Turned (6 page)

Her voice fell on his ears like a song. "I
went for a run this afternoon. My back doesn't hurt any
longer."

He nosed her wound. The flesh was healed and
beginning to sprout fur again. "Excellent, my lady." He drew breath
to mention Halfmoon Manor, but the words died on his tongue. It was
a sin to put his wife at such risk. Had they been human he'd never
have considered it.

Charlotte nuzzled his ear. "What is it?"

"It's time we returned home, yet—yet I fear
for you, my lady."

She licked his face. "I fear for you,
Bernard. But what good will it do if I sit here while you return?
If you're killed, I'd never know it, until—until the hunters find
me, too." Her voice rose in anguish.

"Hush, my lady." He licked her neck and ear.
"I know we must go together, yet I dread what may happen. We must
be cautious."

Bernard rose to all fours, and Charlotte did
the same. He padded out of the cave on all fours and sniffed the
chill breeze. His belly ached beneath his ribs, but he pushed
through it and kept walking. Return to Halfmoon in a straight line,
or circle to avoid all contact with humans?

As they trotted into the forest and headed
northward, Bernard pondered contacting the mages. If his alchemy
lab had not been destroyed, he might be able to use his
scrollstone. Perhaps he could draft an explanation to Kryn, if he
still lived.

He circled to bring the evening breeze into
his nose.

Charlotte imitated him. "Is something
wrong?"

"Not yet. We must check for enemies as we
travel, or we might encounter wolves or hunters."

She trotted beside him as they prowled
through the woods. "How do you know all this? I assumed you studied
alchemy, not outdoors living."

Bernard pondered. "I have read quite
extensively, you know. But being a werewolf agrees with me. I am
stronger physically than I've ever been, and my instincts guide
me."

As they loped through the woods, Charlotte
considered Bernard's words. Her body hungered for blood and meat,
but perhaps it might help her survive, if she heeded its
demands.

She looked at Bernard sideways as they ran.
Of course he enjoyed his new body. He had traded his flab for an
extra hundred pounds of muscle. And so had she—although no lady
needed such physical strength. But no lady devoured animals whole,
either.

She followed him as he circled to catch the
breeze, and imitated him as he sniffed. She was surprised to smell
the world so clearly. Damp earth, cold leaves, warm rabbits, mice,
birds, owls ... a distant reek of werewolf. A tremor passed through
her. "There are wolves out here."

"Yes," said Bernard through his teeth. "Not
close, but not far." He loped on. Charlotte stayed close beside
him, her shoulder brushing his flank.

"I didn't realize our noses were so
sensitive," she admitted.

"It makes up for losing color."

"What?"

"Haven't you noticed that we've lost our
color vision?"

Charlotte gazed at the forest with new
attention. Colors indeed had lost their saturation, but her nose
painted the world in vivid olfaction hues. "That might make it
difficult to coordinate my wardrobe."

Bernard gave a laugh like a bark.

Charlotte had never heard him laugh before.
"What?"

"Always clothes! Your white fur is more
becoming than any dress."

"It's dirty white."

"But I've seen no other white werewolves. It
makes you more … feminine."

A sudden rush of warmth overtook Charlotte,
pushing away the cold and damp. "I'm not a hideous monster?"

"No more than me," said Bernard, grinning.
"Hold on." He jogged to a halt. Like a wolf, he stood parallel to
the object of interest. She peered over his shoulder. A delicious
fragrance of warm meat brushed her nostrils, mingled with the odor
of wolf.

Another werewolf stood under the trees, a
gray brute larger than Bernard. It rose on two legs and bared its
fangs. A growl boiled out of its chest. Blood soaked its claws and
muzzle.

Bernard stood upright as well and bared his
own teeth.

A tremor shook Charlotte. A memory of the
defiled ballroom flashed before her, the bodies of her friends
strewn across the marble floor. She backed away, ears
flattened.

"Charlotte, threaten him!" roared
Bernard.

The other werewolf stalked forward, claws
flexed as if prepared to rend flesh.

Charlotte flinched backward. Again she stood
in the ballroom with the wolves ravaging everyone around her. Again
white fangs flashed and buried themselves in her arm, ending her
humanity. "No!" she shrieked, and ran for her life.

Wolves snarled and howled behind her. She
ran, gripped by unreasoning fear, and the woman she was was
submerged in the beast she had become. For a long time her entire
world was panting breath and straining muscles as she bounded
through the woods with the speed of a galloping horse.

Exhaustion forced her to a walk. Her burning
tongue hung out of her jaws, and her muscles quivered from
exertion. The wound throbbed on her back, and gradually it pulled
her back from the haze of panic. She was alone. Bernard! She had
left Bernard!

Shame engulfed her. She turned in a circle.
The woods lay dark and quiet about her, and moisture dripped from
the leaves overhead. She was the only werewolf within smelling
distance.

What if the wolf had killed Bernard? What if
it followed her and killed her, too? She never should have
abandoned her husband! Shame dragged her head down. The only thing
to do was retrace her steps. Surely the wolf had not killed him.
Surely …

She followed her tracks by scent through the
woods, and it seemed she walked for miles. Her belly grumbled and
her heart ached.

A whiff of werewolf hit her. Not Bernard. The
marauding wolf. She froze and fear gripped her again. It was
following her trail, drawing closer by the second. Oh God, what
should she do? If she ran, it would give chase! Oh, what would she
do without Bernard? Maybe she could stand and snarl—but what if it
attacked her anyway? Oh God—Oh God--

The monster rounded a tree trunk and regarded
her. Its bloodstained lips writhed back in a snarl.

Terror swamped Charlotte. She rose on two
legs and screamed. Her wolf-voice had a superb vocal range, and her
cry echoed through the forest like a steam whistle.

The enemy wolf flinched.

