Chapter 3:
A few miles down to the east a thin man in a pale cloak stands alone under a wooden archway of highly polished wood. Cesaire, cloaked with his hood, walks towards him. His palms are sweaty, his mouth is dry and he's aware of every nerve, every muscle in his body, even the pulse in the veins at his temples. But he's not the one who should be afraid.
"Patrick."
"Carlisle. Didn't expect to see you so soon," the man smiled weakly glancing down at Cesaire's right hand. Burned by something.
"I'm a man of my word," the wolf replied.
"I see."
Cesaire rehearsed this.
From his pocket he pulls out a coin bag. Tossing it to him. Patrick unbinds the leather string and counts the coins. Satisfied, Patrick slipped him a leather packet.
"No one will notice?"
"Not unless the Governor, himself, checks the papers himself then no. No one will notice."
Cesaire smirked," So that means I don't have to... return and… get back my money's worth."
There was a double meaning in his sentence.
Patrick gulped.
Cesaire slips the packet in his left cloak pocket. The two middle class citizens knowingly look at each other, both standing to the west and looked at the busy streets of the city. Wheel carts, sheep and pigs trafficking in heavy groups and loads back and forth on the streets. Patrick desperately wanted to raise his eyes and take a better look, but he forces himself to keep his head down and his face hidden, as Cesaire instructed him a month ago.
"This business transaction is over."
"Business was a pleasure."
"Pleasure to do business…"
Both smiled at eachother.
Exiting the shadows, Patrick covered his blonde head with his hood and he glanced to the ground.
"Good luck, Cesaire, keep you and your daughter safe," he whispered.
No handshake.
No goodbyes.
It was done.
Both men walked in opposite directions.
Their deal was done.
Cesaire continued to walk until he reached the iron doors of the textile factory. The distance from the factory and to his house was not far. Nearly a 2 mile walk, 1 mile run, and 60 seconds for a werewolf to run. If his daughter were ever in danger he would have the advantage to come running and protect her if the time came. Cesaire shrugged off his coat. He shook hands with Mr. Mavis, a man he already know, and began to work. With his leather gloves he began to work on the textile mills. Other factory workers wore the same dress code as he. All of them were zebras working under one roof and the work would be tedious. 12 hours per day and 6 days a week but the wages tripled the wages of a wood cutter. Within a couple of months, he and daughter would have enough to live somewhere near the ocean and forget about everything.
He just had to teach her the wolf ways first.
Later that Evening:
"I'm happy you didn't sell me to the Lazars, Papa…"
Daughter and father sat across from each other at their table. Two bowls with beef, corn, and carrots mixed into a swirl of grey soup. Two slices of stale bread on each plate. Cesaire looked from his plate, dropping his fork, and looking at his daughters face. It reminded him too much of Suzette. Her sweet blue eyes held love and honesty and above all loyalty. She had never done any wrong and she would never do anything to hurt him. He moved his shoulders sitting more straight, emotionally moved by her statement.
"I'm happy, too, Valerie…" he smiled, humbled and proud.
She scooped a carrot from her bowl, shifting her elbows and shuffling her feet.
"At the bakery, it's 2 shillings a day for 6 days a week. It's 11 hours a day."
"That's certainly nothing to mope about."
"It's better than Daggorhorn that's for certain. And what's it like at the factory, Papa?"
"It's 4 shillings a day. I have to work 12 hours per day and 6 days a week. The pay is better than being a wood cutter. But the place is a mess. Worse than a pig's stock."
They chuckled.
The iron stove against the wall moaned its fiery breath, moaning and licking the wood logs inside. As the sun set behind the city buildings, the alley had become quiet. The market began to quiet. A string of lanterns crisscrossed over the cobblestone street, connecting wall to wall to wall with beautiful lights. Everyone began to retire inside. The taverns were the noisiest of the buildings. City marshals began patrolling for tricky thieves, drunkards and menaces of the middle class. But it was quiet. It was a peaceful feeling. Evenings like these made her feel as if the world had been swept away into a blanket of dreams which made her appreciate sunlight even more. Valerie poked her soup, swirling the steaming broth. The carrots and potatoes were swimming in circles. The room became quiet with tension. Neither finished their meal; both too forlorn and silent to continue their once-enjoyable evening.
Both were thinking the same thing. She had run away with her father to the city. What made her change her mind?
Rethinking her decision; it was predictable to leave Daggorhorn. For years, she earned for freedom. She yearned for a chance to escape and seek her own destiny. But when she discovered that Peter had left her for Prudence, announcing he would take her hand in marriage because she was with child—her heart slipped from her chest and shattered into a million pieces. The emotional pain had become too much for a girl to experience. Peter was her world but he had been untrue to her. She was foolish, naïve, and young! Her world crumpled. Mother would soon realize that her daughter and husband would never return. She had left her home branded as a witch. Grandmother was dead. Lucy was dead. Henry would hate her. The only threat that lingered from that cursed place was Father Solomon and his insatiable appetite for human sacrifice and holy justice.
After looking at Peter's face one last time, she swore to herself she'd never return. And after forsaking herself she was left with only valuable option.
Her father, Cesaire.
Valerie did love her father and her wolf blood made her naturally loyal to him. Their bond intertwined together. And if she felt she was in a gaming mood then she thought of herself as part of a pack.
A wolf pack; father and daughter, runaways to challenge the world.
And the only chance that would be official was tonight.
"Valerie—"
"I know, Papa," she whispered, feeling overwhelmed and jittery.
Looking up to see his brown eyes she could feel his warmth; his fatherly love. Her blue eyes never faltered.
"Will it hurt?"
He nodded, holding her hand, "…Only for a little while."
Unbuttoning his shirt he revealed his broad shoulder, smooth and soft but as strong as an ox. His shoulder muscles moving like stones under a sheet. His hand traced there.
"My father bit me here but after a little while the scars went away. It made it easier to go out into daylight without raising questions. My father always protected me from the torches and pitchforks of humans. He gave me a gift. So, tonight, I will do the same to you, Valerie."
They both rose from the table. Valerie lifted her dress, kneeling. Both sat in the middle of the room, they looked at each other, unflinching. Frightened she held his hands. Her breath trembled.
"Tonight is the last night of the Blood Moon. I, Cesaire, will pass my gift to my only daughter, Valerie. You are my flesh, you are my blood, and you are my ultimate legacy. After 3 generations of uninterrupted blood lines, I will add a 4th to my line. I pass the torch to you. You, my only daughter, will be stronger and more powerful than I. We will be invincible together. Do you, Valerie, accept my gift?"
His brown eyes dilated to big yellow orbs.
"Yes."
Valerie stretched out her shaky palm.
"By blood, it takes. By blood, it gives," he held her palm to his mouth. His white fangs were barred and ready like well-tended weaponry. "By blood, it ends. By blood, it begins."
Squeezing her eyes shut, she could feel his bite!
His teeth clenched on her soft flesh.
It wasn't gentle nor was it rough.
Gasping for air, she opened her eyes to look at her palm.
There was no blood.
Only two half-moon circles turning black and red with infection.
Seeing her frightened face and trembling, Cesaire scooted close holding her body in his arms. Placing his chin on her blonde head, he rocked her. She could feel herself almost sob. His hand petted her hair as he kissed her head.
Valerie held her palm at her face and witnessing in shock as her fathers' gift coursed through her veins like snakes.
The gift traveled up her arm, past her elbow, onto her shoulder and then—everything went black.
"Papa…" she whispered.