somewhere, just
waiting for him to return without that livid scar all over his shoulder.
Too late, too late , she thought, because it was. One
bite and you were gone forever, lost to the seething masses who now ruled the
world above. Of course the doctors claimed it wasn’t true, that the world still
belonged to humans and a cure was imminent, just around the corner—why, they
made progress with the wolves every day, didn’t they?
But then the ceiling groaned above their heads and a new
breach took another hundred lives and who could believe they were telling the
truth? She hardly saw anyone now, on her travels around the endless underground
corridors. Really it was no wonder she’d started talking to Conn, actually
talking to him about meaningless things like books he’d once read and places he
remembered. His memory was just so vast and full of the time before and the
world above, and if she was truly honest, his voice did weird things to her
insides.
It was like molten metal, pouring all over her. And it
sounded that way now, when he told her she should stop in a tone so tight it
practically hummed.
Of course she knew she should obey him. If he was telling
her do something, it had to be important. Wolves didn’t get to tell humans what
to do, down here. Wolves did as they were told or else they got beaten, or
drugged, or restrained. Sometimes they got all three just because it suited the
doctors and their tests, so him speaking to her that way had to mean something.
She wished she didn’t know what. She wished she hadn’t said
to him, Oh Connor, the day before. It had sounded too warm, too full of
the ache that had gone through her on seeing his broken body, and then he’d
looked at her with something other than complete stillness.
His eyes had blazed, briefly, and when she’d gone to give
him the shot she’d stolen—just for the pain, didn’t he deserve something for
this terrible, terrible pain?—he’d actually grabbed her wrist. Told her she’d
be in trouble, that she shouldn’t, that he’d heal soon, he would, he just
needed a bit of time.
He just needed food, which she’d brought him. It had meant
she’d gone hungry today, but what did it matter? What did it matter when she
could count his ribs sometimes through the thick meat of his immense body, all
six-foot-five of him just melting away right before her eyes? What did it
matter when they’d lost the war—human beings had lost the war so who gave a
fuck anymore. Who gave a fuck?
She pulled the sheet away from him and he didn’t resist. He
kept his gaze on nothing and clenched his jaw and breathed too hard, but he
didn’t try to stop her. He just let her soak the cloth in the hot water again,
then run it down over his heavy thighs as though really he didn’t have anything
like an erection. No, no, no, nothing like that ever happened. Wolves didn’t
have sex thoughts. Hell, humans barely had sex thoughts anymore either, and
certainly not about their half-animal patients.
Why, she’d not had a whole, complete sex thought in over a
year—ever since the guy in the laundry room, spurting between her greedy
fingers with his mouth on her neck and her head filled with weird thoughts.
Weird thoughts like, If you were a wolf, you’d bite me now .
Though she’d long since stopped thinking things like that.
Since Connor had been assigned to her, she’d stopped thinking about a lot of
things. She’d stopped thinking about how wet she sometimes felt between her
legs, after she’d spent the day sliding a soapy cloth over his naked body.
She’d stopped thinking about running through a forest with a wolf after her,
because too often it was Connor and he didn’t bite her when he caught her.
He moaned in her ear with that liquid-metal voice of his
instead. He rocked between her legs and asked her if she still thought he was a
man, if she still found him attractive even though she knew what he was underneath.
She could never remember what
waiting for him to return without that livid scar all over his shoulder.
Too late, too late , she thought, because it was. One
bite and you were gone forever, lost to the seething masses who now ruled the
world above. Of course the doctors claimed it wasn’t true, that the world still
belonged to humans and a cure was imminent, just around the corner—why, they
made progress with the wolves every day, didn’t they?
But then the ceiling groaned above their heads and a new
breach took another hundred lives and who could believe they were telling the
truth? She hardly saw anyone now, on her travels around the endless underground
corridors. Really it was no wonder she’d started talking to Conn, actually
talking to him about meaningless things like books he’d once read and places he
remembered. His memory was just so vast and full of the time before and the
world above, and if she was truly honest, his voice did weird things to her
insides.
It was like molten metal, pouring all over her. And it
sounded that way now, when he told her she should stop in a tone so tight it
practically hummed.
Of course she knew she should obey him. If he was telling
her do something, it had to be important. Wolves didn’t get to tell humans what
to do, down here. Wolves did as they were told or else they got beaten, or
drugged, or restrained. Sometimes they got all three just because it suited the
doctors and their tests, so him speaking to her that way had to mean something.
She wished she didn’t know what. She wished she hadn’t said
to him, Oh Connor, the day before. It had sounded too warm, too full of
the ache that had gone through her on seeing his broken body, and then he’d
looked at her with something other than complete stillness.
His eyes had blazed, briefly, and when she’d gone to give
him the shot she’d stolen—just for the pain, didn’t he deserve something for
this terrible, terrible pain?—he’d actually grabbed her wrist. Told her she’d
be in trouble, that she shouldn’t, that he’d heal soon, he would, he just
needed a bit of time.
He just needed food, which she’d brought him. It had meant
she’d gone hungry today, but what did it matter? What did it matter when she
could count his ribs sometimes through the thick meat of his immense body, all
six-foot-five of him just melting away right before her eyes? What did it
matter when they’d lost the war—human beings had lost the war so who gave a
fuck anymore. Who gave a fuck?
She pulled the sheet away from him and he didn’t resist. He
kept his gaze on nothing and clenched his jaw and breathed too hard, but he
didn’t try to stop her. He just let her soak the cloth in the hot water again,
then run it down over his heavy thighs as though really he didn’t have anything
like an erection. No, no, no, nothing like that ever happened. Wolves didn’t
have sex thoughts. Hell, humans barely had sex thoughts anymore either, and
certainly not about their half-animal patients.
Why, she’d not had a whole, complete sex thought in over a
year—ever since the guy in the laundry room, spurting between her greedy
fingers with his mouth on her neck and her head filled with weird thoughts.
Weird thoughts like, If you were a wolf, you’d bite me now .
Though she’d long since stopped thinking things like that.
Since Connor had been assigned to her, she’d stopped thinking about a lot of
things. She’d stopped thinking about how wet she sometimes felt between her
legs, after she’d spent the day sliding a soapy cloth over his naked body.
She’d stopped thinking about running through a forest with a wolf after her,
because too often it was Connor and he didn’t bite her when he caught her.
He moaned in her ear with that liquid-metal voice of his
instead. He rocked between her legs and asked her if she still thought he was a
man, if she still found him attractive even though she knew what he was underneath.
She could never remember what
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