Ok, so I had a dream and I'm picking up the pen again so to speak. I'm not sure how this is going to turn out as the concept came to me around 2 years ago now and I think it's going to be kind of hard to step back into it, but I'm going to try. Onwards!
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Chapter 3: Getting Acquainted
"Hey, I know I've been gone awhile, but wake up!" Damien awoke to the sound and feel of Marcel shaking his shoulder. He'd fallen asleep on his arm on his table and as his head rose the imprint of the knit from his sweater was clearly visible imprinted into the side of his face.
"Sorry about that. I've been traveling all day." Feeling this sounded acceptable, Damien collected his bags from beneath his chair and followed the young woman out of the bar room and into the relatively chilly evening air.
They walked in somewhat awkward silence towards the outskirts of the village where the shops ended and a slightly muddy dirt road began. As they neared the out buildings a couple of shadows stepped into the diffused light of the feeble street lamps and into their path.
"Hey Marcel! Who's the pretty boy?" A younger man wearing a brown duster and equally worn leather hat grinned from behind the toothpick in his teeth. He posed in a cocky sort of slant, head tilted downward before taking a few steps forward to circle the pair in the street. His two buddies just stood by and watched, grim expression on the face of a burly dark haired man, amused smirk on the face of a scraggly blond.
"Leave us alone, Jason. I've just had one hell of a shift and I'm not about to put up with your stink all over me tonight."
"Alright then pretty lady," he held up his hands in mock placation before stepping back and giving them a wider berth in deference to her request. "I guess I'll just catch you later then. See ya, pretty boy!" His friends snickered as they followed him into the darkness of an unlit part of the street, disappearing behind some buildings shortly after.
"Jerks," Marcel mumbled under her breath. The attractive stranger at her side caught the comment but said nothing in reply. "They think they're God's gift to women or something, but I've seen more personable things crawl out of holes in the ground."
She looked over at Damien, pleased to note that she had induced the slight smile on his face once again. To redirect the mood of the conversation, he tried to change the subject. "So what does your father do?"
"Oh, he's a rancher. He raises livestock and keeps some hens for laying eggs. He's also tried his hand at growing crops, but he just doesn't seem to have the touch for the land that some others around here do."
Damien got a sudden mental image of a stocky man trying to coax plants out of the soil with odd hand gestures. 'Where did that come from?' he wondered to himself. Oh well, not important.
"Anyway, if you stay with us for longer than you plan, he'll probably integrate you into the running of the farm pretty quickly. It's almost at a crucial season for the animals. Their wool needs to be harvested and they need to be rounded up for butchering. Think you'd be able to help with something like that?"
"I don't think that would be a problem. I'm good with my hands," he faltered slightly after that statement. He was becoming unnerved by this mysterious knowledge without actually knowing anything. It was really getting frustrating. He brushed a strand of chestnut hair back behind one ear but lowered his head so it instantly fell free once more.
"So where do you come from?" Marcel gave him a sidelong glance to keep from staring directly at him. There was something about the grace of his movements with his simultaneous shyness that was immediately endearing. The girl had realized some time ago that she knew nothing at all about this stranger but bringing people home during the trade seasons was nothing new to her. 'Besides,' she told herself, 'I know how to defend myself should it come down to that.'
The man didn't know how much he should initially reveal to her about how much he did or rather didn't know about himself. The crossroads where he had started his whole misadventure seemed like ages ago, though it had merely been a few hours. He decided to trust his instincts and let them reveal to both of them what they could. Maybe she'd be able to jog some of his memories loose.
"Well, I come from pretty far away. You probably wouldn't have heard of it, though." He let the silence hang between them. What he said had felt right, but in more ways than one. He felt that to travel to where he came from originally would be immense distance wise, but he also had a sense that it also spanned far longer than was possible in terms of years. Why did he suddenly feel so old? He jammed his hands into his pockets—what was to become his first nervous gesture and seemed to shrink into himself.
