"It was my ball!" Charlotte's voice rose in a wail. "I was responsible for security! How did the wolves break in? Why did they come to our manor first?" She leaned her head against Bernard's shoulder and heaved a deep moaning cry. The wolf body could not sob like a human, but the grief within her manifested in long groans and whimpers. Wolves could cry, too.
One of Bernard's long, heavy arms encircled her shoulders and held her close against him. "Why, indeed," he whispered. "Why, indeed."
"What does that mean?" she groaned. "You always speak to me in riddles."
He was silent a long moment, and Charlotte's anguish exhausted itself. She lay against him, cuddled in his embrace. Why had it taken so long for her to seek his protection? Lying here with him made her feel loved, in a small way. Of course he was being infuriating as always, but at least he had not withdrawn his sheltering arm. Maybe it was only brute instinct, a way to keep warm.
He surprised her by saying, "Charlotte, I know you care little about my alchemical work. But perhaps the answer lies there."
She raised her head. Her animal eyes saw through the darkness. His eyes were downcast, ears flattened. The irritation died in her heart. She must try to understand him, to grasp the things he considered important. He had accepted her guilty outcry without accusation—she must do the same. With fresh guilt she recalled all the times he had spoken of his alchemy and she'd talked him into silence. She whispered, "I apologize, my lord."
He stiffened and stared at her, ears alert. "What did you say?"
"I apologize—I've been the utmost in rude about your pursuits."
"You called me lord."
"Is that not your title?"
Bernard was silent a long moment. "You've never used my title before."
"Perhaps I never respected you before."
He licked her ear, gently and tenderly. The gesture sent a wave of warmth through Charlotte's whole body.
After another moment, Bernard said, "I was working on a cure for the werewolf curse. The entire Mage Society was."
"A cure! You mean the elixir we drank?"
"Yes. I've attempted for months to reverse the physical and mental effects of the curse, without success. But several weeks ago, I focused my study on preserving the mind only. My theory is that if the mind can be restored, perhaps the body will follow."
Charlotte extended one clawed hand and grasped his free paw. His fingers felt tough and coarse under her own, and closed on her paw with shocking strength. "You succeeded, my lord! Here we are!"
"Yes." His tone was brooding. "Isn't it odd that the very day I distill my first successful draught, our manor is destroyed by escaped werewolves?"
Charlotte caught her breath. Additional darkness fell over the ball in her memory—the darkness of evil purpose. "You think it was planned?"
"Only one man can control the werewolves, my lady."
"But Archmage Allard is highly respectable and--" Charlotte bit back the words. Allard was also lavishly rich, and in her old world, money covered a host of wrongs. But here in the woods it meant nothing. Her entire world had collapsed, and through its cracks, she glimpsed the world as it truly was: horrifying and ugly. "Do you think he freed the werewolves to destroy you and your cure?"
"I cannot say. But I wonder. I've wondered since the first howl that night."
She shuddered and pressed herself against him. But beneath the horror of revelation, something new had awakened in her heart. A small amount of understanding. Whether short, portly man or hulking monster, Bernard was exceptionally intelligent and caring. He'd been fighting this very thing for so long, and she'd ignored it.
What was a hero, if not an ordinary man working in a small way against the forces of evil?
"My lord, what do we do?"
He nuzzled her face. "You are injured. We wait until you are well—and then we'll return to Halfmoon."
She nestled a little closer to him and closed her eyes. Man or beast, he was her husband, and for the first time in her life, she'd begun to trust him.
Chapter 6: Bluff
A week passed. Charlotte slept, ate, slept again as her burn healed. Bernard hunted rabbits and squirrels in the surrounding countryside. Sometimes he ventured to the coast, where he stalked gulls and longed for fish.
Hours upon hours of solitude gave him time to think. If Archmage Allard had meant to eliminate Bernard's work with the werewolves, what must he have done to the other mages? Bernard had sent a message to Kryn the night of the outbreak. Had Kryn been bitten, too? Or had someone else managed to brew the elixir, as Bernard had?
