Revenge
Wolves know nothing of revenge. They know love, they know
fear and anger, and they know sorrow. The great black wolf that had been born
as one of three was now alone. And yes, he knew sorrow well.
For three days he traveled, losing himself to the rhythms of
the wolf. This was the way his life had begun and it was easy to revert. In wolf form the beast ruled. The man was
repressed, relegated to the role of observer. The longer he stayed in wolf form
the more dispassionate that man became, slowly dissolving into the recesses of
the wolf’s mind until humanity was nothing but an elusive dream.
In 5,000 years this was the first time he had ever been
alone. Oh, he and his brothers had separated for short periods of time, to
hunt, to fight, to mate. But those times were always short-lived and tempered
with the assurance that one or the other would return soon. There was no
assurance this time, and for that, the wolf grieved.
He traveled north as it seemed the thing to do. Skirting the
Great Lakes to the forests beyond where the stench of mankind lessened. He
hunted, and slept, and ran. His world narrowed to the now, for a wolf did not
ponder the future. The ache of loss began to diminish as the wild called. He
heeded its siren song and joined a pack that had lost its alpha. The female
needed a mate, but did not find the beta favorable and so resisted him.
When the great black wolf appeared she supplicated herself
and whimpered low in her throat in submission. The grey beta challenged the
black though the cinder beast was twice his size. The battle was soon over. The
grey left bleeding in the snow.
For the next several days he ran with the pack and mated
with the female. On the seventh day, his third with the pack, he took them out
hunting. They were hungry and winter would soon be upon them. They needed to
eat and store up fat to make it through the lean months when food would be
scarce.
During his travels he had passed many fields full of fat cows.
And that was where he led them. Three young males, his female, and her two
daughters. This pack was lean, hunting had been hard for them and they were
hungry. Raised in captivity they had been ‘re-wilded’. But there is a
difference between not being caged and being wild. They were struggling. He knew what it mean to be wild and he would
teach them.
As the sun set and the moon’s cool fire reflected upon the
blanket of snow he began their first lesson. The females fanned to his left, he
would take the males. They circled the herd looking for the youngest or the
weakest. The bovines huddled together for warmth, their breath misting in the
chill. Content in the illusion of safety afford by fences, they slept.
Complacency. It was a man’s word, but the wolf knew it well.
In the wild prey slept with one ear twitching, listening for the sound of
predators on the hunt. Even the hunters never truly let their guard down.
Complacency would feed the pack this night.
At twice the size of the other wolves, his ebony coat made
him stand out against the blazing whiteness of the snow. If this had been a
herd of deer he would never have been able to get so close. As it was, his jaws
were closing around the young cow’s neck before the rest even noticed he was
there.
She was white with black spots, and young. Her meat would be
tender, and her blood potent. She tried to cry out, a lowing of agony. In the
still of the night the herd erupted. Stampeding.
The youngest of the male wolves howled when his foot was trampled. His
yelp of pain caused the females to come running. His mother was the alpha, she
cared for him. But if the young male could not walk, even she would leave him
behind. The young wolf knew this and struggled to stand. The black wolf saw his
struggle, the inner man nodded and approved and thought that the pup would make
a good alpha someday if he survived his foolishness.
With combined effort the small pack dragged the cow into the
forest and fed. Crows gathered in the trees as dawn appeared. Turkey vultures
circled overhead waiting for the pack to disperse. As the sky changed from pink
to blue and the moon hid her face once more, the pack ran together seeking a
safe place to sleep off their feast.
They awoke covered with a dusting of snow that added an
ethereal incandescence to everything it touched. The black wolf’s fur was
tipped with diamond while his small grey female had been painted with frost.
The youngest of the pack woke first, bounding through the
snow. He watched them, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth in a wolfish
grin. His female stirred and rubbed her flank against him in greeting. As the
winter sun shared its meager warmth they played and romped, yipping in
happiness and the success of the previous hunt.
A wolf does not keep time. He notices the days, but does not
count their passing. With each dawn he took them hunting. They found deer,
fleet footed-rabbits along with an unfortunate fox who dared to encroach upon
their territory.
He taught them to hunt geese, and search for warm places to
sleep. He wrestled with the males and taught them to fight. The youngest with
the injured paw was the most skilled. And, as the black had surmised, he would
make a strong alpha. The black focused on this wolf, teaching him, training
him. Showing him what it meant to be wild. What it meant to be wolf.
And then one evening when the landscape became a nighttime
spectrum of greys they made their way back to the farm. The cows had been
penned closer to the homestead. The great black wolf did not like this, but
years of experience made him bold.
The females circled round, and the males advanced on the
herd. The wind shifted, a cow snorted and bellowed, waking the rest. In their
panic they trampled the new fallen snow into the mud, narrowly missing the
wolves that ran among them.
Suddenly, night was flooded with light and the boom of a
gunshot rent the air. The youngest wolf cried out and fell to the ground. A
grey blot on the pristine snow. The females panicked and ran towards their
Alpha. He barked at them, but they didn't understand the warning through their
fear. Another shot rang out and his mate joined her son in death.
He snarled low then, and snapped at the remaining females
urging them to run for the trees. The two males ran with them. The black looked
back towards the house and snarled.
