Nemo malus felix = (roughly) no rest for the wicked
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Someone was calling her name in her dream.
Clara...
The voice was familiar, and she felt the urge to answer it.
"Clara."
It was louder now.
"Clara, wake up."
Her eyes flew open and she blinked several times – it was daylight, and it was blinding. She spotted a pair of eyes staring down at her with a little smile. She reached up, dazed from sleep, and touched the face above hers. Behind his smile, she saw concern. She tried to remember where she was, why he might be concerned.
"Dylan?"
She sat up, another bout of wakefulness hitting her as she looked around, realising that she was still in the glade she had wandered into last night.
Last night...
She put a hand over her mouth, feeling as though she might throw up from the pictures that flashed through her mind – blood – bone – flesh –
She spotted two others in the clearing with them. She didn't know them, but Dylan's posture was relaxed, and they had that same look of concern about them, focussed on her.
"Are you alright?" Dylan asked her. She turned back towards him, taking the hand he offered and rising to her feet.
She thought about saying yes. "I don't know," she answered instead, looking down at her hands. They were still caked with dried blood. She knew that under the clothes she wore, there was more. She quickly pulled Dylan into a hug. "How are you? What are you doing here?"
He seemed baffled. "Clara, everyone has been looking for you. When we saw the bodies on the road..." she shuddered. "Wyatt's gone out of his mind with worry, he's still looking for you."
"The bodies..." she thought that was a rather generous description of the pieces she had left behind. "My phone was out of battery. I couldn't call. Can you tell him that I'm alright?"
"I've mind-linked him already. He's far away, but he's coming as quickly as he can."
"There's no rush," she forced a smile. "I'm okay now. I just...need a shower."
Dylan didn't smile back. "What happened?" he asked.
"I was...on my way home, and they attacked. It was my mother and some other wolves. I killed them. She got away." She said shortly, looking away from his pleading eyes.
"You...did that?"
She lowered her eyes at the disbelief in his tone. She expected to see horror and disgust when she looked back up at him, but he was still gentle – worried.
"Let's get you home," he said softly, taking her hand. She didn't miss how his eyes lingered on the blood.
* * *
Clara tipped her head back, allowing the warm water to rain onto her face, eyes closed and hands running absently through her hair.
She had long since scrubbed the blood from her body – it was amazing where it could get, but she had scrubbed and scrubbed every crevice, cleaned her hair twice and used up almost all the soap until she was raw – but clean. Now she just basked in the warmth of the shower, where it was calm and she felt safe. All she could hear was the water, and she could see nothing with her eyes closed. Things were simple.
She didn't hear his footsteps until the bathroom door was flung open. She opened her eyes, snapping her head to the right as she saw Wyatt – even through the foggy glass she could see that he was dirty, exhausted and stressed. But there was relief in his eyes when they fell on her, mixed with something – else. Something more feral, begetting his appearance.
She could only stare silently as he wrenched open the shower door and slid inside, barely flinching when the water's burning spray met his clothed shoulders. He grasped her suddenly then, his large hands seizing her waist and easing her against the wall, the door still hanging open. The bathroom floor was soaked, he was soaked, but he didn't seem to care.
He kissed her with a ferocity she hadn't felt from him before – not in this way. All at once it was commanding, dominating, but desperate – vulnerable. His fingers dug into her, bruising her, clinging on as if he were afraid she would float away, lost in the air like the steam that swirled around them.
She wanted to tell him what had happened, to explain everything and beg for an explanation, but he was consuming her, pressing her close as if he wanted to breathe her in completely. She was just as intoxicated, and soon found her hands sliding across his body, under his shirt, pulling it over his head and letting it fall behind them. A growl tore through him, startling her for just a moment, but then she was lost again in the waves of him as they washed over her, until she couldn't think at all anymore.
* * *
A little while later, they were settled in his room, the soft midday sun freely swirling around it, stopped only by the shadows that fell across her face. She was staring at her hands – every time she blinked she saw claws. She knew they weren't really there, not now, but she could still feel them. Wyatt sat near her, his despair oozing thick and overwhelming through the space between them. He was waiting, trying to be patient, keeping silent as she breathed, trying to find the words to tell him.
She couldn't stand the feeling of his helplessness. He wanted to know what was wrong, how to make the haunted look disappear from her eyes, and she wanted to help him. She just needed to form the words first.
"I killed people. They were with my mother. They attacked me on the road and I -" she took a deep, shuddering breath.
He shifted almost imperceptibly, edging closer to her and grasping her hand. She gripped his fingers tighter, almost crying out in relief that he wasn't pulling away from her at her admission. Of course, she realised bitterly, he wouldn't be shocked at all, given the circumstances under which they had met.
"That's not all," she whispered. He nodded – he knew she was holding something back. "I shifted."
He looked puzzled for a moment, an uncertain realisation dawning. "You...shifted? How?"
"I don't know," she said. "It started with just my hands, a few weeks ago when we fought those wolves in Stafford." She clenched and unclenched her free fist. "I had claws. It happened again that night I was out in Montreal. But I didn't shift completely until last night."
She swallowed. He was silent.
"It was like I had no control," she explained. "I could see everything that I was doing, I could see myself...tearing them apart...but I couldn't control it."
