wife's eyes when Paul Locke closed in on her, knife in hand.
His body was not his own. The aches and pains vanished, leaving only a surging, seething hatred that coursed through his blood and pushed him onwards. He was following the trails he knew the Wolves used in their hunts. His legs moved on their own, driven by the blood he could already taste on his tongue.
Paul Locke dies today.
Only when his nose picked up a scent in the air did he break from his singlemindedness. He slowed slightly, swiveling his head this way and that, trying to pick up where the scent was coming from. It was Wolf, but sweet somehow. Faint traces of laundry detergent and homemade bread clung to it. Mary .
He slowed, heart racing, and stopped. Mary.
He shook his head and everything he had said rushed back to him. What had he been thinking? His words–a bitter taste crept up his throat. How could he accuse her of such awful things? He had to go back to her, beg her forgiveness before it was too late. He couldn’t lose her! What was life without her?
But what was his life if he did not avenge his wife and daughter? For years, he had only been able to move from day to day by reminding himself of how Paul Locke must suffer. Locke and his two oldest boys who had been with their father and helped him murder a child, helped him murder Isadore and Eve. Andre could not forsake his wife and daughter. He could not dishonor them by choosing his own happiness over avenging their deaths.
The forest was silent. It seemed to be holding its breath around him, waiting for his decision. He had to choose! One way or another, this had to end, right now. Revenge or Mary . I can't have both, but what do I choose? He closed his eyes. Oh, God! What do I do?
He inhaled deeply through his nose and caught the scent again. The Wolf was close, closer than Mary could be. His eyes snapped open and his head swung round to his left.
At first, his gaze glided right over the Wolf that lay crouched under a fallen tree. If not for the quivering of its body or the flash of a red tongue as it panted, he would not have seen it at all.
As his eyes found the Wolf’s face, his first thought was that it was Mary after all. They had the same shape of ears, muzzle, the same little nose that twitched in a semi-circular motion. But these eyes were brown, not green. The fur was brown, and instead of Mary's beautiful sleek roundness, this Wolf looked half-starved it was so thin. Its legs looked like twigs and its fur hung off its body in worried patches.
Not Mary. But still one of Paul Locke's children. He killed my child. And now he sends one of his own to spy on me. An eye for an eye!
He lunged towards the Wolf. It yelped, springing forward from under the log. It slipped out beside Andre as his paws came crashing down where it had been. Shock rippled up his joints and the log snapped in half. He turned, roaring. The Wolf ran from him, ears plastered against its skull, tail tucked up against its belly. Andre thundered after it, determined that this time it would not escape.
It yelped and howled as he gained on it, and his lips curled back over his teeth as the mutilated bodies flashed before his vision again.
I will give him back what he had given me.
***
A familiar Wolf's voice echoed in the trees. A howl of fear, a cry for help. Mary pushed herself as hard as she could, her Wolf paws striking the ground again and again. She felt like she was in some sort of nightmare. Though she was aware of the forest passing her by, it was like her legs were mired in mud. She struggled to move faster.
Andre, please don't do this, she prayed. Fortuitous Luna, don't let him do this!
The howling stopped and for a moment so did her heart. Images of a brother or sister lying on their back with Andre's massive jaws closing over their head flashed through her mind and she thought she might faint. Her legs stumbled, her head drooped, and a pain-filled howl broke from her throat.
A pause, and then a
His body was not his own. The aches and pains vanished, leaving only a surging, seething hatred that coursed through his blood and pushed him onwards. He was following the trails he knew the Wolves used in their hunts. His legs moved on their own, driven by the blood he could already taste on his tongue.
Paul Locke dies today.
Only when his nose picked up a scent in the air did he break from his singlemindedness. He slowed slightly, swiveling his head this way and that, trying to pick up where the scent was coming from. It was Wolf, but sweet somehow. Faint traces of laundry detergent and homemade bread clung to it. Mary .
He slowed, heart racing, and stopped. Mary.
He shook his head and everything he had said rushed back to him. What had he been thinking? His words–a bitter taste crept up his throat. How could he accuse her of such awful things? He had to go back to her, beg her forgiveness before it was too late. He couldn’t lose her! What was life without her?
But what was his life if he did not avenge his wife and daughter? For years, he had only been able to move from day to day by reminding himself of how Paul Locke must suffer. Locke and his two oldest boys who had been with their father and helped him murder a child, helped him murder Isadore and Eve. Andre could not forsake his wife and daughter. He could not dishonor them by choosing his own happiness over avenging their deaths.
The forest was silent. It seemed to be holding its breath around him, waiting for his decision. He had to choose! One way or another, this had to end, right now. Revenge or Mary . I can't have both, but what do I choose? He closed his eyes. Oh, God! What do I do?
He inhaled deeply through his nose and caught the scent again. The Wolf was close, closer than Mary could be. His eyes snapped open and his head swung round to his left.
At first, his gaze glided right over the Wolf that lay crouched under a fallen tree. If not for the quivering of its body or the flash of a red tongue as it panted, he would not have seen it at all.
As his eyes found the Wolf’s face, his first thought was that it was Mary after all. They had the same shape of ears, muzzle, the same little nose that twitched in a semi-circular motion. But these eyes were brown, not green. The fur was brown, and instead of Mary's beautiful sleek roundness, this Wolf looked half-starved it was so thin. Its legs looked like twigs and its fur hung off its body in worried patches.
Not Mary. But still one of Paul Locke's children. He killed my child. And now he sends one of his own to spy on me. An eye for an eye!
He lunged towards the Wolf. It yelped, springing forward from under the log. It slipped out beside Andre as his paws came crashing down where it had been. Shock rippled up his joints and the log snapped in half. He turned, roaring. The Wolf ran from him, ears plastered against its skull, tail tucked up against its belly. Andre thundered after it, determined that this time it would not escape.
It yelped and howled as he gained on it, and his lips curled back over his teeth as the mutilated bodies flashed before his vision again.
I will give him back what he had given me.
***
A familiar Wolf's voice echoed in the trees. A howl of fear, a cry for help. Mary pushed herself as hard as she could, her Wolf paws striking the ground again and again. She felt like she was in some sort of nightmare. Though she was aware of the forest passing her by, it was like her legs were mired in mud. She struggled to move faster.
Andre, please don't do this, she prayed. Fortuitous Luna, don't let him do this!
The howling stopped and for a moment so did her heart. Images of a brother or sister lying on their back with Andre's massive jaws closing over their head flashed through her mind and she thought she might faint. Her legs stumbled, her head drooped, and a pain-filled howl broke from her throat.
A pause, and then a
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