“Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.”
Aristotle
Seventy years ago…
The claws reach for me, and a howl fills the room as the man in the white coat steps closer to the black wolf. For a moment, those green eyes clash with mine, locking on me in desperation and fear. I reach for him with my tiny, young hands, wanting to help, but I can’t quite touch him.
It’s too late.
The man in the white coat gets him, stabbing something into the wolf’s rump, which elicits a mix between a scream and howl from his throat as he tumbles to the wet cement floor and convulses. His black fur shivers and recedes to reveal golden skin before the fur rolls back over it. Again and again, the blob that was once a wolf churns and changes until he stills. He’s a wolf once more, and when those jade eyes open, this time, they are feral.
A scream escapes my throat as he leaps into the air, his jaw snapping in my direction.
The dream suddenly changes. I’m no longer with the wolf I keep dreaming about, but this time, I’m standing at the base of a ruined castle. The spires are half fallen, the gate broken and forgotten, and the forest around it is overgrown and dark. The air is misty and almost black, and I get a horrible feeling as I stare at the empty palace.
But then I realise it isn’t empty.
Before the castle, standing so still I didn’t see them, are people.
No…not people.
They are wrong somehow. Their eyes are too vacant, their bodies too still and pale, almost blueish. The more I run my gaze across the gathered mass, the more abnormal they appear. Their hair is falling out in clumps, their bodies are lopsided like they are almost melting, and some are covered in dried blood. Others are missing eyes, noses, and limbs.
Rotting.
They are rotting.
What are they?
I keep quiet as I huddle against a tree, not wanting to bring attention to myself, when the rotting people part around a single person. A woman strolls through their midst, unafraid, with her head tilted back. Her long black hair curls lovingly around her nude body. She’s covered in blood too, fresh crimson blood, wearing it almost like a gown. Her lips are painted black, and when she stops before the crowd and looks to the forest, her red eyes search the trees.
Red. Bright red, like the blood she dons.
They stop…on me.
I jolt awake with a scream, panic clawing at my throat as my chest heaves. Tears track silently down my face as I debate going to my mother’s room for comfort, not that I would get any.
Even at my young age, she says I’m too old for nightmares and cuddling, that I need to toughen up, be stronger. Raising a small shaky hand, I brush back my short silver hair. I’ve been having these dreams for at least two years now, since I was seven years old. They’re the only thing I remember of my earlier childhood.
Each night is the same, though, but tonight…tonight, something has changed drastically. The wolf never bites, never sees me, and there is never anyone with him. Sometimes he’s in a forest, but over the last year, he has been alone in that room.
No longer.
And that castle? I’ve seen it, but it’s always been empty, abandoned, and forgotten. Who was she, and who were those rotting people with her?
I know I won’t be going back to sleep, so I grab my journal and start to write what I saw, hoping that one day, I can make sense of these dreams that plague me.
PRESENT DAY…
The moon is full, breaking through the trees as I run, my four paws eating the distance quickly. My howl of anger fills the night, warning all others away—not that they tend to live around here anyway. This part of the world is empty except for me and the fae, who are hundreds of miles away.
Just how I like it.
To be alone.
But I felt something earlier, pulling from the animal side of me which takes over more and more each day. Distress. I feel it again now, and even though I know I should turn away, for some reason, I can’t, so I run. I race towards it, and as I dart over logs and around trees, images trickle through my mind. Memories that are not my own slam across my thoughts, and I almost stumble. The emotions are palpable, twisting and distorting my own.
Fear, anger, and betrayal. I see flashes of leaves covered with blood, and hear panting as hair whispers around a foreign face.
I skid to a halt when an image takes hold, gripping me as if I am the person they are happening to, just like in my dreams.
Lungs screaming, I kneel and stare at the dark water of the river. I know if I follow it, I can get away. They won’t be able to track me, even their magic won’t work in it. It’s nature’s washing machine, after all. A pure source of magic, and the people…my people hunting me will lose me in the azure waters. I just have to get far enough away.
Gripping my long, ice-coloured hair, I secure it back quickly with a branch to stop it from hitting me as I glance over my shoulder, noting the distance I’ve covered. I can hear them coming, the wild beasts they ride loud and thunderous miles away as they try to catch up—the horns of the hunt blaring.
With a scream of protest, I throw myself into the river and let it carry me away…
The vision stops, and I raise my head and howl again at the sudden loneliness in my mind. Who is that…who is calling me?
Why now after all these years?
More importantly, is this another trap?
I can’t be sure, but I have to know, so I break into a sprint. I cover the distance once again, until I reach the river that runs through my territory, then I follow it. I run alongside it and search for any signs of life.
I run for miles, and I’m just starting to give up hope when I spot it. Not it, her. A head is bobbing in the water, her pale, almost luminescent arms thrown over a branch to hang on as the rapids batter her. Her eyes are closed, and her icy hair is wet and stuck to her neck and face. Wading into the water, I let my power leak out as I grab her by her torn, emerald dress and manage to drag her onto the shore.
Her feet are bare and covered in dirt and blood, and her pale skin is dotted with it. Sitting back, I sniff her subtly, the earthy scents seeming to wrap around me and squeeze. Her hair covers her face once again, and I find myself leaning down and nudging it away with my muzzle. Her head flops to the side and reveals her face, just as bright, silver eyes snap open and lock on me.
I’m thrown backwards as my heart slams wildly in my chest and a howl escapes my throat.
Mate!
A month earlier…
Alejandra
“Mother,” I murmur, my pointed silver nails catching on the teacup as I stroke it. The scent of the fragrant herbal tea fills the garden we’re dining in as I debate how to delicately approach the subject once more. Outright denial will only cause a lecture. No, I must choose my words carefully and use the gift of speech, as my mother calls it, to convince her. “Please do not do this.”
“Do what?” she replies pointedly, her chin held high haughtily.
The brownie serving us flinches at her voice, and I can’t blame her. I would as well if it wouldn’t earn me a stern lecture. Aleguin Bloomer is not a woman to cross, I would know. The punishments I have faced for what she calls my ‘misdeeds’ have been plenty in my short life of only eighty years. I’m a mere babe compared to her five hundred and Father’s eight hundred. They spent their time before my birth furthering their name and increasing their power, until it was deemed socially inappropriate to not have a child and give back to our faith.