Keeper of the Wolves

KEEPER OF THE WOLVES

By Cheree L. Alsop

Keeper of the Wolves

By Cheree Alsop

Copyright 2013 by Cheree L. Alsop

Smashwords Edition

Cover Design by Andy Hair

www.ChereeAlsop.com

To my husband:
Michael Alsop,

Without whom love stories would be empty.

To my children: Myree, Ashton, and Aiden,

For endless adventures in life

That far outshine those in any book.

Chapter 1

I snarled. It was easier to snarl and watch
them cringe then to read the judgment and mockery on their faces.
The light of the moon drifted beneath the edge of the tent,
competing with the torch light that flickered along the canvas in
shadows and waves. It wouldn’t be long before the Cruel One lifted
the cloth and let the moonlight do its work. I almost looked
forward to the breath of fresh air that would sweep the scents of
stale popcorn, sweat, sickly sweet breath, and the foul rot of the
overflowing garbage bin from the confines of the canvas.
Almost.

A shudder ran through my skin and I bit back
another growl. A different smell touched my nose; the scent of
meadow gold flowers tore my thoughts from the harsh reality of the
tent and swept me through memories of flower-covered hills and soft
grass. A pang of longing made my breath catch in my throat. I
lifted my eyes and ignored the way the expectant crowd stepped back
from my golden gaze. I took a deep breath and searched the faces
for one who would match the sweet aroma that whispered above the
foul odor of the men and women packed as tightly in the tent as the
Cruel One could manage.

Blue eyes met my gaze. I blinked, surprised.
Hers wasn’t a look of fear, hatred, or the laughter and expectancy
that reflected in the countless other faces that came to watch me
every night when the moon was strong. Instead, I read pity, sorrow,
and something else, a slight glimmer of an emotion I had never seen
before.

A tendril of golden hair had escaped her
wrap and hung like a ray of sunlight along her cheek. She saw my
gaze flicker and reached a hand up to her face. She found the lock
of hair and pushed it hurriedly back under the gray spun cloth that
matched the plain gray dress she wore. Something about her set her
apart from the rest of the drabble that waited impatiently for me
to change. I couldn’t decide if it was the lift of her chin, the
commanding light in her eyes, or the way she stood in the midst of
the crowd as though she was a stone in a stream instead of flowing
with the current, but she wasn’t one of them no matter how she
tried to fit in.

Someone bumped her arm and she turned,
breaking our gaze. She said something softly to a man in a long
black coat with the hilt of a sword visible at his waist. My ear
twitched as I tried to catch the sound of her voice amidst the
laughter, jeering, and catcalls of the crowd, but she spoke too
quietly. The man gave a nod of respect and slipped silently from
her side.

The blue eyes turned back to me just as a
fresh breeze rustled through the mass of men and women around my
cage. Light touched my fur and I didn’t have to look to know that
the Cruel One had lifted the canvas. A stronger shudder ran through
my body, jarring my teeth together. I knew it was pointless to
fight the change, but I did anyway. Pain rolled down my shoulders
and I clenched my jaw to keep an answering moan from escaping.

I wanted one last glimpse of those blue eyes
before my world slipped away and I became human again, but my
joints stretched and pulled, driving me to the floor as they
shifted and my bones elongated. Muscle fibers and sinews pushed
against my skin, forcing my arms and legs to elongate, my muzzle to
shrink, and my hair to absorb leaving me covered in pale skin and
tangled dark hair that did little to hide my nakedness.

I pulled the tattered blanket around me and
refused to look up at the gasps of surprise and dismay that filled
the room. Exclamations I didn’t understand flooded through the
tent, cries of horror and words laced with disgust and hatred at my
change. I had heard the same epithets hundreds of times and again
felt a surge of gratitude for my inability to understand their
language. The crowd sounded like geese honking their agitation at
an interrupted meal. Women’s voices rose higher in pitch and
children whispered to each other. One man growled a string of words
laced with threat that set my teeth on edge.

I closed my eyes and tried to block them
out. Their voices called around me, outraged at what I couldn’t
control. It had surprised me the first few times when men and women
responded so violently. It took me a while to realize that they
could accept an animal, and they could accept a man, but to see a
wolf turn into a man invoked a religious fervor in them that such a
thing should not exist. I completely agreed.

I opened my eyes one more time to see if the
girl still watched. I kept my gaze wild and defiant, daring those
who scrutinized me to take a step forward and end the creature they
saw as an abomination. She was no longer among them. Surely the
change had been too much for her. A foreign surge of regret welled
up in my chest and I pushed it down.

Human emotions had no place in my mind. I
wouldn’t allow them to take precedence over my instincts that
demanded for me to survive and escape. It didn’t matter that the
metal bars of the cage were three inches thick and didn’t respond
to the most ferocious of my outbursts. It didn’t matter that I had
been in the cage of the Cruel One’s circus for more than a year and
had yet to find an avenue of escape. A wolf would never give up his
quest for freedom. I would never give up.

The Cruel One barked a word that meant
nothing to me. During my year of confinement in his circus, he had
yelled thousands of vile-sounding words in my direction, but they
were just noises, strange syllables that didn’t make sense no
matter how hard I concentrated. I gave up long ago because I cared
little for what he wanted to say anyway. The unknown was easier to
face than any future he promised.

The Cruel One’s order was followed by the
hiss of a whip; a shudder of fear ran down my spine. He was
exceptionally talented at guiding the glass-laced leather strands
through the bars of my cage to lay my skin open like an eagle with
a fish in its talons.

