Gavin
My love's Knowing has betrayed me again. Sent her from me, from her guards, from the safety of our den and pack.
She is gone and with her, my son. The bond twists and stretches between us, thinning into filaments of pure emotion, before thickening again as it flexes brutally. The fiend gnashes his teeth and throws himself at his cage, howling to the sky in pure fury as we burst from our skin.
Our female is afraid for a long moment. Her fear sends me reeling, shifting to paws and racing into a storm so viscous that night descended hours early. Where is my family? We are blinded by the storm, the fiend and I, but we follow CeCe anyway.
My father is on my heels. Typically, the sensation of being chased by a TrueBorn would incite a fight. It doesn't matter now. Nothing matters but her. After a while, even the TrueBorn can't force his way through the swirling, white madness. I am left alone in the deadly storm unlike anything I have ever known.
Her fear eclipses all other emotions. Then confusion. Then sorrow. Then... nothing but the bone-deep exhaustion she felt so often during our shared dream where I locked her in our tower for her safety and my fiend's selfish, obsessed pleasure. I pad to a brief stop, my snout high in the air. The fiend is desperate, his golden eyes begging me to let him out again. The world is howling madness, but I am silent. The urge to release the fiend makes every limb tremble. Under the screaming wind, I hear the faint hissing of a serpent.
I set him free. CeCe is all that matters. Her and Salvatore, and they are lost in this maelstrom. His cage explodes into ash and flame in my mind. It will never return. I will never be able to rebuild it. We are a fiend. A monster. For her. So be it. It consumes us just as our beautiful mate's love filled up the hollow parts of us.
When we race through the storm again, the bond drags us toward her. It takes no time at all to find her. The cave is dark and oddly familiar. It's my little she-wolf's den. The one that exists in my love's shared consciousness with her she-wolf. We know it intimately, from all those times she hid from us so deep inside the shadows that we couldn't make out a single strand of her fur.
We pad inside, hesitant because under the recent scents of my family, is the hint of another female, and the magic fouling the wintery world outside. Our lip curls back, showing our sharp teeth to the unseen threat. Too late, we realize that our female will misinterpret our expression. Then we see her and know our cruel face doesn't matter.
Our CeCe is curled up on a mat of woven sticks. A pitiful bed, if we had to guess. Her beautiful green eyes are closed. Her cheeks pale with no color. Her lips are blue with cold. Our son bares his teeth at us, slung over her frozen form, shivering and crying.
"She won't wake up," Sal whimpers. Fear wafts through the air, smothering all of the other scents but his. He is too young to hear her faint heartbeat. Our pup bends his ear to her mouth but is sniveling too loudly to hear her soft breath. His weeping drowns out the hiss of the snake, but I know she's here.
With a growl and a gentle nudge, I topple him flat from our female. Grabbing the edges of the sodden, frozen cloak draping her frame, I rip with teeth and claw until it's off and she is wearing nothing but her pale, beautiful skin. Laying down next to her, I nudge his spindly arms, until he receives the message and helps drape CeCe's head on my side. "She doesn't have any blankets, Da," our pup sniffles.
We curl our lip at him, thinking of blankets, one in particular, as we look around the cave. It is nearly empty but shows all the signs of our female's life out here, alone on the very edge of existence. Rage trickles through us, but we control it, just barely. Our family needs us to be sane.
As our pup's fear fades, other scents grow stronger. Males were here. How often did they hurt our female? We lick our maw, remembering the bloody taste of so many of this rotten pack's warriors. They will not harm her again. Corpses can't hurt females.
Our pup curls back up onto our female, and we flop our tail over both. It covers most of our female and pup. Our love starts to shiver. Our pup is warm. She did a good job of caring for him in this freakish, bizarre storm that reeks of magic.
"Will she be warm now?" our pup asks.
We gaze at him until he nods and lays down with our female, his small hands patting her hair.
"Why won't you shift back?" our pup asks us, his voice hushed.
Not safe.
