Where the Moon Lies

Title: Where the Moon Lies
Author: Azalea J.
Warnings: Angst, Language, Violence (including blood).
Disclaimer: This is a work of Original Fiction. All characters and settings belong to the author Azalea J.
Word Count: Approx. 3 400

- Chapter Four -
"Jesse!"

"Hnn!!" Jesse bit down on his lip to stop himself from making a sound. After the first night Jesse had spent with King in the barn Avery - and certainly not Russell - never come into the barn at night. But there was no doubt both of them would come running if they heard him - or King - shouting.

But even telling himself over and over that he must stay quiet, didn't blot out the pain. It ate at him; crawled up and down his arms and along his back and down his legs. His muscles cramped in retaliation and slowly he curled himself into a ball; a shield.

King was beside herself, she'd thrown off the blanket and his coat and gripped his shoulders, terrified. "Jesse! Jesse what's wrong! Jesse say something! Talk to me!"

He was so itchy, all he wanted to do was scratch every inch of himself until his skin was red and raw and bleeding. "I… don't know. I just-" He gasped and lurched forward. Throwing out his hands instinctively to catch himself, he landed with his head bowed between his elbows and he keened. His back was on fire, his legs burned, and his neck itched.

His throat felt full - tight, like someone was squeezing it - choking him, and he could barely breathe.

And then, suddenly, he knew it was outside. It had just risen, and he wanted to call to it - to sing to it. He wanted to howl.

The hairs at the back of Jesse's neck began to grow, thick and black, and King shrunk away from her brother. She pressed into Bree's side, breathing as loudly as she dared, afraid for him and for herself. "Jesse?"

Jesse moaned and his body seized. He lurched and suddenly he lifted his head and screamed. King's breath stopped short in her throat at the sight of him, head thrown back, eyes wild, mouth open in a scream of pain and emotion. And then he started to change. It happened rapidly. Hair grew faster, limbs shifted in ways they shouldn’t, and facial bones stretched and elongated. Jesse's back arched unnaturally and his legs and arms grew short. Bones popped as his knees reversed themselves. A sudden ripping sound accompanied the growth of a tail, hairless, from his backside, and his boots slipped off of much slimmer feet. His ears rose to the top of his head, which flattened, and the scream turned abruptly into a howl.

Low and sweet and frightening to King even as it soothed her.

It was in no way soothing to Bree, who suddenly gave a snort and started to panic. The horse jerked to her feet, and backed into the wall, whinnying plaintively in terror.

King pushed herself up from where Bree had thrown her, and watched wide-eyed as a snarling, snapping, wolf adolescent tore and wiggled its way out of a loose shirt and trowsers. Its claws scratched on the wood floor of the barn. The wolf kicked aside the tattered fabric at last and came to its feet. Its long, bushy tail swept the floor behind it. Its eyes gleamed in the lamplight like liquid amber, bright and familiar, lighting on her and pinning her where she lay.

The terrified nickering of the horse behind them finally caught the wolf's attention, and before King could blink it had set upon Bree and tore into her throat. The nickering rose to a scream and then died very fast. The heavy body of the horse slumped to the floor and the wolf tore eagerly at the tendons and into tender meat.

Suddenly the door to the barn slammed open and fresh lamplight shone into King's eyes. She shielded them, and heard beyond her fingers a startled gasp, and another sound she'd never heard before - a loud double-click - the sound of metal sliding over wood. "What in the name of-"

The wolf, too, lifted its bloodied muzzle from the horse's steaming neck, and started into the hard eyes of the man, and the cold eye of the weapon pointed directly at him. Then it bolted straight for him, after the scent of the night, relying on surprise to stay the man's hand. He ignored the scream of the female as he whipped past them both and out into the night.

His senses sang as the full press of the moon's presence suddenly overwhelmed him, and he stopped in the grass, lifted his head, and howled again.

A booming sound, loud, echoed across the field, and something flew past his ear. Startled, he stopped howling and dashed into the woods.

Russell lowered his shotgun and stared after the wolf cub, its tail just disappearing into the dark press of the trees.

Russell jumped when the shout came from behind him. "JESSE!"

"Russell!"