I was tempted to ignore him. My one pleasure
in the new life he had given me was to defy him despite the
inevitable answering pain. I opened my eyes and met his hate-filled
gaze. His beady eyes glared at me from the folds of a face red
enough to not be healthy. The thundering beat of his heart amid the
chaotic cries of the crowd echoed agreement that the circus life
was not good for his wellbeing. Perhaps if I angered him enough he
would simply pass out. The thought brought a twitch of an
unfamiliar smile to the corners of my mouth.

The Cruel One sneered and as the whip cut
through the air I realized he thought I was laughing at him. Unable
to avoid the lash in the small confines of my cage, I turned my
back to catch the brunt of it along the pattern of white scars that
already crisscrossed my skin. White hot pain sliced from my
shoulder to the middle of my back and tore the breath from my
lungs. A surge of anger filled my body. I stood and turned to face
him.

Warm liquid dripped slowly down my back.
Frustration at the helplessness of my confines and the inability I
had to defend myself flooded my veins. My hands shook with pent-up
fury and I grabbed the bars of my cage. The vile, rotten scent of a
man wasting away through his own slovenly habits filled my nose. I
met the Cruel One’s gaze. My lips pulled back of their own accord
and I bared my teeth. He took a step backwards, but it wasn’t far
enough. A rage-filled growl tore from my chest so loud I felt it
reverberate through the metal bars beneath my hands.

The sound echoed through the confines of the
tent and the noise around me dropped until the cry of a scared baby
was the only sound that remained. In the distance, the call of food
vendors and game wranglers resonated tinny and harsh to my ears. My
stomach curled at the scent of fried foods and sticky syrup. I
longed to be back in the windswept forest with my pack, but I kept
the emotion from my face.

I held the Cruel One’s gaze, daring him to
strike me again. A spark of terror showed in his eyes, but that had
never stopped him before. He carved his fear into the hides of the
creatures he kept caged in his circus. He whipped the defiance out
of us, or at least tried to. I was the only one of my kind, the
only one who changed in the moonlight that I knew of, but the
animals who rode in the cages beside me showed the same mutinous
feelings that echoed in my heart. Their backs also bore the same
scars.

The whip trailed through the sawdust at the
Cruel One’s feet. His beady eyes narrowed until I wondered if he
could even see me through the thick flesh that made up his lack of
eyebrows. The crowd kept completely silent. I had never heard such
stillness from so many people. Usually the hum and cacophony of the
multitude made me long for the familiar hush of midnight, but the
silence that followed my outburst was sharp and charged.

Another scent surprised me. There were a few
here who wished for me to best the Cruel One. Wolves read the
scents of emotion as clearly as the bugle of an elk sounded alarm.
Traces of hope and excitement tangled among those of dread, panic,
and alarm. Expectancy sat heavy in the air.

The Cruel One’s gaze shifted to the crowd,
then back to me. He knew he was losing them. He wanted me to back
down. He needed me to show deference in order to convince the
audience that he was in full control. I was an animal and his pride
wouldn’t let me defy him in front of the audience, but as a wolf I
knew more about dominance than he. No man would ever make me lower
my gaze.

The scent of his desperation touched my nose
before he jerked his hand back. The tip of his whip jumped up
through the bars to cut a thin, deep line from my stomach to my
shoulder. I gritted my teeth at the pain and willed my breath to
remain steady. The Cruel One gathered his whip in a loose coil as
he always did before another rage-fueled onslaught that would leave
me bleeding and helpless on the floor. I saw the glee and fear
burning in the back of his eyes. Something was different today. A
sour scent wafted from his breath and his pupils were dilated like
a crazed animal. He wouldn’t hold back despite the audience. He
would kill me.

I refused to look away. Cries ran through
the crowd. His whip caught me across the shoulder to send blood
dripping down my chest. Faces turned from the sight as though his
actions were uncalled for. Mothers herded their children out of the
tent and several men took steps forward as if they wanted to act
but were uncertain how to proceed. Hope, a strange human feeling,
rose in my chest to tangle with the pain of the lashes. The Cruel
One raised his whip again, intent on one of my eyes.

I had seen him remove an ear off a stubborn
ox with one lazy flick of his wrist when the poor beast refused to
pull a wagon laden with moldy hay and stale grain. Those who worked
for the Cruel One tiptoed when the thin leather strands were coiled
in his hand; if they were seen loitering, he had been known to
slice the bottoms of their feet to remind them to watch their step.
In his effort to wipe any chance of defiance from me, he would take
my eyes. Of that I had no doubt. The moon demanded my change and it
would happen whether I saw the light or not. I would be just as
valuable to him blind, and less of a hassle.

The whip sailed through the air with a hiss
like the cobras that traveled moodily in the reed baskets the bears
and baboons avoided at all costs. The sound was edged in a scream
and a huff of breath as the whip’s battle cry collided with the
Cruel One’s sigh of anticipation. He lived for blood, a trait of
pitiless malice that had marred my estimation of humanity the first
day I fell into his ruthless clutches.

I threw my left hand up at the last second
and felt the glass-edged fibers bite deep into my skin as the whip
wrapped around it. The Cruel One attempted to pull it back. A deep
edge scoured the back of my hand as he drew it tighter, but I
refused to let go. I held his eyes, my gaze hot with the anger that
rolled beneath my skin. I hoped, again the surge of unfamiliar
human emotion, that the bars would dissolve and the moon would
release its hold so I could change back to my wolf form and make
the Cruel One pay for the suffering he inflicted on others.

Wolves did not hope. They accepted life as
it came and learned to flow with the path of their padding paws.
One could not change the past nor predict the future, so to worry
or mourn with regret the way things happened was foreign to animals
of the wild. Yet regret was the emotion that flooded through me
when a heavy hand landed on the Cruel One’s shoulder. I wanted to
fight him. I almost believed I had the upper hand despite the fact
that I stood in a cage just high enough for my head to brush the
top bars and wore only a tattered blanket to hide my nakedness.