Turned: A werewolf love story

Chapter 5: Empathy

Charlotte's wound smouldered with pain, waking her with every throb. How long had Bernard been gone? Five minutes? An hour? What if the mages had killed him?

She twisted around and licked her burn. The touch sent ripples of anguish through her flesh, but it was better than doing nothing. Beneath the pain was a deep, echoing hunger. Perhaps this body needed food to heal. Weren't werewolves exceptional healers? She'd heard talk once of the difficulties in disposing of a sick or injured one. Perhaps she wouldn't die, if she could only eat something.

With a whimper she rose to all fours and limped to the cave mouth. It was late afternoon, and the overcast sky promised rain. Her delicate nose caught a whiff of Bernard, but she had no idea how to interpret location by scent.

He'd saved her.

Charlotte hadn't allowed herself to think about this, but now the concept burst upon her, as shocking as a fireball. He'd rescued her and chased away the mages. He'd found her a dry cave for shelter. Did the man have a heart after all? Or was it bare survival instinct?

She licked and licked her wound, her tongue pulling the burned fur away from flesh and cleaning away ash. As she worked, she pondered the problem of Bernard. He'd said next to nothing to her, yet his actions had been as chivalrous as any of the Grayton lords'. Yet she craved talk. No relationship functioned without communication, and how could she ever understand her husband without talking?

Rain spattered the rocks outside the cave, and a gray film fell over the world. Claws scrabbled on rock, and Bernard appeared out of the rain, fur plastered to his back, carrying a mass of dead rabbits in his jaws. He bounded into the cave, dropped the rabbits and shook himself. Charlotte turned quickly to protect her wound from the shower.

“Sorry!” Bernard said immediately. “I didn't—you've been cleaning it.” He sniffed her burn. “It's much better.”

Charlotte gathered her resolve. She must talk to him, and not just lecture, but listen to his replies. She must penetrate this wall between them. “Yes, I can't help it. It hurts so badly. Bernard, do werewolves heal quickly?”

“Yes.” He tore a rabbit open with his claws and placed it in front of her. “Faster than a human, but not as swiftly as if a healer attended them. Here. Eat.”

Charlotte gazed at the mutilated carcass. One part of her wanted to raise a handkerchief to her face and faint away. But a stronger part smelled the warm meat and saliva trickled into her mouth. She bent and sniffed it, then licked it—and within a few minutes, most of the rabbit vanished in a delicious blur of warmth, meat and crunchy bones.

Bernard nosed her a second one. “Here. You need it.”

After the second rabbit, Charlotte's head cleared and the pain became easier to bear. She sat on her haunches and squared her shoulders,  and wiped her jaws. “Thank you, Bernard.”

Bernard's rabbits had disappeared entirely, except for a few scraps of fur on the floor. He licked his jaws and tried to wipe away the gore, but the werewolf body was not designed for delicate operations like cleaning. He gave her his best smile, like a snarl with relaxed lips. “You're welcome, my lady.”

If she wanted this relationship, she'd have to make the first gesture. Charlotte cringed and wavered inside, but mustered her courage. “Would you like me to … clean your face?”

He stared at her, face going completely blank and animal. Then his ears flattened a little and his eyebrows crinkled, like an apologetic dog. “If you want to. I'll clean you, too.”

Licking Bernard's face seemed horribly intimate at first, and Charlotte's face flamed under her fur. But she fell into the rhythm of it, and it wasn't so different from licking her burn. Her tongue functioned like a hairbrush, smoothing away grime and leaving the fur soft and clean. He closed his eyes in enjoyment.