Fic: Keep Traveling On: Part One
Keep Traveling On, Part One
Master Post
Fifteen Years Ago
A light spring rain ghosted against the grass and dirt as seventeen-year-old Eliot Spencer shuffled down the path that cut through the middle of the little village. It was bound to be a beautiful night, and Eliot was already itching to tear into the woods and revel in the magnificence of it. As much as he dreaded the transformation his body would go through, he ached for the freedom he felt when he shook off his human form and became the wolf.
That was one thing he could thank Damien for, he supposed. Eliot had always loved the woods, but he’d never been able to appreciate them on such a visceral level until Damien had given him the bite.
Only a few months had passed since their crucial encounter, but Eliot would be lying if he said he wasn’t still bitter.
Damien had been the son of a traveling salesman, and Eliot had fallen for him hard almost as soon as he’d laid eyes on him. His dark good looks and practiced hands had turned Eliot into a boneless mess. He’d smooth-talked Eliot into meeting him one night after everyone else had gone to bed. Eliot’s mama and daddy hadn’t really taken to Damien, but he’d snuck off to be with him anyway. Even now, he still turned that night over and over in his head. He didn’t know whether Damien had turned him on purpose-if it had always been his plan. Or if it had been the tragic action of a young man with no control over the wolf he had under his skin.
Either way, that night had changed Eliot’s life. He’d gone from an innocent, playful teenager to a brooding, lonely young man. Damien and his father had been gone the next day, of course. They had disappeared utterly and completely. And Eliot. Well, Eliot’s mama had nursed him back to health as best she could, and she’d tried to prepare him for the transformations she’d known would come.
In a way, he knew he was lucky. Eliot and his parents were part of a group of performers and misfits who traveled from village to village in a caravan of wagons trying to entertain people and scrape out a living. It was an unusual life, but most of the time, it worked. The constant traveling allowed for a certain amount of freedom and flexibility in case he ever had to linger behind in some village or patch of woods for a day or two.
Eliot and his family had adjusted to his condition as best they could. His parents had decided to keep his new nature a secret from the rest of the caravan. It was a struggle at times, but they’d decided that if their son could have a relatively normal life, the deception would be worth the effort. They would cover for him if anyone noticed his absence, and they would help him learn to control the more aggressive aspects of his personality which would emerge close to a transformation.
This evening’s transformation was still a few hours away, but the same combination of restlessness, boredom, and nagging fear that always gripped him during the full moon had him on edge. He knew that as the day wore on, the wolf would start pushing closer and closer to the surface, and fear would give way to aggression. He’d get irritable and keyed up; then a wave of energy would hit him, and he’d feel robust and almost invincible. It was an invigorating but terrifying whirlwind of emotions.
Eliot lifted himself up on a stone wall and sat there watching as the villagers wandered by. After he’d sat there for a while, he noticed a girl a year or two younger than him who lived in the village. He’d seen her in the woods a few times, but he’d always been too shy to approach her. From what he could tell, she was a bit of a misfit like he was-she always seemed to be by herself, and when he’d seen her in the woods, she seemed more at home than any other time.
Eliot watched as the girl bent down to poke at a flower. She must’ve sensed him staring at her, because she turned around and cocked her head at him. He looked away, but it was already too late. The girl wandered over to him and poked him in the arm.
“You’re one of the musicians,” she said evenly.
Nodding, he flashed what he hoped was a warm smile. “Yep. Sure am.”
The girl folded her arms across her chest. “My name is Parker. Why are you sitting on a wall?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You’re very strange.” Patting him on the knee, she turned and walked in the other direction.
Eliot stared after her for a while and wondered if he should follow and try to continue the conversation. But he figured it probably wouldn’t be wise anyway. The full moon was barreling toward him, and he needed his focus to be on mentally preparing himself for the change and on controlling the emotions he already felt nipping at the back of his brain. With a sigh, he jumped off the wall and walked toward the center of the village.
“Hey, you,” came a familiar voice. “What are you doing here all by yourself?”
Eliot glanced up and saw Sophie standing a few feet away with a smile on her face. In her arms, she held an impressive stack of packages, each wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with string. Eliot found himself wondering if she’d bought up the contents of every store in town.
Sophie was a fortune teller who had traveled with the caravan for as long as Eliot could remember. His mama didn’t approve of her much, but she’d been a friend to the family these past few years, and she was only person outside of the family-and Damien, of course-who knew what Eliot was.
His mama often scolded him for pestering Sophie, but he liked to spend time with her anyway. Every few days, he would visit her and try to cajole her into telling him his future. He didn’t know if her abilities were real or not. In fact, he knew that she was a bit on the unsavory side, as he’d see her steal-“liberate” she called it-a watch or a piece of jewelry from a villager every once in a while. But whether her abilities were real or not, it made him feel better when she’d tell him he was going to break hearts or have a lot of money someday. It was a little hope, and he needed to hang onto it tight on those nights when things were bad.
He walked over to her and flashed a grin. “I’m not by myself,” he said. “I’m with a beautiful woman.”
“Oh my,” she said with a laugh. “You are becoming quite the flirt, aren’t you? You should use some of that charm on the locals.”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “What’s the point? We’re leaving in a few days anyway.”
She gazed at him for a moment, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Well, I guess you’ll have to keep me company then. Walk with me.”
The two of them strolled around the village together, widow shopping and chatting as they went. This was the kind of village Eliot could picture himself living in someday. Granted, he’d probably never leave the caravan. But in his dreams, when he pictured his future, it was one of simplicity and stability and little bakeries that smelled like cake and bread.
As they walked past a little row of houses near the edge of the village, a man wearing a battered cloak hurried past them and collided with Eliot. He placed his hands on Eliot’s shoulders to steady himself, and muttered, “Sorry. I should watch where I’m going.” He nodded, then hurried off in the opposite direction.
Eliot gazed after him. The man was handsome-several years older than Eliot was, but not as old as his father. He smelled of chocolate and grass and something else Eliot couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, though, it was pleasant, and Eliot found himself wanting to spend time talking with the man.
Suddenly, Sophie grabbed Eliot by the arm. “Eliot,” she said excitedly. “I’ve just had a flash. I think that man might be your destiny.”
“The man that just passed?” Eliot grinned. “Are you sure he isn’t your destiny?”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “He’s definitely yours. He was very attractive, don’t you think?”
“He’s a little too old for me.”
Sophie winked. “In a few years that won’t matter.”
Eliot chuckled a little. “Sophie, can I ask you something?” When she nodded, he said, “Are you a real fortune teller? Tell me the truth.”
“Of course I am.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Believe me. My abilities are quite genuine. Sometimes unsettlingly so.”
He gazed at her for a moment. “Tell me my future.”
She rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow. “All right,” she said, letting out a breath. “Give me your hand. I need physical contact to do this properly.” Setting her packages down on the ground, Sophie took Eliot’s hand in hers and closed her eyes. “Hmm… Oh.” She squeezed his hand tightly, and her breath hitched. Suddenly, she let go of him and took a step back. “Eliot… I saw, um… Oh, Eliot, I need you to be careful tonight.”
Eliot arched an eyebrow. Sophie tended to be a little melodramatic at times, but her words still rattled him a little. It was the night of a full moon, and so many things could go horribly wrong. Someone could see him change and expose his secret. The villagers could catch wind that a werewolf was nearby and organize a hunting party. Or worse, he could harm someone. With a forced laugh, he said, “I always am, Soph. What’s so special about tonight?”
Tugging on her bottom lip, she looped an arm around his shoulder. “Honestly, I’m not sure,” she said. “But I have a feeling something dramatic is about to happen.”
