Chapter Thirty Eight
I woke up on my back. My head hurt. I smelled iron and salt--blood, I was fairly sure it was mine. I blinked groggily for a few seconds at a shadowy ceiling, and when I remembered what had happened I quickly shut my eyes again, listening for any sound of my kidnappers.
It wouldn't do for them to know I was awake right away... but, wait, no... Cassidy had gotten us away from them, and had then left me behind, and... where was I? I raked my memory, fuzzily trying to figure out what had happened until a faint flicker of a face came back to me. Wild red hair, tangled beard, bare feet... whoever he was had gotten me out of immediate danger.
I listened carefully, but after a second, I discerned that I couldn't hear anything weird, just a hollow roar I thought might be wind, and under that... whistling? I stirred slightly, struggling to lift my hand, but I could still barely move it since every single one of my limbs felt like lead.
My whole body was unbearably heavy.
The whistling stopped just as I let my hand go lax and I heard a shuffle from someplace very close to me. I tried to turn my head, but the moment I did so, pain shot through it and I squeezed my eyes tight with a groan. The room spun, disorienting me, but I heard the sound of someone scrambling across stone and a burning hot hand reached back to cup my throat.
The hand trembled a little, fingers large and clumsy, but firm.
After a second, another finger prodded my temple and the action hurt, sending bolts of flashing lights into my brain and nearly knocking me out. I winced, flinching and juddering with a twitchy little whimper, and the finger jerked away, but the person touching me said absolutely nothing.
I opened my mouth to speak, to ask him where I was, and that's when the nausea hit me.
For the next few minutes I was only aware of him holding back my hair while I rolled onto my side and retched, spilling acidic bile onto the floor with every violent heave, and when I finally managed to cough up everything and the sickness had passed, I went limp and lolled over onto my back, breathing carefully through my nose.
I heard heavy, jerky breathing next to my face and managed to crack my eyes open despite the pain splitting my skull in half. A face swathed in fiery red locks and similarly colored beardage swam in and out of focus as it loomed over me, hardly visible in the dark, and behind it I could barely discern the curve of a rough stone ceiling.
Were we in a cave?
It was hard to tell when my eyes refused to focus for more than a few seconds at a time.
"Who are you?" I whispered, but the nausea came back and I started dry-heaving again. When it was through, I returned to lying on my back, and after a few silent minutes I felt a gentle touch against my cheek. Thick fingers smoothed my sweat-plastered hair out of my face, away from my temple. A wash of intense, familiar warmth enveloped me just as the course brush of intense facial hair scrubbed against my cheek.
I winced, cringing a little as something warm and wet was gently pulled across the side of my head. My skin immediately stung and burned and I whined a little in protest, but the wet sensation simply came again, and again, and again, until the burning disappeared.
The aching, to my confusion, had also dwindled down to almost nothing.
I blinked, staring at the bright red beard in front of my face as my vision focused a little. A gentle hand touched my cheek and I saw the other raise to push away the shaggy, wild locks covering the eyes of the man who'd saved me.
Every part of me froze.
They were green.
The most vibrant shade of green I'd ever seen, borderline neon. Like Sebastian's they shone dimly in the dark, but unlike his they were expressive, shimmery, and pretty. There were also weird little flecks of hazel and gold around his iris that picked up the dim light around us and all but juggled with it.
He looked at me through thin red eyelashes, blinking at me with his brow furrowed in concern, then let his hair fall back down in front of his eyes and shook himself like a dog.
We were in a cave, I figured out once I took a more thorough look around. It was a small one, I supposed: circular, only twenty or so feet deep and thirty or so feet across.
My savior and I sat at the back; opposite us was a fifteen-foot arch of stone that encased an expanse of blindingly bright light, a patch from a giant quilt that I couldn't see because it hurt to look at. I kept my eyes fastened on the entrance to the cave, focusing on the blurry trees beyond the blinding wall in lieu of the cave's disconcerting shadow, shadow that seemed to squirm and wriggle against my vision and threatened to overthrow my sight.
