The Passion (52 page)

Perhaps.

Eventual y the way became so treacherous that we had to set up a base camp at which we left al but the most portable of our supplies. The search had narrowed into a predictable but almost unbelievable course—straight into the heart of those mountains which, even in the middle of summer, were stil deep with snow. And then, abruptly, overlaid upon the old scent of Tessa was the fresher scent of Denis. He had passed this way more than once.

We were by then in a mountain wilderness that was almost impassable, and as we progressed, the scent became so strong the trackers were no longer necessary. I could smel herds on the wind and I thought Denis must hunt here. The fewer our numbers the lesser the danger was of alerting him to our presence, so I sent back al but two of the guards, which are the minimum required by law to accompany the pack ruler at al times. They, Elise and I assumed wolf form to continue the rest of the journey.

I would not have been so reckless as to approach him in his den except for one reason: intermingled with Denis's scent was, ever so faintly and only occasional y, the scent of a human. Tessa. It was a secondary scent, overlaid upon his own, suggesting that, while she had not been here, he had been with her and carried her scent on his fur or his paw pads, or even in the glands of his sweat. Although I did not understand how Tessa could have possibly gotten this far—for we were finding the last leg of the journey difficult, and we were werewolves—Elise agreed with me; the scent was there. I was heartened to go on.

None of us expected what awaited us on the second day of our solitary journey at the end of the narrow ice trail we fol owed.

We rounded a hairpin turn that ended abruptly at a promontory overlooking a vast meadow. At first I thought we had walked into a trap and I was alarmed, and then I saw that the trail did in fact continue, so steep and narrow it could hardly be cal ed a trail at al , into a rich green val ey. The scent of herd animals was so strong it made my mouth water and I soon saw why—the val ey was virtual y replete with them. There was a wide glittering stream and many wild-berry bushes, and the thought flashed across my mind that we would feast tonight.

Just as I was relaxing in my relief I caught a whiff of what my companions had noticed long ago, and my fur bristled as my eyes were drawn to the wooded edge of the val ey. Smoke. Woodsmoke was coming from a chimney in a val ey that smel ed of werewolves, and that chimney belonged to a structure that was so wel blended into its surroundings as to be almost invisible. But when one saw it, and recognized it for what it was, the sight was astonishing. It was a vast, rambling lodge constructed of rough-hewn stone and heavy timber, designed in massive blocks and jutting abutments that made it look like nothing more than a smal mountain, uprooted and transported to this place.

Instinctively I crouched down, signal ing the others to do so as wel . This was strange beyond description, an artificial y constructed mountain in this isolated, virtual y inaccessible place; a val ey stocked with herd animals so fat and content they hardly seemed to have known the deprivations of winter, and the strong, fresh scent of my brother crisscrossing every hunting trail below. That he should hunt in wolf form yet return to cook his catch could only mean that Tessa was stil with him.

I did not know why he had kept her, but I knew that I meant to have her back. And I also knew that for Denis, the ultimate revenge would be to kil Tessa before my eyes when I was within moments of reclaiming her. My heart al but seized in my chest with the conflicting need for action—to rush down into that val ey and snatch Tessa from danger—and the equal y demanding need to stay stil , to conceal our scents and our sounds from him, to wait and watch.

And so we did watch for what seemed an eternity but was in fact only long enough to make sure he was not patrol ing the val ey or guarding the entrance to the building. Perhaps I should have waited longer, but even as we crouched there, sniffing the wind and straining our ears, he could have been laying a trap for us. I dared not delay.

I gave the signal and we proceeded cautiously down into the val ey, making no effort to keep our approach a secret. To approach by stealth was to invite attack, and we had no way of knowing whether or not Denis watched us from within the safety of those thick stone wal s.