The Knowing has made a fool of us before; taken our CeCe from our side and hidden her from us. Yet, there are other reasons for its foolishness, and we know we are about to discover why it is such a temperamental bitch.
The storm continues raging outside. Our little family warms up slowly. Our pup falls asleep. Our female doesn't wake. We watch the entrance, waiting. We are with our family. We can be patient.
Time passes as the storm rages, keeping our warriors and father away. It doesn't matter, we know who is coming. We can hear her approach. The Knowing nudges us, the hissing grows. We snap our canines at the Knowing, offended. We do not need help. We are our female's strength.
We scent her, next. The stench of magic and insanity grow stronger.
She will speak with a forked tongue.
We know. We are not stupid.
Go to the shadows.
We move swiftly, leaving our vulnerable family on the mat of sticks, curled together as mother and son. It makes us angry to see them shiver, to see them alone even when we are merely an arms-length away. Pouting like a pup ourselves, we fade into the darkest part of the cave just before a small figure cloaked in dark grey and bitterness appears at the entrance. We recognize her. Under the hood of her thick cloak is a female with dark curls like my love and blue eyes. Her mouth is twisted, snakelike and filled with self-righteous rage.
We lower our eyes to mere slits, feigning a relaxation we do not feel. Her blue eyes rest on our female and our pup, as if we do not exist. We hold ourselves still, fighting our urge to twitch our tail in excitement. We will have this venomous bitch's blood on our tongue soon.
As if sensing the danger, our female stirs with a soft whimper. Her gorgeous green eyes open, and she sits up slowly before freezing in place when she spots the bitch.
"It seems your Sight is growing stronger," the old crone smirks.
"Mother," our female says flatly. "How are you here?" Our love stands carefully, her pale limbs trembling with renewed cold. She snatches up her damp cloak with a brief look of confusion and wraps it around herself like a shield. We bite back our whine of protest. We are warm, she can wrap us around her. And in her. We can warm her well.
Penelope, Princess to the Royal pack, the venomous bitch, smiles coldly. "I am here to make certain you don't ruin my family." Her eyes travel to our shivering pup. "Oh, a bonus."
My love's heart falters. "What have you done?" she whispers.
The crone's eyes grow even colder. "What have I done?" she repeats. "I am not the one who brought the Black Prince north, Cecelia."
Our tail twitches proudly before we can stop it. We are the Black Prince. I bet this bitch's bones will be brittle under my teeth. Crunch.
"I brought him here?" CeCe repeats, dumbfounded. Our little she-wolf is backing away from the older female, a snarl curling at her lip. She hovers in front of our pup, who is awake, silent and terrified. We will have to work on his awareness. He would be calm if he knew we were behind him.
"I knew you would," the old bitch whispers. Her eyes look haunted. "Every nightmare you ever had came true. You spoke of him, the black wolf, as if he were your hero. Even as a six-year-old pup you would dream of him."
Every strand of fur on our body quivers. She dreamt of us as her hero.
"I dreamt of flames and destruction," our female corrects her. We pout. "And a pack of dark wolves bringing death with them."
"No," the old bitch laughs shrilly, the note of insanity in her voice growing. The storm outside is dying down. "I dreamt of that, stupid pup. You refused to believe it, so I made sure you would See the truth."
A numb feeling steals over our beloved mate. "You made me See? What does that mean?"
We let the brittle, old bitch speak, but know that her throat will be gone before our father catches up to us. It wouldn't be fair to let him have the kill.
Mother chortles again. "You brought them here, you stupid, evil female. After all those years of forcing the Sight to warp, you escaped and found that male anyway!"
"The Black Royals are here because of you." The crone says. "I thought that you died, all those years ago. I thought I was free of the Royals. He wouldn't come north if you weren't here. Then..." she cackles, "I Saw him. The Black Prince, the son of the monster who killed my family. You were supposed to die, but even the Sight failed me. Then, Moira got that damn note!"
"You knew I was alive," my love says, with more strength in her voice. "Did you know how much I suffered here?"
