Wolf of the World: The Elect: Story the First by Alma T. C. Boykin

Author:Alma T. C. Boykin [Boykin, Alma T. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-12T00:00:00+00:00

IF HE'D HAD any breath to spare, he'd have cursed. As it was, Gregor panted, gasping as he raced to reach the castle before sunrise. Lord Ivan had not called them back. That boded ill as it was, but to get caught out of shelter when dawn came could be lethal. He'd lost Alexandru's trail and did not care. His paws scrabbled for purchase on the trail, sharp rocks skittering left and right as he climbed. His chest hurt, so did his hips. He slid a little, caught himself, and clawed his way up past the dead ground to the ring of forest around the castle's gates. Panting came from behind him. Gregor turned, saw Paulus and Mara, and raced on. He barely managed to reach the courtyard when the first golden beams of sunlight touched the top of the tower. Please, God, may Alexandru not be waiting for him, for any of them.

Gregor made the safety of his chamber just as the transformation began. He moaned as pain erupted from every joint. He'd run too hard, muscles too sore. Now in man form, he sagged onto the pile of bedding, just breathing, letting the dull burning fade from his limbs and spine. It had been months since the shift had hurt so much. He pounded the old boards of the wooden floor with one fist, but lightly. Damage in one form carried over to the other. Dear holy Lord, how badly was Alexandru hurt? Linda's throw had caught him just above the eye. Gregor had smelled blood and something else. Had she blinded him? Blood in his eye alone would hurt.

Would Lord Ivan be angrier at Linda for damaging one of the Elect, or at Alexandru for threatening Lord Ivan's claimed prey? Gregor shivered. He hadn't thought, had just protected her. Please Lord, may Lord Ivan not catch what he'd done. Please, holy Father, please merciful Son, may she heed his warning, and please may Lord Ivan not catch them, either of them. He remembered the pain of hitting the wall, the weakness that followed.

Gregor stretched. He prayed, drank half a bucket of water, then fell asleep.

Early that evening, as he took care of his needs and fetched more water, Attila met him. The next-smallest Elect glanced around, then murmured, "Alexandru has not returned. At least, the door to his quarters remains open."

"I hope he was not badly injured and caught in the open," Gregor said. He meant it, too. Terrible things happened to any Elect caught out by the local people. Their "cure" for the curse . . . He'd rather face Lord Ivan's wrath, almost. "If the true wolves caught and turned on him . . ." He did not finish the sentence. He did not need to.

Attila nodded. "That is my fear as well, or that he overreached and was injured trying to return in man form."

They filled their buckets and went to their respective quarters. Gregor laid down on the floor and closed his eyes, waiting.

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