Prompt: 061: Winter - The Werewolf Chronicles
Title: Leap of Faith
Author: luthienberen (Jadwiga)
Character: Alexander Finch
Warnings: Homosexual character, horror, werewolf.
Prompt: 061: Winter
Beta: rae_fa
Word count: 5,788
Rating: R (no under 17s) overall.
Notes: This is part of a series of chapters, which can be can either be found via the community’s tag system or fictionpress.
Summary: Everything hangs in the balance as Alexander faces his final choice: can he tame the nature of the werewolf and answer the call of the wolf? Much rests on his decision.
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Chapter 25: Leap of Faith
Dempster Highway
It did not take long for the two men to reach the Dempster Highway. What took longer was locating as accurately as possible the spot where Henry Boots had witnessed the transformation of a woman into a wolf.
Task accomplished, Michael now surveyed the area with a sceptical eye. He had parked their car as far over to the side as he could, so as not to obstruct any traffic which happened to come along, but he doubted that there would be many vehicles - at most possibly two or three.
Ice and snow stretched away from him, forming a lovely winter picture. The ever-present Ogilvie Mountains were majestic sentinels, silent yet watchful. The cold blue sky offered a weak winter sun, which unfortunately didn’t illuminate any hidden clues or reveal a werewolf begging to confess.
/Probably best. I doubt we would survive an appearance by this female werewolf,/ mused Michael.
He heard Fenway approach, sensible hiking boots keeping his feet snug and warm and protected for such an environment. “Inspector, I have everything we need. Where do you wish to start?”
Michael frowned. Really, where should he begin? He could be off by important metres in this snow-covered wilderness or pass by a vital remnant that might solve his investigation. /Stop it,/ Michael hissed internally. If he listened to the pessimistic whispers now, and began second-guessing himself, he would never find a conclusion to this case.
“Here Fenway. Have a good look. Observe the road and the sides. How likely is it that a creature - a wolf - could remain hidden?”
Fenway raised an eyebrow and glanced round. “Here? Depends…”
Michael held up a hand. “No, no theories until we’ve monitored the site. Go, we’ll debate soon enough.”
For the next hour both men were employed in moving slowly down and up this lonely piece of roadway, tracking every inch with relentless eyes, occasionally stooping down to snatch a closer glimpse at the surface.
Eventually, Michael called a halt. Back inside the car, drinking hot coffee and munching a sandwich to ensure they maintained their energy levels and warmed up, they conversed.
“So,” said Michael. “What do you think?”
“I found nothing that would link back to your case, but regarding your earlier question: could an animal, a wolf, stay hidden, crouched by the edge of the highway then my answer is, it depends. At night anything could hide off to either side of the road. Human eyes aren’t designed for flawless vision in the dark and even during the day most humans aren’t exactly the best observers, but at night especially a human could easily miss something until the last second.”
Michael nodded. “I’m of a similar opinion. I would simply add, that a human, concentrating on fixing their vehicle is even less likely to be aware of their surroundings, so remaining concealed wouldn’t be a great effort.”
“And not noticing the creature until it stepped out in front of them or made a noise becomes extremely plausible.” Michael felt Fenway’s close examination. “You suspect a wolf then?”
Michael hesitated then decided he couldn’t ask Fenway to risk his life without showing him some trust so he said, “Yes. Possibly one sick and driven mad with rage or abused enough to finally snap.”
Fenway blinked. “I’m not sure I agree with your hypothesis Inspector, yet I have nothing which fits the facts better so…We are where the creature - wolf - was last seen. Now what? Do you suspect it is still here? Are we here to capture it?”
“Heavens no. If I considered that there was the possibility of the wolf being in the area, even the smallest chance, then I would not come with only one man as backup. No, I’m hoping to find some indication of the beast having passed though here.” At Fenway’s incredulous expression Michael waved his hand to forestall a protest.
“Yes, I know that anything being left after the heavy rains and now intense snowfall is unlikey and that any marks or tracks are long gone. However, there yet may be a den or even corpses of its prey - animal prey I hope - abandoned or in its hole. I must
try.”
A face roughened by years of outdoor living creased into an understanding smile. “You’re right there Inspector. I’ll help and with some grace we’ll unearth evidence. Right, what is our next step?”
Pleased and gratified by Fenway’s support, Michael said, “We will stick together and sweep for a little distance away from the highway. Depending on time and the weather we will see how much ground we can cover on either side before we must return. I don’t want to be stranded away from the car when night falls.”
With that Michael and Fenway exited the car, and after Michael had locked the doors they secured their gear and moved to the road edge opposite - the side where Henry had first seen the ‘wolf’.
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Alexander slouched in his armchair, feet plonked on his low table in the living room, an attitude he hardly ever adopted, fussy as he was about hygiene and feet not belonging on furniture - at least, not on tables.
However, he was troubled, the euphoria of his success with Michael having worn off in the face of his anxiety about the weather. Alexander had great misgivings concerning Michael’s expedition and it had little to do with Charlotte, she was dead, and any evidence of her existence washed away in consecutive rains and snow. The only link to her was he, and Alexander was a good amiable werewolf, not one set to destroy Michael or Fenway.
No, foreboding echoed through the chambers of Alexander’s mind and as he dwelled on the subject his certainty that Michael was in danger increased. Eyes flickering to the window that overlooked his garden Alexander’s gaze darkened. There was no one he could turn to, no one who would believe his warnings…predictions…of a bad weather front without first admitting his ‘gift’ for precognitive dreams.
Unable to sit still the werewolf rose and paced, winding round the objects that filled the room. Finally, irritated with his behaviour, Alexander headed for the kitchen and a calming cup of tea. It was while he was pouring boiling water into his cup, staring aimlessly out at the frost patterns on his window that it happened: a waking dream.
It was so real…..
Ice. Snow. Black shadows of mountains rising in the distance. A sky blushing from a pale blue to navy as black clouds gathered, huddling together.