***
Eliot didn’t have much time to think about Sophie’s warning. He went back to his wagon, had dinner with his parents, kissed them goodnight, and went out to the woods to transform in private. The first time he had changed, his daddy had offered to come with him so he wouldn’t be afraid. But Eliot had refused. He had decided then and there that he never wanted anyone he loved to see him that way. The wolf was his shame, and he’d indulge that part of his nature when he was alone.
He set his clothes out near the tree he’d chosen so he could get to them in the morning, then he waited for the transformation to rip through him. The blinding pain always hit him like a sucker punch, even though he knew it was coming. It started in his back and legs first and shot upward to his arms, shoulders, and neck. After a couple of minutes, the pain would blanket him so completely that his brain would start to go fuzzy. And all of the sudden, he’d feel like he was being yanked bodily through the air until the wolf completely surfaced.
What a lot of folks didn’t understand about becoming the wolf is that the after the transformation itself, the human didn’t disappear or go to sleep or anything like that. Sure, the physical body was replaced with that of the wolf, but the mind… that remained intact, lucid. Inhibitions were lowered, and wolfish instincts started to override human ones. But ultimately, the werewolf was still a man, and he was responsible for his actions. And he damn sure remembered the pain.
After he was fully transformed, Eliot broke into a run and didn’t stop until he reached the clearing where he had seen Parker the previous nights. Once there, he sat in the bushes waiting for her to arrive. He felt ridiculous. Instead of enjoying the bliss of running through the forest, he was sitting in the bushes waiting to spy on a girl he’d only spoken to once. Still, regardless of their lack of contact, Eliot felt an odd sort of kinship with her. They both loved the woods, and most of all, they were both outsiders.
Eliot sat there at the clearing for a few moments, not knowing what to do. Maybe he was overly eager, but he thought Parker should have arrived already. Impatiently, he walked around the clearing, sniffing for some sign of her presence. Then he heard a scream in the distance. He knew it was Parker, because he could smell her. He could also tell someone was near her-it was a scent he didn’t recognize, and it reeked of oil and sweat. Growling under his breath, Eliot followed Parker’s scent along the path until he spotted her. When he found her, she was backing away from a greasy man in tattered clothes.
Eliot had a split second to assess the situation. He looked at Parker, then he looked back at the man. When he saw that the man had a knife in his hand, he let instinct take over, and he lunged at the man’s throat.
When it was over, Eliot backed away from the body of the man and turned to where Parker was sitting by a tree with her eyes covered. He sat there and gazed at her, waiting for some sign that she was okay. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and stared back at him. To his surprise, she didn’t look away in horror. Instead, she reached into the basket she’d been carrying and pulled out a piece of cake. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the cake in front of Eliot, then reached out and petted his fur. And even more striking, Parker looked him in the eyes and smiled.
The next morning, Eliot stumbled out of the woods, trembling and dry-throated. He pulled on his clothing and tried to decide what to do next. After he’d left Parker the previous night, he’d bolted through the woods, trying to run off all the adrenaline from his encounter with the knife-wielding man. He had eventually worn himself out to the point that he was able to fall asleep by a large pine tree. But now. Now he was awake, and he was human, and he had to find a way to cope with what he’d done.
As soon as he got back to his wagon, he spit the story out to his parents and to Sophie. Even though they all assured him that he’d done the only thing he could have done, Eliot could tell they were worried for him-and he wondered if they might be a little afraid of him. The caravan pulled out the next day, and no one ever came looking for him. Still, for weeks afterward, he was plagued by nightmares of the man he’d killed and the killer he feared lurked within him.
Five Years Ago
While Eliot was growing up, his parents had told him again and again that the world was a lonely, brutal place, and that they were fortunate to have the protection of a traveling caravan. Now, both his parents were gone-his daddy from a fever and his mama from what Sophie called a broken heart. And Eliot. Eliot was about to be cast out into the world all by himself, no protection and no companionship.
Traveling with these people, this band of misfits… it was all Eliot had ever known. He’d come to think of the caravan as home, and its people as a makeshift family. His mama and daddy had always gone to great lengths to see to it that the rest of the travelers never found out about his secret. But still, Eliot had naively come to believe that the other performers, with their eccentricities and fierce independence, would accept him for who he was should they ever find out the truth.
As turned out, he was wrong.
Since his parents died, Eliot had grown admittedly careless about his secret. Over the past few years, Eliot and his folks had managed to get his transformations down to an art. As soon as they’d arrived in an area, they would scope out a place for him to change. On days he was transforming, his mama would have a basin of water, a rag, and some soap ready so he could make himself look presentable. And they had always been armed with a cover story in case anyone had noticed Eliot’s absences. But after his mama died, Eliot had stopped putting those safety measures into practice.
Maybe he just didn’t have the energy to handle his own grief and still cover his tracks as well as he once had. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. He’d spent his entire adult life and part of his youth lying to people he saw every day, and it had just never felt right in his gut.
In the end, though, it wasn’t forgetting a cover story or coming home disheveled or getting caught in the act of transforming that got him into trouble. No, it was something far more innocuous. He’d gotten up one morning and had taken his shirt off outside of his wagon. His mama had always cautioned him against such recklessness, but it had been warm out, and he’d wanted to feel the sun against his skin. He’d only been shirtless for a few minutes, but that had been long enough. Someone had wandered by his wagon and had seen the bite mark on his shoulder. Accusations had flown, and Eliot had been too damn tired to lie.
All those years his family had spent trying to protect him and give him a semi-normal life had been destroyed. His secret was out now, and the others had voted to make him leave everything he’d known since childhood. They said they bore him no ill will, but they couldn’t take the chance that he might lose control or that he might bring suspicion to the rest of the caravan. He could see their point, but it still hurt like a knife to the gut. Despite the pain, he kept telling himself he wouldn’t cry, at least not until he got some distance from the caravan. He at least wanted to leave with his dignity.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sophie approaching, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “I could talk to them again,” she said. “Convince them to let you stay.”
He shook his head. “No, their minds seem pretty well made up. I’m just grateful they’re not turning me over to the authorities or doing me in themselves.”
A look of horror ghosted across Sophie’s face. “They would never.”
“There are people who would, Sophie.” Eliot finished placing the rest of his belongings into leather saddlebags, then he buckled the bags shut and grabbed his guitar. “It’s probably best that I go. I don’t want to risk hurting anyone.”
“Then don’t.” She took a step toward him. “It’s not as though you don’t have a choice.”
He bit his lip. “Sophie, we both know what I did all those years ago. What I’m capable of.” He took a breath and looped his guitar strap over his shoulder. Since the morning after it had happened, Eliot hadn’t spoken much about the night in the woods. His daddy had asked him afterward if he wanted to talk, but Eliot had hemmed and hawed and stammered a lot, so his daddy had finally given up. Part of Eliot felt like if he didn’t ever talk about it, then it didn’t happen.
But it had happened. And sometimes, Eliot sat alone in his wagon and turned that night over and over in his mind. When he’d seen the man moving toward Parker, Eliot had reacted without much thought. He’d lunged at the stranger’s throat and had let the wolf do the rest. He tried to tell himself that he’d saved a girl that day, and that made him a hero. Still, he wondered if he could’ve done things differently. Could he have simply bared his teeth and threatened the man? Could he have chased him away?
Grabbing Eliot’s hand in hers, Sophie gave him a squeeze and said, “You did what you had to do to save that girl. Anyone would have done the same thing.”
“Maybe,” he said ruefully. ‘But most people wouldn’t be able to do with their bare teeth.”
“Eliot,” she said. “You are what you are. You’ve never been as out-of-control as you seem to believe. I’ve never felt threatened by you, even close to a full moon.”
