Chapter Seven

Courage or Insanity?

River of Blood

Lightning shot across the sky above the road and Hope sucked in her breath. The crashing thunder shook Steve's car. Of course, he was driving, but even without that terror, Hope was assaulted by her many other fears. Any ride in a car was difficult for her, but driving or even riding through storms terrified her beyond reason and paralyzed her. And after the incident at the deli, she was in no shape to attempt the drive home. She was even more grateful than usual that Steve had offered to be her chauffeur to and from work today. It wasn't in the job description of a veterinary technician to cater to the neurosis of the veterinarian on shift, but fortunately Steve had proclaimed it his role in their friendship, not their profession. Hope had to wonder if her plans to open her own clinic played any part in his heroics. Either way, his help was appreciated, and she was in no position to examine the teeth of her very own gift horse.

Another bolt swept across the sky. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she sat in her rocker at home. At least it was only sprinkling so far, even if the lightning formed a nearly endless, far too intimidating, display. The thunder was so loud her ears began to ring with the pain of its echo.

Steve was talking, probably trying to distract her. She just couldn't focus enough to make out his words. She'd thought she was getting better at controlling the fear. Even her failed drive to the deli had been a partial success. Steve had nearly thrown a party for her accomplishment, even though she hadn't managed the short drive back. It almost made up for Steve coercing her into the drive in the first place.

It had been fifteen years since the accident that had taken the lives of her parents and two younger brothers, leaving her orphaned, crippled, and scarred. That night had been stormy, too. One psychologist felt it was her guilt that kept her paralyzed for eight months and fed the fear that had terrorized her ever since. Not that her injuries hadn't explained the lack of feeling and movement in her legs. They were severe. Her left leg had been broken in fourteen places. And her left side was badly scarred from the burns she'd received from ankle to neck. She hadn't even awakened from her coma until a week later. She'd missed the funerals and her chance to say goodbye to her family.

The sudden downpour pulled her back to the present. That, and the tight pain in her chest reminding her to breathe.

In. Out. Deeply. Once. Twice.

* * *

Blazing red pain drove Athair through the woods. Hate for his enemies kept a growl in his clenched jaws. He wanted to turn and kill those chasing him, but instead he ran on. Some force within him gave him no option but to run.

He remembered Dan had said to run, but how could he run like a coward when his children… When his young had been left behind?

Fighting for control, he needed to turn back. To kill the ones who were a threat. To save his young.

But he was given no say in the control of his body.

The willpower that drove him forward was not his own, and it quickly became one of the enemies. One more thing to fight, to hate. It forced him to move when he wanted to stop. Forced him to flee when he would fight. His body and mind rebelled. His abused muscles fought back against the foreign will. For endless miles the ground fell behind him, until he could no longer hear those in pursuit.

Gradually, feeling returned to his body. Aches from his wounds sharpened his mind. He could tell. Soon he'd be free of that foreign control.

They couldn"t control him forever. Soon enough he"d be able to fight back. So, for now, he"d let himself be driven forward. For now, he"d run.

* * *

Slowly, Hope opened her eyes and tried to focus on what Steve was saying.

"I really think that little spaniel is going to need to stay in the clinic for a while. Its blood work is just not improving like we had hoped." He glanced in her direction, and seemed surprised to see she was at least listening to his prattle.

To pacify and reward his efforts, she said, "I think you're right."

Encouraged, he went onto another topic. "Did you see the new Mel Gibson movie yet?"

"Not yet,"

"I'm taking Julie to see it this weekend." Steve smiled. She'd finally agreed to go out with him. Hopefully this would go better than the last time Steve jumped into a romance. At first, Hope thought they had the chance of becoming an item. But after only a couple dates, the girl had become someone for him just to hang out with. "Julie said yes. I can't believe it. When I asked, sh—oh, damn!"

Steve slammed on the brakes. The car slid slightly, and Hope saw a flash of gray as a large animal darted before the car. With a solid thud, the animal was thrown ahead of them and landed in the flood of their headlights.

"Oh no," Hope said. The animal was a motionless gray mountain.

"I'm so sorry, Hope. I didn't see it. It was moving so fast." Steve understood that the death would affect her deeply. She could never stand to see animals suffer and HBC's, hit by cars, were the worst for her to face.

