Chapter 11 - Elena
Looming, twisting shapes swam through the inky darkness, undulating like living shadows. Suffocating fog swirled and billowed, enveloping the world in an opaque haze of grey and white. Through it, nothing could be seen but the moon gleaming overhead. The air itself hung heavy and oppressive.
Something skittered and rustled nearby. A loud thud clamped down from the direction of the noise, abruptly silencing it. The thing in the darkness grew closer, joined by another, and then another, until the pounding rhythm grew to a crescendo on all sides. Above, the wind howled and shrieked like a banshee in the night.
Through the fog, a dozen pairs of golden, glowing eyes shone through the mist. They drew nearer, growing brighter and larger. Low growls reverberated everywhere, a chorus of deep, warning tones thrumming with palpable hatred. All at once, the mass of wolves descended in a ravenous blur of fangs and claws that glistened and dripped crimson blood in the moonlight.
An inhuman scream pierced the veil of darkness as the massive beasts descended upon their quarry with vicious ferocity. Bones broke, sinew tore, flesh ripped open, and agonized cries pierced the frigid air. Predators tore into the helpless prey, a relentless barrage of teeth and talons shredding bone and muscle.
At the center of the chaos, a lumbering beast covered in black fur turned his head up to the moon and howled a triumphant song to his savage kin. The rest of his pack lifted their voices and added their notes to his victory cry, rejoicing in the thrill of the hunt. The largest one took a step back, turning his deadly gaze to the ground to admire his work. A pool of blood lay staining the earth below in dark, gory patches. In the center, a prone body with golden fur lay broken, still breathing but too weak to rise. Slowly, painfully, the fallen animal raised his gaze and looked directly at her.
“Elena,” he gasped, “run.”
***
Gasping desperately for breath, Elena jolted upright and looked wildly around her, utterly disoriented. She grasped for something to steady her shaking form and accidentally tumbled off the side of the twin mattress to land on the cold hardwood floor. Frantically, she scrambled back until her spine hit the wall and squeezed her eyes shut, focusing solely on steadying her ragged panting and racing heartbeat. Nausea roiled in the pit of her stomach. Drenched in sweat and feeling lightheaded, she sucked in several long breaths.
A dream. It was only a dream. It was the same dream she'd had for weeks, except different. For the first time, she had seen the wild wolves' intended target. Ryder. That monstrous creature that led them was after him.
Still breathing heavily, she glanced around the room, trying to reorient herself. It took a few seconds to recall where she was—still stuck out here in some shack in the middle of nowhere, running from... That? Was this why he had brought her here, that horrifying nightmare monster and its gang of murderous goons? The pack leader didn't look like the wolf who had attacked her yesterday. That one had been much smaller.
It couldn't be a coincidence. The shifter had mentioned Ryder before it attacked her. Someone was after him, and it was much worse than she had realized. If that beast was after him—and her, possibly, by extension—it would explain his weird behavior. Not entirely justify it, necessarily, but he must be terrified. Despite how horribly he'd acted yesterday, she felt a renewed wave of compassion wash over her, realizing the stress he must be under. Perhaps being out here really was necessary.
She sighed, stretching out her weary muscles. Morning light filtered through the narrow windows along the opposite wall, casting beams of light across the dusty hardwood flooring. It had taken hours of tossing and turning last night for her to finally drift off to sleep, furious and anxious as she had been, and then it had been interrupted by yet more horrific visions. Her entire body ached as she gingerly hauled herself to her feet. She'd landed hard on her shoulder, and a nasty bruise had already blossomed against her pale skin. However, none of that seemed to matter compared to the horrifying nightmare she had witnessed. She needed to speak to Ryder.
She stepped through the doorway into the main living room and took in her surroundings properly for the first time. Yesterday had been such a blur of emotions that she hadn't gotten a real chance to observe her environment. It looked like a small hunting lodge of sorts, with wooden walls and floors. The whole place stank of must like it hadn’t been properly aired out in weeks, but the furniture appeared to be in fairly decent shape, save for a coating of grime and dust from lack of use. In one corner of the main room stood a small kitchenette consisting of a hotplate, sink, mini-fridge, microwave, and several shelves containing various canned goods, rice, and noodles. On the opposite end was an old, ratty couch and an oval coffee table. The windows were narrow, with shutters covering them tightly against potential intrusions. It was cramped and cluttered, with boxes of miscellaneous junk stacked in various spots, but if given a proper cleaning, it might be quite cozy. Under different circumstances, anyway.