He looked up at the sky, not trusting himself to meet Sophie’s gaze. “I’ve been thinking about that night a lot lately. About how I felt. And you know what? I was scared of bringing trouble to the caravan or scaring people off. But what I did to that man? I walked away feeling… nothing.”
“Oh, I was there the next morning,” Sophie said. “And you certainly didn’t feel nothing. You were a broken to bits.” She smoothed the hair out of his eyes. “You know, Eliot, the mind has a way of putting up walls until we’re ready to cope with things.”
“Or maybe them people that voted me out of here were right,” he snapped. “Maybe the wolf has more influence on me than you or I want to admit.” They were both quiet for a few moments, then Eliot forced a smile and said, “Tell my future.”
She rolled her eyes and squeezed his hand. “Well, let’s see,” she said. “I can tell you that we’re going to see each other again. And that-” she cleared her throat. “You’re going to be all right.”
“Is that the fortune teller in you talking or just wishful thinking?”
“A little of both,” she admitted.
He led his horse out to the edge of the road. “You can have my wagon,” he said.
“You’re not taking it with you?”
He shook his head. “Nah. It’s a performer’s wagon. I’d stick out too much. All I need is a horse. You can have it, or leave it by the side of the road. Either one.”
With one last wistful gaze back at his former home, Eliot climbed onto his horse and rode off.
Present Day
Eliot stretched and twisted the kinks of out of his back as he trudged from the stable onto the street. He pulled his threadbare cloak tightly around himself and shivered. It wasn’t snowing yet, but it was cold enough out to send a chill straight to his bones. He’d been tending the horses, cleaning the stable, and a variety of other tasks for the better part of the day, and now he was sore and ready to unwind with some drinks and food before collapsing into a bed for a few hours. He didn’t mind putting in a good day’s work, though. Not only did he need the money so bad it hurt, he also found the work satisfying. He could go to bed feeling like he’d accomplished something.
Kneading the muscles in his neck and shoulders with his fingers, he hurried down the pathway to the village’s only tavern. No sooner had he walked through the door, he became acutely aware that some of the other patrons were staring at him in the same cold way they had every night since he’d first arrived in the village several weeks before. Eliot usually didn’t stay in one place more than a week or so. It was easier to keep moving, planning his respites in local villages by the rhythm of the moon. But in the winter, decent work was hard to find, and since he’d found it, he was disinclined to leave it.
Eliot had gotten used to the solitude over the years. In fact, he had learned that there was a certain comfort in being alone and free of other people’s expectations. He didn’t relish the idea of ever having to look into someone’s face again and see the rejection that had darkened the gazes of his former friends in the caravan. Loneliness was easy, familiar, safe. Still, there were days when he longed for more companionship than he could get from the occasional roll in the hay or night drinking at a bar.
As far as lives went, though, Eliot knew he could do worse. Should anyone learn of his true nature, he could be locked up or put down. Lately, the authorities were tending to do the latter, and that knowledge was enough to remind Eliot why he needed to keep a safe distance from regular people.
Still, he had to eat, and so he’d brave the stares and slurs of the villagers for a couple hours. A group of them were sitting at the bar, gathered around one of the town’s most prominent jackasses, a spiteful man named Colin Mason. Mason had taken a dislike to Eliot from the first moment he’d laid eyes on him. For Eliot, the feeling was most definitely mutual. As Eliot sat down, Mason and his cronies whispered and snickered and gawked in Eliot’s direction.
His patience with the villagers was wearing thin tonight, and Eliot thought about turning around and leaving. Or better yet, busting some heads. He had his heart set on going to bed with a full stomach for once, though, so he ordered some food and tried his best to ignore the harassment.
His dinner was modest-some cheese and bread, a bit of broth, and a mug of ale. Still, he savored it as he ate. He was just finishing the last of his meal when Mason climbed off his barstool and staggered over to Eliot’s table.
“Of course,” Mason said a little louder than necessary. “You have these drifters who come into the village, and they take work away from regular folk. Hey, Eliot,” he said. “How do you feel about stealing work from decent folk?”
“I don’t want any trouble, Mason,” he said though clenched teeth. It was the week before a full moon, and Eliot was spoiling for a fight. The wolf that bubbled underneath his skin wanted to climb out and toss every asshole villager within reach across the room. But the last thing he needed to do was take Mason’s bait and get himself into trouble he couldn’t get out of.
“Well,” Mason said dramatically. “I don’t care what you want.” He placed his hands on the back of Eliot’s chair. “I asked you a question. How do you feel about stealing work from decent folk?”
Eliot took a final swig of ale and stood up, forcefully pushing the chair back against Mason’s unsteady body as he did so. Nodding to the bartender, he turned and walked toward the door.
“Hey, Eliot. We’re having a conversation here.” Mason said. “It’s a little rude to leave.”
“Just leave me be,” he said again. He kept his fists at his side, clenching and unclenching them as he tried to hold down his temper. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Yeah? Well maybe you got it anyway/”
A few others murmured in agreement, and Eliot could feel their eyes boring holes through him. Part of him was sorely tempted to lunge at the crowd and have himself a good, bloody brawl. Good sense prevailed, though, and he pushed open the door and trudged back to the modest shed he’d been bunking in while he worked at the stable.
Once Eliot was back in his room, he scooped up his guitar and began to strum a tune. He loved music. It was one of the few things he’d managed to keep from his youth. When work was scarce, he’d pull out his guitar and play a little on the street of whatever village he was in at the time. Folks seemed to like his music, and sometimes he could earn a little pocket money from onlookers. But it was more than a means to make cash. Music was his connection to humanity and normalcy. As he strummed out familiar tunes, he would often let his mind drift back to childhood and to his parents and the innocence and stability he’d once felt.
Tonight as he strummed, he didn’t think about the past. His mind was firmly entrenched in the present and on the threat from Mason. If his confrontation tonight had taught him anything, it was that he could never hope to fit in anywhere. Job or no job, he’d stayed in the village too long. He’d made enemies he couldn’t afford to have. Tomorrow, he’d see about getting his wages, then he’d pack his things and head somewhere new.
After an hour or so, the sound of a twig snapping outside got Eliot’s attention. Gently, he sat the guitar down against the wall and stumbled into the cold night air to investigate the noise. Immediately, the hairs on his arms stood on end. He could tell that something was wrong even in the dark of the night. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. And muffled, frantic whispering. And heavy boots on the cold ground.
And then there was the smell-stale whiskey and sweat.
Suddenly, over a dozen men led by Collin Mason walked out of the shadows. “We need to sort some things out, Eliot,” Mason snarled.
Eliot bit his lip. He could take Mason and probably a good number of the villagers with him. But even with the wolf so close to the surface, he couldn’t hope to take out everyone. “Just leave me be,” he said. “I’m heading out in the morning. We’ll never have to look at each other again.”
“It’s too late for that,” Mason said.
“I just want to be left alone.”
Ignoring his plea, Mason took a step forward. “Tell me something, Eliot,” he said. “Why haven’t you put down roots? You’re a good looking guy. Surely you could have found yourself a nice girl or guy and settled down.”
Eliot glanced around at the men and tried to take a mental headcount. “Well, the hospitality here hasn’t been so good, to be honest.”
Mason gestured toward some of the other villagers. “A couple of these guys think you busted out of prison.”
“I’m not a criminal,” Eliot said. “I’m just having some problems right now.”
“Between you and me, I think they’re just hoping there’s a reward out there for you.” Mason bounced back on his heels. “But Jed here has an interesting theory. Tell him what you think, Jed.”
Jed Rucker took a step forward. He was the local silversmith, and he’d never spoken to Eliot much. But every now and then, Eliot would look over his should and catch him staring daggers in his direction.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” Rucker said. “I think our drifter here is a werewolf.”