If they returned to Halfmoon Manor, what might become of them? They might be killed by humans defending themselves, or by mages—or by Allard himself. Allard owned the staff that controlled all wolves, and what if he used it to force Bernard to attack people? Or Charlotte?
Charlotte muddled his plans. Since becoming a wolf, she'd mellowed toward him, becoming affectionate and even kind. He looked forward to carrying her food, simply to receive her thanks and a lick on the cheek. Behind the haughty mask lay a lonely, frightened young woman—a woman who drew him like a pin to a magnet.
The thought of seeing her again in a few hours sent tremors through him. Nervous, eager tremors. Would she greet him kindly, or revert to her old ways? Would she appreciate the food he'd worked so hard to catch?
Was this how all men felt about their wives?
It filled him with a fear greater than any he'd ever known. Returning to Halfmoon meant risking Charlotte's life. Yet remaining here meant condemning her to a life in the wild, with no chance of regaining her human body. Bernard must finish the elixir—he must contact the other mages and give them the formula—because Charlotte needed it.
He caught a fat partridge, and pleased with himself, carried it back to their den. Charlotte sat in the entrance, looking for him. Her ears pricked up when she saw him, and she smiled prettily, in wolf-fashion.
Bernard dropped the bird in front of her. She nudge it back. "Take half of it, my lord. I know you must be hungry."
They shared the partridge. While not enough meat to fill Bernard's belly, it kept starvation at bay. Afterward he stretched out on the floor beside Charlotte and let her cuddle against him. His heart skipped several beats. If only he was human again! He didn't want to court her in a wolf's body, with its fur and claws and stink.
Her voice fell on his ears like a song. "I went for a run this afternoon. My back doesn't hurt any longer."
He nosed her wound. The flesh was healed and beginning to sprout fur again. "Excellent, my lady." He drew breath to mention Halfmoon Manor, but the words died on his tongue. It was a sin to put his wife at such risk. Had they been human he'd never have considered it.
Charlotte nuzzled his ear. "What is it?"
"It's time we returned home, yet—yet I fear for you, my lady."
She licked his face. "I fear for you, Bernard. But what good will it do if I sit here while you return? If you're killed, I'd never know it, until—until the hunters find me, too." Her voice rose in anguish.
"Hush, my lady." He licked her neck and ear. "I know we must go together, yet I dread what may happen. We must be cautious."
Bernard rose to all fours, and Charlotte did the same. He padded out of the cave on all fours and sniffed the chill breeze. His belly ached beneath his ribs, but he pushed through it and kept walking. Return to Halfmoon in a straight line, or circle to avoid all contact with humans?
As they trotted into the forest and headed northward, Bernard pondered contacting the mages. If his alchemy lab had not been destroyed, he might be able to use his scrollstone. Perhaps he could draft an explanation to Kryn, if he still lived.
He circled to bring the evening breeze into his nose.
Charlotte imitated him. "Is something wrong?"
"Not yet. We must check for enemies as we travel, or we might encounter wolves or hunters."
She trotted beside him as they prowled through the woods. "How do you know all
this? I assumed you studied alchemy, not outdoors living."
Bernard pondered. "I have read quite extensively, you know. But being a werewolf agrees with me. I am stronger physically than I've ever been, and my instincts guide me."
As they loped through the woods, Charlotte considered Bernard's words. Her body hungered for blood and meat, but perhaps it might help her survive, if she heeded its demands.
She looked at Bernard sideways as they ran. Of course he enjoyed his new body. He had traded his flab for an extra hundred pounds of muscle. And so had she—although no lady needed such physical strength. But no lady devoured animals whole, either.
She followed him as he circled to catch the breeze, and imitated him as he sniffed. She was surprised to smell the world so clearly. Damp earth, cold leaves, warm rabbits, mice, birds, owls ... a distant reek of werewolf. A tremor passed through her. "There are wolves out here."
"Yes," said Bernard through his teeth. "Not close, but not far." He loped on. Charlotte stayed close beside him, her shoulder brushing his flank.
"I didn't realize our noses were so sensitive," she admitted.
"It makes up for losing color."
"What?"
"Haven't you noticed that we've lost our color vision?"
