the living stake back, slowly so I could knit together the fabric of his heart as it retreated. I kissed him as slowly, agonizingly, the branch slid out of his flesh, coated liberally in his sweet blood. The scent of blood was heady to my wolf, but worrying, like his head lolling against the chair’s wing. His heart beat slow, weak, like he didn’t want to struggle for life any more than I did.
I growled low in my throat and stood, shifting into the beast. I picked him up and carried him to his bed. So much blood. I ripped off his shirt and licked his skin until it was pearly perfect. He was so pale. So weak.
What had I done?
My wolf melted into me, and I crumpled onto the floor, the vestiges of the madness retreating. I trembled so hard as I curled up in a ball on Cross’s bedroom floor. I’d stabbed him in the back, and he’d let me. He hadn’t struggled, but he must have heard the song. He must have felt my rage.
I scrubbed my face with my hands to get off the tears, but stopped because they were sticky with so much blood. Tears and blood. That should be the name of a song. He’d let me kill him. Why would he do that?
Love. He’d said love. Maybe he’d also been mad. I started hyperventilating. Losing control was out of the question. The last time I’d lost control during Bram’s wedding, I should have realized that something was going on with me, something that I needed to fix. Cross had resources. He could get me the help he needed before I went mad again. Why did he let me hurt him? Why wouldn’t he stop me? I could have gone on a rampage, my rage fueling my beast as I slaughtered innocents. Instead, I’d targeted Cross, the one I hated.
One thing was very certain. I couldn’t afford to hate anyone. That was the weakness that let in the destructive monster. The elf. We were monsters all of us. And we weren’t going to let him die any more than he let me.
I pulled myself up the side of the bed and then flopped over on the mattress, my limbs as weak as the rest of me. I put my cheek on his chest over his heart and started singing in my croaky, tear-choked voice, the song of healing. I wove the gnome coziness magic over that, through that, summoning peace and tranquility, forgiveness and joy. He’d said sorry. I couldn’t afford to hate him anymore. Of course, I couldn’t love him, either. My triad was so strong. Look at that elf summoning nature to accomplish her vengeance, while the beast waited patiently to carry him away when she was finished. The elf was the scariest. I was completely out of control, every single piece of me.
My tears washed his chest clean while I sang until his breathing steadied, his heart beat surely, and I was more exhausted than I’d ever been in my life. I’d poured my life and strength into him like he’d done to me so many times during my training. He’d turned me into such a capable monster.