Eliot felt the blood run cold in his veins and his throat go dry. He stood up straight, trying to summon some fragment of his dignity. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“Come on, boys,” one of the other guys said. “This guy ain’t no wolf. We’d have noticed.”
“No,” Mason said. “It makes sense. He comes into the tavern for a drink every night. He missed a couple of days last month, though-during the full moon. And he never takes his shirt off. You got something to hide? A bite mark maybe?”
Eliot swallowed. “I don’t take my shirt off because it’s the middle of winter, jackass.”
Rucker cocked his gun. “Take your shirt off, son. Let’s settle this.”
Eliot glanced around, plotting out his escape route. “I’m not taking my shirt off for anybody. It’s too damn cold.”
“We’ll build a fire,” Rucker said.
“He’s not gonna do it, Jed,” Mason said. “’Cause he knows what we’ll see. Ain’t that right, wolf?”
Eliot watched as some of the other villagers nodded and whispered to each other. Whether they really believed Rucker and Mason or not, they were starting to latch onto the idea that Eliot was an animal. He knew the situation was about to boil over, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to take all of these men. His only hope was to escape with the clothes on his back. No cloak, no money, no guitar. It gutted him to leave his guitar behind, but he would do well to escape with his life tonight. With a burst of courage, Eliot bolted into the woods and hoped that he could outrun them before his legs gave out.
Dr. Nathan Ford gripped the collar of his cloak, steeling himself against the bitter cold night wind. He plunged forward, straining to keep his companion in sight. It would be all-too-easy for them to get separated in this darkness, and Nate simply didn’t know the woods as well as Alec did.
Blinking as a gust of wind slapped his face, Nate called out into the night in front of him. “Are we almost there?”
“Yeah,” Alec said. “Nearly.”
Nate had been snug at home in his warm cottage when Alec had arrived breathless with news of an injured traveler. According to Alec, the young man was unconscious and lying in the middle of the woods. The area was inaccessible to a wagon, so he had covered the injured man up as best he could and had hurried back to find Nate.
A few minutes later, the two of them were at the spot Alec had told him about. Sure enough, there was a broken body lying on the cold ground. Nate squinted against the darkness and tried to make out as much as he could about his new patient. He could tell by touch that the man was alive, but not much more.
“I couldn’t move him on my own and on foot,” Alec said. “I didn’t want to leave him.”
“No, you did the right thing.” Nate reached out and patted Alec on the shoulder. “You should have brought a lantern, though. As overcast as it is, and I can hardly see my own hands let alone check him for injuries.”
“Doc,” Alec sighed. “I can’t carry a lantern and a man at the same time. Not that a lantern would do much good in this wind. We need to get him back to the wagon.”
Nate groaned. On a balmy summer day, the march to the roadside where Alec had left the wagon it might be a nice walk. But in the bitter cold with an armful of injured deadweight… it was not a journey he looked forward to making.
Nevertheless, they needed to get the young man back to Nate’s cottage so he could properly treat his wounds. Summoning up his reserve of strength, he said to Alec, “Let’s get him back then. And take care as we move him. I can’t tell how badly injured he is without a better visual inspection.”
Alec nodded-or at least, Nate imagined he did-and the two of them hoisted their charge into their arms and trudged back the waiting wagon. Once there, Alec managed to get a lantern lit long enough for Nate to give the young man a cursory examination. He was clothed, but his garments were old and battered-enough to shield him from the cold but little else. His forehead was hot to the touch, but to Nate’s surprise, he wasn’t showing nearly the degree of hypothermia he would have expected. More pressing was an injury to his left shoulder. The skin was caked with blood and the wound looked red and angry. He would need a lot of care if he were to survive. Together, Nate and Alec bundled him up in a blanket and headed for home.
“How do you think he got here?” Alec asked, as he climbed into the front of the wagon. “Could he be a fugitive?”
Nate glanced back at their passenger. “I would guess that he is a fugitive. But the question is what is he running from? “
Once they were back at Nate’s cottage, it didn’t take long for Nate to start cataloging his patient’s maladies. The wound on the young man’s shoulder was the result of a bullet. He’d only been grazed, but the injury was far more severe than a normal bullet wound. And he bore faded but telltale bite marks on his left shoulder. As realization flooded over Nate, his patient’s condition started to make far more sense.
He turned toward the fireplace where Alec was warming his hands. “Alec,” he said. “Come over here and have a look at this.” When Alec approached, Nate pointed to the patient’s shoulder. “Do you see the bite marks here?”
Alec leaned in and took a look. “That’s a nasty scar,” he said. Licking his lips, he gazed intently at Nate. “Does it mean what I think it means?”
“Yes.” Nate clasped his hands together. “Our guest is a werewolf. This certainly sheds light on his condition. It most definitely explains why his body endured the cold much better than you or I would have.”
“Why is he so badly injured?”
Nate folded his arms across his chest. “I believe the wound on his shoulder came from a silver bullet. If the silver isn’t purged from his system, he won’t survive. I’ll need to start on a remedy right away.” He walked briskly into his study and started to pull down dusty books from one of his many shelves.
Following Nate into the study, Alec began to pace. “We should be asking ourselves who did this,” he said. “What if they’re still around? His hunters?”
Nate made a face. “Then they aren’t very good. That young man was lying out in the open when we found him.”
“Well, what if he has a pack?”
Nate flung open a dusty volume on folk remedies and started to rifle through its pages. “Then they’ll be looking for him soon enough. We’ll look after him until then.”
“And they’ll find us,” Alec said.
Nate turned to Alec and let out a breath. “Alec, you know full well that werewolves are not indiscriminate killers. That’s an old wives tale meant to provide a justification for those who want to slaughter them.”
Alec nodded. “They’re still not likely to take kindly to their pack mate being hurt,” he said. “They might take it out on us.”
“Or they might be grateful that we helped their mate.” Nate patted Alec on the shoulder. “You worry far too much,” he said. “Besides, I suspect he doesn’t have a pack. He doesn’t look like he’s been cared for, and packs generally tend to provide for their own. No, I think he’s been alone for a while.”
“What about the authorities?”
Nate had to admit that Alec did have a point. The authorities would surely come for their guest if they learned of his presence. And from what Nate had heard about wolves who were captured, it would be considerably worse than being hunted down by angry villagers.
Nodding, Nate ran a hand through his hair, “They would probably want to take him away in shackles.” Gazing pointedly at Alec, he added, “Of course, if they knew you were staying here, they might take you away in shackles, as well.”
Alec bit his bottom lip. Nate seldom reminded Alec of his precarious relationship with the royal authorities. “Good point,” he said.
“Look.” Nate smiled warmly. “He’s alone, and he needs us. We’ll look after him.” Nate plunked down in a chair. “I’ll start brewing an antidote. Would you mind going to town to see if people are talking? I’d like to know who did this to him. Also, pick him up some clothing. His garments are tattered, and he could use some proper pants and shirts.”
“Will do. I’ll try to get back before he wakes up.”
After Alec left, Nate walked into the other room and gazed at his charge. He was in a deep sleep, and Nate was struck at how pale and worn he looked. Nate suspected that he didn’t eat regularly, and that he’d probably hadn’t had proper medical treatment over the years. It was all Nate could do to stop himself from wrapping a pair of comforting arms around the young man. Perhaps he would need comfort later. But now, he needed treatment to get the poison out of his system.
He and Alec were taking a chance by bringing the young man here. Treating werewolves just wasn’t done. Most people still bore the same ridiculous prejudices against them that they had a hundred years before. Should anyone learn that he was aiding one, a storm of trouble would rain down on Nate. Fortunately for his patient, Nate had a sense of adventure and no regard for the laws of the land.