Charlotte gazed at the forest with new attention. Colors indeed had lost their saturation, but her nose painted the world in vivid olfaction hues. "That might make it difficult to coordinate my wardrobe."
Bernard gave a laugh like a bark.
Charlotte had never heard him laugh before. "What?"
"Always clothes! Your white fur is more becoming than any dress."
"It's dirty white."
"But I've seen no other white werewolves. It makes you more … feminine."
A sudden rush of warmth overtook Charlotte, pushing away the cold and damp. "I'm not a hideous monster?"
"No more than me," said Bernard, grinning. "Hold on." He jogged to a halt. Like a wolf, he stood parallel to the object of interest. She peered over his shoulder. A delicious fragrance of warm meat brushed her nostrils, mingled with the odor of wolf.
Another werewolf stood under the trees, a gray brute larger than Bernard. It rose on two legs and bared its fangs. A growl boiled out of its chest. Blood soaked its claws and muzzle.
Bernard stood upright as well and bared his own teeth.
A tremor shook Charlotte. A memory of the defiled ballroom flashed before her, the bodies of her friends strewn across the marble floor. She backed away, ears flattened.
"Charlotte, threaten him!" roared Bernard.
The other werewolf stalked forward, claws flexed as if prepared to rend flesh.
Charlotte flinched backward. Again she stood in the ballroom with the wolves ravaging everyone around her. Again white fangs flashed and buried themselves in her arm, ending her humanity. "No!" she shrieked, and ran for her life.
Wolves snarled and howled behind her. She ran, gripped by unreasoning fear, and the woman she was was submerged in the beast she had become. For a long time her entire world was panting breath and straining muscles as she bounded through the woods with the speed of a galloping horse.
Exhaustion forced her to a walk. Her burning tongue hung out of her jaws, and her muscles quivered from exertion. The wound throbbed on her back, and gradually it pulled her back from the haze of panic. She was alone. Bernard! She had left Bernard!
Shame engulfed her. She turned in a circle. The woods lay dark and quiet about her, and moisture dripped from the leaves overhead. She was the only werewolf within smelling distance.
What if the wolf had killed Bernard? What if it followed her and killed her, too? She never should have abandoned her husband! Shame dragged her head down. The only thing to do was retrace her steps. Surely the wolf had not killed him. Surely …
She followed her tracks by scent through the woods, and it seemed she walked for miles. Her belly grumbled and her heart ached.
A whiff of werewolf hit her. Not Bernard. The marauding wolf. She froze and fear gripped her again. It was following her trail, drawing closer by the second. Oh God, what should she do? If she ran, it would give chase! Oh, what would she do without Bernard? Maybe she could stand and snarl—but what if it attacked her anyway? Oh God—Oh God--
The monster rounded a tree trunk and regarded her. Its bloodstained lips writhed back in a snarl.
Terror swamped Charlotte. She rose on two legs and screamed. Her wolf-voice had a superb vocal range, and her cry echoed through the forest like a steam whistle.
The enemy wolf flinched.
A spark of hope flashed in Charlotte's breast. She stepped forward and screamed again. The wolf's voice and lungs were designed for howling, and used in such a way produced a perfectly dreadful noise.
The other wolf dropped to all fours and loped away a few steps, maintaining its snarl but looking confused.
Charlotte bared her teeth and bristled her fur. She growled this time—a satisfying deep noise in her chest—and stepped forward.
The other wolf whirled and ran into the woods.
"Well done," said a voice behind her.
She spun to see Bernard, also on two legs, leaning against a tree trunk. Relief washed through her. "You were there all along?"
"Your scream aided my search. The wolf hesitated to attack two of us, especially with you making such an exquisite sound." His eyes sparkled.
Charlotte's strength gave out, and she sank to her belly with a moan. "Bernard, I'm so sorry I left you. I was afraid--"
He dropped to all fours and licked her face. "Hush. You faced him in the end and that's what matters. He and I had a scuffle. When I drove him off, he hunted you." Bernard cast an anxious look around the darkened trees. "Come with me."