There was no sign of the cocky wolf who had brought her here. He hadn’t run off again, had he? She glanced back at the narrow hallway. There were two doors in addition to the one that led into the bedroom where she'd slept, one at the center all the way to the back and one to the right at the halfway point. She padded over to that one first and tried the rusty copper doorknob, but the door didn't budge. Great. Even more secrets. Why would she expect anything else? With a loud sigh, she abandoned the locked door and moved to the larger one at the end. She jiggled that one open and cautiously, and the door swung open to a white-tiled bathroom. The sound of running water filtered through the room from around the corner, where—
“Good gods, woman,” Ryder yelped indignantly, clutching a bar of soap and nearly dropping it as he quickly wrapped a towel around his waist and shot her an affronted stare. “Warn a guy before you just walk in while he's in the shower?”
For a moment, the sight of his chiseled form made her forget all about bad dreams and monsters in the dark. Water rolled down the sculpted ridges of his chest, rippling over tan, muscled abs. Droplets fell from the ends of his hair onto broad shoulders and down a carved, masculine back that tapered into a V that disappeared below the towel now hastily being securely attached around his lean hips. She swallowed hard and willed herself to ignore the burning blush spreading across her cheeks, averting her gaze pointedly as he stepped out and stood there dripping wet in the middle of the room.
He shook his hair in a distinctly canine way. It sent flecks of water flying everywhere, including on her, causing her to sputter and wipe away a few drops that landed on her nose and lips. When she dared glance back up at him, he had crossed his arms over his bare chest, smirking and raising an eyebrow at her. If not for the fact that she saw that smug, handsome face and suddenly imagined it bloodied and torn like in her dream, she probably would have blushed even harder or stormed off in indignation. Instead, her heart raced faster for a different reason, fueling the anxiety that now consumed her.
Without preamble, she blurted out, “Why is someone hunting you?”
His expression instantly went slack. The glib smile vanished, replaced by a serious mask that settled over his features. “At least let me get dressed before you start interrogating me again?” he sighed, running his hand through his wild, blond locks. “You should get cleaned up, too. There are spare clothes in the wardrobe in the closet. Towels should be under the sink. I'll get breakfast ready. All right?”
A part of her wanted to argue, but yesterday had been exhausting, and she wasn't prepared to start another fight with him right now. Anyway, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the wall, she realized he was right. She looked like she'd been dragged through the woods by a bunch of bears, with her tangled hair and the dirt streaked across her face and neck, still wearing the same sundress, which was now completely tattered and filthy. Not to mention the deep bags under her eyes, which betrayed how little she had actually slept. Maybe a shower would help pull herself together before she attempted any more meaningful conversation with him.
Nodding quietly, she watched as he strode past her, grabbed a shirt from the doorknob, and exited back into the main room. She padded back to the bedroom and rummaged through the dresser. Not exactly a fantastic selection of cute women's outfits, but clean anything was better than her current attire. Well, it was all fairly dusty and could benefit from a washing machine and some air freshener. Nevertheless, she managed to dig out a pair of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt that was slightly too big but smelled okay. It didn't seem to have any holes or stains. That would have to do.
After a quick, warm shower and a brief search through the cabinets for a hairbrush, she emerged with a comb in one hand and her long, damp hair in the other. Still slightly wet but otherwise significantly less grimy, she was greeted by the smell of instant pancakes wafting from the kitchen. Ryder stood at the stovetop, cooking them up in a frying pan as she entered, with a plate of thick brown discs spread out on the counter next to him. He grinned at her crookedly and nodded toward the pancakes.
“Breakfast is served,” he said simply. “Bit of a limited selection. Hope your delicate appetite doesn't object.”
She raised an eyebrow skeptically but shrugged and grabbed a pancake, folding it in half like a burrito and biting into it. It had been well over twenty-four hours since she last ate anything, her grumbling stomach reminded her pointedly. Sure, the food tasted like cardboard wrapped in paper, but it was warm and edible. She was hungry enough that she wasn't picky.
The sight of her devouring food at record speed elicited a chuckle of amusement from Ryder. He flipped one last pancake onto the plate, then dropped the frying pan into the sink with a loud clang and joined her at the tiny dining table tucked in the corner. Without comment, he grabbed a stack of pancakes for himself and dug in alongside her, and for a short period, they sat quietly and shoveled food into their mouths. Eventually, her hunger receded, and a more pressing problem reemerged in her thoughts.
“I had a vision last night,” Elena stated flatly once her plate was almost clean. Trying to ask him questions had accomplished precisely nothing so far, so blunt statements seemed more likely to get the result she wanted. He arched an eyebrow inquisitively but didn't respond immediately. “There was a pack of rogue wolves. Like the one who attacked me. They were hunting.” Pausing dramatically, she leaned forward across the table and fixed him with her most severe gaze, emphasizing the word as deliberately as possible. “Hunting you.”
Ryder's gaze darkened, his brows furrowing slightly. Finally, he took the gravity of this situation and her involvement in it seriously. He nodded slowly, leaning back on the rickety chair to look at her. His eyes searched her face, seeking some indication as to how much she knew. She held it, refusing to yield, watching and waiting silently for him to fill the silence with an answer. For a long moment, no one spoke.