---

King shrank back against Bree's lifeless body. She was not to be seen! Not by anyone!! She wanted to close her eyes; hide her head - anything to stop Avery from seeing her, from staring at her!

And then the wolf howled again, and it sounded so happy, so joyful, so free. And then a spark burst from Russell's hands and a boom resounded in her ears. Jesse's song was halted and King simply reacted. She stumbled to her feet, pushed herself away from the dead horse, and ran towards her brother's cries. "JESSE!"

"Russell!"

Russell jumped and turned at his wife's cry, saw the girl running past him, and had enough quick wit to put out his hand to stop her. His fingers tangled in her hair and her pulled her back to him roughly. She screamed painfully and reached up to try and get her hair out of his grip. "Let go of me!" She screeched, flailing wildly, kicking and scratching. “You’re hurting me! I want to go after Jesse!” She pounded his fist, trying to get him to loose his grip.

Russell hardly noticed her efforts, staring captivated at the spot in the trees where they wolf had disappeared. His grip in King's hair grew unconsciously tighter.

“I WANT MY BROTHER!!!” King bellowed at the top of her lungs and, startled, Russell let go. Stumbling from the sudden slack, King tripped to her feet and ran across the Bradbury's field and into the trees, calling, “JESSEEEEEE!!!!”

“Jesse?” Avery stared at where the girl, too, had disappeared, and looked back at her husband. “What happened to Jesse?" She spun and ran into the barn. "Jesse!? Oh - Russell! He's not here! That wolf - that wolf, it ate Jesse!!"

Russell broke his eyes from the trees and looked into the barn. Bree's corpse was steaming still, her blood staining the hay. His gaze hardened. "I'm going to get the men from the town." He said and turned, shotgun in hand.

"What! Why!?"

"We’ve got a wild wolf on the loose and a young girl who’s probably going to be its next meal!” He shouted over his shoulder, already past the house and on the road.

---

Used to tracking all sorts of things even in the summer, King had no difficulty following Jesse's loping tracks through the deep, freshly lain snow. But she was cold, so very cold. With numb fingers she clutched the riding blanket around her shoulders, and did her best to cinch it around her waist to keep in what little heat she had.

The night was very young and the air was beginning to freeze rapidly. The evening chill was becoming the dead cold of night, and King knew that without her horse fur; without shelter or Jesse's warmth beside her she'd freeze. She had to find Jesse. She had to find her brother and somehow convince the Bradbury's that neither of them knew anything about the wolf cub or the girl in their barn.

But she really knew that unless Jesse chose to come back she'd never catch him.

And the Bradbury's would never believe them. While Avery was none to observant on her own, Russell was shrewd by nature, and had probably already figured the worst of it out; Jesse and herself were cursed, that much they knew for themselves.

A curse meant witchcraft, and witches were an evil meant for only one fate: burning.

She walked forever, growing colder and colder until her feet and hands and nose and ears burned. She had never been so cold in her life. She walked until even the burning stopped and she couldn't feel anything, anymore. She couldn't feel the snow that broke her fall when her legs refused to bear her weight any longer. She couldn’t feel her lips as they tiredly formed her brother's name; couldn't hear her own raspy voice as she called desperately for him to come back.

She couldn't feel the snow sifting down silently to cover her cooling body, wrapped clumsily in the saddle blanket.

---

“JESSEEEEEE!!!!”

The voice, loud and shrill, echoed off the trees, and the wolf stopped. He stood in the snow, panting, ears perked, and tongue lolling out.

His limbs were tensed, poised - ready to bolt away into the night. Before the men had come, the horse had been warm and filling - what little he had managed to consume - and he thought back to the heat and blood with a fierce longing. His nose smothered with blood, he'd been unable to scent properly. Cleaning it in the snow he'd found only scents that were too old or too small to bother with, and besides, right now, he just wanted to run.

But that voice, that shrill, human voice rang in his ears and stayed his paws. It didn't come again, but still he stood in the snow, his breath evening out, coming in more measured puffs as the night ticked on and he waited for it to come again.

He wanted to run, and he didn't argue with himself. He bolted for the trees. Elated, free, powerful.