Across icy road to snow covered land where two figures cautiously tread. One misjudges a step and falls. A cry of pain so loud Alexander could have sworn the wounded man was beside him. And the sudden wind that gusted over the landscape, merciless as it pushes past objects including the two men. The snow, tumbling from the heavens, obscuring everything as the snowflakes rush along in a perverse dance, preventing the two men from reaching their car and shelter.
“No!”
Gasping for breath Alexander found he was on the kitchen floor right hand in agony. Face extraordinary pale he glanced down. He had scalded himself, not badly but enough that using his fingers would be painful for a while.
/No time. No time for healing. I must go./
Sticking his fingers under a steady stream of icy tap water, Alexander collected his breath and thoughts together. The vision was real. Experience had taught him to know when such things suggested truth or instead hinted of what might come to pass.
Michael and Fenway were in peril and the thought that Michael might be the injured party terrified Alexander. /Please, not the man I love./
He knew what he had to do. No one was going to believe his tale so he would have to go to the two men. Alexander swallowed harshly and squeezed his eyes shut. /I can do this./ Yet Alexander understood there was only one method in which he could reach Michael and Fenway, only one path he had to walk if he were to succeed.
He had to Change.
Fully, utterly and with complete control of himself in wolf shape.
There was no other way he could be sure of braving of the weather conditions and surviving. “Time to see if all my ‘lessons’ have paid off,” he murmured. Then, straightening his shoulders Alexander turned off the tap, wrapped his right hand in a towel and retrieved ice from the freezer and soothing healing cream for his fingers.
Within ten minutes Alexander had managed to form a makeshift ‘bandage’ even though putting a proper one on was far too painful. He had lathered his fingers in the healing cream, and then used cotton wool to build a thin layer between the towel, and the ice wrapped in another towel, which he bound around his hand. He would not keep this for long, only long enough to try and remove the worst of the sting and swelling.
Then padding upstairs Alexander fetched his dressing robe, grateful that his other essential supplies were already in the cellar. Returning to the kitchen Alexander draped the robe over a convenient chair close to the door. Next, he eased the kitchen door open a crack, enough so a wolf could yank it the rest of the way.
Stopping briefly to catch his breath Alexander moved to the living room and sat, eyes closed. As much as it wrenched cruelly at his heart to wait, he knew he had to give his werewolf ability a chance to make a start on his right hand. Even fifteen minutes would be sufficient. In the meantime Alexander used the opportunity to think whether he had missed anything.
Mercifully the fifteen minutes were soon over and once the bandage was removed the werewolf headed for the cellar.
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Michael slid down a slight incline, his breath condescending in the air. The snow was treacherous, making each footstep hazardous. To his left Fenway stopped to look at the ground ere moving on.
Both men were so transfixed by their tasks that neither paid any attention to the sky. Above them the sky deepened into an unbroken grey as snow clouds began to form.
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Alexander, naked, knelt in the precise centre of a circle composed of the Blessed Host and Holy Water. There was no light, but Alexander was unafraid. He was not alone. Soon he would mesh with the wolf cub and begin his final lesson. Autonomous transformation.
Until then, and during and afterwards he had his faith. And so he prayed, asking for help and guidance knowing he would require all the support he could garner for his goal. As ‘Amen’ died on his lips Alexander opened his eyes and gazed into the night and knew no fear.
Calm, comforted by the presence of his faith he fell into his meditation. Further he sank, through the waves of growing tranquillity and stillness of mind until he was once more in the field.
Waving green grass caressed him as Alexander walked through the field until he came to a pond. At the edge he paused, fronds brushing his frame. Gazing into the clear waters Alexander saw reflected the flowers of Heaven. No longer hard and cold, the stars were welcoming and appeared to give off gentle warmth.
Yet Alexander was shocked into inaction by his own image. From the glass like surface the visage of the wolf cub met him - his own face when a wolf, but retaining his human aspects: grey-green mingling into amber, the intense red of his fur and the human expression that lingered on the lupine face.
The wolf cub was serious. “Are you truly ready?”
“Yes.”
“You do not transform out of fear?”
“I fear for Michael and Fenway, but fear does not motivate me. I am at peace. I comprehend that I Change not out of a desire to rend flesh, break bone and drink blood; or from a wish to inflict harm or revenge, but to rescue two men who are in danger.”
“Indeed, and the chance of discovery doesn’t make you cower or feel defensive?”
“I understand there is that danger, however I decided long ago to tread the path of good and not succumb to evil. How could I turn my back on these two men out of terror of discovery? How pitiful, and what an achievement for the Beast who cares for nothing but itself! No, being good is not easy, but I made my choice and I must stand by it. I will feed the good inside myself, not the darkness.”
“Yourself? You refer to your human self?”
“No. I said ‘myself’. I’m no longer human or wolf: I’m both, there is no divide but the shape I currently reside in - and whatever form I am in, both the wolf and human are present. I choose to take the best from each nature, as I am both man and wolf: a man-wolf.”
The answer so obvious that Alexander was astonished he hadn’t known it sooner. The wolf cub smiled, proud, then whispered: “Then there is no longer any need of me is there Alexander?”
Alexander nodded. “Yes.”
“Lean forward.”
Trembling with this new acceptance of himself Alexander leant forward, until his nose touched the watery nose of the wolf cub and in the instant they touched the wolf cub vanished as did the meadow.
Back in the cellar Alexander opened his eyes and gasped. They were one! Man and wolf had become one! The wolf cub was gone, a part of the wolf facet of his nature.
Joy cascaded through his being. He was Changing! Alexander laughed with bliss.
His injured fingers still hurt but were already healing with the vigour of a werewolf’s immune system. Now they bent to take the aspect of paws. As previously the transformation didn’t hurt, rather it was uncomfortable. Simultaneously parts of his body experienced a squeezing sensation while other parts seemed to fill out. Breathlessly Alexander twisted, arching his back and stretching, stretching until his spine stopped itching.