She felt wetness on her cheek and swiped the tears away harshly. She didn't deserve to cry, she didn't deserve the pity in his eyes. She was a monster – the worst part, what she wouldn't tell him, was that she actually enjoyed it when she killed those people. She may not have been in control, but there was still a predatory thrill as her wolf massacred her enemies.
He pulled her into his chest suddenly. "That was your wolf, Clara." He said gently. "It happens a lot with new wolves – losing control. But no one ever shifts this late... I don't understand. I thought you were human."
"Me too," she murmured, remembering the look on her mother's face. She seemed proud. It made Clara feel sick. This was her mother's legacy, she supposed. Her father, the hunter, her mother, the werewolf, and Clara stuck between, getting tossed back and forth like a leaf in a gale until she wasn't sure who she was, what she was, why she was.
It wasn't a matter of having new eyes, anymore, it was having a new body, a new mind. She was an entirely new person, and she wasn't sure if that was a problem or a new beginning.
* * *
Wyatt was trying to make the best of things, and she loved him even more for it.
He must have seen the conflicted look in her eyes, the uncertainty, and so he promptly dragged her into the backyard and started taking off her clothes.
"What the hell are you doing?" she snapped, batting his hands away easily and frowning at the playful grin plastered on his face.
"I'm going to teach you how to be a wolf." He said. Trepidation filled her as she remembered the feeling of shifting – the lack of control, inhabiting a mind that was so different from her own, so feral and basic. It had felt like there was a distance between Clara, the human, and the wolf that had controlled her. If Wyatt could help her breach that gap...
"Will you help me control it?"
"It's not an it."
Clara shifted uncomfortably. "Her?"
He laughed briefly and shook his head. "It's you, Clara. There's no real separation between you and your wolf. The difference is the wolf is more driven by instinct – it takes practice to find balance, to be able to inhabit both minds at once."
"So what do I do?" she asked, fidgeting idly. He grasped her hands in his and stared at her, his eyes seeking as if he was looking for something behind her gaze – her wolf, she assumed.
"Think about how it felt to shift last time. You need to envision your wolf, what it felt like to be in that form. What were you feeling when it happened?"
"I was scared," she admitted. "And...angry."
He nodded. "The first shift is usually triggered by emotions. But it gets easier, I swear."
"Okay," she agreed, taking a deep breath. "Let's do this."
"Close your eyes," he commanded softly. "Try not to think too much. Just remember what it felt like to shift – your wolf will take care of the rest."
Her breathing remained even, but her mind was a landscape of blood and terror. As much as she tried to clear her mind, all she could picture was herself as a wolf, tearing apart those men. Chaos reigned when she shifted the last time.
And yet, despite her fear, she felt her bones begin to shift, and with a violent shudder, she landed clumsily on four paws.
She opened her eyes, stumbling slightly as she tried to gain her footing. Without the power of adrenaline and instinct guiding her movements, she felt like a new-born, suddenly faced with learning to control a whole new body.
Her vision was different – not tinged red, like before, but simply sharper, the colours brighter. She focussed her gaze on Wyatt, who was grinning down at her. His happiness was infectious, and she found herself pushing away the chaos of her mind and trotting around experimentally. When she turned back to face him, he was gone, and in his place was his wolf. She hadn't seen him in this form since the fight at Stafford, and even then she hadn't had time to fully take him in. He was glorious.
A strange noise came out of her mouth that could only be described as a playful yip and she suddenly took off towards the trees, only half in control. She was worried, at first, at the feeling of being shoved into the backseat of her mind, but there was something relieving about letting her wolf take control for a little while. It seemed that she wanted to play with her mate.
She heard Wyatt give chase immediately, barking unmenacingly behind her, and she increased her pace, weaving through trees and over rocks. The experience was thrilling – she was faster, more powerful, and seeing the forest in a way she never had before.
She felt Wyatt nip gently at her heels and darted around a boulder – before quickly changing direction. He barked again, and she let out a noise that could be a laugh. She felt carefree, allowing her wolf to control her movements. There was nothing to worry about, no bloody memories plaguing her in that moment.
She let out a huff of air as something warm and heavy collided with her from behind. He rolled as they sailed through the air until he crashed to the ground with a huff of his own, cushioning her fall. He shifted back immediately, human chortles of laughter filling the air. She pretended to bite his neck as he lay beneath her with a wide grin, before letting out a howl of triumph. She shifted back, too, and in her moment of distraction, he rolled them over until he hovered above her, both of them naked in the dirt, neither of them seeming to care.
She brought her hand up and cupped his face, smiling in return. "I love you," she said quietly. The words still sent a thrill through her, every time she said them. He kissed her palm softly.
And I love you, his words echoed in her mind, making her jolt in surprise and widen her eyes. He gave a laugh.
So that was the mind-link, she realised. It was one thing learning about it as a hunter, and an entirely different thing to experience it first-hand.
Does this mean I'm in the pack? She replied mentally.
"Yes," he said aloud. "If you want to be."
She reached her arms around his neck and pulled him down sharply until their lips met and he kissed her breathless.
There's no place I'd rather be, Wyatt.
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One chapter left! Let me know what you thought.