Next Part
Master Post
Fifteen Years Ago
A light spring rain ghosted against the grass and dirt as seventeen-year-old Eliot Spencer shuffled down the path that cut through the middle of the little village. It was bound to be a beautiful night, and Eliot was already itching to tear into the woods and revel in the magnificence of it. As much as he dreaded the transformation his body would go through, he ached for the freedom he felt when he shook off his human form and became the wolf.
That was one thing he could thank Damien for, he supposed. Eliot had always loved the woods, but he’d never been able to appreciate them on such a visceral level until Damien had given him the bite.
Only a few months had passed since their crucial encounter, but Eliot would be lying if he said he wasn’t still bitter.
Damien had been the son of a traveling salesman, and Eliot had fallen for him hard almost as soon as he’d laid eyes on him. His dark good looks and practiced hands had turned Eliot into a boneless mess. He’d smooth-talked Eliot into meeting him one night after everyone else had gone to bed. Eliot’s mama and daddy hadn’t really taken to Damien, but he’d snuck off to be with him anyway. Even now, he still turned that night over and over in his head. He didn’t know whether Damien had turned him on purpose-if it had always been his plan. Or if it had been the tragic action of a young man with no control over the wolf he had under his skin.
Either way, that night had changed Eliot’s life. He’d gone from an innocent, playful teenager to a brooding, lonely young man. Damien and his father had been gone the next day, of course. They had disappeared utterly and completely. And Eliot. Well, Eliot’s mama had nursed him back to health as best she could, and she’d tried to prepare him for the transformations she’d known would come.
In a way, he knew he was lucky. Eliot and his parents were part of a group of performers and misfits who traveled from village to village in a caravan of wagons trying to entertain people and scrape out a living. It was an unusual life, but most of the time, it worked. The constant traveling allowed for a certain amount of freedom and flexibility in case he ever had to linger behind in some village or patch of woods for a day or two.
Eliot and his family had adjusted to his condition as best they could. His parents had decided to keep his new nature a secret from the rest of the caravan. It was a struggle at times, but they’d decided that if their son could have a relatively normal life, the deception would be worth the effort. They would cover for him if anyone noticed his absence, and they would help him learn to control the more aggressive aspects of his personality which would emerge close to a transformation.
This evening’s transformation was still a few hours away, but the same combination of restlessness, boredom, and nagging fear that always gripped him during the full moon had him on edge. He knew that as the day wore on, the wolf would start pushing closer and closer to the surface, and fear would give way to aggression. He’d get irritable and keyed up; then a wave of energy would hit him, and he’d feel robust and almost invincible. It was an invigorating but terrifying whirlwind of emotions.
Eliot lifted himself up on a stone wall and sat there watching as the villagers wandered by. After he’d sat there for a while, he noticed a girl a year or two younger than him who lived in the village. He’d seen her in the woods a few times, but he’d always been too shy to approach her. From what he could tell, she was a bit of a misfit like he was-she always seemed to be by herself, and when he’d seen her in the woods, she seemed more at home than any other time.
Eliot watched as the girl bent down to poke at a flower. She must’ve sensed him staring at her, because she turned around and cocked her head at him. He looked away, but it was already too late. The girl wandered over to him and poked him in the arm.
“You’re one of the musicians,” she said evenly.
Nodding, he flashed what he hoped was a warm smile. “Yep. Sure am.”
The girl folded her arms across her chest. “My name is Parker. Why are you sitting on a wall?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You’re very strange.” Patting him on the knee, she turned and walked in the other direction.
Eliot stared after her for a while and wondered if he should follow and try to continue the conversation. But he figured it probably wouldn’t be wise anyway. The full moon was barreling toward him, and he needed his focus to be on mentally preparing himself for the change and on controlling the emotions he already felt nipping at the back of his brain. With a sigh, he jumped off the wall and walked toward the center of the village.
“Hey, you,” came a familiar voice. “What are you doing here all by yourself?”
Eliot glanced up and saw Sophie standing a few feet away with a smile on her face. In her arms, she held an impressive stack of packages, each wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with string. Eliot found himself wondering if she’d bought up the contents of every store in town.
Sophie was a fortune teller who had traveled with the caravan for as long as Eliot could remember. His mama didn’t approve of her much, but she’d been a friend to the family these past few years, and she was only person outside of the family-and Damien, of course-who knew what Eliot was.
His mama often scolded him for pestering Sophie, but he liked to spend time with her anyway. Every few days, he would visit her and try to cajole her into telling him his future. He didn’t know if her abilities were real or not. In fact, he knew that she was a bit on the unsavory side, as he’d see her steal-“liberate” she called it-a watch or a piece of jewelry from a villager every once in a while. But whether her abilities were real or not, it made him feel better when she’d tell him he was going to break hearts or have a lot of money someday. It was a little hope, and he needed to hang onto it tight on those nights when things were bad.
He walked over to her and flashed a grin. “I’m not by myself,” he said. “I’m with a beautiful woman.”
“Oh my,” she said with a laugh. “You are becoming quite the flirt, aren’t you? You should use some of that charm on the locals.”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “What’s the point? We’re leaving in a few days anyway.”
She gazed at him for a moment, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Well, I guess you’ll have to keep me company then. Walk with me.”
The two of them strolled around the village together, widow shopping and chatting as they went. This was the kind of village Eliot could picture himself living in someday. Granted, he’d probably never leave the caravan. But in his dreams, when he pictured his future, it was one of simplicity and stability and little bakeries that smelled like cake and bread.
As they walked past a little row of houses near the edge of the village, a man wearing a battered cloak hurried past them and collided with Eliot. He placed his hands on Eliot’s shoulders to steady himself, and muttered, “Sorry. I should watch where I’m going.” He nodded, then hurried off in the opposite direction.
Eliot gazed after him. The man was handsome-several years older than Eliot was, but not as old as his father. He smelled of chocolate and grass and something else Eliot couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, though, it was pleasant, and Eliot found himself wanting to spend time talking with the man.
Suddenly, Sophie grabbed Eliot by the arm. “Eliot,” she said excitedly. “I’ve just had a flash. I think that man might be your destiny.”
“The man that just passed?” Eliot grinned. “Are you sure he isn’t your destiny?”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “He’s definitely yours. He was very attractive, don’t you think?”
“He’s a little too old for me.”
Sophie winked. “In a few years that won’t matter.”
Eliot chuckled a little. “Sophie, can I ask you something?” When she nodded, he said, “Are you a real fortune teller? Tell me the truth.”
“Of course I am.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Believe me. My abilities are quite genuine. Sometimes unsettlingly so.”
He gazed at her for a moment. “Tell me my future.”
She rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow. “All right,” she said, letting out a breath. “Give me your hand. I need physical contact to do this properly.” Setting her packages down on the ground, Sophie took Eliot’s hand in hers and closed her eyes. “Hmm… Oh.” She squeezed his hand tightly, and her breath hitched. Suddenly, she let go of him and took a step back. “Eliot… I saw, um… Oh, Eliot, I need you to be careful tonight.”
Eliot arched an eyebrow. Sophie tended to be a little melodramatic at times, but her words still rattled him a little. It was the night of a full moon, and so many things could go horribly wrong. Someone could see him change and expose his secret. The villagers could catch wind that a werewolf was nearby and organize a hunting party. Or worse, he could harm someone. With a forced laugh, he said, “I always am, Soph. What’s so special about tonight?”
Tugging on her bottom lip, she looped an arm around his shoulder. “Honestly, I’m not sure,” she said. “But I have a feeling something dramatic is about to happen.”