Marcel noted that his eyes suddenly looked a million miles away. If only she knew how far he truly spanned. She decided to leave his past alone for the time being and focus on his present. "So why travel so far just to come here? Are you just passing through?"
"I don't really know yet. I guess you could say I'm a wanderer of sorts. I just have this need to keep moving. It's almost like I'm looking for something, but I don't really know what just yet." Shit. Did he just reveal too much?
'Nah, you should be fine. The chick hasn't even got past your dashing good looks yet, why would she focus on anything you were saying?'
It was that infernal voice again! Damien thought that he had gotten rid of it; at least for a little while.
'You can't get rid of me that easily, my friend. I annoyed you before—for a very long time in fact, so why should I stop now?'
Meanwhile, Marcel puzzled over what he had said to her. 'What an odd young man. Does he realize what he sounds like when he speaks? He's probably just tired. Who knows how far the poor thing's come.' She pointed out a spot not far down the road and slightly off towards a wooded glen.
"That's where we're going. I suggest you go right to bed when you get there. You can wash up from your travels in the morning when we get up. My father's an early riser and he views those who don't do the same as basically lazy, so if you want to make a good first impression just trust me. I'm sure he'll like you once he gets to know you," she paused. How could she assume such a thing? She didn't even know him yet. He seemed to have some kind of quality that just begged a person to love him. He looked so lost and…sad. "Anyway, dad's probably sleeping already so just head up the stairs and to the second room on the left when you get in. The less we talk, the less likely we are to wake him up."
After that, they approached the house in silence, their footsteps and the occasional rustle of Damien's purchases the only sound to be heard in the quiet night. The darkness held it's breath as a fog slowly crept in and all the nocturnes remained silent.
As his foot hit the first worn step up to the front porch, the hairs on the back of his arms raised themselves and he stopped stone cold. He felt like eyes pierced the back of his skull and with an unsettled shake of his dark mane he turned his head and tried to search the darkness with inadequate sight.
"What's wrong?"
What could he say? He felt something. "Nothing. I just thought I heard something. It's probably just tired nerves." With that he slowly turned around and proceeded after her into the maw of the dark front door.
No lights were left on and the only thing illuminating the interior of the house was the sparse amounts of moonlight that managed to splash the walls and wood floors through curtain tinted windows. Damien moved with ease despite this towards the even darker staircase as if he had lived there for years although he had never set foot in the dwelling before this night. He went up the stairs and scarcely a stray board creaked such was the silence of his passage. He passed doorways down a quiet hallway. One on the left; a bathroom, one on the right where someone snored deeply, the sleep of a long day fulfilled, another one on the right, this one a closet and finally the second door on the left.
Cautiously, he pushed it open and swept it closed behind him. A window positioned over the bed allowed the light to filter in and him to get more than just the sense of his surroundings. A small dresser in the corner, a closet, a stand with the standard water jug and wash basin. Nothing remarkable about the room but Damien took in its features like memorizing the face of a stranger and began to settle into what would be his space for the next stretch of his existence.
'Not a bad spread overall. I think I could get used to this life. A home, a woman to come home to at the end of the da-'
"Who said anything about any of that?" Damien angrily questioned the Voice in his head. He was tired of its presumptuousness and desperately wanted to be rid of it. It was starting to drive him mad, although he had the inkling that he had probably dealt with it for a very long time and that it might have even served him well once.
'Remember, I can hear your thoughts. If the girl or her father hears you talking out loud they're going to send you right off to the nut house.'
'Don't worry. I'll just tell them I was praying.' A burst of laughter wound its way through his head and rattled his nerves even more.
'You! Pray! That's a good one, D. Glad to see you still have that razor sharp wit.'
The dark haired former hunter sighed in exasperation and decided to start readying himself for a well deserved sleep. Realizing that he hadn't thought that far ahead in his clothing selection, he decided to just sleep in the buff. It's not like he was sharing a room or anything.