"Lucretia should have killed you," the bitch rambles on. "You are her son's truemate, yet she hates you. She could have done it. Or your mate. Or his mate. Whomever. Instead," she sniffles, "here you are. Suffering. Ha! You don't know true suffering, stupid wretch."
"You couldn't kill me because you couldn't find me," my love says. "The pinpricks of my Knowing dance over her skin. We can see it, the battling magic of the brittle bitch and our love. The old bitch's magic is growing feeble, her Knowing lacking the strength to bend our love to its will. Our beloved mate is growing stronger and stronger, while the bitch is old.
Our female is thinking of the fog, the confusion, the feeling of something wrong, that she often felt during the Knowing. Sorrow and hurt well up inside of her. Her mother's magic looks like filthy sludge on our female's skin. We should lick her clean. All over. No missing any spots.
"Did you... did you damage my Knowing?"
"Your Knowing?" the brittle-boned bitch scoffs. "Your Sight? You are not a powerful Seer. You don't even know what it's properly called." Her stare grows impossibly menacing. From the voluminous coat she's wearing, she pulls out a pistol. My love swallows and shields our pup as completely as she can. "I won't let you bring the Blacks into the clans. Look at what they've already done, here," she whispers. "I need to stop you."
We spring past our family, reaching the brittle, old crone just as a sharp retort sends a fiery pain through our shoulder. We ignore it, roaring as the bitch crumples with a shocked scream to the floor.
Our snarling, sneering face sends the bitter, old, bitch into hysterics. Sobbing, she cries out, "the black wolf!" again and again. Her shrieking, shrill cries bounce off of the rock face of the walls and ceiling, echoing macabrely.
"Da!" our pup sobs softly.
"Gavin," our female soothes us. We choose to listen to her, to that sweet voice that fills us up.
Turning, we butt our head into her face, growling lowly. As the bitter crone tries to move, we stomp on her right femur, enjoying her scream of pain even as we nuzzle our precious mate's tear-stained face.
"G-Gavin," our mate stutters as we grind our heel on the old bitch. We blink innocently at that beautiful green gaze. We are large and large things are clumsy. It isn't our fault we stepped on the bitter bitch. It was an accident.
Our mate narrows her eyes. "Gavin, get off of her, right now- you're bleeding!" a spasm of pain crosses her face. Her delicate hands find the bullet wound under the thick layer of fur on our shoulder. Nimble fingers press and stroke us, trying to stop the trickle of blood.
Our tongue falls out of our maw. Her hands feel good on us. Our mate tosses us a quick glare. "I said get off of her," she hisses. Her voice is angry, but her hands are gentle.
Reluctantly we remove our claws from the crone's leg, but not before exerting a little more pressure. The crone takes the opportunity to escape, sliding against the nearest wall of the surface, her hate-filled gaze finding me before sliding to my mate. "This is the monster you've brought upon us. The spawn of the BlackFur. Even the goddess declared him unworthy. MateLess," she spits. "Yet my foolish slut of a daughter spreads her-"
"Shut up," our CeCe responds to the crone before we do. "Gavin is not unworthy and yes, I did mate him. Again and again. He is Marked and Claimed." Our beautiful, sexy mate laughs with a note of sorrow. "You and Lucretia made a mess of this and still you couldn't stop fate."
"Did I fail? We are still at war, idiot slut," the bitter bitch smiles even wider, flashing her fangs. "And you don't know if your precious prince will win. I've been tampering with your Sight for years. Maybe he'll die." Her eyes slide to our pup, "maybe the entire BlackFur line will perish. I've had decades to plan for this."
My beloved falters. Our son burrows into her arms and she in turn leans closer to me, bringing our pup with her. I stay still, allowing her this. It is breaking her heart, but my beloved is strong. "What did you do?" she whispers to her bearing-wolf.
"You stupid, weak, slut. An orphan. Ignorant runt. A waste." She starts to hurl more vitriol at our princess. Angry, nasty, cruel words that tell us nothing important. We step forward to quiet her, to end at least some of our love's pain.