Within moments Alexander the werewolf stood on four feet, his front right paw throbbing a tad. However, that was no matter and indomitable in purpose Alexander padded out of the protective circle, up the cellar steps and into the corridor. There he went to the kitchen door, which stood ajar, and eased it back by gripping the handle in his jaws and clumsily dragging it back so he could exit.
Once outside Alexander repeated the exercise, closing it fully so his cats couldn’t escape. When he returned he would change and use the key under the mat to unlock the door.
Then, aware of the blackening sky the wolf loped off into the ivory drenched wild.
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“Shit!”
Alarmed, Michael spun to his left and hissed when he saw Fenway lying on the ground. “I’m coming Fenway. Are you badly hurt?”
“I’m injured,” was all Fenway said in reply, partially curling up. /Damn,/ was Michael’s thought as he struggled over to his fallen companion as quickly as possible across the slippery landscape.
When he was beside the stricken trapper Michael eased himself down so he was crouching by Fenway. Snow was kicked up around the large tracker, particularly his legs and boots. He met Fenway’s pained gaze. The man’s face was pale, a greyish tinge already taking up residence in his cheeks.
Knowing that did not bode well, especially for a hardy man like Fenway, Michael asked tersely, “Where?”
“Left ankle. I stupidly didn’t pay attention to where I was going for a single second and I’m paying for it now.”
/Please don’t let it be a broken ankle…/, Michael begged as he gently eased Fenway’s boot off. Working swiftly once the boot was off, due to the conditions, Michael tested the ankle and was relieved to discover that the ankle was very badly sprained but thankfully not broken.
“No fracture, at least none I can tell,” he said to the pallid trapper. “I’ll wrap it up as tightly as possible with bandages then help you back to the car.”
Fenway grimaced then checked the sky and swore again. “We better hurry. Look at the sky!”
Michael obeyed Fenway. He saw a sky gone a deep grey, darkening even as he watched, and now he noticed that the light had dimmed to a washed out colour. The change had happened so gradually that neither of them had realised, as intent as they were on their purpose. Even as he watched white flakes began to descend and a wind picked up. “Fuck, not a storm. Merciful Heavens!”
“Think so, maybe we’ll reach the car in time,” offered Fenway.
Michael agreed, sick with worry.
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Under a soaring sky of increasing blackness a single wolf loped. Not an ordinary wolf, for the many hues of its coat was unnatural, from burgundy melting into a pale red. The wolf now paused, sitting on it haunches and raising its front right paw.
Alexander licked the painful pad, as he surveyed the landscape. He was on the single road that led to the Dempster Highway and he knew the route well. However, once on the Highway he would have to guess in which direction Michael had driven. Any marks would be obscured by now for even as he rested snow was starting to fall.
Yet, something inside Alexander informed him he wouldn’t be alone; when the instant came to make a choice, he would receive guidance. Smiling inwardly the werewolf decided his paw had had enough treatment and gingerly stood on all fours. He may heal faster as a werewolf but it still took time.
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Michael panted as he hoisted Fenway to his feet and steadied the tracker. Fenway tried to help but he couldn’t put any pressure on his left foot and the only means of support he had was Michael. Shifting his body Michael understood it would be a difficult trek to the car, burdened as they were with their supplies and with Michael having to partially bear Fenway.
They had attempted to spread the contents of their backpacks and associated material without losing anything for if they became lost they might need every single piece of equipment…and leaving Fenway wasn’t an option.
Grim, Michael used his free hand to check his sunglasses, hoping they would protect him from the glare of the veil of snow whipped up into a froth by the strengthening wind.
“Ready?” he asked Fenway.
“Yes,” hissed his companion, pain leeching into his voice.
“Excellent. Here goes.”
In tandem they set off through the winter storm.
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Alexander marvelled at the sheer joy of running while the elements fought around him. /Exhilarating!/ was his gleeful mental shout, followed closely by a howl of pure pleasure.
Indeed, if it weren’t for the dreadful shadow of Michael and Fenway’s plight and his injured paw he would be thoroughly enjoying the experience. As it was however, Alexander mentally catalogued his journey, amazed at the input he was receiving.
As previously he saw in colour but what a picture! So many whites! What a vision rolled away from him as he pounded by! His sharp eyesight could peer through the snow that billowed past him like curtains caught in a breeze. Shapes loomed in his sight so he had warning of obstacles while simultaneously his sense of location was aided by espying landmarks, meaningless to most in the storm.
The wind broke over his frame as he ploughed onwards, determined to reach his goal. Alexander savoured the taste of snow that it brought and revealed in the touch of the fierce air currents upon his fur and face.
Racing ever on, Alexander’s ears twitched straining to hear above the noise of the winter storm. If there were any calls for help he would hear them.
And then he was on the Highway and skidding a little as his paws felt the ice lurking underneath the snow. Stopping the wolf stood still, alert to the tiniest whisper.
In the silence created by the werewolf, Alexander seemed to hear a voice. It was as if the wind was tugging at him singing softly: This way, come this way! This way! Come!
Lifeless for a single second more, the werewolf sprang into action and Alexander allowed himself to be guided to the two men.
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Michael sagged. Fenway was a dead weight on his right shoulder. The man had lost consciousness a while ago, and Michael feared that the injury was worse than he had imagined.
He was also lost. Michael hadn’t lost hope but he was aware that he barely see more than a two yards in any bearing, and for the last ten minutes Michael had the awful sensation that he had been going in the wrong direction. A profound feeling of unease was settling over him and inside an emotion close to fear was beginning to bubble.
Therefore, confused and increasing tiredness Michael at first he was hallucinating when he saw the wolf suddenly appeared. Blinking didn’t help, the wolf was still there whipping in and out of sight, even when he removed his sunglasses and what an outlandish wolf!
