Tamed
There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls. –George Carlin
Stewart Swinton crawled painfully out of the goldfish pond, his chest burning from the lead bullets burrowed into his flesh. Lacerations and contusions covered him from his fight with Will and from Laura's struggles. Might have come on a bit too strong with Laura, he reasoned. One of his unfortunate gifts was to do and say the exact wrong thing at the worst time. Couldn't stop himself. Wincing and gasping at the pain, he staggered up and ran in the opposite direction of where Will had gone. He ran for ages, scaled an iron fence, nearly impaling himself in the process, and almost broke a leg when he dropped to the ground.
He crawled when he could no longer run, and finally exhausted, curled up in a small grove next to a spring and somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, lost consciousness altogether. He slept feverishly, shivering uncontrollably.
Stewart woke ravenous and with a powerful thirst. The sun was high and he had no idea where he was, but the wolf had taken over and with it, the burning in his chest had ebbed. He scrambled to the spring to slake his thirst and trod his hand over something cold and hard. Lifting his hand he saw blood crusted bullets and searchingly felt his chest. There were welts, quickly healing where his wounds had been and the bruises on his knuckles were already fading.
A strong scent caught his attention and he stilled, his nostrils unconsciously quivering as his eyes dilated. His hands flexed, claws growing from the nail beds and he sensed rather than saw the rabbit crouch under the nearby bush, trying futilely to blend into its environment. It was over in seconds, amid a flurry of fur and growling. The quick rush of blood into his mouth, spurred his appetite and he chewed, bone and meat together. It took him seconds to devour the rabbit. With a full belly and his thirst slaked, Stewart fell into a deeper, more restful and healing sleep than the one in the night. The sun broke through the trees overhead and he curled into the sunny spot, warming himself.
By the time he woke again, it was full dark.
Ella Arceneau walked swiftly through the forest she knew so well. It was her own inherited land, bordered by the Aldons' to the east and something shadowy had invaded it. Something…off. She felt it in her bones the moment she passed the gate and the threshold of the invisible border she had raised herself. She slowed her pace when instinct told her she was being watched, every muscle tensed on high alert and her pulse quickened unbidden. The tangy smell of rot assaulted her nostrils and she glanced down to see bits of fur and a smattering of blood on the ground. Rabbit. Her eyes narrowed at the bloodied bullets. Poachers? It didn't make sense. She spread her senses out around her, using her powers to locate him, for she knew he was male—just as she knew he waited and watched.
Stewart crouched, observing from behind a tree at what he deemed was a safe distance. The figure was slight, and smelled female. A low rumbling growl threatened to escape and he felt himself twitch with want. The previous night's lesson was still fresh on his mind, so though the urge to mate compelled him, he was hesitant to move. Until she dropped the hood on her coat and a stronger wave of scent assaulted his senses. He didn't realize the growl had escaped until he saw her stiffen and stop. In the moon's pale light, he saw her glance around warily, a wisp of frozen breath escaping full lips, waves of dark hair spilling over her shoulders.
He bounded before he thought and the frisson of panic she felt when she caught the movement on her periphery kept Ella from reacting in time. Before she knew it she was pinned, the man-beast growling above her and pawing at her. He nipped at her shoulder eliciting a shrill girlish yip. The sheer weakness of her reaction had her drawing power into her from the very ground itself. With the force of a grenade, Stewart felt himself suddenly thrown backwards, the breath knocked out of him as he landed against a tree. That smarted, was his only thought before he realized the woman stood before him.
Ella fought the urge to blast him again. Her magic swirled outward from her, creating a palpable aura of righteous indignation and contempt. He looked small, crumped at the base of the tree, his furry clawed hands raised in defense. She took a sniff, tasting his energy on the breeze. Weak, cowardly, too full of himself. He needed to be taken down a notch or two…or a peg, she smiled slowly.
He staggered slowly up, sensing her hesitance to fell him completely. "I, uh—I'm sorr—"
"Don't even attempt to say it, werewolf," she spat. "You don't mean it. Besides," she added, sparing a glance at her shoulder where the bite stung painfully, "you've managed to turn me before much longer. There's no cure for a bite."
With a disgusted sneer she stalked toward him. Stewart had to fight the urge to bolt, though every instinct told him to. He had thought he was nearly unstoppable with his new powers, but this wicked beauty was an unknown variable and the power emanating from her was strong. If he had a tail, it would have been tucked. He glanced over his shoulder to the darkness of the woods.
"These are my woods," she laughed. "You would never get far."
Stewart almost yelped at how close her voice was, for when he glanced back they were nearly toe to toe. She reached up slowly, as if to keep from alarming him, and touched two fingers to his forehead. Stewart promptly dropped to the ground unconscious. Smiling smugly, Ella pulled the hood back up over her head and waved a hand over the werewolf's supine body. It rose, and much though she wanted to, she refrained from smacking his head into every tree on the way back to the house.