Then we scent him. Snarling, we turn toward the cave entrance as a blur of brown and green charges past us. The bitter crone shrieks in fury, but all the male does is knock her head. With a sickening thud, the bitch slumps to the floor, mouth agape. Unconscious, but alive.
—
CeCe
"Malcolm," I gasp at the sudden appearance of the older male.
Gavin growls and nudges us behind him, hiding Salvatore and I. Part of me, an admittedly big part, takes a swift moment to admire the black wolf that apparently, I've been in love with for most of my life. I've never really had the opportunity to just take him in, admire him. He's huge and beautiful and so different from the wolf of my nightmares.
Although, I guess I know why I dreamt of a nightmare for so long, don't I? The Knowing is hazy, more dream-like than I think it should be. I remember being fascinated with the black wolf, but I can't recall what I dreamt of. I feel as though I've been robbed of the truth for so long that I'll never really know what was real or not.
Gavin growls at my pseudo-brother, who goes pale and lowers the branch in his hands. My mate turns his gigantic head, not missing a beat, and nuzzles me, jealous that my attention is on Malcolm.
Malcolm, with his green eyes just like mine. "How did you fight through the Knowing to be here?" I ask him as I wind my fingers back through Gavin's fur.
"I know her tricks, Cecelia. I've dealt with her for most of my life." My heart hurts for him. The resigned sorrow in his eyes hits home. I know how he feels, in a way.
"She's not a good female, is she?" I ask him sadly for confirmation of what I already know. "I mean, not just... not just to me? To you, too?"
"Neither of us won in the good-mom games," Malcolm hedges, almost gently. He kneels and takes a piece of twine from his pocket. With a deft twist of his fingers, he ties up my so-called mother securely. He stands back up and meets my gaze, but only for a moment.
"She knows more than she's letting on." It's not a question, but Malcolm nods in answer.
"I believe so," Malcolm murmurs. He looks older than I know he is. His life has weighed heavily on him. His gaze lingers on me until Gavin's chest rumbles in a warning growl.
I glance at my jealous male, frowning. Malcolm is almost a brother to me, in a way. We share the same father. Father. Did he know that his mate was so terrible? I think he was fooled all these years. Unless, he knows of Penelope's evil schemes and agrees with them.
"Let's get back. The storm has stopped. I have a feeling that your father-by-mating will be interested in speaking with Penelope. Not to mention, your guards will be here soon," Malcolm glances out of the cave entrance. The wind has died down, although fat, white snowflakes still drift through the sky.
My she-wolf paces, feeling the loss of our mother keenly. I'm numb to it all. The little pup clinging to my thigh and the massive black wolf blocking my clear view of my mother is all we need. I'm too tired to really respond to the Knowing, but faintly I hear the hissing of the snakes. Is it my Knowing, or my mother's? I honestly don't know.
I laugh absently. I don't know about the Knowing. I really did name it something awful. I'm so stupi-
Gavin cuts off my thoughts with a soft growl and a lick that covers my entire left cheek from my chin to my forehead. His nose nudges my other cheek, then he licks me there, too. He's cleaning off my tears as fast as they fall.
"The pup can ride his father," Malcolm continues. His worried gaze looks outside. "And I'll bring Penelope." His expectant gaze turns to Gavin. "Can you shift back and tie her to me?"
A snarl and a curled lip is the only answer Malcolm receives. Worried, I wind my hand into Gavin's fur. "He won't shift back to feet right now," I tell Malcolm in a hoarse voice. I pat Gavin's side comfortingly while the clanswolf sighs and bends to toss Penelope over his shoulders.
"It's alright. She has less effect on us if we're on feet, anyway," Malcolm mutters.
My giant, black wolf licks my cheek again as he crouches down. Salvatore clambers up to sit on top of his father. "C'mon, CeCe. We have to get you warm," the sweet pup says shyly. Still feeling numb, I force my frozen limbs to respond.
My she-wolf whines, uncomfortable. We are a runt. Shifting should be easy, but not for us. Our bones break slowly, one by one, it seems. Our shift drags on forever while we pant, our sides blown out as we breathe through the agony. A soft growl commands us to shift faster. It helps, but I still grumpily snap our teeth at the giant, bossy, male. We are going as fast as we can.