Eyes the colour of grey-green intermingled with gold focused on him, warmth and concern rested in the strange pools. What wolf had eyes that shade? None he knew. The fur was another bizarre fact. A dark crimson waterfall trickled down its head and neck to flush into an even deeper and more intense red. The flanks of the beast were a beautiful copper mixture, and in the glimpse he caught of the belly as the wolf now sat on its haunches, this faded to a lovely faint hue.
/What a majestic creature,/ was Michael’s dazed opinion. Then he righted himself. /Wait, the colour of its eyes and body coupled with the large size of the wolf is eerily similar to the female werewolf we’re hunting…Oh shit./
Alarmed Michael shifted; debating on whether dropping Fenway was a good idea. It would free his arms to fight but what chance did he have? Would he be able to reach his gun before the monster leapt?
Almost as if it knew what he was thinking the wolf, (werewolf thought Michael), lay on the ground and crept forward keeping its belly to the snowy surface. When its’ nose touched his boot it stopped and gazed into his eyes with an expression of such benevolence that Michael halted any action on his part.
Instead, he locked stares with the werewolf and was stunned. In that eternal moment Michael comprehended the message the wolf was trying to send. It wanted to help them, not hurt them. Astonished, Michael broke away from the welcoming embrace offered by the eyes of the creature and wondered.
Why should the werewolf - and Michael knew it was a werewolf, felt it so strongly that he wasn’t capable of doubting where this knowledge came from even if he could question it in the first place - try and save them? What could it possible gain? Indeed, logically, if the werewolf was a minion of this female werewolf, it would have been easy for it to creep upon them unawares and either kill them outright or lead them to their deaths without any harm to its person. Not to mention that it would have been far more prudent than revealing its presence now.
The storm would perfectly conceal any evidence to the true cause of death. Heck, even without manufacturing their deaths they would have probably perished - after all he was lost.
Yet, here was this odd wolf offering salvation. If the werewolf truly did mean to help them what ought he do? Was this wolf even real or simply the apparition of a desperate mind?
“Are you real?” he whispered hoarsely.
Was that amusement in the orbs below? Slowly standing the wolf thrust a very real and wet snout into his spare hand. Startled Michael touched the animal with shaking fingers and even with his gloves on he knew this animal was real and not a ghost.
Letting his hand fall Michael made a decision. Every instinct he possessed was telling him to trust this werewolf and his instincts had never led him ill before so he wasn’t going to stop listening to them now. Also, logic suggested the werewolf was what it indicated itself to be: a guide in this unforgiving world governed by nature.
“So,” said Michael facing the waiting werewolf. “Lead on, we’ll follow.”
Immediately the wolf brushed past, long fur rubbing against his legs, body firm and pace agile as it headed to Michael’s left and the wolf’ right. Michael changed position with difficulty and stumbled after the wolf all the while debating the identity of their werewolf.
Onwards through the rumbustious elements they trod, the werewolf never further than a swipe of the tip of its tail. Even as he utilised his energy to propel Fenway and himself after the werewolf a small part of his mind stewed on the unnatural visage of their guide. Michael was sure he recognised those exotic looking eyes, and finally as his brain dwelled on the subject in some far recess of his mind the answer bloomed in his head and such was his shock at the hypothesis that Michael stiffened and blurted it out.
“Alexander?”
Their guide froze in its tracks and cautiously turned and Michael saw surprise gleaming in the striking eyes of the wolf and did its’ ear twitch in recognition at the name?
Then the spell broke and the werewolf began to lead once more.
Bewildered, but still trusting the strange apparition ahead, Michael continued with the barely coherent Trapper draped over his shoulder. Watching the werewolf carefully Michael wondered why he bothered to fear, it was evident that the wolf would not leave them and was unshakeable in its determination to lead them somewhere - by the grace of God to his car - for every time Michael sagged or fell behind the beautiful red wolf would either sit and wait or pad back to him, until the wondrous animal was only inches from him.
As the peculiar trio continued Michael grew more certain that this was Alexander. The stunning eyes and the fine coat with its deep shade of red reminded Michael of Alexander’s warm, loving eyes and soft silky hair. The silent and protective nature of the wolf also recalled Alexander’s quiet and reflective demeanour, and the charming redhead’s loyal attitude.
Snow still whipped in front of him, but more slowly now as the winter storm was easing. Still, they couldn’t take chances and with his improved vision Michael could discern that their guide - Alexander - was injured, he often favoured his front right paw. The stab of worry that pierced his heart made Michael speak, in an attempt to formulate his meandering thoughts.
“Alex---” He coughed as his voice, raspy from the chilling air sputtered into life. “Alexander.” There was no mistake this time, the wolf halted, tensed and turned, gold grey-green eyes reflecting trepidation.
“I..I don’t care if you’re a werewolf. I know you couldn’t have committed those crimes and well, you’re saving us. If you wished us dead, you could have left us to die so thank you.”
Michael could see the relief Alexander felt. “I…l l-lo---”
A moan from Fenway cut him off and the wolf seemed to sag, whatever momentarily hope it had showed fading. Yet, without further ado, Alexander rose and resumed his course. Frustrated Michael pulled Fenway closer and focused on following, praying he had a chance to say what he had wanted to say later.
Time flew past, and in what seemed an hour later, though Michael knew must have been only minutes, they reached the road. Michael’s heart was fit to burst for there, directly ahead, was his car. Practically dragging Fenway the last few yards Michael reached his vehicle and braced Fenway against the freezing steel with his body. He fumbled with the keys, clumsy with tiredness and fingers numb with cold even through his thick gloves.
Eventually, after two or three attempts Michael permitted Fenway to slip to the frozen ground. In a flash of bright colour the wolf was draped over the slumbering form. Alexander’s hot breath ghosted across icy cheeks, eyelashes, mouth and forehead.
Astounded by the vision Michael only succeeded in tearing his gaze from it when Alexander snarled, snapping at him with shiny white fangs. Chastised, Michael hurriedly returned to his task of opening the door. In a moment it was unlocked and after a slight struggle he succeeded in opening it fully. However, getting Fenway in was more difficult. In the end it was with Alexander’s aid that Fenway was pulled into his car, wolf strength saving them from a long and arduous struggle.