Charlotte followed him meekly. So many emotions churned within her—shame, guilt, elation. Tears burned her eyes and she wished to lie down and weep for a while. What if Bernard had not trailed her? Might she be lying dead in the brush with her white fur stained crimson? She must never let fear overtake her again. She was a lady, not a monster, and could not survive in a world of monsters.
But Bernard was only an adept protector because he had embraced his monstrous side. When they regained their humanity, she'd have to re-educate him on how to be human.
The aroma of warm meat struck her nose, and she looked up, ears lifting.
Bernard grinned over his shoulder. "That wolf had killed a deer. I stole it."
A deer lay on the ground, quite mutilated but smelling delicious. "No wonder he was angry. Do we eat it raw?"
"Yes." Bernard showed her how to use her claws.
The other wolf had already eaten the heart and liver, but there was plenty of offal left for Charlotte and Bernard. They gorged themselves on soft meat, then slept beside the carcass to protect it. They awoke the following day, chased away a flock of ravens, and filled their bellies again. The deep, gnawing hunger left Charlotte's belly, and her limbs stopped their constant trembling. Her head cleared. Bernard seemed to fill out his pelt better, and the light in his eyes brightened.
The werewolf pair remained with the carcass for two days and devoured every scrap. They spent much time licking each other clean, and snuggled together for warmth at night.
The morning of the third day, Charlotte nosed the carcass and sighed. "I think we've eaten it all."
"Yes," Bernard said. "I think it's time we visited our manor."
With dread in her heart, Charlotte accompanied Bernard into the deep woods that separated them from Halfmoon Manor—and Lyedyn City.
Chapter 7: Discovery
The sun shone through the clouds and sent sunbeams through the forest canopy. Birds filled the air with song and flashing wings. Charlotte inhaled as she bounded beside her husband. The world continued turning despite the werewolf outbreak. Spring touched the land, refreshing the human spirit. Yet it seemed years ago that she had sat at her writing desk, planning the Spring Ball and brooding about Bernard.
To her chag
rin, she realized she was far more fond of Bernard as a beast than she'd been while he was a man. Perhaps society had driven a wedge between them; the fine dinners and immaculate clothing, the silent expectations, the constant politics. But as wolves, all trappings had been stripped away, leaving only their true selves. Bernard had been revealed as brave, true and honorable. But Charlotte hated to admit that she'd been revealed as a weak, craven woman.
If she wished to retain his affection, she'd have to become brave, true and honorable, herself.
Perhaps, if no cure could be found, she might dress herself in layers of dresses and veils, and carry on living life with a hidden face. She and Bernard could return to their lives, and they need not live in the wilds any longer. He might don a hooded robe and truly look the part of an alchemist...
Bernard slowed to a walk and murmured, "We're almost there."
Charlotte snapped out of her thoughts. Woodsmoke teased her nose, along with cooking food and the myriad odors of human civilization. She crept beside Bernard, wary and alert.
Finally they arrived at the foot of their own back lawn. Bernard dropped to his belly and peered out of a a tangle of saplings, and Charlotte imitated him. The mansion stood silent, and many windows on the first floor were broken. A smell of cold fireplaces and rotting food drifted on the breeze.
"I want to check my laboratory." Bernard circled the yard, keeping to the cover of the trees. Charlotte stepped onto the overgrown lawn, but shrank back into the trees. She had become so accustomed to hiding that venturing out in the open felt dangerous.
They cut along the side of the mansion to reach the laboratory. As they reached the veranda steps, Charlotte paused and gazed at her back doors. "Please, may I look inside?"
Bernard halted with one forefoot upraised. "All right, but hurry. It's too quiet."
Charlotte leaped on the veranda, trotted to one of the doors, and tried the knob. It felt strangely small in her paw, like the door to a dollhouse. The door opened, and she stepped into the rear sitting room.
The furniture was gone. The carpet was damp and smelled of mold, and holes had been knocked in the walls where looters had removed the furnishings in a hurry. She snorted in disgust and walked from the sitting room to the rear hall, and from there to the ballroom, which still stank of death. Brown bloodstains marred the marble floor, but the bodies had vanished. How many of them had become werewolves?