Light... it was something all humans loved, and it was something I craved. Being in the dark made people uneasy whether they wanted to feel that way or not, and although I had been confined to it for so many years that I was used to my lifestyle, a part of me also hated being confined to the dark.
"Where are we?" I managed to ask after a few minutes of deep breathing. My voice came out harsh, the way a tortured toad would sound, and the man beside me jumped. For a moment, his hands trembled and his face seemed stricken, but then he scooted closer.
My head pulsed and throbbed, still not fully feeling better, and I swallowed when he raised his hands in front of me, wondering what he was about to do. I tensed, watching him move his fingers, but then I froze since he started making symbols and gestures with them.
My eyes widened involuntarily.
"ASL?" I asked, staring at him more intently. "You speak using sign language?"
He jumped, startled, but after a second a grin split the beard in two; I made out the faint sight of brilliant white teeth as he nodded frantically, wild hair bobbing with the motion. I kept my eyes glued to his hands, studying them intently as he signed what he wanted to say.
'We are in one of my hunting retreats,' he gestured, then patted his chest and signed, 'I saved you from the sun after you fell from the sky.'
The above, by the way, is only a relative approximation of what he said. I think I mentioned this a long while back, but I know four languages outside of English, and one of those happened to be ASL. Or, as its more commonly referred to, American sign language.
Sadly, I was very rusty with it so I didn't get every last word, but I understood more than enough to comprehend his meaning.
"Thank you," I mumbled, blinking blearily. "I took classes in ASL when I was in college since I had a deaf friend who I couldn't really communicate with properly, but I have to be honest, it's been a very, very long time since I've seen anyone use it. I'm a bit rusty."
He cocked his head, then signed, 'I understand. It was more than I expected, either way.'
I guess he had a point there.
"So," I mumbled, swallowing my nausea. "Who are you? What's your name?"
'I'm Woodrow Mason,' he signed, and his beard split with a toothy grin when I blinked. 'It's been a long time since I've seen a vampire in these parts, especially one that hasn't yet become an elder blood. So, who are you? What exactly brought you to werewolf country?'
I stared at his hand gestures, frowning as I tried to process them in a way that made sense. The way he stressed the movements was straight out of the land of leprechauns, but the expressions were all from basic ASL, and if anything, very poorly executed. It was the single most confusing thing I've ever tried to process in my entire life and I sadly found myself at a loss.
"I only got about half of that," I said slowly, "but my name is Aerin, and, uh... I was brought to werewolf country by another werewolf, and things just didn't go well."
He was still for a moment, then signed, 'you were brought here by a werewolf?'
"Yes," I said once I'd processed his question. "It's a long story."
He let out an audible sigh and nodded. I opened my mouth to ask more questions but decided against it since my temples were aflame. I closed my eyes and stifled a groan, since my skull was killing me, but Woodrow distracted me right as I began to slip away from consciousness. My eyes creaked open to see him signing something at me.
'Are you okay?'
I blinked, noticing for the first time that he was touching my leg right below the knee.
"I'm fine," I ground out.
His fingers moved into my thigh, then he raised them.
'It's just, with head wounds, you're not supposed to let the person sleep--' he began to sign, but stopped as a gust of wind blew in through the cave's mouth and robbed him of speech. I saw a flash and heard a deafening crack of thunder that shook the entire cavern, and the sound sent bolts of agony skyrocketing into my brain.
I wheezed, writhing in agony, and clutched my splitting head until the sound faded. A sudden chill gripped my body and forced it to shiver, the motion making me break out in uncontrollable spasms that rattled my brain around in my skull like a day-old cinnamon roll.
I heard the rushing sound of rainfall coming from what felt like miles away. The hairs on my legs and arms were standing up like needles as another light breeze drifted toward us and caressed my bare neck. I shuddered, wanting warmth but unable to provide it for myself.
"I'm cold..." I whispered. I heard a small intake of breath, then an even smaller sigh before there was a rustle to my left. I felt one large hand slide beneath my neck, another went under the juncture of my knees, and before I could utter a peep I was lifted lightly off the ground and up against his chest.