There was something very vulnerable, almost sensual about the feel of the covers on his naked skin as he slid between the cool sheets. He let his head fall back onto the pillows, his hair a wash of silk against the white linen. He tried lying on his back with the covers neatly laid out flat on top of him. Not quite to his satisfaction, Damien curled up on his side and drew all the covers into the centre of the double bed and made himself a comfortable nest. 'Much better,' he thought to himself with a certain amount of freedom he had never felt before. Caressed by the soft fabric, he was finally able to banish all stray thoughts from his mind and fall into a comfortable semblance of sleep.
Out in the darkness of the surrounding fields, shadows played and took shape between the stalks of corn. On silent feet they traveled, many of them together, all towards the same thing: the small town in the distance. An eerie howl broke out among them with others answering the call soon after. The shadows converged on a small house on the edge of town.
Livestock animals took from their beds and began to whicker and stomp in fright. Their nervous screams could be heard clearly in the darkness by any around to listen, those who were too foolish to already have found their beds.
Rancid snarls came from shiny lips of the shadow beasts in the night as their prey began to fall one by one. Stomachs and throats ripped clean open, flesh sundered from bone and wails of the dying and panicked gave away the position of this morbid feast.
Damien shot up in bed from his short slumber. Pausing but a moment to gain his bearings in the unfamiliar room, he quickly regained himself and leapt to the window to gain a better look, his nakedness forgotten. Seeing the carnage below, he quickly donned his pants and slipped into his worn boots. He grabbed his shirt on the way out the door but was presently confronted in the hallway outside his room.
"Who the devil are you?" the voice of Marcel's father belted out in the darkness to his left.
"It doesn't matter. Marcel brought me here. Quick! We have to go outside and see if we can help. Those are your animals being slaughtered if I'm not mistaken."
Without further words the pair thundered down the stairs into the dark entrance hall.
"What's going on?" Marcel's sleepy head peaked its way out from behind a corner of the stairs.
"Werewolves," her father replied, a high powered rifle suddenly in one hand. He threw open the front door and was preceded by Damien onto the creaky boards of the front porch. He stopped where he was as soon as the carcasses of his animals came into his view illuminated by the moonlight.
"We're too late, son. I don't see anything we can do to help them now." The shadowed attackers could be seen floating on unnaturally bent legs into the woods at the far end of the property. In no time they had disappeared. The pair could see the mist of their breath falling from primed lungs into the night air. "Go back into the house and wait for me there. I'll have to check on the animals before I can come back inside anyway."
Damien finally was able to properly slip into his shirt and button it up the front. In the chill of the evening he wished he would have thought to grab his sweater or coat.
'That went well,' commented the voice inside his head before falling silent.
"I'm sorry about this, Damien," Marcel told him. She was now seated at the table in her night clothes and a warm looking bathrobe. "I haven't heard of werewolves in this area for a very long time now. Funny that they should just show up out of nowhere like that."
"Don't apologize. I'm accustomed to surviving on very little sleep, and werewolves are hardly anyone's fault."
"I see you've met Dad."
Damien didn't answer her. He just sat there staring blearily at the top of the oak table top where he sat.
"You know what? I don't think we're going to be going back to sleep for a while. I'm going to make some tea. I'm sure dad's going to wanna talk to you anyway."
The faint sound of gunshots could be heard a short distance away from the house. The dark haired young man rose from his seat but a hand on his arm stopped him from going farther.
"He's just shooting the animals too injured to survive. He doesn't like to see anything suffer, my dad. He's had to do this before when some coyotes got into the pens at night." Marcel had placed the pot on the stove to boil the water for tea and a short time later the front door opened to admit her father.
The man was a fair height with a slight bulge over his belt. He had thinning hair that was starting to grey and a slightly unruly moustache. Years of working on the farm had given him a firm build in the upper body and shoulders but he seemed to walk with a slight limp.
