I sigh, squinting through the heat the hole in the roof mercilessly let in. Much as I was more fit than I'd ever been in my life, my body was painfully unaccustomed to the labors that building a ceiling demanded. In fact, it was only a painful reminder of exactly how useless I was in a life where I must perform tasks deemed worthy of a man.
Lacking in masculinity as one might define it, things such as tools, grit, and laboring were met with uncertainty and suspicion as I tried to navigate the delicate waters of proving useful while not killing myself in the process. I'd become the newest aid in the remedial task of handing over tools, despite my best attempt to do more, it would seem my unwilling hosts had realized my danger to them and myself should they keep expecting brilliance from my craftsmanship.
Perhaps they might have been better off asking me to teach them to write or handing over kitchen duty. Using the back of my hand, I wipe the layer of sweat from my brow with a tired exhale. My mental energy drained much faster than my physical ability. While I couldn't put a finger on what the three men were doing on the boat, or exactly what their cargo was, my position to question them was minimal at best.
What was it any of my business what and why they were out here?
Judging back their lack of concern in the validity of my story, I could only assume that I owed them the same level of discretion, after all, they had not yet thrown me overboard despite my lack of talents. Handing over the torch, I try and feel as useful as I can as I'm handed back the greasy wrench that causes my nose to involuntarily wrinkle at the musty scent of rust and melted metal.
The sun beating down on us through the gaping hole caused by my crash-landing was punishment enough for my crime, I couldn't help but muse that my discomfort brought them some form of joy, I had certainly spied the captain of the small group grinning at my obvious fatigue. My olive skin hungerily drank in the rays, welcoming every morsel of vitamin D it could siphon.
Cutting away the debris was the easy part, the task that came after was not so fitting for one with such sensitive hearing. For the majority of the day, I was tasked with the art of ripping the metal from its crudely cut carvings and stowing them where they could later be recycled. As fast as the metal sliced my hands, splattering blood on the thin sheets and dripping down my arms, it healed and prepared itself for the next slice. The younger man marveled at my lack of consideration for such things.
While I might be a prude, the pain was no stranger to me.
Through lunch we worked on the roof, my disappointing height proved to be irritating to us all as I was the only one strong enough to lift the sheet into place as the patchwork began. Balanced on a crate and stretched onto my toes, my body shivered and shuddered under the request to become equipment, as I slumped back to the floor I was reminded that there was a reason my people were persecuted. The war in my time never felt more deserved.
Panting, my arms threatening to slide out of the sockets and puddle on the ground, the younger man sits beside me and uses his hand to measure the sun. "I think we can be done for today."
"You don't have a watch?" I ask curiously.
"No." A small smirk curls onto his thin lips, crusted over with grit and black silt. "You knew I was telling time?"
Pursing my lips, I shrug one shoulder, careful to reel back in my identity. "My father was a historian."
Nodding in acceptance, the man crosses his legs with a yawn. "Well, then you should know owning anything with Artifice leads you open to the ever-watching eye. People like us don't get much for our earnings, alls we can afford is Artifice and I'd rather just do it the way they used to, 'for all this technology choked out the sky. Can be tough with the smog but it's been better these past months."
It had been better, at least I thought it had until I saw the small city we stayed in. "I have a feeling we are only ending because of me."
Once more he smirks, "You're a hard worker but you ain't much for lasting, I'm afraid. I remember learning about lycans as a boy, not much taught on it in school, but doesn't quite feel right working a man to the bone given the way creation found you. Though I must admit, you put on a good act. With all them scars, I figured you'd be a tougher fellow than you are. Not that I don't appreciate your help."
Not sure if I should be offended or not, I decide to let it slide for I was feeling quite low on myself already for the creation of the breed. Running a hand through my hair, I snag one of the dirty pale towels and wipe off the salt and sweat from my face. "I'll admit I've not known much for hardship when it comes to physical labor." Did war count? We walked endlessly but my tacks weren't quite physical.
Mentally and emotionally, my debt was paid. But physically? Tracing the rag over my exposed, scarred arms I exhale slowly as my lips pull down. I supposed the universe had taken its pound of flesh in other methods. Still, I found myself feeling humbled by the hours of labor. How my husband managed to look at me after what my father put him through baffled me.
"Where are you from? I've never quite heard an accent like yours. Sounds... Russian?" His words catch me off guard.
"Romania," I respond before instantly regretting it by the puzzled look on his face. Romania was a dead continent, I was too young to be from there though lycans could be immortal nobody in this time would understand that. My breed was extinct until only recently. "The accent at least, I've been occupying France for quite some time. The accent just stuck with my family, I suppose." I consider my dialect and wonder if I should work on softening it for when I wanted to remain hidden, much as I'd clung to my heritage I had never felt more distant from it. Seeing my home melting away into the dark woods had crushed my sense of urgency to return there.
Romanian was a mixture of multiple different languages such as French, Spanish with a hint of Slavic roots. The thought brings just a hint of a smile back to my face as I envision my warlord struggling to conquer the language due to its complexity and accent, an English man had difficulty mastering the full scale when Russian was concerned. Much as Victor might have been attempting to help him learn, it had eluded him for the most part and it brought me great amusement in how much that irritated him to do poorly at something.