The wal s were thick enough to muffle sound and scent, and except for the smoke we would have had no hint whatever that anything was within. The absolute sensory deprivation was unnerving, and our heads and tails were low as we crept across that green val ey floor. Nothing stirred, not bird or rodent or werewolf breath except our own. The sky, I recal , was crisp clear blue and the shadows deep on the dark meadow grass—deep enough to hurt the eyes, deep enough to hide anything that might wish to spring forth in attack.

By unspoken agreement, Elise and the guards approached the building while I remained outside to secure the perimeter. Elise was the better fighter, and if Denis was inside she would have the advantage. There was no choice, real y, and I intended to be absent from her for only a matter of minutes, for only as long as it took to make certain Denis was not lying in ambush some place we had not been able to see from the top.

As they passed through the door not a dozen yards away from me, I caught a whiff of something—pain, distress, fear, both werewolf and human—and I heard a muffled moan. My hackles rose and I swung toward the building, for there was no mistake about it: the sound I heard had been human. Tessa's.

But as I rushed toward the door the way was suddenly blocked by a huge red wolf. From whence he sprang I do not know, and how he came upon me without scent or sound to betray him is nothing other than a testament to his mastery of the art of stealth, and a confirmation of my estimate as to just how dangerous he was. He stood there before me with feet braced and teeth bared, emitting a low guttural growl of warning. There was blood on his jaws and fire in his eyes.

I did not hesitate, I did not think. I heard only that muffled moan of pain in the back of my head, I saw the blood on my brother's jowls, and my mind exploded with fury and fear for the human I once had cast out but now would have given my life to redeem. I charged.

We met in midair with a horrible clash of teeth and muscle, and I knew even then, I must have known, that it would be a fight to the death. It is possible that it might have been so even if I had not charged first, even if I had backed off when I tasted the blood on his fur and realized it was not human blood, not my Tessa's blood, but fresh meat from the hunt. But Denis was lost deep within his own protective instincts and half crazed with the desperate terror that seizes any werewolf when his mate is in pain.

Yes, I knew al this in a rush of information without understanding, too late, too late. It wasn't Tessa's blood, it
wasn't
—and then his teeth sank into my shoulder. I roared in pain and twisted, crunching his forearm, crippling him. It was self-defense, it was instinct. Instinct, and nothing more.

He came at me like a fury, like a mad thing escaped from the bowels of hel . I thought at first it was his hatred of me, the anger he had nursed for these two years until it had grown into this malignant, murderous force; I imagined how he had dreamed of this moment, plotted for it and used it to survive the harshness of the winter and the loneliness of exile. I thought it was personal, and I fought back in equal force.

Denis was the larger of the two of us, the more powerful, the more skil ed in battle. Even when we were pups I had never won a play-fight against him, or a combat game. He was toughened by his ordeal, stronger than I had ever known him to be. Mere moments into the battle I was fighting for my life, and both of us were too far lost in instinct to back away.

Instinct. It is the risk we al take in our natural form, our savior and our condemnation. It opens worlds for us we never knew existed, but it blinds us to truths that are glaring in our eyes. I smel ed on Denis the fury that can only overcome a werewolf in defense of his mate, yet I thought stupidly, blindly,
Mate? He has no mate
!

I felt his teeth pierce my side and the pain travel ed on hot electric currents to my brain. I snapped back, tearing at the flesh of his back and securing nothing but fur. He pushed me back, flipping me over in the grass, and I desperately scrambled for purchase as he lunged at me again. He was the stronger, the faster, the more agile. It should have been easy, even to the most unschooled observer, to predict a victor. I think that as I fought desperately for my life, I knew I didn't have a chance.

A fight to the death between werewolves never lasts long; a lifetime, is al . My lifetime, and my brother's.

He would kil me before the guards could reach me; this I knew. Yet with a sudden twist, a leap, a clash of teeth I had the edge. He could have easily displaced me, but he missed his chance and I pressed my advantage, knowing that I couldn't hold on much longer and had to make the most of every moment I had. Desperation. Instinct.