A spark of hope flashed in Charlotte's
breast. She stepped forward and screamed again. The wolf's voice
and lungs were designed for howling, and used in such a way
produced a perfectly dreadful noise.

The other wolf dropped to all fours and loped
away a few steps, maintaining its snarl but looking confused.

Charlotte bared her teeth and bristled her
fur. She growled this time—a satisfying deep noise in her chest—and
stepped forward.

The other wolf whirled and ran into the
woods.

"Well done," said a voice behind her.

She spun to see Bernard, also on two legs,
leaning against a tree trunk. Relief washed through her. "You were
there all along?"

"Your scream aided my search. The wolf
hesitated to attack two of us, especially with you making such an
exquisite sound." His eyes sparkled.

Charlotte's strength gave out, and she sank
to her belly with a moan. "Bernard, I'm so sorry I left you. I was
afraid--"

He dropped to all fours and licked her face.
"Hush. You faced him in the end and that's what matters. He and I
had a scuffle. When I drove him off, he hunted you." Bernard cast
an anxious look around the darkened trees. "Come with me."

Charlotte followed him meekly. So many
emotions churned within her—shame, guilt, elation. Tears burned her
eyes and she wished to lie down and weep for a while. What if
Bernard had not trailed her? Might she be lying dead in the brush
with her white fur stained crimson? She must never let fear
overtake her again. She was a lady, not a monster, and could not
survive in a world of monsters.

But Bernard was only an adept protector
because he had embraced his monstrous side. When they regained
their humanity, she'd have to re-educate him on how to be
human.

The aroma of warm meat struck her nose, and
she looked up, ears lifting.

Bernard grinned over his shoulder. "That wolf
had killed a deer. I stole it."

A deer lay on the ground, quite mutilated but
smelling delicious. "No wonder he was angry. Do we eat it raw?"

"Yes." Bernard showed her how to use her
claws.

The other wolf had already eaten the heart
and liver, but there was plenty of offal left for Charlotte and
Bernard. They gorged themselves on soft meat, then slept beside the
carcass to protect it. They awoke the following day, chased away a
flock of ravens, and filled their bellies again. The deep, gnawing
hunger left Charlotte's belly, and her limbs stopped their constant
trembling. Her head cleared. Bernard seemed to fill out his pelt
better, and the light in his eyes brightened.

The werewolf pair remained with the carcass
for two days and devoured every scrap. They spent much time licking
each other clean, and snuggled together for warmth at night.

The morning of the third day, Charlotte nosed
the carcass and sighed. "I think we've eaten it all."

"Yes," Bernard said. "I think it's time we
visited our manor."

With dread in her heart, Charlotte
accompanied Bernard into the deep woods that separated them from
Halfmoon Manor—and Lyedyn City.

Chapter 7: Discovery

The sun shone through the clouds and sent
sunbeams through the forest canopy. Birds filled the air with song
and flashing wings. Charlotte inhaled as she bounded beside her
husband. The world continued turning despite the werewolf outbreak.
Spring touched the land, refreshing the human spirit. Yet it seemed
years ago that she had sat at her writing desk, planning the Spring
Ball and brooding about Bernard.

To her chagrin, she realized she was far more
fond of Bernard as a beast than she'd been while he was a man.
Perhaps society had driven a wedge between them; the fine dinners
and immaculate clothing, the silent expectations, the constant
politics. But as wolves, all trappings had been stripped away,
leaving only their true selves. Bernard had been revealed as brave,
true and honorable. But Charlotte hated to admit that she'd been
revealed as a weak, craven woman.

If she wished to retain his affection, she'd
have to become brave, true and honorable, herself.

Perhaps, if no cure could be found, she might
dress herself in layers of dresses and veils, and carry on living
life with a hidden face. She and Bernard could return to their
lives, and they need not live in the wilds any longer. He might don
a hooded robe and truly look the part of an alchemist...

Bernard slowed to a walk and murmured, "We're
almost there."

Charlotte snapped out of her thoughts.
Woodsmoke teased her nose, along with cooking food and the myriad
odors of human civilization. She crept beside Bernard, wary and
alert.

Finally they arrived at the foot of their own
back lawn. Bernard dropped to his belly and peered out of a a
tangle of saplings, and Charlotte imitated him. The mansion stood
silent, and many windows on the first floor were broken. A smell of
cold fireplaces and rotting food drifted on the breeze.

"I want to check my laboratory." Bernard
circled the yard, keeping to the cover of the trees. Charlotte
stepped onto the overgrown lawn, but shrank back into the trees.
She had become so accustomed to hiding that venturing out in the
open felt dangerous.

They cut along the side of the mansion to
reach the laboratory. As they reached the veranda steps, Charlotte
paused and gazed at her back doors. "Please, may I look
inside?"

Bernard halted with one forefoot upraised.
"All right, but hurry. It's too quiet."

Charlotte leaped on the veranda, trotted to
one of the doors, and tried the knob. It felt strangely small in
her paw, like the door to a dollhouse. The door opened, and she
stepped into the rear sitting room.

The furniture was gone. The carpet was damp
and smelled of mold, and holes had been knocked in the walls where
looters had removed the furnishings in a hurry. She snorted in
disgust and walked from the sitting room to the rear hall, and from
there to the ballroom, which still stank of death. Brown
bloodstains marred the marble floor, but the bodies had vanished.
How many of them had become werewolves?

The mansion's silence pressed on Charlotte's
mind like a weight. Rather than her bright, charming home, it had
become a graveyard, filled with the ghosts of old horrors.

She ran up the stairs in three bounds and
arrived at her rooms. They had been stripped as well, and she gazed
in indignation at the scrapes across the floorboards. No clothing
remained to her—nothing to conceal her wolfish form and the coward
she knew herself to be.