He deftly maneuvered my body so I was resting with my back against his bare chest, sitting on his groin, skinny legs pressed together between his thicker thighs. Not even a moment later, a woolen blanket was pulled over the two of us and I was abruptly suffused with heat.
Overwhelming, instantaneous, wonderfully familiar heat that made my toes curl.
I sighed, instantly relaxing, sinking back against him in relief as a single thick arm wrapped around my stomach, keeping me locked in place. The gesture didn't feel threatening or even uncomfortable. I don't know why, but it didn't.
I closed my eyes as his free hand brushed my hair behind my ears and stayed that way until a sudden thought struck me.
"I'm a vampire," I rasped, and the hand brushing my hair fell still, "and if I'm not wrong, you're a werewolf... don't you... well, you know, hate me? Or, at least think I'm a... a monster?"
There was silence from behind me, but then I heard a soft chuckle devoid of any vocal sound, just repetitive huffs of air. Woodrow's amusement was unmistakable, but he did me a favor and raised his hands in front of my face so he could sign, 'I'm a hybrid. I get called a monster by my own kind, too, so no, I don't hate you. I have no right to judge others."
I blinked rapidly, a bit startled by this revelation, but after a moment of thought I figured it did make a little sense. After all, Woodrow was the only werewolf I'd seen with green eyes, but what did that mean, being a hybrid? Was he half human or something?
No, that can't be it, I muttered, frowning. If he was born a werewolf, it wouldn't matter if one of his parents was human, since he'd have been born with Lycanthropy either way. It's a genetic disease that can alter a person's DNA, after all... so, was one of his parents a vampire?
I decided to ask, rude though it may have been.
"So, when you say hybrid," I said slowly, trying to puzzle my way through it, "do you mean you're... well, half vampire, half werewolf?"
Another chuckle, this one far more heavy and breathy, came from behind me and his hands raised again, 'there are many creatures in this world, not just werewolves and vampires. If you must know, my mother was a banshee and my father was a werewolf.'
I blinked, blinked again, but then my blood ran cold.
"A banshee?" I asked, shocked to my core. "Wait, aren't banshees those mythological creatures with voices that can kill people if someone hears them screaming or crying?"
His arm tightened around my middle for a second, but not enough to hurt or be uncomfortable, just enough for me to know I must have hit a nerve. He sighed, then raised his hand and said, 'it isn't just screaming or crying. It's talking, singing, anything vocal. The magic in a banshee's voice will send anyone who hears it to their death. It shuts down the brain and stops the heart."
Oh.
Realization dawned on me and I suddenly understood why he used sign language, and why people called him a monster despite the fact that he was a werewolf. He must have had the same sort of ability as his mother... it made sense. The weirdest part, though, was the fact that I wasn't afraid of him even after coming to that shocking conclusion.
Maybe it was because we were like two different sides of the same coin. He couldn't use his voice for fear of killing people, and I had no choice but to use my voice because I'd die if I didn't. We were sort of similar in that regard, at any rate.
"Well," I muttered, "you're obviously not a monster, regardless of what anyone says. If you were, you wouldn't be using sign language to communicate with people, or even helping vampires, which, for your information, are actually monsters ninety percent of the time."
His hand twitched, but then he quickly signed, 'I don't help vampires. The last few who attacked me were ruthless, mindless beasts, and I was forced to use my voice on them.'
A cold shock went through me and I tensed, fists clenching.
"T-then, why did you save me?" I whispered. "Are you... going to use your voice on me?!"
His body jolted beneath mine and his arm squeezed tightly for a moment, but his hand very clearly signed, 'No, I'm not. I saved you because the werewolf who left you behind intentionally prevented you from falling to your death, and you also begged me to. I couldn't leave you to die after that. I just couldn't. It wouldn't have been right.'
I started to reply, but... well, one second I was awake -- woozy, but awake -- and the next I was lying flat on my back with Woodrow lightly slapping my cheeks.