Yet it wasn't until I had him down with my teeth on his throat, expecting the powerful twisting move that would in a split second reverse our positions and trying to defend against it, that I realized something was wrong. I knew it, but before I could comprehend it Denis slashed at me with his sharp claws and reflexively, the way one would blink or flinch away or fling up a hand in self-defense, I tore into his throat.

It shouldn't have happened that way. He was stronger, he was more skil ful. He could easily have escaped me. But he chose instead to provoke me, to lash out at me in my most vulnerable moment and to invoke an instinct I could not recal or control.

And I understood too late, far too late, that he did it intentional y.

This is what happens when one werewolf kil s another: the life force—thoughts, needs, sorrows, memories and dreams—of the dying werewolf flows into the mind of the other in a moment of stark and painful unity. There is a beauty to this in. the wide scheme of the universe, an awful symmetry, and it is only right. Yet it is a bitter, bitter thing. It was done before I could stop it, the artery opened beneath my teeth, the death throes convulsed through his body; an instant and no more.

As my brother's blood gushed onto the ground and my brother's life force flowed into my mind, I knew the truth of it al , swift and clear and immutable, a lifetime lived as though it were my own. I saw our childhood; I tasted his love for me, his impatience and his pride. I saw his youth, his battles, his triumphs, his defeats. I felt his Passions, his infatuations, his strength and his determination and I was, for that briefest of eternities, I
was
him. I knew his ambition, his great loving plan for the pack, his deep hurt at my betrayal. I knew he acted as he had because, being Denis, he had no choice.

And I knew about Tessa. I knew the emptiness that had drawn him to her, the devotion that had bound him to her. I knew the moment when he betrayed al that he was, al he believed in and al he ever hoped to be, for passion. And I knew the tol that passion had exacted from him, and from Tessa.

I had thought I was protecting Tessa from him, but in fact he had attacked me in defense of his mate, and there is no greater, more immutable force within the soul of a werewolf. I knew my error, I knew my misjudgement; I knew he need not have died… and I knew that he wanted to die.

And this, then, was the hardest truth to know. This great werewolf, with al his vision and al his power, this splendid, flawed, improbable creature who, but for a twist of fate, might have led us al into the twentieth century, had hated so purely and loved so completely and was at last destroyed by both. It was possible to establish a mating bond with a human.

He, who had devoted his life to despising humans, had proven this. And such a bond, so deep, so commanding, had as much power to destroy as to nurture.

Tessa had known the glory that is werewolf in that one brief moment when she joined Denis in Passion and became his mate. She had grasped her dream at last, she had touched the magic. And for it she had paid a horrible price.

There can be no union between human and werewolf; we have always known that. No human could survive it. The act of mating itself, in al its violence and beauty, was traumatic enough to snap her mind. But the bond, the becoming, the rush of information and emotion and sensation that for us is the very essence of mating—humans are not equipped to deal with that. The power of it was more than the fragile human psyche could bear; mind and body had begun to col apse with it. Tessa was dying.

And Denis, who thought he was savage and who yearned for civilization, had paid the ultimate penalty for his sins. His love had destroyed the only thing he had ever wanted, just at the time it al might have been within his reach. The grief of losing her, of being bound in mind and spirit to a soul that was slowly slipping away, had day by day, in bits and pieces, robbed him of his own wil and sanity.

The bitterness of it, the horror and the tragedy of al they had endured for this cold dark reward, was so intense that I could have died of it; the sorrow flowed into me like a black tide and fil ed my veins. It was too much, too much, the pain was more than I could bear and I wanted to cry out with the agony.

No crime deserved such punishment as this, no love was worth the sacrifice they had given for it.

But then it came to me, a memory from Tessa, a memory from Denis, a flood of memories they had shared together. The gift of a cooking pot, a shy smile in the glow of a fire. The voice of a lone wolf raised in the night. The smel of a human, the warmth of her breath. Words spoken in the wilderness that kept the savage at bay. It had been worth it. For them, it had been worth it.