“Heck, your jaws harbour a firm grip,” gasped Michael as he clambered into his seat. To his surprise, the wolf tapped on the back passenger window, front paws braced against the now mostly clear pane - he must have knocked the snow off when he stood up against the car. Reacting slowly, senses muddled by the intense cold, Michael managed to reach behind and open the rear passenger door. Alexander helped pull it towards himself and then leapt in, stretching out on the backseat.
Tentatively pulling the door shut, shivering with pleasure as he touched the wolf as he did so, Michael welcomed the closed, protective interior of the vehicle. Remembering to switch on the engine Michael cranked the heating onto full and closed his eyes as exhaustion smacked into him. /Must remember to call for help…. /
Sleepily, Michael tugged his gloves off so that they fell into his lap, and then untangled his mobile phone from his jacket. But even as his painfully weary fingers cradled cold metal sleep swamped his exhausted mind, rapidly pulling him down a whirlpool of fading consciousness until he slept.
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“No!” cried Alexander but it issued out of his mouth as an abrupt yowl not even stirring Fenway let alone the exhausted Mountie.
Anxious, Alexander tried to sit up and hit his head on the roof of the vehicle - the designers hadn’t taken wolves in consideration when they created this car. /Damn./
Again Alexander attempted to move, by sliding his front paws under him as carefully and as slowly as he dared under the critical circumstances. He had to rouse Michael from his slumber or the two men would perish from exposure. Eventually he managed to lift his frame a little off the backseat and using what leverage he had obtained, the werewolf manoeuvred his body around by bracing one paw on the driver’s seat and twisting until at last he was uncomfortably lodged in the space between the front seats.
Awkwardly turning his head Alexander licked Michael’s face. Nothing, not even a murmur. A growl of frustration and displeasure echoed in the cramped quarters. Alexander repeated the gesture, yet after continued lickings elicited no response Alexander surrendered to the inevitable.
He couldn’t risk Fenway waking and discovering a wolf in the car - that would hardly end well - so he had no other choice but to Change.
Swallowing and knowing he was trapped in his current position Alexander concentrated, permitting his worry and irritation to wash away until only peace and clarity of mind remained. Then, relaxing, Alexander focused and shifted.
An instant later and Alexander was blinking as he registered human form and gasped. The car may be warm but it didn’t do much for a naked man. Repressing a shiver, Alexander flinched Michael’s mobile, inwardly rehearsing the story he would tell. He would have to hide Michael’s phone so if the number was traced he could say that their phones had been mixed up, hence he had Michael’s phone and Michael his, (assuming that Michael collaborated his story, but Alexander believed he might as the Mountie had confessed his belief in his innocence - a confession which would have made him delirious with joy if not for the current precarious circumstances).
Dialling the number Alexander reflected that Michael had been on the verge of admitting something else too and if his heart beat wilder at the prospect that it could have been the words ‘I love you’, he wasn’t denying it.
A voice answered and Alexander launched into his role. “Fey!”
“Alexander? What’s the matter, you sound distressed.”
“I am, Michael just called and he sounded so confused that I’m not surprised he phoned me and not you.”
“Slow down Alexander, why did Michael call you?”
“Mr Fenway is injured and they became lost in the storm---”
“They were outside in this weather?” Fey’s tone was incredulous.
“Yes, we don’t have time for this Fey. Michael said they wandered for a while before locating his car, now they’re barely conscious, and Michael was becoming less coherent as we spoke…” /Breathe!/ “And now he’s too befuddled to drive the car. Can you find him?”
A thoughtful pause. “Is he on the Dempster Highway? He mentioned his intentions to go there to me just a few days ago.”
“Yes!”
“Then I have an idea where on it he is. Thanks Alexander, now don’t worry, we’ll find them and I’ll call you when they’ve been retrieved.”
“Thank you Fey, I better finish the call so you can gather the rescue team huh?”
“Yes, chat to you soon. Bye.”
“Bye,” uttered Alexander softly and ended the call. Glancing at Fenway and Michael he tenderly touched Michael’s cheek, then gently kissed the still cool flesh. “Bye,” he repeated, anguished at having to leave but it wasn’t safe for him to stay and he had to be at home when Fey rang.
Knowing Michael’s clothes would be searched Alexander debated simply ‘losing’ the phone in the wilderness but decided it might hold important data for his beloved Mountie, plus he might need it as evidence. So, hastily stashing the phone into a spare glove he wormed from Michael’s pack to conceal the flavour of metal, Alexander lay down on the backseat once more, and pointed his head towards the car door.
Ensuring it was ajar Alexander Changed as rapidly as he could - /It grows easier,/ - and pushed his way to freedom. Successfully slamming the door shut with his weight Alexander the werewolf gripped the gloved phone in his jaws and pointed towards home.
The storm had abated, leaving only a few errant flakes to spill from the blackish-grey maw of the sky.
/God be with you,/ was Alexander’s final parting as he ran home with all the speed of a werewolf.
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Author: luthienberen (Jadwiga)
Character: Alexander Finch
Warnings: Homosexual character, horror, werewolf.
Prompt: 061: Winter
Beta: rae_fa
Word count: 5,788
Rating: R (no under 17s) overall.
Notes: This is part of a series of chapters, which can be can either be found via the community’s tag system or fictionpress.
Summary: Everything hangs in the balance as Alexander faces his final choice: can he tame the nature of the werewolf and answer the call of the wolf? Much rests on his decision.
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Chapter 25: Leap of Faith
Dempster Highway
It did not take long for the two men to reach the Dempster Highway. What took longer was locating as accurately as possible the spot where Henry Boots had witnessed the transformation of a woman into a wolf.