"Whuzzappenin'?" I groggily grumbled.
I heard a heavy sigh and saw his hand gesturing.
'You lost consciousness,' Woodrow jerkily signed. 'Your head, you hurt it earlier.'
"Ugh," I winced when he lifted my head and pillowed it on his lap, and I blinked up at the ceiling for a second to try to focus my eyes. They wouldn't cooperate, however, so I shook my head but I regretted it immediately, clenching my eyes and teeth against the sloshing pain.
Hot fingers curled my hair behind my ears, relaxing me, sending me falling into a warm spiral.
Just as I was about to fall asleep, Woodrow pinched my neck and I yelped.
"Ow," I complained, peering at him. "Why?"
'You aren't supposed to sleep with a concussion,' he signed. 'Try talking to me.'
"Okay, what do I talk about?" I asked, dizzy. "What should I talk about?"
He seemed to think for a second, then glanced at me and signed, 'how about you tell me about yourself? That seems like a fair place to start, particularly since you seem to be fairly peculiar for a vampire.'
"Well, you have a point... I'm not a normal vampire," I proffered; I didn't look at him as I spoke. "That's why I'm here in North Carolina, really. I've been a vampire since I was nineteen, and I'm seventy six, and my powers are all vocal based. In order to use them, I have to hum or sing."
'Are you serious?' he signed, then pushed his hair out of his eyes; I blinked when I saw that they were wide and appeared somewhat shocked.
"Yeah," I mumbled, and I would have nodded had my skull not been in so much pain. "I lived in Michigan for almost half a century, and until recently, I'd never bitten anybody, ever. I got blood from people by singing them into trances or sleep and then using medical syringes on them."
His brow furrowed and he let his hair fall back into place before signing, 'how did you end up all the way in North Carolina with a group of werewolves?'
That puzzled me.
"How did you know I was with a group of werewolves?" I asked, but he snorted.
'I can smell them all over you,' he signed, shaking his head. 'It wasn't hard to figure out that you've been hanging around multiple werewolves for a while. Not to mention, you have bandages across your chest and shoulder covering unmistakable bites.'
"Ah," I mumbled, pacified. "Well, that's a long story. See, a few weeks ago..."
I went of on a tangent, going over the events that had first started me on the track to ending up where I was in that present moment. I started off on Sebastian's initial assault, the way he'd forced his way into my home, forced me into giving it up on a death threat, and then the abuse I'd gone through. I told him about Louise, the call that had spurred my attempt to escape, and being attacked by Sebastian on the highway.
I told him about the eventual negotiation to be civil, and then being brought up here, meeting the other werewolves, Richard's attack, the kisses, my albums, everything, and though it probably was a bad idea to tell a stranger so much about myself, the words helped me keep awake.
My voice grew stronger with each sentence though my mind stayed fuzzy around the edges and Woodrow had to pinch me more than once when I trailed off and showed no signs of recovery. When it was through and I had told him all I knew and how it made me feel -- within reason, of course -- I opened my eyes to find him staring at me.
Green eyes seemed pensive and genuinely upset, but not with me.
His hand moved and I looked at it, focused.
'It must have been hard for you,' he signed; his scowl wasn't for me, but rather for the stuff I'd gone through. 'Being tortured and constantly having your arm twisted into giving a bully like that what he wants, and then being carted off to a strange place with people who seem to want you dead... you're a stronger man than me, that's for sure. I'd have attacked them if I were you.'
"I'm not strong at all," I said, eyes falling shut. "I was too weak to do anything but go along with what they said. I mean, if I'd attacked them like I wanted to, I'd have been ripped to pieces and I'm fully aware of it. That's why it sucks so bad..."
I trailed off when I realized just how fucked up the situation really was.
His moving hand caught my attention, 'how did you and... the she-wolf end up falling from the sky?'
My heart fluttered a little faster. "We were attacked by vampires, I think. She and I were grabbed by some sort of huge creature with wings and carried off. I got hurt trying to save her."