Finally, we stand on four paws. I stare at our front legs for a beat while the residual pain fades. White fur with patches of silver grey and brown. I'm not a white squirrel. That's good. I hear a soft wuffle and look up. The golden gaze of the black wolf is mesmerizing. I feel our tail wag slightly, giving away our interest in this beast of a wolf. We can see our reflection in those orbs. We are loved by this male in a way that we have never, not once, had before.
"You're so pretty!" Salvatore calls out from his perch. It breaks us out of our reverie with a jolt. Whining, we circle in place, waiting for the giant wolf to move out of the way. He nuzzles my much smaller form once, then turns away from me. Just that small act has my she-wolf whining. I barely bite it back in time.
Gavin has to crawl out of the cave entrance with Salvatore bent over his back. I watch him go, and only when he stands up outside do I realize that his... ahem... is almost level with my nose.
The black wolf is chuffing in amusement as I step into a world of white. I had this hope that the first time our wolves ran together it would be romantic. A pang of disappointment fills me. I'm too concerned about squirrels and... nuts... to be romantic. My she-wolf barks in amusement at the thought. Instantly, she cringes. No one likes her enough to laugh or howl at her side. She learned to be quiet a long time ago.
"Careful," Malcolm calls out. "You blend with the snow a little too much, Cecelia. Stay close to your mate."
The black wolf sidles up next to us. He grasps our scruff and slides us under him. We squirm, but find ourselves squished under his belly, next to the nuts. He is chuffing in laughter, but also rumbling in a soft croon. A male protecting his female. Placing her in his most vulnerable spot, because he trusts her and wants her to be safe.
I can't cry on paws. I can whine and bark and whimper, but wolf eyes can't fill with tears. It's a good thing, because emotionally I'm a complete wreck. I nuzzle Gavin's chin when he cranes his neck to peer at me, tucked under him safe and sound. One tentative lick and the black wolf steps off of me so that I can walk next to him.
Our path back to the village is covered in snow. Some of the drifts are deeper than I am tall, but I've never felt this secure on the walk from my cave to the heart of MoonGlist. My mother is a terrible she-wolf, with horrifying revelations. My sense of place, of reality, has once again been shaken, but with the black wolf stopping every few feet to nuzzle me and worry over my frozen paws and cold nose, it doesn't seem as overwhelming as it should.
We are nearly back when Penelope wakes up again. A hiss fills the air. I can't be certain if it came from her lips, or the Knowing. Then again, I don't know that it matters. My mother is a snake.
The bitter crone's eyes are glued to me. I meet her gaze as we round the last bend in the path and the village comes into clear view, just steps away. Penelope smiles foully. "Your father," she rasps in a broken voice with a twisted smile, "loves me. You are just another dream. A false daughter. A fake priestess. You can't kill me. Not without losing him."
I growl at her, but it's lost in Gavin's snarl. My mate trembles in rage. I nuzzle his side. I haven't had a father my entire life. I don't need one, now. If that's my father's choice, then so be it. I have Gavin, and Salvatore, and that's fine. They are all I need, even if they aren't all mine and I have to share them with Salvatore's mother, Celeste, and her family.
It really is a good thing wolves can't cry.
Penelope starts to laugh. I hear shouts; my guards, relieved to find us back and calling their brethren to stop the search. "You're just a runt!" the crone cackles. "A fatherless-" Her taunting ends abruptly. Her face, full of loathing, drops into a desperate, haunting fear.
The growl echoes through the streets. It makes my fur stand up; my she-wolf whines a little. The black wolf steps right over us, again, hiding us from the beast standing on hind legs a stone's throw away.
"Bitch," the monster hisses. "Our fairy has a father." One hideous, black-clawed, hand smacks his golden-grey chest. "I am her father." Gavin's father, the TrueBorn king, grins. The macabre smile reveals teeth as long as knives and just as sharp. "Hello, Penelope."