Task accomplished, Michael now surveyed the area with a sceptical eye. He had parked their car as far over to the side as he could, so as not to obstruct any traffic which happened to come along, but he doubted that there would be many vehicles - at most possibly two or three.
Ice and snow stretched away from him, forming a lovely winter picture. The ever-present Ogilvie Mountains were majestic sentinels, silent yet watchful. The cold blue sky offered a weak winter sun, which unfortunately didn’t illuminate any hidden clues or reveal a werewolf begging to confess.
/Probably best. I doubt we would survive an appearance by this female werewolf,/ mused Michael.
He heard Fenway approach, sensible hiking boots keeping his feet snug and warm and protected for such an environment. “Inspector, I have everything we need. Where do you wish to start?”
Michael frowned. Really, where should he begin? He could be off by important metres in this snow-covered wilderness or pass by a vital remnant that might solve his investigation. /Stop it,/ Michael hissed internally. If he listened to the pessimistic whispers now, and began second-guessing himself, he would never find a conclusion to this case.
“Here Fenway. Have a good look. Observe the road and the sides. How likely is it that a creature - a wolf - could remain hidden?”
Fenway raised an eyebrow and glanced round. “Here? Depends…”
Michael held up a hand. “No, no theories until we’ve monitored the site. Go, we’ll debate soon enough.”
For the next hour both men were employed in moving slowly down and up this lonely piece of roadway, tracking every inch with relentless eyes, occasionally stooping down to snatch a closer glimpse at the surface.
Eventually, Michael called a halt. Back inside the car, drinking hot coffee and munching a sandwich to ensure they maintained their energy levels and warmed up, they conversed.
“So,” said Michael. “What do you think?”
“I found nothing that would link back to your case, but regarding your earlier question: could an animal, a wolf, stay hidden, crouched by the edge of the highway then my answer is, it depends. At night anything could hide off to either side of the road. Human eyes aren’t designed for flawless vision in the dark and even during the day most humans aren’t exactly the best observers, but at night especially a human could easily miss something until the last second.”
Michael nodded. “I’m of a similar opinion. I would simply add, that a human, concentrating on fixing their vehicle is even less likely to be aware of their surroundings, so remaining concealed wouldn’t be a great effort.”
“And not noticing the creature until it stepped out in front of them or made a noise becomes extremely plausible.” Michael felt Fenway’s close examination. “You suspect a wolf then?”
Michael hesitated then decided he couldn’t ask Fenway to risk his life without showing him some trust so he said, “Yes. Possibly one sick and driven mad with rage or abused enough to finally snap.”
Fenway blinked. “I’m not sure I agree with your hypothesis Inspector, yet I have nothing which fits the facts better so…We are where the creature - wolf - was last seen. Now what? Do you suspect it is still here? Are we here to capture it?”
“Heavens no. If I considered that there was the possibility of the wolf being in the area, even the smallest chance, then I would not come with only one man as backup. No, I’m hoping to find some indication of the beast having passed though here.” At Fenway’s incredulous expression Michael waved his hand to forestall a protest.
“Yes, I know that anything being left after the heavy rains and now intense snowfall is unlikey and that any marks or tracks are long gone. However, there yet may be a den or even corpses of its prey - animal prey I hope - abandoned or in its hole. I must
try.”
A face roughened by years of outdoor living creased into an understanding smile. “You’re right there Inspector. I’ll help and with some grace we’ll unearth evidence. Right, what is our next step?”
Pleased and gratified by Fenway’s support, Michael said, “We will stick together and sweep for a little distance away from the highway. Depending on time and the weather we will see how much ground we can cover on either side before we must return. I don’t want to be stranded away from the car when night falls.”
With that Michael and Fenway exited the car, and after Michael had locked the doors they secured their gear and moved to the road edge opposite - the side where Henry had first seen the ‘wolf’.
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Alexander slouched in his armchair, feet plonked on his low table in the living room, an attitude he hardly ever adopted, fussy as he was about hygiene and feet not belonging on furniture - at least, not on tables.
However, he was troubled, the euphoria of his success with Michael having worn off in the face of his anxiety about the weather. Alexander had great misgivings concerning Michael’s expedition and it had little to do with Charlotte, she was dead, and any evidence of her existence washed away in consecutive rains and snow. The only link to her was he, and Alexander was a good amiable werewolf, not one set to destroy Michael or Fenway.
No, foreboding echoed through the chambers of Alexander’s mind and as he dwelled on the subject his certainty that Michael was in danger increased. Eyes flickering to the window that overlooked his garden Alexander’s gaze darkened. There was no one he could turn to, no one who would believe his warnings…predictions…of a bad weather front without first admitting his ‘gift’ for precognitive dreams.
Unable to sit still the werewolf rose and paced, winding round the objects that filled the room. Finally, irritated with his behaviour, Alexander headed for the kitchen and a calming cup of tea. It was while he was pouring boiling water into his cup, staring aimlessly out at the frost patterns on his window that it happened: a waking dream.
It was so real…..
Ice. Snow. Black shadows of mountains rising in the distance. A sky blushing from a pale blue to navy as black clouds gathered, huddling together.
Across icy road to snow covered land where two figures cautiously tread. One misjudges a step and falls. A cry of pain so loud Alexander could have sworn the wounded man was beside him. And the sudden wind that gusted over the landscape, merciless as it pushes past objects including the two men. The snow, tumbling from the heavens, obscuring everything as the snowflakes rush along in a perverse dance, preventing the two men from reaching their car and shelter.
“No!”
Gasping for breath Alexander found he was on the kitchen floor right hand in agony. Face extraordinary pale he glanced down. He had scalded himself, not badly but enough that using his fingers would be painful for a while.
/No time. No time for healing. I must go./
Sticking his fingers under a steady stream of icy tap water, Alexander collected his breath and thoughts together. The vision was real. Experience had taught him to know when such things suggested truth or instead hinted of what might come to pass.