***
Eliot didn’t have much time to think about Sophie’s warning. He went back to his wagon, had dinner with his parents, kissed them goodnight, and went out to the woods to transform in private. The first time he had changed, his daddy had offered to come with him so he wouldn’t be afraid. But Eliot had refused. He had decided then and there that he never wanted anyone he loved to see him that way. The wolf was his shame, and he’d indulge that part of his nature when he was alone.
He set his clothes out near the tree he’d chosen so he could get to them in the morning, then he waited for the transformation to rip through him. The blinding pain always hit him like a sucker punch, even though he knew it was coming. It started in his back and legs first and shot upward to his arms, shoulders, and neck. After a couple of minutes, the pain would blanket him so completely that his brain would start to go fuzzy. And all of the sudden, he’d feel like he was being yanked bodily through the air until the wolf completely surfaced.
What a lot of folks didn’t understand about becoming the wolf is that the after the transformation itself, the human didn’t disappear or go to sleep or anything like that. Sure, the physical body was replaced with that of the wolf, but the mind… that remained intact, lucid. Inhibitions were lowered, and wolfish instincts started to override human ones. But ultimately, the werewolf was still a man, and he was responsible for his actions. And he damn sure remembered the pain.
After he was fully transformed, Eliot broke into a run and didn’t stop until he reached the clearing where he had seen Parker the previous nights. Once there, he sat in the bushes waiting for her to arrive. He felt ridiculous. Instead of enjoying the bliss of running through the forest, he was sitting in the bushes waiting to spy on a girl he’d only spoken to once. Still, regardless of their lack of contact, Eliot felt an odd sort of kinship with her. They both loved the woods, and most of all, they were both outsiders.
Eliot sat there at the clearing for a few moments, not knowing what to do. Maybe he was overly eager, but he thought Parker should have arrived already. Impatiently, he walked around the clearing, sniffing for some sign of her presence. Then he heard a scream in the distance. He knew it was Parker, because he could smell her. He could also tell someone was near her-it was a scent he didn’t recognize, and it reeked of oil and sweat. Growling under his breath, Eliot followed Parker’s scent along the path until he spotted her. When he found her, she was backing away from a greasy man in tattered clothes.
Eliot had a split second to assess the situation. He looked at Parker, then he looked back at the man. When he saw that the man had a knife in his hand, he let instinct take over, and he lunged at the man’s throat.
When it was over, Eliot backed away from the body of the man and turned to where Parker was sitting by a tree with her eyes covered. He sat there and gazed at her, waiting for some sign that she was okay. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and stared back at him. To his surprise, she didn’t look away in horror. Instead, she reached into the basket she’d been carrying and pulled out a piece of cake. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the cake in front of Eliot, then reached out and petted his fur. And even more striking, Parker looked him in the eyes and smiled.
The next morning, Eliot stumbled out of the woods, trembling and dry-throated. He pulled on his clothing and tried to decide what to do next. After he’d left Parker the previous night, he’d bolted through the woods, trying to run off all the adrenaline from his encounter with the knife-wielding man. He had eventually worn himself out to the point that he was able to fall asleep by a large pine tree. But now. Now he was awake, and he was human, and he had to find a way to cope with what he’d done.
As soon as he got back to his wagon, he spit the story out to his parents and to Sophie. Even though they all assured him that he’d done the only thing he could have done, Eliot could tell they were worried for him-and he wondered if they might be a little afraid of him. The caravan pulled out the next day, and no one ever came looking for him. Still, for weeks afterward, he was plagued by nightmares of the man he’d killed and the killer he feared lurked within him.
Five Years Ago
While Eliot was growing up, his parents had told him again and again that the world was a lonely, brutal place, and that they were fortunate to have the protection of a traveling caravan. Now, both his parents were gone-his daddy from a fever and his mama from what Sophie called a broken heart. And Eliot. Eliot was about to be cast out into the world all by himself, no protection and no companionship.
Traveling with these people, this band of misfits… it was all Eliot had ever known. He’d come to think of the caravan as home, and its people as a makeshift family. His mama and daddy had always gone to great lengths to see to it that the rest of the travelers never found out about his secret. But still, Eliot had naively come to believe that the other performers, with their eccentricities and fierce independence, would accept him for who he was should they ever find out the truth.
As turned out, he was wrong.
Since his parents died, Eliot had grown admittedly careless about his secret. Over the past few years, Eliot and his folks had managed to get his transformations down to an art. As soon as they’d arrived in an area, they would scope out a place for him to change. On days he was transforming, his mama would have a basin of water, a rag, and some soap ready so he could make himself look presentable. And they had always been armed with a cover story in case anyone had noticed Eliot’s absences. But after his mama died, Eliot had stopped putting those safety measures into practice.
Maybe he just didn’t have the energy to handle his own grief and still cover his tracks as well as he once had. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. He’d spent his entire adult life and part of his youth lying to people he saw every day, and it had just never felt right in his gut.
In the end, though, it wasn’t forgetting a cover story or coming home disheveled or getting caught in the act of transforming that got him into trouble. No, it was something far more innocuous. He’d gotten up one morning and had taken his shirt off outside of his wagon. His mama had always cautioned him against such recklessness, but it had been warm out, and he’d wanted to feel the sun against his skin. He’d only been shirtless for a few minutes, but that had been long enough. Someone had wandered by his wagon and had seen the bite mark on his shoulder. Accusations had flown, and Eliot had been too damn tired to lie.
All those years his family had spent trying to protect him and give him a semi-normal life had been destroyed. His secret was out now, and the others had voted to make him leave everything he’d known since childhood. They said they bore him no ill will, but they couldn’t take the chance that he might lose control or that he might bring suspicion to the rest of the caravan. He could see their point, but it still hurt like a knife to the gut. Despite the pain, he kept telling himself he wouldn’t cry, at least not until he got some distance from the caravan. He at least wanted to leave with his dignity.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sophie approaching, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “I could talk to them again,” she said. “Convince them to let you stay.”
He shook his head. “No, their minds seem pretty well made up. I’m just grateful they’re not turning me over to the authorities or doing me in themselves.”
A look of horror ghosted across Sophie’s face. “They would never.”
“There are people who would, Sophie.” Eliot finished placing the rest of his belongings into leather saddlebags, then he buckled the bags shut and grabbed his guitar. “It’s probably best that I go. I don’t want to risk hurting anyone.”
“Then don’t.” She took a step toward him. “It’s not as though you don’t have a choice.”
He bit his lip. “Sophie, we both know what I did all those years ago. What I’m capable of.” He took a breath and looped his guitar strap over his shoulder. Since the morning after it had happened, Eliot hadn’t spoken much about the night in the woods. His daddy had asked him afterward if he wanted to talk, but Eliot had hemmed and hawed and stammered a lot, so his daddy had finally given up. Part of Eliot felt like if he didn’t ever talk about it, then it didn’t happen.
But it had happened. And sometimes, Eliot sat alone in his wagon and turned that night over and over in his mind. When he’d seen the man moving toward Parker, Eliot had reacted without much thought. He’d lunged at the stranger’s throat and had let the wolf do the rest. He tried to tell himself that he’d saved a girl that day, and that made him a hero. Still, he wondered if he could’ve done things differently. Could he have simply bared his teeth and threatened the man? Could he have chased him away?
Grabbing Eliot’s hand in hers, Sophie gave him a squeeze and said, “You did what you had to do to save that girl. Anyone would have done the same thing.”
“Maybe,” he said ruefully. ‘But most people wouldn’t be able to do with their bare teeth.”
“Eliot,” she said. “You are what you are. You’ve never been as out-of-control as you seem to believe. I’ve never felt threatened by you, even close to a full moon.”