One of the few things my warlord wasn't good at. I decide when I get home I would attempt to teach him again, I'm sure that would please him. The thought causes the smile to fade as quickly as it appeared, I so desperately wanted to be home.
"I know that look. Thinking of a girl?" He gestures to my ring with a tilt of his head.
I eye the band from my first marriage to the lycan, the small rooftop affair. Verando as a woman, the very notion made me chuckle. "You might say that." He certainly could be sensitive as a stereotypical woman though I had found the men in my life were much more emotionally unstable. Women tended to frighten me more than anything, I couldn't quite tell what they were thinking. "I'm just ready to be back home."
"Me too. 'Fraid I'll be going on a bit longer than you though, friend." We both glance towards the stairs as the crew shamble down in the midst of grumbles about mandatory broadcast. Pressing a crusted over button on the shabby control panel, our less than humble captain pulls down a small monitor and fumbles lazily for the remote.
"What's going on?" My companion asks through a yawn. I can't help but eye the bowl of simple stew passed my direction from the mistress of the vessel. The older woman was impressively adept at making something from nothing given the small portion sizes and less than quality meats. Yet, the flavor was brought on with the tender care of a woman trying to manage for her makeshift family.
I thank her quietly as I accept the bowl, past the point of caring about the lack of utensils and taking a sip of the hot, thin mixture. My mother would be devastated and yet she'd never known this life, nor had I truly. "Some big shot has something to say. Came over the loud speaker, every able body must tune in." The captain grumbles.
The woman seems pleased by my appetite. Much like many at the drug den gone strip club, names had evaded me and I felt it was best to keep it that way. "I hope it's something good, could use a bit of good news." She sighs, almost dreamily as she admires our handiwork while handing over the second bowl to my companion. "Almost fixed up." She comments approvingly.
"Red here works pretty hard." The nickname causes me to flinch. He elbows me, almost spilling the precious liquid. I resist the urge to snap, it wasn't his fault and I'm to tired to care. "Not much for lasting." He repeats the crude insult while I resist the urge to roll my eyes, focusing more on the task of not wasting the serving. "But he'll do."
The screen flickers to life and before my eyes appears the very man I had been desperate to see. "Citizens of France and accompanying territories." He greets, I set my bowl down to drink in his appearance. Taking inventory, my wolf stands at full attention as I note the dark circles under his eyes and the slightly more tangled mess of gray hair. He often ran his hand through it when he was stressed, with nobody to stroke it smooth it was looking particularly unkept. His stubble had healthy growth, I'd been on this ship coming on two days.
It'd been two days since he'd heard from me.
Would Helen have told him the truth? That I had been triggered and had escaped?
"Let me make myself perfectly clear." His jaw is tight, eyes hard as he stares into lense with an intensity that causes my breath to catch. It's as if he could see me, to know that I would see this message. "The Good King, Nicolas Matesscu, has been declared missing. Any being with knowledge of his wearabouts are to contact authorities immediately, without hesitation-" Lotta exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose at the looming threat.
She snatches the microphone to pull it off the edge of the stand. "Let me be clear that this is not an accusation. This is a missing persons alert." Of course Lotta would understand what my disappearance could mean, with the fragile nature of the bond between humans and magic users, it could have been seen as an act of violence that I'd been potentially taken.
Verando's nose wrinkles just the slightest bit, controlling his desire to react. I exhale for him, attempting to calm the inferno that I can feel burning as if I were standing right beside him. The world around me dulls, I can hear conversation but all I can focus on are the two people that seem to be a lifetime away from me. "Anyone found to be preventing his return will receive capital punishment." His harsh tone brings a gasp from the surrounding media.
"Are you saying the death penalty?" A reporter asks quickly in the sea of murmurs.
"No." Lotta spits, giving the taller man a stern look.
Clenching his fist so tightly that his knuckles whiten, the corner of his mouth twitches as he seems to acknowledge that Lotta out ranked him only in this instance. Turning his attention back to the camera, he finally exhales. "I'm assuring anyone out there who might be watching with ill intentions that if I find them, there is nothing that will protect them from my swift retaliation. For the sake of anyone involved, I encourage his prompt return." Turning on his heel, he departs from the stage and I catch only a glimpse of the agony behind that threat.
He was worried about me, he missed me just as I was missing him. Swallowing back my own discomfort, I blink rapidly back into reality as the press conference explodes into a flurry of questions for Lotta. My face stares back at me, reflected in a picture that commands the left side of the screen. People were frightened, nobody wanted to be blamed for my disappearance.
When the television cuts off, all eyes are locked on me. "What did you say your name was?" The voice of our captain breaks my trance. I sort through the English language, looking for any word that might excuse me from this situation. There was no threat, only the promise that every last one of these people would die if he found me here in any sort of disrepair.
"I didn't." I attempt as smoothly as I can manage.
"Are you the Good King?" My companion squeaks out, slipping away from me on the floor. "That's not possible, the Good King is a sorcerer? Not a lycan?"