"I have to move it from the road. Stay here." Steve got out of the car and rounded the hood.

Hope hadn't taken her eyes off the animal. It looked like a large wolf. Very large. The poor thing deserved better than this. As she watched Steve approach it, Hope saw what he couldn't. Two pale, glowing eyes, blinking open.

Her head continued to throb as she moved from the safety of the car into the steady rain. The drenching rain and her weight on her left leg added to her discomfort.

Steve hesitated when he saw her skirting the wolf. "What are you doing?"

"He opened his eyes. He's not dead."

Steve reached the wolf's head, and it emitted a low, threatening rumble. He pulled back and shrugged his shoulders. "We can call the game commission from your house."

He went to the driver's side door, but turned back when she didn't move. The storm had lessened, but not stopped. Rain continued to fall, soaking them and the wolf. Hope figured it had gone into shock and would be killed by the elements even if its wounds weren't fatal.

"We can't just leave him. We have to help him."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Despite his objection, Steve continued to stand there.

"He'll die without our help." She said in desperation, pushing her slight edge against Steve's animal-loving heart. "We can't just leave him.

"He'll probably die anyhow." Despite his pessimistic words, a new quality in Steve's voice lifted Hope's expectations. "He's hurt pretty badly if he's just lying there making no effort to get away."

"I know, but we need to try," she pleaded. As always, it felt like a chance for redemption, a chance to steal back and restore a life that might be lost to the road.

"I think we should leave him for people with more experience with wild animals." Steve was grumbling, but she already knew he would give in. "I can see this going very wrong."

"Your objection is duly noted." She almost smiled at his grudging understanding. "How do you think we should start?"

"How about a way to contain his enormous teeth?"

"A muzzle of some kind. Good idea. Do you have any rope in your car?"

"I'll look, but I don't think so." He turned back to the station wagon to begin his search.

Hope heard his soft complaints and decided for about the millionth time that Steve was a very good friend. She looked at the wolf, her newest patient. He hadn't moved or even twitched. The only sign of life had been his menacing growl and the blinking of those unnerving gray eyes.

She stepped back into his line of sight and watched as those strange eyes focused on her. She flinched as her headache produced a particularly strong stab of pain and a touch of dizziness. Pushing aside her discomfort, she said in a soft, soothing voice, "Hello, fellow. We seem to have a situation here. I'm a doctor. I would like to help you, but you have to be nice and not hurt me."

Why had she said doctor instead of vet? Never mind. Just so she could keep her patient calm. He didn't seem afraid, just in great pain. But the pain would make moving him difficult and the muzzle essential.

She began to look him over as she waited for Steve. It was no wonder he was in so much pain. He was literally covered in wounds! Surely the car hadn't caused all of them. The worst seemed to be around his neck and shoulders, including several cuts that may have gone bone deep. They looked like bite marks. She'd seen similar marks on dogs brought in after a fight, but never so many on one animal. Now she knew where all the blood came from. Many of the gashes were savage, possibly fatal. A pool of dark blood spread slowly around the wolf's body.

What could have done that? He must have been attacked by something really big, or maybe many animals at once. She couldn't imagine a battle that could bring such a prime example of the species so low.

Steve walked back and said "I can't find anything. Not even an old sock."

"A sock?" She gave him a wry grin, "How about a stocking?"

"Will it hold? I don't want to take any chances."

"I don't know, but we can try." She turned away from Steve to pull up her pants leg and slide off one of her knee highs, then the other. No need to show her scars to Steve. Or to anyone. The stockings probably wouldn't hold, but against all reason, she didn't really think they were needed other than to let Steve feel safe.

As she moved closer to the wolf, she wondered if she was perhaps losing what was left of her sanity. First werewolves, and now wolves. Just what were the fates trying to tell her?

Her hands hesitated. How could she be sure this wasn't a werewolf, too?

Oh yeah, because they'd just hit him with a car. Surely werewolves would know better than to run into a road. And now, she actually planned to use her stockings to tie a wild wolf's mouth closed, and then move the seriously injured animal in the slim hope of saving its life.