Michael and Fenway were in peril and the thought that Michael might be the injured party terrified Alexander. /Please, not the man I love./
He knew what he had to do. No one was going to believe his tale so he would have to go to the two men. Alexander swallowed harshly and squeezed his eyes shut. /I can do this./ Yet Alexander understood there was only one method in which he could reach Michael and Fenway, only one path he had to walk if he were to succeed.
He had to Change.
Fully, utterly and with complete control of himself in wolf shape.
There was no other way he could be sure of braving of the weather conditions and surviving. “Time to see if all my ‘lessons’ have paid off,” he murmured. Then, straightening his shoulders Alexander turned off the tap, wrapped his right hand in a towel and retrieved ice from the freezer and soothing healing cream for his fingers.
Within ten minutes Alexander had managed to form a makeshift ‘bandage’ even though putting a proper one on was far too painful. He had lathered his fingers in the healing cream, and then used cotton wool to build a thin layer between the towel, and the ice wrapped in another towel, which he bound around his hand. He would not keep this for long, only long enough to try and remove the worst of the sting and swelling.
Then padding upstairs Alexander fetched his dressing robe, grateful that his other essential supplies were already in the cellar. Returning to the kitchen Alexander draped the robe over a convenient chair close to the door. Next, he eased the kitchen door open a crack, enough so a wolf could yank it the rest of the way.
Stopping briefly to catch his breath Alexander moved to the living room and sat, eyes closed. As much as it wrenched cruelly at his heart to wait, he knew he had to give his werewolf ability a chance to make a start on his right hand. Even fifteen minutes would be sufficient. In the meantime Alexander used the opportunity to think whether he had missed anything.
Mercifully the fifteen minutes were soon over and once the bandage was removed the werewolf headed for the cellar.
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Michael slid down a slight incline, his breath condescending in the air. The snow was treacherous, making each footstep hazardous. To his left Fenway stopped to look at the ground ere moving on.
Both men were so transfixed by their tasks that neither paid any attention to the sky. Above them the sky deepened into an unbroken grey as snow clouds began to form.
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Alexander, naked, knelt in the precise centre of a circle composed of the Blessed Host and Holy Water. There was no light, but Alexander was unafraid. He was not alone. Soon he would mesh with the wolf cub and begin his final lesson. Autonomous transformation.
Until then, and during and afterwards he had his faith. And so he prayed, asking for help and guidance knowing he would require all the support he could garner for his goal. As ‘Amen’ died on his lips Alexander opened his eyes and gazed into the night and knew no fear.
Calm, comforted by the presence of his faith he fell into his meditation. Further he sank, through the waves of growing tranquillity and stillness of mind until he was once more in the field.
Waving green grass caressed him as Alexander walked through the field until he came to a pond. At the edge he paused, fronds brushing his frame. Gazing into the clear waters Alexander saw reflected the flowers of Heaven. No longer hard and cold, the stars were welcoming and appeared to give off gentle warmth.
Yet Alexander was shocked into inaction by his own image. From the glass like surface the visage of the wolf cub met him - his own face when a wolf, but retaining his human aspects: grey-green mingling into amber, the intense red of his fur and the human expression that lingered on the lupine face.
The wolf cub was serious. “Are you truly ready?”
“Yes.”
“You do not transform out of fear?”
“I fear for Michael and Fenway, but fear does not motivate me. I am at peace. I comprehend that I Change not out of a desire to rend flesh, break bone and drink blood; or from a wish to inflict harm or revenge, but to rescue two men who are in danger.”
“Indeed, and the chance of discovery doesn’t make you cower or feel defensive?”
“I understand there is that danger, however I decided long ago to tread the path of good and not succumb to evil. How could I turn my back on these two men out of terror of discovery? How pitiful, and what an achievement for the Beast who cares for nothing but itself! No, being good is not easy, but I made my choice and I must stand by it. I will feed the good inside myself, not the darkness.”
“Yourself? You refer to your human self?”
“No. I said ‘myself’. I’m no longer human or wolf: I’m both, there is no divide but the shape I currently reside in - and whatever form I am in, both the wolf and human are present. I choose to take the best from each nature, as I am both man and wolf: a man-wolf.”
The answer so obvious that Alexander was astonished he hadn’t known it sooner. The wolf cub smiled, proud, then whispered: “Then there is no longer any need of me is there Alexander?”
Alexander nodded. “Yes.”
“Lean forward.”
Trembling with this new acceptance of himself Alexander leant forward, until his nose touched the watery nose of the wolf cub and in the instant they touched the wolf cub vanished as did the meadow.
Back in the cellar Alexander opened his eyes and gasped. They were one! Man and wolf had become one! The wolf cub was gone, a part of the wolf facet of his nature.
Joy cascaded through his being. He was Changing! Alexander laughed with bliss.
His injured fingers still hurt but were already healing with the vigour of a werewolf’s immune system. Now they bent to take the aspect of paws. As previously the transformation didn’t hurt, rather it was uncomfortable. Simultaneously parts of his body experienced a squeezing sensation while other parts seemed to fill out. Breathlessly Alexander twisted, arching his back and stretching, stretching until his spine stopped itching.
Within moments Alexander the werewolf stood on four feet, his front right paw throbbing a tad. However, that was no matter and indomitable in purpose Alexander padded out of the protective circle, up the cellar steps and into the corridor. There he went to the kitchen door, which stood ajar, and eased it back by gripping the handle in his jaws and clumsily dragging it back so he could exit.
Once outside Alexander repeated the exercise, closing it fully so his cats couldn’t escape. When he returned he would change and use the key under the mat to unlock the door.
Then, aware of the blackening sky the wolf loped off into the ivory drenched wild.
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“Shit!”
Alarmed, Michael spun to his left and hissed when he saw Fenway lying on the ground. “I’m coming Fenway. Are you badly hurt?”
“I’m injured,” was all Fenway said in reply, partially curling up. /Damn,/ was Michael’s thought as he struggled over to his fallen companion as quickly as possible across the slippery landscape.