With his hand on his belt, the captain sizes me up with a curious tilt of his head. "He's not magical anymore, otherwise he wouldn't have been running with dogs and he wouldn't be one himself. Either we have ourselves a double ganger, an imposter, or... a nice little pay day."
"Captain." The woman hisses, wide eyed as she grips his arm. "We must give him back. They will have our heads if they find him here!"
Jerking his sleeve away, he adjusts his coat roughly with the poise of a man who had just worked his last day. His intentions were clear on his face, displayed on the sly smirk. "The government and that musician will pay good money to get this one back, it's smoke and mirrors, it is. There's not going to touch us because they know, as well as we do, that he's not what he once was."
The fire begins to creep up my throat, my body shivers with the ache of a creature beneath the surface ready to defend it's honor. I was more than I'd ever been for I was strong. My body no longer succumbed to the magic for I was made into more when I'd agreed to sell my ability for a life time of lycan blood. The wolf behind the mask chomped at the veil to break free and prove my royal lineage.
"I.." Gritting my teeth, I carefully place my hand on the floor in an attempt to ground myself. "I highly encourage that you stop talking about me as if I weren't here. The wolf doesn't like it."
With a scoff, the captain yanks the aged hand gun off his hip and points it at me. The woman gasps and my once friend ducks for cover. "Or what? If ya fight as good as ya fix a roof, I'm not much for worrying about you. You were runnin' for your life when you came onto my ship, I suggest you sit quiet or there won't be anything but a story left of ya. Wonder what they'd pay for a king a week before his wedding?" Clicking his tongue with satisfaction, I shut my eyes tightly to control the beast beneath.
The door had been opened and there was no controlling it, everything screamed inside me to let go while I fought to hold it back. I could feel that compulsion, the desire to obey the command given by the magic user and to save their city. I could only do that if I was safe, the wolf happily played the command on repeat in an attempt to free itself from my grasp. Snarling in response to my own instinct, the piercing sound of gunfire causes me to jerk backwards.
But, to my surprise, the pain in my shoulder was much more realistic than any fear of impact. My eyes shoot open, my hand quickly moving to cover the hole from the bullet in the depth of my collar bone. "Have you gone insane?!" The other man shrieks, leaping to his feet.
"You've got to show these types who's boss. I'm the top dog, what do they call it? The Beta?" The captain declares, waving his gun.
My control fractures. I'm on my feet before I can fathom and my hand finds the aged man's throat. As he swings his gun, my free hand juts up to shove it back, firing a shot and hitting the other crewman with deadly accuracy. "That would be the Alpha and I'm afraid that position has already been taken." Voice overlaid with one that is not my own, my vision goes black as I feel my teeth sink into the man's throat.
When my eyes open, the gentle static of the waters edge stirs me to realize that I'd managed to find my way to shore. Pushing myself up onto my palms, I flinch at the sharp pain in my shoulder and wrinkle my nose at the disturbing smell of burning oil. In the distance, I watch the boat slowly lowering itself into the depths of the harbor as it's reserves go up in flames. The metallic taste on my tongue nearly causes my stomach to lurch at the memory of dismemebering said captain.
As I shrink to the side to get a grip of myself, I see the body of the ship's mistress lazily swaying from side to side in the surf. Her tangled, graying hair blowing gently as it reflects the last bits of light and the hot red flame of the sinking ship. This seems to please the wolf, "They won't question us again." It growls.
"They're dead." I retort back sharply. Scowling at the rocky shore, my body feels unhinged as I try and place where exactly we are. "I didn't want this. I didn't ask for your help."
"You needed it. We need to get home." The creature snarls.
"I need to get home. You need to realize who is in charge here." Shoving myself up, I stand on shakey legs and grip my aching shoulder. "I've got to get this bullet out." I've also got to stop talking to myself. Trudging up the sheer side of the shore, I manage to scramble over the guard rail and onto the sidewalk, flinching at the sound of vehicles and chattering night life. We were closer, the night life was to modern for me to think we were still in the outskirts of the rebuild.
"Sir? Sir are you alright?" A voice makes me wheel around, shoving at the body that was to close to my over sensitive hearing. The man cries out sharply as he hits the guard rail, clutching his side. "What's your problem?!" He shouts at me, horrified by my equally wild stance.
I flash my teeth, defensive, before realizing this poor man meant me no harm. "I.. No.. I'm not alright." I try to push the wolf out of my sight, not wanting it to see what I saw, not trusting it's judgement.
"You're bleeding." He remarks through gritted teeth, slowly backing away. "Maybe I should.. go get help." His voice wasn't sincere, he could possibly go and get the police but then I'd have to answer for my crimes of killing those people on the ship. I couldn't be seen here, not with the crowd growing to observe the sinking wreckage. Words swirl all around, drowning out reason as I press my palm to my throbbing temple.
"I need to get out of here." I hiss, squinting through the ever expanding crowd as the man takes another step away. In the background, the wolf gives me a clear path to what I must do. To get away, I couldn't leave here naked. I would need a disguise, something to allow me to pass through till I could find a safe place to remove this bullet. "But first, I'm going to need your clothes."