I should flee. Run from here as quickly as my poor wounded paws can take me, away from the danger of the humans in the village off in the distance, like the ones who destroyed everything I have ever loved.
Away from her.
And yet, I cannot. I do not fear her as I should. Heart still pounding, I remain where I am, tail twitching nervously. Even though I know I should remain still.
She freezes, eyes locking with mine, and I shrink into myself. Perhaps if I make myself small and nonthreatening, she will allow me to stay. I do not dare hope for food, as she is too slender herself. But if I can remain in her presence until the curse takes me, I will consider myself blessed.
Dark brows arch. Her lips twitch into a frown; clearly she is warring with herself as to what to do. I can only imagine what she sees. A filthy, bleeding wolf curled up in the grass staring at her with both hope and horror.
Hope that she won’t reject me. Horror that if she does, I’ll always be alone.
My eyes, one gold and one purple, are locked on hers. Those full lips of hers purse for a moment, seeming to come to a decision.
“You’ll get us both into trouble,” she whispers. “Wait until dark, and I’ll come back to clean up that wound. And food, if I can find some.”
She blanches a little and I whine softly, pawing at the ground. Her scent has changed. Not sweet, but almost… sad? Did I make her sad? That was not my intention at all.
I whine once more, the grass brushing my belly as I slink toward her, only a few shuffles. I don’t want to upset her; I want to help her, with what little strength I have left. I want to stay with her, close enough to smell, to touch, to taste.
To love.
Her face softens. She crouches slowly, fingers extending toward me. Her hand is trembling slightly, but I don’t budge. I will not frighten her away and risk everything. Any touch of hers I will take gladly, and she will see that she has nothing to fear from me.
Her touch is infinitely gentle, fingers sinking into my coat despite the bloodstained surface. Her nails catch in a few places, the bloody fur tangled and dry, but the pain is nothing compared to the ache I have been feeling these last few days. And even if it was, it wouldn’t matter. She could dig her fingers into my wound, and I would bask in her touch still. This gentleness, the careful strokes, are akin to bliss.
“I don’t know how you’ve made it this far, love. But just hold on a little longer, and I’ll be back as soon as night falls.”
I lick her wrist gently to show her that I understand. Her fingers tense in my fur like she’s reluctant to leave me, but she pushes herself to her feet and shuffles back into the cottage. The door thumps shut behind her, a quick squeak of the hinges before it latches.
I lower my head to my paws with a soft huff. Before, I wanted nothing more than to lay down and die. But meeting her, my mate, has changed things.
Does she know she’s mine? Can she feel it deep within the recesses of her heart the same way I do?
I never thought I would have a mate, let alone a human one. Now that I know, I’ll have to rethink some things, starting with my willingness to die. Seven more years as a wolf, if I survive that long. Seven years to bear the curse. I don’t know what it will do to me, being borne by me alone rather than the pair that was always intended, nor if I will survive at all. Will the curse kill me, or change me? Will it end with me, the day I die?
I have no one to ask. But perhaps, if given time, my mate will be able to help me.
Curse or not, for her, I will live.
CHAPTER 2
Maris
My mother is dead,and everyone knows it’s my fault.
I can still feel their eyes on me, burning holes in my back as I dig into the damp, packed earth. We hadn’t had rain in weeks, but yesterday it had poured as if the heavens had opened up with grief to join me in my sorrows.
Every breath rasps in my throat, the combined weight of tears and the dirt from shoveling the grave making it hard to breathe.
A tear escapes, trailing down my cheek to drip from my chin and I swipe it away, hand shaking uncontrollably. Grief is a strange creature that takes up residence and makes me think I have no more tears left to cry. That the well within me is dry from overuse, but apparently I was wrong.
Perhaps it’s from the pain in my hands? Blood weeps from the blisters on my palms, slicking the long handle of the shovel in my grip. I’ve been digging for hours, and the grave still isn’t deep enough for my mother’s coffin.
The coffin is made of plain oak without a single ornamentation, the one concession the town has made for herdeath. My mother was a seamstress, a great one who worked even when her sickness began to take her, and she had served the people of this backwards little town faithfully for years. Right up until the day of her death.
That service, and the kindness she had shown everyone here, had been the only thing saving me. She’s dead now and without her… my time in the village is limited. Some day soon, they will find a reason for my own death, and my line will end with me. It will be as if I never existed at all.
With my mother gone, I’m all alone in a world that hates me.