He stiffened, seeming a bit surprised, then signed, 'you were attacked by shifters?"
"Shifters?" I asked, puzzled. "What are shifters?"
'Vampires that can change their size and shape,' he urgently signed. 'Shapeshifters.'
"I dunno," I muttered. "Whatever grabbed us was huge, but Cassidy was sure it was a vampire."
'Is that why the she-wolf left you to die? She blamed you, didn't she?'
A lump formed in my throat as I said, "yes."
He sighed through his nose, then set a hand on my hair and gently mussed it up. I shivered under the sensation, foreign and strange as it was. He raised his palm not long after and signed, 'you don't need to worry any further. Once you're well, I'll take you back to their residence so you can collect your belongings, and then I'll take you home, if that's what you want.'
I stared at him as a sinking feeling slid into my stomach.
"I can't go back home," I said quietly, hating the way my voice trembled. "It's not really home for me anymore since it won't be the same even if I do go back. Plus, Sebastian knows where I live so he could just randomly show up again at any time and bring me back here."
Woodrow's countenance darkened and his nose wrinkled in what probably would have looked like anger if his beard and long hair hadn't been obscuring most of his face. It was hard to see his expressions as a result and I had a passing thought of Cousin It from the Adam's family.
I almost chuckled, but his hand rose yet again and he signed, 'then, once you've recovered, you may stay with me until you've figured out what you want to do.'
I started, wondering if I'd read his gestures right, but he pushed his hair aside and his eyes were hard. I could tell from the look he was giving me that he was serious.
"Me, stay with you?" I asked, shocked. "Are you serious?"
'Yes,' he instantly signed. 'If you want, once you've recovered, we can go fetch your things from their home and I'll take you to my place instead.'
"They'll never allow that!" I cried, dreading the idea. "If I go back there, Cassidy will tear me apart! They'll all tear me apart! They'll think I'm the reason they were attacked, and--"
I froze when a thick finger was pressed against my lips, silencing me.
With a movement that spoke of unfettered confidence, he carefully signed, 'Those wolves won't dare to lay a finger on you if I go with you. I know exactly who Sebastian is and I've had many, many dealings with him in the past, so you can mark my words that there's not going to be a problem. He knows me far better than you might believe.'
"Wait," I whispered, staring at him in horror, "you know Sebastian? Seriously?"
'Yes,' he signed at me, albeit a little more slowly than before. 'Now, silence your fears. I live in a cabin located very high up in the mountains. It is a simple residence, but very comfortable and full of modern technology, although I may have to adjust a few things to accommodate you.'
I swallowed, nerves rising.
"We're strangers to each other, though," I quipped, trying to find reason.
'That doesn't matter,' he responded. 'There will be plenty of time to get to know one another, and I truly do not think it would be wise of me to let you return to such a bad place. At least for now. Sebastian is not a bad man, that much I know, but bad things might happen to you if he is not around... you saw yourself a few hours ago that his packmates aren't to be trusted.'
I couldn't deny that he had a point.
"Okay," I found myself saying. "Okay, fine. Once I'm better, we'll go back... I'll get my things, pack up, and come stay with you instead... at least until I can figure things out, I mean. I hated feeling like I needed to be on my toes around them, anyway, so this might just be what I need."
A brilliant smile split the huge red beard as he signed, 'perhaps.'
I swallowed and closed my eyes before I mumbled, "thank you, Woodrow."
His body went still for a second, and then I felt a gentle tap on my nose. I blearily opened my eyes to see his hand right there, signing, 'Woody.'
"Woody?" I asked, and when he nodded at me, I mumbled, "okay, Woody it is."
His smile was a big one.
I wondered, vaguely, if this was a good idea, but if I was going to be honest with myself... I would have given anything not to go back to Sebastian's house. Woody Mason, whoever he was, had saved my life and was even offering me a way out of that situation for the time being.
Even though people always tell you not to trust strangers, I did trust him.
Because for once, I wasn't being hurt... I was being rescued.