DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.
His Duty
By Joodiff
It's raining, the moon's face is hidden behind sullen clouds, and the only truth that matters is that the wolf is dead. Killed in a shabby backstreet just a heartbeat from the bright lights of the West End. Killed by chance and random circumstance and by a twitchy young man with a blade and a habit to feed.
He thinks it may be the hardest news he's ever had to break, and as he watches the words shatter her world forever he knows that he has done his duty, has fulfilled his unspoken obligation. It is no comfort to him, and never will be. The wolf is dead. Immutable fact.
Her courage both astounds and humbles him. The tears glitter in her eyes, but they don't spill. Not yet. Her voice is very quiet, very controlled as she asks, "How…? Was it…?"
How can he lie to her? He can't. He holds her gaze without flinching, slowly shakes his head, "He managed to drag himself almost all the way to the main road."
She closes her eyes, and that's when the tears fall. That's when he knows for certain what's been lost.
He knows the words are completely inane, but he says them anyway, "I'm so sorry, Grace…"
And because the wolf is dead, he's the only one who can put his arms around her and hold her while she sobs. It's a privilege and a curse, and he wants to scream his own pain and anger into the night alongside her pain. But he won't.
"Spencer," she says, "Oh, Spencer, Spencer…"
"I'm here," he tells her, but he knows it will never be enough. How could anything be now that the wolf is dead?
- the end -