Something was very strange about the wolf's behavior. Did it maybe have rabies? Some animals were affected so that they became sluggish instead of aggressive. Or maybe it was a werewolf or a vampire or an alien. Since reality had abandoned her nearly a month ago, at this point, who knew?

She murmured quietly to the wolf, "Easy now, my wolf. I need to put this on you to make it safe for us to help you. I don't want you to move until I know how badly you're hurt."

The wolf didn't so much as blink, but she thought his gray eyes seemed alert and intelligent despite the pain he must be suffering. His eyes followed her face as she moved closer and slowly knelt near his head.

A shadow fell over Hope as Steve stepped behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. The wolf growled, a deep rolling sound that had Steve stepping back again.

"Are you sure about this?"

She didn't answer him, but slowly moved her hand toward the wolf.

Steve continued, "Then I think we should move him quickly, so we can sedate him and determine the extent of those vicious looking wounds. Especially since whatever used him as a chew toy may not be too far away."

The wolf blinked into Hope's brown eyes and gave a small lick with his tongue, giving her the impression that he agreed with Steve. Her hands were now very close to his head, and she slowly proceeded to muzzle him, wrapping the nylon around his jaws twice. Then she tied it off behind his ears. He never moved but held eye contact with her throughout the entire procedure.

Steve brought a blanket from the car that they could use as a stretcher. They placed it carefully behind the animal and rolled him over onto it. Hope marveled at the muscle tone beneath his thick, wet pelt and noted that his other side was just as badly torn up.

Next, Steve moved the car so that they wouldn't have to carry him very far. They lifted him into the back of the wagon, and then made the short trip to her home.

The wolf made no other sounds or complaint, nor did he struggle when they moved him inside. Very strange.

* * *

The second time Rath awakened, he was disoriented and unable to move. He was hanging, with his wrists tied high above his head. He couldn't see clearly, only the outlines of people standing around him. And he couldn't hear the words being said.

"Dàn? Are you there?"he asked silently, hoping Dàn was still with him. Still alive.

For a long moment, there was no response. Then, "yeah, I'm here," came the weary answer.

"I can't see. What's happening?"The blurred surroundings and muffled noise closed in on him.

"You don't want…to know."Dàn's answer was slow and broken, as if he were being interrupted.

"Probably not. But—"Rath's sight began to clear. His hearing as well. So that must have been Dàn's doing. But why? Then he looked around him and began to understand. He was tied to a tree. Dàn probably was, too. If he turned his head, he could see their hosts where they were gleefully beating someone. He assumed it was Dàn. The light was dim in the deep forest and the air smelled of blood. Rath listened to the impact of each hit. The number and spacing of the blows sounded as if two were dealing blows, but only one receiving them.

"So, do you want to go back to sleep?"

"Yeah, but I think I'll hang around for a while. How are you holding up?"If Dàn was the one being beaten, and surely, he was, then how long had they been at it? Why were they doing it?

"I'm not doing so well,"Dàn said.

"Maybe you could pass out for a while and take a break."

"Can't."Dàn sounded strange. Defeated?

"Why not?"Rath said. "Just take a short nap."

"Athair."

"Oh. You're still helping him. How's he doing?"

"He just got hit by a driving machine."

Somehow, Dàn made that sound like a happy event. But compared to their current situation, he supposed it probably was.

All at once, the assholes noticed Rath was awake. Bequlf stepped in front of him. "Glad you decided to rejoin us. Perhaps you could explain to your friend why he should cooperate with us." And with that, he punched Rath hard in the stomach. A couple of times.

Well, that hurt like hell. Rath gasped through the pain. His vision blurred and he growled at not being able to hide the agony the abuse had caused. What was the guy wearing on his hand, some kind of metal glove? Rath coughed on the meager air he could draw in and looked down at the man's hand. It was indeed covered in metal. Not so much a glove, but a set of interconnected rings covered in chain with what looked like short metal, blood-covered claws over the knuckles.

When Bequlf saw him studying the weapon, he held it up proudly and pointed at the claws. "Silver tipped, of course. Not enough to kill you, but more than enough to disable your powers and cause lots of pain."

After a few more blows, Bequlf said, "So, are you ready to talk yet?"