Once more a shot echoed in the night. Pain ripped through
his thigh, splattering the snow with crimson drops. He howled, stumbled and
fell. Rolling to his feet he followed his pack. He glanced back once towards
his mate. She had been a good mate and he would mourn her.
As he ran his leg burned. That fire awoke the man that
slumbered within. “Shift,” he urged. “The pain will lessen.” He heeded the
advice and ran towards a copse of trees. Where a massive black wolf had been,
now stood a man. The chill of the night met the heat of his body cloaking him
in mist.
A slug of metal fell from his thigh. The bleeding slowed. He
shifted again, once more Wolf. But this time the beast did not rule. The man
was thinking. Coupled with the strength of the wolf, it was a dangerous
combination.
Taking his pack far from the farm he found them a secluded
place to sleep and left them there. They would wait for him, but in time they
would forget and move on. He had taught them well, and the young wolf would
become their alpha. They had also learned to be leery of man. Hopefully, they
would be the better for it.
He shifted once more, standing naked and shivering in the
snow. A pink scar was all that remained of a wound that was barely more than a
day old. He stretched and ran, the snow burning his bare feet. With a powerful
stride he leapt as Man, landing as Wolf. Lifting his muzzle he scented the air,
changed his course and headed back towards the farm.
His mate had been skinned, her pelt hung on the fence, a
warning. He walked up to it, inhaled her scent, still evident over the reek of
death, and growled. After a moment he sat back on his haunches, threw back his
head, and howled. It was a howl filled with pain, but also a warning. I am
here, be afraid.
He found the farmer in the barn. The old man lifted his gun
and prepared to shoot. The wolf shifted, rising as man on two legs. The farmer
paused. Unable to believe what he was seeing.
“You have hundreds of cattle. What would it have cost you to
lose the weakest of those?” The Man asked before he wrapped his hands around
the farmer’s neck. The snap of bone echoed in the barn as loud as any gunshot.
The farmer’s wife was next, and then the boy that was tending
the herd. When all was quiet save the lowing of cows the Man reminded the Wolf
of his brother and the woman that killed him. With a growl he shifted once more
and ran back towards the city he had fled.
It took him four days to get back to the city and most of
another to find the stash of clothes he had left so that he could walk into his
hotel room. A naked man would draw attention. This has been true centuries ago.
It was no less true in a day and age when the women often went nearly nude in
their day to day lives.
He had never been to America before. The only reason being
is that his Alpha never sent him there. The beta claimed America as his
territory, and the Pack was content to leave it so. But the brown beta was the
Alpha now. He had called them, they went.
It was always strange walking upright after so many days on
four paws. He was exhausted, and hungry. The refrigerator in the expensive
hotel room their Alpha gave them was stocked with food. He diminished those
provisions significantly before falling asleep on the bed, face down.
37 hours later he woke, rested and once more hungry, but he
would hunt this night and so left the human food alone. A cell phone lay on the
table. Touching the screen he played the message.
“Physius,” said their alpha. “The hunt is off. There has
been too much attention. Leave the woman to me. We have lost 5 of our brothers.
Do not jeopardize us all for the sake of one.” He ended the message then,
deliberately disobeying his alpha. The 4 other brothers did not concern him. If
asked he would deny he received the message. The woman was his.
It had begun to snow, a subtle sifting of delicate crystals
that blanketed the landscape in powder. The hospital where she worked was only
one block over. He made his way there, on foot, as man. He would hunt as Wolf. Hiding in the park across the street he
watched as the snow tipped his fur in white. He waited for hours, she never
came, but the pup that she spent time with did. The wolf watched the young man.
He stood in the cold hugging a young woman. She laughed and pushed her blond
hair behind her ear. The wind shifted carrying their conversation to him.
“Thanks for bringing me dinner, Simone. I really appreciate it.”
“Sure, Arthur,” she said smiling again. “ I've got to get
back to work. Call me later?”
“See you later,” the pup said. The woman giggled, kissed the
man on the cheek and left. The wolf that watched would have liked to hunt the
man, but he chose to go after his mate. Just as his mate had been targeted.
Slinking along the shadows he followed her as she walked.
The city had lots of alleys to conceal himself. A 200 pound wolf is hard to
hide, and easy to see if anyone looked hard enough. No one did. The brain does
not want to see such things, and so it doesn't.
She turned a corner, going around to the back of the
building where a door said employees only. The light overhead had gone out,
casting the alley in gloom. She knocked on the door. “C’mon guys, let me in.
I’m freezing out here.” Rummaging in her
purse she searched for her keys in the dark, accidentally dropping her purse in the snow
that was accumulating. Cursing softly under her breath she knelt to gather her
things. The snow had softened his footsteps, but some ancient instinct made her
look up. A scream died in her throat as her breath was cut off. He dragged her
behind a dumpster just as the door opened.
“Hello, Simone?” A man said. “Anyone here?” he called again.
The wolf watched keeping his jaws clamped securely to the woman’s throat. She
was already dead, and couldn't cry out. But the beast had control of him, the
blood called to him, he couldn't release his kill, and growled low around his
prize.
The guard closed the door with a shrug. The wolf opened his
jaws, letting the woman’s head fall to the ground with a thud. His stomach
rumbled, demanding he eat, so he did.
No, a Wolf knows nothing of revenge, but a Man does.
**This is an excerpt from the upcoming novel Erato. Book 2 of the Sophia Katsaros Series. **
