Wolfen (12 page)

“Hey, I’m not judging. You eat as much as you want, right,
B?”

Without looking up from his own meal, Bryce grunted a reply.
His dark hair shadowed the left side of his face and if she hadn’t seen the
scars before, from this angle, Sinna never would have known they were even
there. His right side was all smooth skin and stubble. He was actually very
handsome when he wasn’t glaring death, and he’d already shown he could be very
thoughtful. He’d found her clean clothes, for God’s sake, and it looked like
he’d packed more of them before they’d left the house.

It occurred to Sinna that there was a lot more to him than
met the eye. Then something else dawned on her. “How did you get your scars?”

Bryce froze, spoon halfway to his mouth, and the whole
forest fell silent. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, but somehow that made
him seem even more lethal than before. There was danger in every line of
Bryce’s tense body. The spoon in his hand bent under the pressure of his grip.

Sinna shivered, realizing too late how badly she had
misstepped. “I’m sorry—”

“We don’t talk about that,” Aiden said.

“I didn’t mean to pry. I just meant… My bullet wound didn’t
scar. How come your wounds did?”

“We scar when a wound takes too long to heal over,” Aiden
told her, his usual good humor gone. Every word he spoke was sharp and curt,
warning her to drop the subject.

She should. It was obviously a sore one for both of the
brothers.

But that was just it. They acted so tough, so completely
invincible. Nothing could touch them, nothing bothered them.

Except, apparently, Bryce’s scars.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, and left it at that.

There’s food in my bowl, and it looks so much like mud
and blood, my stomach turns. I smell fire, hear Aiden call my name. The old
anger boils up; the terrible, mindless violence of a beast that’s slipped its
leash. It renders me deaf and blind. I tell myself,
Push it back. Breathe.
It’s over.

It doesn’t work.

“How did you get your scars?” she asked so innocently.

They’re only words, but they drag up too much of the old
and I can’t swim myself to the surface. Fragments of memories snatch me into
their midst, and I am gone.

Time bucks, folds under the pressure of those scars. Not
the ones on my face. The ones on my soul. A wormhole opens up beneath my feet,
and I fall headlong into it, back in time.

I am in hell.

Montana, an unfinished den built aboveground for better
assimilation. Converts are well on their way to taking over the United States,
moving on Canada and Mexico. The president blew his own brains out last week
after spiking his family’s dinner with arsenic when the monsters started
prowling around the White House. Emergency services are suspended. Cities are
falling, one by one. It’s chaos out there, and anarchy in here.

There used to be a chain of command in the den. Now, with
communications disrupted, it’s every man for himself. The whitecoats have been
relegated to the labs. Might makes right, and the mercenaries they hired to
protect them are running the show. Aleissi appointed himself commander in
chief. He and his cronies are keeping close tabs on the other humans. Even
closer on the Wolfen.

They have us segregated—males on one side of the den,
females on the other. We can scent each other, hear what goes on, but we can’t see,
can’t talk, can’t touch. Aiden is livid; he roars every time he hears the
females scream at night, and punches the wall when he doesn’t—he knows that’s
when the curs find some way to keep them quiet. There are bloody fist prints
covering that wall. I can’t stand the sight of them.

Aiden snarls at me. He wants to know how I can just sit
there and do nothing. He doesn’t understand. He can’t. He’s not one of
Aleissi’s chosen battle dogs.

Aleissi is a sick bastard. The moment he took his place
on top, he started cherrypicking his hoard. He has the best quarters, the
heartiest food, the most exotic pets. A Wolfen female is chained to the foot of
his bed right now. Her name is Gabby, and she’s only seventeen years old. No
one has seen her since she was brought to him, but we can scent her and her
blood often enough.

Gabby is his toy for private time. In public, he has
others. Aleissi likes to play scientist, adapting the whitecoats’ tests to be
more entertaining. He has Wolfen beaten, cut up, and stabbed, so he can watch
them heal, then does it all over again. He has them waterboarded to see how
long it takes them to drown. He knows we can’t regrow body parts—he’s tested
that a few times, too, to make extra sure—but if he flays us, our skin does
mend. He can burn us, and we will recover. He can even gouge out our eyes and
somehow, if he leaves just enough behind, we can mend that, too.

The battle dogs are his pride and joy—Wolfen who have
shown exceptional aptitude for combat; those who fight like hell to get at
human throats. He likes to pit them against each other, to fight like the
animals they think us to be. 

Humans know we won’t kill each other.

