Chapter 7

(Ryan)

He experienced a wave of excruciating pain and then…nothing. He'd "died" plenty of times in the past—it wasn't something that really fazed him anymore. More than anything, he hated the inconvenience of it all.

The first time it had happened, it was at his father's hand. Memories played in his mind like shadows on a cave wall…

He rose out of the mud, a perfect blank slate.

The air, the sun, the earth beneath him were all so strange and new.

"I have given you life," the rumbling voice said in his head.

In front of him sat his father—the golem was larger than himself, his stocky, powerful form loomed over him, blocking out the light.

He noticed the strange pattern on his father's forehead and reached out a trembling hand.

His father stopped him—"It is the mark of my imprisonment," he said bitterly.

Ryan remembered frowning at the words—he understood little, but if this being had created him, he did not wish for him to be unhappy.

"I—I don't understand." His first words.

"You will," the voice had said.

In the coming months, his father had tested him—all tests that he failed. Once his father had realized that he had failed to produce a creation true to his vision, he had thrown Ryan into a boulder, unconcerned with the consequences.

When he resurrected shortly after, his father had been pleasantly surprised. He may not have inherited all of his father's abilities, and he lacked the capability to continue his genetic line, but his immortality was something. It meant he would be a useful asset in his father's mission.

At least that is what he had been told.

He even believed it for a time

Times change.

When he awoke this time, he was laying disoriented on the forest floor. His neck and arm were set at uncomfortable angles, so he popped them back into place.

That's better.

He could hear a nearby conflict between what sounded like wild animals. The sounds were savage—whatever was nearby was clearly fighting to the death.

He opened his eyes and found the world still blurry as his eyes readjusted—he could make out two creatures locked in a violent struggle several yards away.

His memories came rushing back—the Uncegila!

The giant serpent was currently thrashing its massive tail at its much smaller foe—a particularly ferocious looking white wolf.

The wolf wasn't backing down and easily dodged the monster's attempts to crush it. It was agile as it leapt from rock to rock along the river bank, snapping its mighty jaws at the creature's flesh.

He looked around for Hope, noting her clothes were still in a pile under the trees. He feared the worst—the Uncegila couldn't be harmed by magic. She may have been able to freeze the water around it, but only a strike to the vulnerable spot on its neck could truly harm the beast.

He needed to find Hope now and leave while the monster was distracted.

As he stood up, he felt something around his neck. He looked down to see Hope's pendant, the one she always fiddled with when she was nervous or thinking.

Suddenly, the pieces fell into place—If she had given this to him that meant…

The white wolf was Hope.

At that moment, the wolf's yellow eyes met his, her ears flattened as she snarled in warning—the message was clear: Stay Back.

The Uncegila took advantage of Hope's momentary distraction and used its tail to knock her roughly into the river. The two disappeared into the murky water.

"Hope!" he yelled in horror, running to the river's edge.

The Uncegila had full advantage in the water—it could drown her in an instant.

The seconds passed like hours, he had no idea what was happening under the water and he had no way of helping.

Suddenly, the creature broke the surface, sending torrents of water skyward. Its head was thrown back revealing Hope with her jaws sunken deep into its throat.

The Uncegila's black blood was pouring out of the wound, making a gruesome contrast against her silvery fur.

Hope released her grip on the monster's throat, taking a chunk of its flesh with her. The Uncegila fell backwards into the river as Hope paddled her way to shore.

Up close, he could see she was much larger than a regular wolf—her golden eyes seemed to glow with a light of their own. Water poured off her fur and blood dripped from her mouth.

He backed up, wary of her bloodlust. He had spent enough time in the supernatural community to know that werewolves often lost their sensibilities when in their wolf forms—they couldn't always distinguish friend from foe, especially when they had been on the hunt.

"Hope, it's me," he said carefully, raising his hands in surrender. He had no idea if that would make any difference—he wasn't Hope's friend; they were temporary allies at best. Would her wolf mind recognize a truce with an enemy? Or would his blood be the next to spill?

"It's Agent Clarke…Ryan, if you'd like," he finished with a nervous laugh.

She snarled, ears flattening against her skull. He fought the urge to run, a chase would make this so much worse.

"Hope, I don't know if you understand me—" Her eyes narrowed at him, wordlessly communicating her offense.

"Wait," he began. "I just wanted to remind you that I saved your life, you don't want to kill me after that, right? We're going to find Malivore… together."

He felt his blood freeze; Hope was truly frightening in her wolf form.

She took a step forward, loose rocks crunching under her powerful paws.

He stood his ground and lifted out a tentative hand. Maybe if he could reach her through their strange connection, she would recognize him.

"I'm going to touch you now," he said.

Hope growled; the sound rumbled in his chest.

God, he was a dumb son of a bitch.

He took another step forward.

She let out a low whine but made no move to stop him as he reached out his hand.

He sucked in a breath and bridged the last few inches between them, placing his hand on her large muzzle.

"Hope?" he asked, feeling the warmth bloom under his palm.

"Clarke…" Her voice echoed in his head, as clear as if she had spoken them aloud.

Impossible.

Suddenly, Hope began to sway unsteadily, her eyes falling shut. A heartbeat later she fell forward, crushing him under her weight.

"Hope!" he shouted, muffled from beneath her fur. "What's wrong, what's happened?"

He could feel her breathing, slow and deep—she was unconscious.

"It burns…" The thought came to him unbidden. Somehow Hope was communicating with him through her wolf form, even unconscious.

He suddenly felt a stinging in the corner of his eye—it burned. He struggled to get his arm unpinned to wipe his face.

His hand came back covered in the same dark blood that coated Hope's face. It was the blood—it was acidic. The blood was poison.

The realization sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had to get the blood out of Hope's mouth.

He pushed up on Hope's form, rolling her off of his chest. He scrambled to his feet and struggled to shake her awake.

"Hope! You have to wake up, you have to get the blood out of your mouth!" he shouted.

It was no use; she was unresponsive.

Damnit. Not again.

He grabbed onto the fur around her neck and pulled, dragging her to the river's edge. He used his hands to pry open her jaws, taking care to avoid her sharp canines.

"Someone…help…" the voice came to him again, causing his heart to clench in his chest. He couldn't lose her now.

Using one hand to keep her mouth open, he used the other to splash water into her mouth, rinsing out the poisoned blood.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you just changed back," he said, mostly to himself.

"Can't…" her voice answered him.

"You can hear me? Understand me?" he asked, momentarily pausing his efforts, but she failed to answer him.

"Hope?" he asked again, finding himself stroking her fur, tracing rhythmic circles with his thumb.

"Landon?" she asked, the desperation clear in her voice.

Seriously?

"No. Not Landon," he replied, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.

He resumed flushing the water over her muzzle, cleaning the last of the acidic blood from her fur before rolling her back from the water's edge.

He saved her life, what, three times now? And she thinks he's Landon? He flicked the pendant handing around his neck in annoyance.

He knew he wasn't being rational. Hope was barely conscious—of course it made sense for her to call out for Landon.

But for some reason, it really pissed him off.