"Now that we have some time, how's about a proper introduction? My name's Bill. Pill Payton. What can I call the latest stray that my daughter's brought home with her?" He gave her an amused wink before redirecting his eyes to the handsome stranger in their midst.
"Dad, this is Damien. He says he's been traveling and –" she was interrupted before she could finish.
"I'm sure this young man, Damien did you say? Can answer for himself."
"I'm pleased to meet you, sir. I—" he was also interrupted.
"Call me Bill. If you're going to be staying here a while, and from what my daughter's said I'm sure you will be, you might as well call me Bill."
"Alright. Bill. I've come in from out of town. I don't have a predetermined purpose here, but I'm willing to work to earn my bed and if I pose an inconvenience to you or your family, just say so and I'll be on my way."
"Now why would you say a thing like that?" Bill seemed to be quite a shrewd man and he eyed Damien suspiciously after his explanation.
"What I meant was I don't want to overstay my welcome. I have no attachments here and would have no qualms about leaving. That does not mean that I do not wish to be here for any particular reason."
Satisfied, Bill took a seat across from Marcel and set the rifle on the floor leaned up against the table. He made sure that it wasn't cocked and that the safety was set.
Not long after, the pot on the stove began to boil. The girl took down three cups and placed one in front of each setting before collecting the teapot and a couple of tea bags from a cupboard above the sink.
Bill had already started to explain some of the tasks that the young man would be expected to help out with. He finished by saying, "Whatever time you have left over is your own. Just stay out of trouble."
Damien thought this was rather odd but didn't comment.
Marcel's father evaluated the well spoken youth across the table from him with curious regard. He noted his pale flesh first of all. It almost looked like the boy was sickly or that he might be unaccustomed to working outdoors. Bill pondered the boy's usefulness in a farm setting but decided to leave that until he could be proven wrong. Next he noted Damien's height and build. His upper body looked deceptively strong as if he was used to heavy labour but the leanness of his torso didn't fit the bill. He almost looked like a swordsman? But that couldn't be right. No one around here, or anywhere used swords for anything anymore. It was all quick action, high powered energy weapons…unless you were a hunter. This waif before him hardly looked old enough to be away from home at all, let alone be a hunter. However he did have a certain agelessness about his eyes…
He was distanced from his musings as a stream of steaming amber liquid was poured into the cup in front of him. "Thanks, dear." He kissed Marcel on the cheek before she could step away.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to take my tea up to my room. It's been quite the long day and I don't think that I'm any kind of company to be around right now. If you'll excuse me,"
"Of course, Damien. Get some rest." Marcel smiled at him as he stood gracefully and followed the stairs up to his room. The door could be heard closing quietly from where they sat at the table and the older man looked at his daughter.
"I want you to be careful around him. I know I say this every time we have a guest in our home but I mean it."
"Yes, dad."
"I know you're old enough to think you can take care of yourself, but I worry. You're the only one I have left since your mom died, you know."
"I know dad. Don't worry."
"And while you're at it, keep an eye on him for me. Something seems strange about that young man and if he's as new in town as he seems to be, he'll be needing a little help with the locals. I hate to say it, but having someone like that walking around is like throwing a sheep to the wolves."
"Dad!"
"You know what I mean. I know you've noticed that he's…handsome. There are those out there who would take advantage of that. You know what I'm talking about"
"DAD!" Marcel blushed where she sat and stared at the floor trying to regain her composure. Was he serious!
"Anyway, I'm going to bed. Goodnight dear." Bill drained his cup and set it on the table before taking the rifle to the closet where it had been so speedily retrieved earlier. "Just leave the dishes. That can be one of the first tasks you assign our guest when he wakes up in the morning." With that he turned around on tired legs and made his way up the stairs to bed.
Meanwhile, having already finished his tea Damien stripped once more and crawled back into the welcoming softness of his disturbed nest. He was now thoroughly exhausted and wasted no time in falling asleep. For the rest of the night he dreamt of quick shadows in dark places, white fangs and streams of blood. But most notably, Damien dreamed of wolves.