They also know we’ll do whatever the fuck they tell us,
if we see them hurting a female. Oh, yes, they learned that lesson in record
time. Aiden doesn’t know. Most males don’t, because those of us Aleissi picks
for the arena don’t talk about why we come back half-dead and shaking with
fury. There’s no point; nothing the others can do, except fret.

Yesterday, the humans got their hands on a crate of hard
liquor. I hear them talking about it. They’re planning something big, a reaping
day or some shit. They keep saying things like “blood bath,” and “bitchin’ good
time,” and it’s all I can do not to reach through the bars of my cage and try
to claw someone bloody. They’re too far. I’d only provoke them into using the
cattle prods again, and it wouldn’t be my hide feeling the zap.

I don’t sleep during the night; too wired to close my
eyes. I hear Aiden in the next cell over twitch and moan in his sleep. We’re
kept like animals in a pound. They tour us like attractions at a zoo, and if
you have something valuable to trade, you can even buy some one-on-one time
with one of us. Hate is not an emotion for Wolfen anymore. It’s a state of
being.

We were made to be so much more than humans. That’s why
they treat us this way. They know the moment we feel an instant of power, we’ll
never be brought to heel again. It terrifies them.

It should.

Morning dawns in a magnificent glory of bright light. Our
cages are out in the open, exposed to the elements. We freeze in the night, and
burn during the day, but in between, when the sun comes up and goes down again,
we get a front row seat to a sight like no other. That sun is our salvation.

Today, it feels like a bad omen.

The humans rise early. They come around, sloshing
bowlfuls of gruel onto the ground in our cells, expecting us to lick it up. I
don’t touch it, dreading what’s to come. I can hear them in the arena. A crowd’s
gathering, cheering in a rhythmic chant. The scent of liquor and piss fills my
nose, and I feel sick.

Then the armed guards come, banging their batons on the
cell bars—an unspoken order to approach the door and turn my back. If I don’t
comply, they’ll shoot me full of lead and force the issue. Then I’m at a
disadvantage in the fight.

I back up toward the cell door. My hands are tied behind
me and a wire loops around my neck. If I pull too hard, it tightens and cuts.
Pull a little harder, and my head ends up rolling on the ground.

Once they have me secured, the door opens and I am led
out. I pass Aiden’s cell on the way. He’s on his feet, gripping the bars,
growling. He might not know what I’m being taken to, but he knows it’s bad, and
he can’t do anything about it.
Easy, big brother,
I want to tell him,
but the wire around my neck keeps me quiet. Aiden hates being helpless. I’m
kind of getting used to it, which makes me hate myself instead. I can’t
remember the last time I bothered fighting the humans on anything. I’m tired of
fighting and watching others get punished for my mistakes. It’s so much easier,
safer for them, if I comply.

The stands are overflowing. The den doesn’t have enough
humans to fill all of those seats, which means they brought in an audience for
this fight. I’m shoved into the arena and my binds are unclipped. The shackles
stay, though, and guards lock them to long chains on either side of me. I frown
at this.

The wire is removed from around my neck, and then the
guards run for their lives.

I stand perfectly still.

When the door opens across from me, I hold my breath,
waiting to see which of my pack they’ll pit against me this time.

Then my opponent struts in, and I gape. It’s none of
them. It’s a human. The crowd goes wild, stomping their feet, chanting his
name:
Mon-ty! Mon-ty!
He raises his arms in salute, soaks up the
accolades, and amps up the spectators. He comes to within five feet of me and
never once bothers to glance my way.

I tilt my head at this, start forward, and almost get a
good hold on his throat, but not fast enough. The chains pull taut, bring me up
short.

Now I have his attention.

Monty’s surprise is quick to fade. He laughs in my face
and backhands me with all his might. It hardly makes an impression on me. I
grin savagely, flashing a fang. This is going to be fun.

Up in the stands, Aleissi laughs. “I told you it won’t be
a walk in the park!”

Monty shrugs off his weak assault. “I was just getting
warmed up,” he shouts back, and the crowd cheers. He pulls a set of brass
knuckles out of his pocket and puts his whole weight behind a punch.

I drop to one knee and spit out a tooth. Pain is an old
acquaintance. It doesn’t last long. I shake it off, flex my jaw back into
alignment and, as my tooth grows in again, launch at Monty. I beat him down to
the ground before they pull me away from him. He takes his time getting up. His
brow’s split, pouring blood into his eye, and his hand shakes when he wipes it
away. He grins for show, but I can smell fear.