He looked up at the sky, not trusting himself to meet Sophie’s gaze. “I’ve been thinking about that night a lot lately. About how I felt. And you know what? I was scared of bringing trouble to the caravan or scaring people off. But what I did to that man? I walked away feeling… nothing.”
“Oh, I was there the next morning,” Sophie said. “And you certainly didn’t feel nothing. You were a broken to bits.” She smoothed the hair out of his eyes. “You know, Eliot, the mind has a way of putting up walls until we’re ready to cope with things.”
“Or maybe them people that voted me out of here were right,” he snapped. “Maybe the wolf has more influence on me than you or I want to admit.” They were both quiet for a few moments, then Eliot forced a smile and said, “Tell my future.”
She rolled her eyes and squeezed his hand. “Well, let’s see,” she said. “I can tell you that we’re going to see each other again. And that-” she cleared her throat. “You’re going to be all right.”
“Is that the fortune teller in you talking or just wishful thinking?”
“A little of both,” she admitted.
He led his horse out to the edge of the road. “You can have my wagon,” he said.
“You’re not taking it with you?”
He shook his head. “Nah. It’s a performer’s wagon. I’d stick out too much. All I need is a horse. You can have it, or leave it by the side of the road. Either one.”
With one last wistful gaze back at his former home, Eliot climbed onto his horse and rode off.
Present Day
Eliot stretched and twisted the kinks of out of his back as he trudged from the stable onto the street. He pulled his threadbare cloak tightly around himself and shivered. It wasn’t snowing yet, but it was cold enough out to send a chill straight to his bones. He’d been tending the horses, cleaning the stable, and a variety of other tasks for the better part of the day, and now he was sore and ready to unwind with some drinks and food before collapsing into a bed for a few hours. He didn’t mind putting in a good day’s work, though. Not only did he need the money so bad it hurt, he also found the work satisfying. He could go to bed feeling like he’d accomplished something.
Kneading the muscles in his neck and shoulders with his fingers, he hurried down the pathway to the village’s only tavern. No sooner had he walked through the door, he became acutely aware that some of the other patrons were staring at him in the same cold way they had every night since he’d first arrived in the village several weeks before. Eliot usually didn’t stay in one place more than a week or so. It was easier to keep moving, planning his respites in local villages by the rhythm of the moon. But in the winter, decent work was hard to find, and since he’d found it, he was disinclined to leave it.
Eliot had gotten used to the solitude over the years. In fact, he had learned that there was a certain comfort in being alone and free of other people’s expectations. He didn’t relish the idea of ever having to look into someone’s face again and see the rejection that had darkened the gazes of his former friends in the caravan. Loneliness was easy, familiar, safe. Still, there were days when he longed for more companionship than he could get from the occasional roll in the hay or night drinking at a bar.
As far as lives went, though, Eliot knew he could do worse. Should anyone learn of his true nature, he could be locked up or put down. Lately, the authorities were tending to do the latter, and that knowledge was enough to remind Eliot why he needed to keep a safe distance from regular people.
Still, he had to eat, and so he’d brave the stares and slurs of the villagers for a couple hours. A group of them were sitting at the bar, gathered around one of the town’s most prominent jackasses, a spiteful man named Colin Mason. Mason had taken a dislike to Eliot from the first moment he’d laid eyes on him. For Eliot, the feeling was most definitely mutual. As Eliot sat down, Mason and his cronies whispered and snickered and gawked in Eliot’s direction.
His patience with the villagers was wearing thin tonight, and Eliot thought about turning around and leaving. Or better yet, busting some heads. He had his heart set on going to bed with a full stomach for once, though, so he ordered some food and tried his best to ignore the harassment.
His dinner was modest-some cheese and bread, a bit of broth, and a mug of ale. Still, he savored it as he ate. He was just finishing the last of his meal when Mason climbed off his barstool and staggered over to Eliot’s table.
“Of course,” Mason said a little louder than necessary. “You have these drifters who come into the village, and they take work away from regular folk. Hey, Eliot,” he said. “How do you feel about stealing work from decent folk?”
“I don’t want any trouble, Mason,” he said though clenched teeth. It was the week before a full moon, and Eliot was spoiling for a fight. The wolf that bubbled underneath his skin wanted to climb out and toss every asshole villager within reach across the room. But the last thing he needed to do was take Mason’s bait and get himself into trouble he couldn’t get out of.
“Well,” Mason said dramatically. “I don’t care what you want.” He placed his hands on the back of Eliot’s chair. “I asked you a question. How do you feel about stealing work from decent folk?”
Eliot took a final swig of ale and stood up, forcefully pushing the chair back against Mason’s unsteady body as he did so. Nodding to the bartender, he turned and walked toward the door.
“Hey, Eliot. We’re having a conversation here.” Mason said. “It’s a little rude to leave.”
“Just leave me be,” he said again. He kept his fists at his side, clenching and unclenching them as he tried to hold down his temper. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Yeah? Well maybe you got it anyway/”
A few others murmured in agreement, and Eliot could feel their eyes boring holes through him. Part of him was sorely tempted to lunge at the crowd and have himself a good, bloody brawl. Good sense prevailed, though, and he pushed open the door and trudged back to the modest shed he’d been bunking in while he worked at the stable.
Once Eliot was back in his room, he scooped up his guitar and began to strum a tune. He loved music. It was one of the few things he’d managed to keep from his youth. When work was scarce, he’d pull out his guitar and play a little on the street of whatever village he was in at the time. Folks seemed to like his music, and sometimes he could earn a little pocket money from onlookers. But it was more than a means to make cash. Music was his connection to humanity and normalcy. As he strummed out familiar tunes, he would often let his mind drift back to childhood and to his parents and the innocence and stability he’d once felt.
Tonight as he strummed, he didn’t think about the past. His mind was firmly entrenched in the present and on the threat from Mason. If his confrontation tonight had taught him anything, it was that he could never hope to fit in anywhere. Job or no job, he’d stayed in the village too long. He’d made enemies he couldn’t afford to have. Tomorrow, he’d see about getting his wages, then he’d pack his things and head somewhere new.
After an hour or so, the sound of a twig snapping outside got Eliot’s attention. Gently, he sat the guitar down against the wall and stumbled into the cold night air to investigate the noise. Immediately, the hairs on his arms stood on end. He could tell that something was wrong even in the dark of the night. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. And muffled, frantic whispering. And heavy boots on the cold ground.
And then there was the smell-stale whiskey and sweat.
Suddenly, over a dozen men led by Collin Mason walked out of the shadows. “We need to sort some things out, Eliot,” Mason snarled.
Eliot bit his lip. He could take Mason and probably a good number of the villagers with him. But even with the wolf so close to the surface, he couldn’t hope to take out everyone. “Just leave me be,” he said. “I’m heading out in the morning. We’ll never have to look at each other again.”
“It’s too late for that,” Mason said.
“I just want to be left alone.”
Ignoring his plea, Mason took a step forward. “Tell me something, Eliot,” he said. “Why haven’t you put down roots? You’re a good looking guy. Surely you could have found yourself a nice girl or guy and settled down.”
Eliot glanced around at the men and tried to take a mental headcount. “Well, the hospitality here hasn’t been so good, to be honest.”
Mason gestured toward some of the other villagers. “A couple of these guys think you busted out of prison.”
“I’m not a criminal,” Eliot said. “I’m just having some problems right now.”
“Between you and me, I think they’re just hoping there’s a reward out there for you.” Mason bounced back on his heels. “But Jed here has an interesting theory. Tell him what you think, Jed.”
Jed Rucker took a step forward. He was the local silversmith, and he’d never spoken to Eliot much. But every now and then, Eliot would look over his should and catch him staring daggers in his direction.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” Rucker said. “I think our drifter here is a werewolf.”