Rath gasped for breath. Normally his magic would begin healing any wounds immediately, but not this time. Bequlf must be telling the truth about using silver. He'd always thought silver was illegal to use, except on criminals. So why was this asshole torturing them with it? He scowled. "I don't even know the damned question, you worthless bastard."

His insolence earned him more abuse, which left him unable to offer any more bright comments aloud. At least for a while.

Had Dàn been getting the same? If so, for how long? "Hey Dàn, how do you like my technique? I plan to wear him out." He only asked so he could hear a friendly voice. Anything to distract himself from the pain.

"I tried that already."

"Hey, Bequlf. I think they're talking to each other," one of the men in front of Rath said. "They shouldn't be able to do that. Should they?"

"No." A sadistic grin lit Bequlf's face. "But if they are, we can use it to our advantage. If they can share thoughts, they'll also share each other's pain." At which point he hit Rath's face three times. "I think I'll hurt you until he tells me what I want to know."

As that was said, two others dragged Dàn to the tree across from Rath. Probably so Dàn could watch as they heaped abuse on him.

But it also allowed Rath his first look at Dàn since their capture. Dàn was a mass of bleeding gouges. His face was bloody and bruised, and both eyes were swelled shut. Blood dribbled from his nose and mouth, and his clothes hung in rags, torn where they had cut him more times than he could count. Dàn's body must have been trying to heal, because Rath could also see many fine white lines marking recently healed wounds.

"Shit! What have they done to you?"Rath flinched from what he saw more than any of the previous punches. How could he have let this happen to his friend? He was the strong one. He'd swore to protect Dàn. And he'd failed.

"Everything they could think of is my guess."Dàn sounded exhausted. He certainly looked it. He hadn't struggled or even raised his head when they had dragged him to the new tree. Once he was retied in place, he sagged against the ropes allowing them to support his weight.

Now that they had their audience in place, Bequlf started in on Rath again. But after the second punch, something blocked the third blow. Quietly, Dàn said, "I can't let you do that."

That sent Bequlf into a temper tantrum. He ranted and yelled about the silver bands that were supposed to stop the use of magic. And indeed, both Rath and Dàn were wearing heavy, wide silver bands, with sharp ridges that cut into their forearms. Rath at least could do no magic.

He smiled. So, Dàn had discovered another ability. Yet he had been hurt by silver in the past, making this something to think about later.

"I would ask how you did that, but I'm too grateful to care."Rath's pleasure faded when Bequlf changed tactics and started to beat Dàn again. Because now, Rath had to watch. And he could do nothing to help.

"Stop him. Rath said. Protect yourself."

"I can't,"Dàn answered. "Not strong enough."

Rath knew it was pointless to argue with him. Stubborn fool. Dàn would continue to protect him and Athair, allowing these jerks to practice their latest torture. They were using a spiked club now, instead of simply fists.

All Rath could do was curse them and he did so colorfully, until he realized they only reacted to his outbursts by beating Dàn with more enthusiasm. Finally, he fell silent and watched as they slowly killed his friend.

It was obvious Dàn wouldn't last much longer. "I'll tell you anything you want. Just stop." Rath said in defeat.

"Stall for time." Dàn whispered in his mind. But he gave no explanation why.

Rath trusted Dàn to have some plan, so he did stall. Bequlf turned to Rath, looking irritated that he couldn't beat him for interrupting. "So, talk."

"About what? The weather?" Rath spit out his usual rebellious answer.

Bequlf responded by stabbing Dàn in the shoulder with a long narrow knife, which proved that pissing him off was not the best stalling tactic. Dàn was so badly hurt that through it all, he never moved or reacted. All that proved he was still alive was the protection that surrounded Rath.

"Look, I don't know what you want! Just tell me, so I can answer you." Anything to stop the abuse on Dàn.

"Tell me where the other one went," Bequlf growled as he twisted the knife from Dàn's flesh and the tree.

"Athair?" How the hell could he know that?

"Yes."

"I don't—" Rath started.

"Don't say you don't know."Dàn murmured.

"—want you to hurt him." He finished lamely.

"Of course we won't hurt him. We want to kill him. Not hurt him." He punctuated the comment with another punch to Dàn's stomach. He hadn't even twitched at the recent blows.

"Hey! Stop that!"

"Be ready. Sgrios comes."