But then he stopped again, as some part of him, some very tiny part, remembered a smaller horse. He turned his head and stared back the way he'd come. His tracks were dark but evident in the shadowy forest. Even without moonlight to guide him he could see clearly through the trees.

She was there, back there. Alone.

His sister.

Kingsley.

He grew worried, then he grew afraid. Agitated, he pranced in a circle, and tried to stifle the urge to howl.

She was not alone now.

He lifted his muzzle and howled.

He had to get to her.

NOW!

He bolted back the way he'd come, covering his trail with a fresh one.

---

"Who's is she?" A man asked, leaning over his rifle, using it as a crutch.

"She doesn't look familiar - lookit that black hair. Would've remembered hair like that."

Another man was carefully lifting the girl out of the snow; while another helped him to wrap her more firmly in the saddle blanket she'd had with her. "She's out, but she's still shivering. We need to get her inside - Russell? You know who she is?"

Russell shook his head. "Was squatting in my barn, s'all I know. Wolf musta spooked her somethin' bad."

"Woulda spooked the piss right out a me!"

"Why is she naked? In the middle of winter?" A man whispered to another.

"She followed it way out here…"

"Aye, well it's long gone now. Let's get the girl back and bar doors fer the night. We c'n make sure it's really gone in the morning."

There were nods and slowly the men began to turn around and head back, following their own tracks through the trees. The man holding the girl passed her to the arms of a friend for a moment so he could lift off his anorak and cover her with it. Suddenly there was a shout from the rear of the group, "WOLF!"

As one the twenty or so men turned and stared into the gleaming eyes of a wolf. It emerged from the forest, gums pulled back over youthful fangs. Its growls were low and threatening, its hackles were up, its entire posture screamed territorial protectiveness. Without moonlight, it stood before the trees like a specter, illuminated by the six lamps the men had brought with them.

Five men broke from the group and ran, but the wolf didn't react. Its eyes were fixed on the man holding the girl, on the man laying his anorak over her, on the men still much too close to her for it to tolerate.

"The girl…"

"It’s after the girl!" More men ran, and the man with the anorak dropped it and followed and the wolf's snarls grew louder with the retreats, eyes still on the man holding the girl. More men ran and, terrified, the man holding the girl lowered her back into the snow, his eyes fixed with the wolf's, his body trembling.

Gunfire rang out and the wolf sprang. The man who had fired died with fangs in his neck, and corpse and wolf crashed back into the snow. The wolf turned, snarling, maw dripping with blood, and watched the last man tear through the bramble in his haste to get away.

He continued to stare after them, hackles still raised, nose still scrunched in a furious snarl, until their calls and shouts were just as faint as their lingering scents.

Then he relaxed somewhat and whimpered, dropping his ears and his tail as he approached the girl and sniffed her body. Worried, he went around her in circles, making a wall of snow around her, and settled in against her body. Nudging her with his paws and pulling her against him, he managed to get her curled into a ball small enough for him to wrap around. With his forepaws cradling her head, and his head guarding her shoulders, he settled in to guard her until she woke.

---

King's eyes blinked open as light tickled her face. Shivering, she clutched the warm blanket around her and pushed herself so that she was sitting. Confused, she examined the anorak the covered the saddle blanket adorning her body, and started when the body behind hers moved.

She knew it was Jesse. She didn't have to wonder and she didn't try to figure out why. She just turned around and hugged his big head as tightly as she could. She had been so afraid, so afraid that he'd left her; that he wouldn't come back.

Jesse lifted his maw and licked her face.

Then sunlight broke through the trees and King joyously welcomed the return of her fur, of her strong legs and powerful body. She nickered and nuzzled the wolf and the wolf stared back at her, clearly recognizing her, still, but confused and so scared. She whinnied and nuzzled him again, and he closed his eyes.

Suddenly the wolf was changing, shrinking and twisting. Becoming the Jesse she was most familiar with. He screamed and writhed in pain, clutching the fur of her neck so hard it was hurting her, but she whinnied and licked his sweaty face, as his screaming became moaning, and his moaning slowly became jerky, shallow gasps for air.

"King?"

She nickered and licked him again, and Jesse laughed tiredly and hugged her head.

"Werewolf!"

