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Chapter 7 Retaliation

"Defending the pack with my life as they sheltered in Yellowstone was a great honor. I must hold on to that memory, lest the spirits haunting this Haven drive me forever mad." — Rost, guardian of Yellowstone

Next

One, two, three, four, five, six…counting your heartbeats helps steady your breathing, and the involuntary shivers running down your arms lessen with each tick of the wall-mounted clock across the room.

The Hunter's Moon has passed out of the clouds, casting a swath of light through your front window, bisecting the room in near perfect symmetry. A soft rainfall patters against the roof as you sit in the dark. Where once you would have found the ambiance comforting, now you can only strain to hear over it, wary of any sound that could portend a break-in.

He's just a senile old wolf, you think to yourself. He's not going to break into my house. And yet there's something about Elan that stabs to the heart of you, a natural dominance tapping into your instincts with almost casual command. It's disconcerting to say the least. You've ended lives in the pursuit of your goals, and while that once made you feel powerful, memories of blood-soaked claws bring you no comfort tonight.

You make your way slowly through your apartment, accustomed enough to the placement of furniture and doorframes to navigate your way. Moonlight fills the kitchen with an eerie glow, but it's more than enough to see by now that your eyes have grown accustomed to the darkness. You sit at the kitchen table, wondering whether you should try to get some sleep in the last few hours before daybreak. You can't stay awake every night in fear; you'll need rest eventually.

The soft drumming of rain is interrupted by a jagged flash of lightning, and in its luminance, you catch sight of a silhouette passing the window toward your front door. You rise, keeping to the cover of darkness as you approach the front hallway, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting prowler if they make the mistake of entering your home uninvited. Rather than force the door open however, the intruder pushes something through the crack at the bottom.

You creep forward, all senses on alert, making certain to keep your movements silent before leaning over to examine the strange gift left by your stalker as it twinkles gold in the moonlight. You scoop it up, backing away from the door with haste, lest it burst open and strike you. You shake your head. You're just being paranoid.

You hold the item up in the moonlight, and a gold locket dangles from a thin chain. Your brow furrows in confusion. What the hell? You open the locket's hinged compartment and look at the picture inside, confused at first, but soon your eyes widen in realization.

This is me and my mother! I can't be more than two years old in this picture! Breath caught in your throat, you pocket the strange piece of jewelry, not wanting to contemplate why the insane old stalker might possess such a thing.

Try To Get Some Sleep

Sleep wins a resounding victory in the battle of adrenaline versus exhaustion, and you drift off almost as soon as your head hits the pillow, your dreams incoherent and fractured. You're on all fours leaping through a wooded glen. Suddenly Jolon is by your side, the steel-gray fur of his lupine form almost white in the light of an unnaturally bright dreamscape sun. The two of you hunt for what could either be hours or days, bringing down small game with tooth and claw.

A blink and you're in a large subterranean dwelling, lavishly decked out in all the finery a wolf could ever require. Jolon is picking at the bones of a large rabbit, a look of deep satisfaction on his face as he finishes his dinner.

"So," he says as he pushes his plate away. He leans back and groans with contentment. "Bet you never thought we'd be living this well when we were still in Haven."

You gaze about at your surroundings. You feel like you should be familiar with this place, but for whatever reason you can't remember how you got here or when you freed yourselves from the walls of Haven.

"Decaarr?" He knocks on the table, startling you. "Supper that good, eh?"

You should answer him, but you're not sure how.