Finally, he nodded and asked, “Okay. What exactly did you see?”
In the minutes that followed, she explained as best she could what she had seen in her dream. It was difficult to put into words—so much of it was simply emotion. Terror. Desperation. Fury. She couldn’t properly make out the scenery, only that thick, oppressive fog. She was certain that her vision was important, but the details of it were as vague as ever.
He listened intently, absorbing every detail as she described what she had seen. It was a relief to see that he apparently understood the significance without her having to elaborate. Due to her questionable skill in other magical departments, people often dismissed her precognition. Sometimes, even she wasn't sure if some of her dreams were mystical in nature or just your run-of-the-mill, garden-variety nightmares.
However, she was sure of this one. Based on his somber expression, he seemed to understand that, too. For once, there were no snarky remarks or dismissals. It felt almost like validation, and a sense of ease washed over her when he accepted the information.
“I see,” Ryder said quietly after she finished recounting the vision. “That is troubling. All right, well, since it seems like you already have some idea of what's going on, I guess there's no point in pretending. You're not wrong. When I was away, I tracked a group of rogues who had been terrorizing humans. They had the same tattoos as the one who attacked you yesterday. I don't know how or why, but they must have followed me. And now, due to that, uh, questionable drunken decision,” he paused to shoot her a pointed stare, prompting her to roll her eyes at him in return, “they think we're together, which puts you at risk. That's why we had to get out of town until I figure out how to deal with them.”
“So how do we do that?” she asked curiously.
A bitter chuckle slipped from his mouth as he shook his head and offered her a dry grin. “We?” he snorted derisively. “No offense, kid, but this isn't something you're equipped to handle. What you need to do is stay put here. Don't go outside unless absolutely necessary. Stay quiet, stay out of trouble, and try not to set anything on fire. I'll deal with this. Got it?”
“Oh, come on, you can't be serious,” she said exasperatedly. “You can't expect me just to sit here twiddling my thumbs. I'm not totally useless, you know. I want to help.”
“Got any experience fighting off feral rogue shifters?” he retorted wryly. She rolled her eyes but couldn't think of a witty reply. “No? Well, then, you're staying out of the crosshairs. I will set up the radio and get in touch with the rest of the pack, and we'll handle this. Leave it to people who actually know what they're doing, yeah?”
“I can do... stuff!” she protested, frowning as he collected the plates from their meal and tossed them loudly into the sink. “I'm great with herbs and alchemy, you know. I'm sure I could whip up some potions or something that could be useful. And anyway, I'm the only one who's actually seen who and what we're up against. There must be something I can do to help.”
“Elena,” Ryder muttered with a heavy sigh. He sounded like he was about to make a sarcastic remark but then hesitated, leaning back against the counter with his hands gripping the edge of the marble surface behind him. “Look. I know you're not useless, right? Those victims back at the clinic would have died without your poultices. But this is beyond anything you can do. The rogues chasing after us are trained killers who are out for blood, and you're one witch whose powers are volatile at best. I'm not saying that to be a jerk. You aren't a fighter or a tracker. Let me and the others deal with this. Please. Do as I say and wait until I figure out our next move, okay?”
An unusually earnest note tinged his words, completely unlike his typical patronizing attitude, caught her by surprise. Ryder hardly ever spoke to her kindly, always sneering and mocking her instead. It wasn't merely concern driving him right now. If she hadn't already understood from her nightmare that this was a life-or-death situation, the genuine fear and anxiety radiating off of him confirmed it. This was deadly serious. Even though she hated it, he was right. She wasn't skilled in combat, stealth, or anything that might immediately prove helpful in a dangerous confrontation. In this scenario, she was the weak link.
She took a long breath and slumped down at the dining table, huffing a frustrated sigh. “Fine,” she finally grumbled, pouting slightly, “but I still feel useless being kept out of the action.”
He cracked a half-smile at that, shoving off the counter and stepping back into the middle of the room to pick up the heavy backpack that he’d dropped by the front door.
“Well, you're just going to have to deal with it, princess,” he teased, slinging the bag over his broad shoulder and grinning smugly. Ah. There he was, the usual Ryder, all traces of his previous vulnerability and tension dissipating. “Get used to boring for a bit. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”
With that, he trotted down the hallway, pulled out his keychain, and unlocked the mysterious locked door from earlier. Before she had a chance to inquire what was back there or offer any further protests, he promptly shut the door behind him and sealed himself inside, leaving Elena alone in the main room. She frowned petulantly at the closed door for a minute, glaring at it as if he might suddenly open it back up if she wished it hard enough. It didn't. Rolling her eyes, she stood up and pushed herself away from the table.
Well, all right. If she was going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, she might as well try to make the place more livable.