Eliot felt the blood run cold in his veins and his throat go dry. He stood up straight, trying to summon some fragment of his dignity. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“Come on, boys,” one of the other guys said. “This guy ain’t no wolf. We’d have noticed.”
“No,” Mason said. “It makes sense. He comes into the tavern for a drink every night. He missed a couple of days last month, though-during the full moon. And he never takes his shirt off. You got something to hide? A bite mark maybe?”
Eliot swallowed. “I don’t take my shirt off because it’s the middle of winter, jackass.”
Rucker cocked his gun. “Take your shirt off, son. Let’s settle this.”
Eliot glanced around, plotting out his escape route. “I’m not taking my shirt off for anybody. It’s too damn cold.”
“We’ll build a fire,” Rucker said.
“He’s not gonna do it, Jed,” Mason said. “’Cause he knows what we’ll see. Ain’t that right, wolf?”
Eliot watched as some of the other villagers nodded and whispered to each other. Whether they really believed Rucker and Mason or not, they were starting to latch onto the idea that Eliot was an animal. He knew the situation was about to boil over, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to take all of these men. His only hope was to escape with the clothes on his back. No cloak, no money, no guitar. It gutted him to leave his guitar behind, but he would do well to escape with his life tonight. With a burst of courage, Eliot bolted into the woods and hoped that he could outrun them before his legs gave out.
Dr. Nathan Ford gripped the collar of his cloak, steeling himself against the bitter cold night wind. He plunged forward, straining to keep his companion in sight. It would be all-too-easy for them to get separated in this darkness, and Nate simply didn’t know the woods as well as Alec did.
Blinking as a gust of wind slapped his face, Nate called out into the night in front of him. “Are we almost there?”
“Yeah,” Alec said. “Nearly.”
Nate had been snug at home in his warm cottage when Alec had arrived breathless with news of an injured traveler. According to Alec, the young man was unconscious and lying in the middle of the woods. The area was inaccessible to a wagon, so he had covered the injured man up as best he could and had hurried back to find Nate.
A few minutes later, the two of them were at the spot Alec had told him about. Sure enough, there was a broken body lying on the cold ground. Nate squinted against the darkness and tried to make out as much as he could about his new patient. He could tell by touch that the man was alive, but not much more.
“I couldn’t move him on my own and on foot,” Alec said. “I didn’t want to leave him.”
“No, you did the right thing.” Nate reached out and patted Alec on the shoulder. “You should have brought a lantern, though. As overcast as it is, and I can hardly see my own hands let alone check him for injuries.”
“Doc,” Alec sighed. “I can’t carry a lantern and a man at the same time. Not that a lantern would do much good in this wind. We need to get him back to the wagon.”
Nate groaned. On a balmy summer day, the march to the roadside where Alec had left the wagon it might be a nice walk. But in the bitter cold with an armful of injured deadweight… it was not a journey he looked forward to making.
Nevertheless, they needed to get the young man back to Nate’s cottage so he could properly treat his wounds. Summoning up his reserve of strength, he said to Alec, “Let’s get him back then. And take care as we move him. I can’t tell how badly injured he is without a better visual inspection.”
Alec nodded-or at least, Nate imagined he did-and the two of them hoisted their charge into their arms and trudged back the waiting wagon. Once there, Alec managed to get a lantern lit long enough for Nate to give the young man a cursory examination. He was clothed, but his garments were old and battered-enough to shield him from the cold but little else. His forehead was hot to the touch, but to Nate’s surprise, he wasn’t showing nearly the degree of hypothermia he would have expected. More pressing was an injury to his left shoulder. The skin was caked with blood and the wound looked red and angry. He would need a lot of care if he were to survive. Together, Nate and Alec bundled him up in a blanket and headed for home.
“How do you think he got here?” Alec asked, as he climbed into the front of the wagon. “Could he be a fugitive?”
Nate glanced back at their passenger. “I would guess that he is a fugitive. But the question is what is he running from? “
Once they were back at Nate’s cottage, it didn’t take long for Nate to start cataloging his patient’s maladies. The wound on the young man’s shoulder was the result of a bullet. He’d only been grazed, but the injury was far more severe than a normal bullet wound. And he bore faded but telltale bite marks on his left shoulder. As realization flooded over Nate, his patient’s condition started to make far more sense.
He turned toward the fireplace where Alec was warming his hands. “Alec,” he said. “Come over here and have a look at this.” When Alec approached, Nate pointed to the patient’s shoulder. “Do you see the bite marks here?”
Alec leaned in and took a look. “That’s a nasty scar,” he said. Licking his lips, he gazed intently at Nate. “Does it mean what I think it means?”
“Yes.” Nate clasped his hands together. “Our guest is a werewolf. This certainly sheds light on his condition. It most definitely explains why his body endured the cold much better than you or I would have.”
“Why is he so badly injured?”
Nate folded his arms across his chest. “I believe the wound on his shoulder came from a silver bullet. If the silver isn’t purged from his system, he won’t survive. I’ll need to start on a remedy right away.” He walked briskly into his study and started to pull down dusty books from one of his many shelves.
Following Nate into the study, Alec began to pace. “We should be asking ourselves who did this,” he said. “What if they’re still around? His hunters?”
Nate made a face. “Then they aren’t very good. That young man was lying out in the open when we found him.”
“Well, what if he has a pack?”
Nate flung open a dusty volume on folk remedies and started to rifle through its pages. “Then they’ll be looking for him soon enough. We’ll look after him until then.”
“And they’ll find us,” Alec said.
Nate turned to Alec and let out a breath. “Alec, you know full well that werewolves are not indiscriminate killers. That’s an old wives tale meant to provide a justification for those who want to slaughter them.”
Alec nodded. “They’re still not likely to take kindly to their pack mate being hurt,” he said. “They might take it out on us.”
“Or they might be grateful that we helped their mate.” Nate patted Alec on the shoulder. “You worry far too much,” he said. “Besides, I suspect he doesn’t have a pack. He doesn’t look like he’s been cared for, and packs generally tend to provide for their own. No, I think he’s been alone for a while.”
“What about the authorities?”
Nate had to admit that Alec did have a point. The authorities would surely come for their guest if they learned of his presence. And from what Nate had heard about wolves who were captured, it would be considerably worse than being hunted down by angry villagers.
Nodding, Nate ran a hand through his hair, “They would probably want to take him away in shackles.” Gazing pointedly at Alec, he added, “Of course, if they knew you were staying here, they might take you away in shackles, as well.”
Alec bit his bottom lip. Nate seldom reminded Alec of his precarious relationship with the royal authorities. “Good point,” he said.
“Look.” Nate smiled warmly. “He’s alone, and he needs us. We’ll look after him.” Nate plunked down in a chair. “I’ll start brewing an antidote. Would you mind going to town to see if people are talking? I’d like to know who did this to him. Also, pick him up some clothing. His garments are tattered, and he could use some proper pants and shirts.”
“Will do. I’ll try to get back before he wakes up.”
After Alec left, Nate walked into the other room and gazed at his charge. He was in a deep sleep, and Nate was struck at how pale and worn he looked. Nate suspected that he didn’t eat regularly, and that he’d probably hadn’t had proper medical treatment over the years. It was all Nate could do to stop himself from wrapping a pair of comforting arms around the young man. Perhaps he would need comfort later. But now, he needed treatment to get the poison out of his system.
He and Alec were taking a chance by bringing the young man here. Treating werewolves just wasn’t done. Most people still bore the same ridiculous prejudices against them that they had a hundred years before. Should anyone learn that he was aiding one, a storm of trouble would rain down on Nate. Fortunately for his patient, Nate had a sense of adventure and no regard for the laws of the land.
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