The chains are not loosened when Monty counter-attacks. I
can’t do anything to defend myself while the volley of punches rains down on
me, but he has to take a breath some time… When he does, I strike—drop down,
kick his feet out from under him, and he’s on the ground. My ribs scream as
they knit back together, and I raise a foot high to stomp down. The bastard
rolls away and makes it back to his feet, but he’s unsteady. I stalk him, and
the chains are loosened to allow me closer as he backs away. I strike faster
than my handlers can move. I grab Monty by the throat, lift him off his feet,
and watch him dangle. His eyes bulge as he struggles to breathe. I savor the
taste of victory. I won’t hold back this time; will not be denied the feel of
his throat crushing beneath my hand. It won’t be long now.

“Stop!”

I snarl.

“Put him down!”

Never!

A female cries out and draws my eye. Aleissi has Gabby on
her knees in front of him, a knife to her throat. Her eyes are red from crying,
her lips dry and cracked. She’s so thin and small, shivering in a ragged shirt
and nothing else. Rage simmers too close to the surface, and my fingers tighten
even more. Monty makes a choking sound.

Aleissi presses the knife into Gabby’s skin, then leans
down to lick a drop of blood from her throat. “Put him down,” he cajoles.
There’s no need for an “or else.”

Gabby’s eyes plead with me. She’s terrified.

Somehow, I force myself to lower the human to his feet. I
don’t let go.

“Now release him.”

I growl; a vicious, wordless curse the sick bastard will
never understand.

“We want entertainment,” he says, then shouts to the
silenced crowds, “Am I right?”

The crowd claps.

“
Am I right!
”

They cheer with renewed enthusiasm.

“So entertain us. Or my darling Gabby here will have to do
it for you.” He steps up where everyone can see him better and tugs Gabby
around to face him. With the blade to her neck, he unzips his pants.

I roar and toss my opponent across the arena, but before
I can charge Aleissi, my chains are pulled tight again. I don’t see Monty
struggle to his feet; I’m too busy fighting my chains. My face shatters with
pain as I shift. I grow bigger, so big, the shackles cut off the circulation to
my hands. My claws stretch longer, stronger, and sharper. My senses go into overdrive
as adrenaline floods my system. I give a hard yank, and the three holding the
chains to my right arm fall forward. Another three run to help them, pulling
harder to keep me under control. Gabby’s crying. I scent her tears through the
sick stench of arousal and sweat.

I don’t hear Monty approach. I don’t see him get a
running start.

But I feel the blow—harder and sharper than anything he’s
delivered so far. For a dazed moment, I watch blood drip onto the ground while
my face burns with searing agony.

Aleissi screams. I scent his blood, and from the corner
of my eye, see him hunch over.

Then Gabby’s screaming, and I look up to see her throat
open onto a crimson spray. My eyes widen as her small body falls limp. Aleissi kicks
her off the stand to the ground below, and red hazes my vision. I hear a sound
so terrible, filled with such fury, I shudder. My right arm pops free of its
chains. The left follows.

And then nothing exists except blood and death.

~

“Bryce, you okay?”

Bryce flinched to hear Aiden’s voice. His brother spoke in
those same low, soothing tones he’d used back then and instead of bringing him
out of the haze, it plunged him even deeper…

He saw himself standing in front of a cage, roaring in
impotent fury as he tried with all his might to break the bars open, to get at
the creature behind them.

Those outside were dead, pieces of them strewn all around
the compound, the ground sloshing with their blood. But there were still
others. He could scent them, hear them shouting at him, goading him. They
screamed in horror, in fear, and the sounds drove him deeper into madness.

Denied another kill, Bryce took his rage out on the bars,
biting and clawing, slamming his body full force into them, but he was weakened
by all of the gunshot wounds and blood loss. He roared as he dropped to his
knees, clutching the bars and banging his head against them. His flesh burned
as his body knitted itself back together. The bullets remained, lodged in
muscle and bone, sending starbursts of pain throughout his body with every
breath he took.

He was defeated. And he hated that the creature on the
other side could see it, too. It moved closer, but never close enough. It
tempered its voice, spoke words he used to know, in a familiar rhythm that
lulled the worst of his rage.

“Jesus, brother, what have they done to you?”

Bryce’s ear twitched at the words, remembering what that
emotion behind them was. Pity. Shame filled him, dulling the pain of
transformation as his body shrank, and bone-deep lethargy weighed him down…