Jesse and King's heads snapped around, and they saw Russell standing with a longbow in hand, an arrow knocked and aimed right at them. He snarled and approached, his hands shaking. "Werewolf!" He repeated. "And I don't know what you are, but I know witchcraft when I see it!"

Terrified, but determined not to show it, Jesse reached over King and grabbed the anorak from where it lay in the snow. He could tell Russell was going to loose that arrow at any moment. He wondered vaguely what had happened to his shotgun, but his mind was more concerned with getting King out of the line of fire. If he could distract Russell long enough for her to bolt, she could get away. She had a thick winter coat, she could forage, she'd be-

“I can’t believe I was fooled into letting you into our home!" Russell shouted, and loosed. The arrow hit the snow by Jesse's foot.

Jesse stared at the arrow, stunned, but King reacted. She barked loudly and got to her feet; brayed at Russell and stomped the ground as if she were readying herself to charge.

Startled, Russell stumbled back and fell, his stricken expression hidden for a moment in a cloud of snow.

Instantly King turned on Jesse and nipped at his hair and shoulder and lowered her belly to the snow. Understanding flooded Jesse and he moved, gripping her main in one hand, the anorak in the other, he flung himself onto her back and onto the saddle blanket still miraculously there. "GO!" He shouted, and she pushed to her feet and ran for the trees.

The twang of a bowstring sounded behind them, and Jesse lurched over King's neck as a bolt buried itself in his shoulder. Gritting his teeth he dug his heels into King's sides and she ran faster, leaving Russell and the town behind.

By late morning King had leveled out her strides and trotted swiftly along, too terrified to slow down, too terrified even to stop and rest. Jesse urged her on, using all the strength he had to grip her flankes with his thighs and her mane with his fingers; ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder, the chill of the air as it touched the wet blood dripping down his side. The anorak lay bundled over his other shoulder, and half pooled around his waist.

By early evening Jesse was frozen and tired and King was exhausted. She eased to a stop at the base of a thickly furred spruce tree, and Jesse, barely conscious, slid from her back with the grace of a gosling. He was stiff in places he didn't know could be stiff. Most importantly, he was tired, and it was getting colder, and he still had an arrow in his shoulder. Feeling the shaft, he touched the wound delicately and winced as dried blood flaked off and fell to the snow. He didn't want to pull it out; he wanted to leave it where it was and just go to sleep. He wanted to sleep forever.

Jesse passed out, curled up on his uninjured side, the anorak barely covering him.

King lay down beside him and nickered plaintively, but when her brother didn't wake, she wrapped her lips around the arrow in his shoulder, gripped it with her teeth, and tugged it out. Fresh blood dripped down his shoulder but he didn't wake. She licked the wound until it stopped bleeding, then tugged the saddle blanket from her back and covered him with it. Then she rested her head next to his, and allowed herself to fall asleep.

---

She woke to the feel of Jesse's fingers carding through the fur behind her ears.

Jesse was fingering the wound on his shoulder, staring blankly off into the forest. The wound had closed completely in the night.

He didn't know what he was and he didn't want to think about the reality of their situation.

It was bitingly cold, they had all of two blankets to their name, and Russell was following them. Jesse didn’t know how he knew, but he did, and he also knew that if Russell caught up to them, he'd probably try and kill them again.

After a while of sitting and staring at nothing, Jesse reached down and brushed the snow off a tuft of grass for King to graze. When she was clearly through ripping halfheartedly at the withered stalks, he put the saddle blanket back on her and climbed on; she was big enough now to ride, barely, and he bloody-well couldn't walk barefoot in the snow.

Besides, they didn't have anything else adding to his weight.

Forcing themselves for the moment not to think about anything but finding food, they headed off deeper into the forest, heading west.

Without a knife or a pot, rations or supplies - only the anorak and the saddle blanket and their own body heat to keep them warm - they both knew it was going to be a hard, scary winter.


-TBC...


Thank you... kylee, angelkitty7888, Leicee, Anon and B. And, lol, I have two more mysterious stalkers at Fiction press: Thank you, Shadesparrow and Marrs for adding me.

Kylee: I could never separate King and Jesse… at least… not for a while yet.