When he was beside the stricken trapper Michael eased himself down so he was crouching by Fenway. Snow was kicked up around the large tracker, particularly his legs and boots. He met Fenway’s pained gaze. The man’s face was pale, a greyish tinge already taking up residence in his cheeks.
Knowing that did not bode well, especially for a hardy man like Fenway, Michael asked tersely, “Where?”
“Left ankle. I stupidly didn’t pay attention to where I was going for a single second and I’m paying for it now.”
/Please don’t let it be a broken ankle…/, Michael begged as he gently eased Fenway’s boot off. Working swiftly once the boot was off, due to the conditions, Michael tested the ankle and was relieved to discover that the ankle was very badly sprained but thankfully not broken.
“No fracture, at least none I can tell,” he said to the pallid trapper. “I’ll wrap it up as tightly as possible with bandages then help you back to the car.”
Fenway grimaced then checked the sky and swore again. “We better hurry. Look at the sky!”
Michael obeyed Fenway. He saw a sky gone a deep grey, darkening even as he watched, and now he noticed that the light had dimmed to a washed out colour. The change had happened so gradually that neither of them had realised, as intent as they were on their purpose. Even as he watched white flakes began to descend and a wind picked up. “Fuck, not a storm. Merciful Heavens!”
“Think so, maybe we’ll reach the car in time,” offered Fenway.
Michael agreed, sick with worry.
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Under a soaring sky of increasing blackness a single wolf loped. Not an ordinary wolf, for the many hues of its coat was unnatural, from burgundy melting into a pale red. The wolf now paused, sitting on it haunches and raising its front right paw.
Alexander licked the painful pad, as he surveyed the landscape. He was on the single road that led to the Dempster Highway and he knew the route well. However, once on the Highway he would have to guess in which direction Michael had driven. Any marks would be obscured by now for even as he rested snow was starting to fall.
Yet, something inside Alexander informed him he wouldn’t be alone; when the instant came to make a choice, he would receive guidance. Smiling inwardly the werewolf decided his paw had had enough treatment and gingerly stood on all fours. He may heal faster as a werewolf but it still took time.
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Michael panted as he hoisted Fenway to his feet and steadied the tracker. Fenway tried to help but he couldn’t put any pressure on his left foot and the only means of support he had was Michael. Shifting his body Michael understood it would be a difficult trek to the car, burdened as they were with their supplies and with Michael having to partially bear Fenway.
They had attempted to spread the contents of their backpacks and associated material without losing anything for if they became lost they might need every single piece of equipment…and leaving Fenway wasn’t an option.
Grim, Michael used his free hand to check his sunglasses, hoping they would protect him from the glare of the veil of snow whipped up into a froth by the strengthening wind.
“Ready?” he asked Fenway.
“Yes,” hissed his companion, pain leeching into his voice.
“Excellent. Here goes.”
In tandem they set off through the winter storm.
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Alexander marvelled at the sheer joy of running while the elements fought around him. /Exhilarating!/ was his gleeful mental shout, followed closely by a howl of pure pleasure.
Indeed, if it weren’t for the dreadful shadow of Michael and Fenway’s plight and his injured paw he would be thoroughly enjoying the experience. As it was however, Alexander mentally catalogued his journey, amazed at the input he was receiving.
As previously he saw in colour but what a picture! So many whites! What a vision rolled away from him as he pounded by! His sharp eyesight could peer through the snow that billowed past him like curtains caught in a breeze. Shapes loomed in his sight so he had warning of obstacles while simultaneously his sense of location was aided by espying landmarks, meaningless to most in the storm.
The wind broke over his frame as he ploughed onwards, determined to reach his goal. Alexander savoured the taste of snow that it brought and revealed in the touch of the fierce air currents upon his fur and face.
Racing ever on, Alexander’s ears twitched straining to hear above the noise of the winter storm. If there were any calls for help he would hear them.
And then he was on the Highway and skidding a little as his paws felt the ice lurking underneath the snow. Stopping the wolf stood still, alert to the tiniest whisper.
In the silence created by the werewolf, Alexander seemed to hear a voice. It was as if the wind was tugging at him singing softly: This way, come this way! This way! Come!
Lifeless for a single second more, the werewolf sprang into action and Alexander allowed himself to be guided to the two men.
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Michael sagged. Fenway was a dead weight on his right shoulder. The man had lost consciousness a while ago, and Michael feared that the injury was worse than he had imagined.
He was also lost. Michael hadn’t lost hope but he was aware that he barely see more than a two yards in any bearing, and for the last ten minutes Michael had the awful sensation that he had been going in the wrong direction. A profound feeling of unease was settling over him and inside an emotion close to fear was beginning to bubble.
Therefore, confused and increasing tiredness Michael at first he was hallucinating when he saw the wolf suddenly appeared. Blinking didn’t help, the wolf was still there whipping in and out of sight, even when he removed his sunglasses and what an outlandish wolf!
Eyes the colour of grey-green intermingled with gold focused on him, warmth and concern rested in the strange pools. What wolf had eyes that shade? None he knew. The fur was another bizarre fact. A dark crimson waterfall trickled down its head and neck to flush into an even deeper and more intense red. The flanks of the beast were a beautiful copper mixture, and in the glimpse he caught of the belly as the wolf now sat on its haunches, this faded to a lovely faint hue.
/What a majestic creature,/ was Michael’s dazed opinion. Then he righted himself. /Wait, the colour of its eyes and body coupled with the large size of the wolf is eerily similar to the female werewolf we’re hunting…Oh shit./
Alarmed Michael shifted; debating on whether dropping Fenway was a good idea. It would free his arms to fight but what chance did he have? Would he be able to reach his gun before the monster leapt?
Almost as if it knew what he was thinking the wolf, (werewolf thought Michael), lay on the ground and crept forward keeping its belly to the snowy surface. When its’ nose touched his boot it stopped and gazed into his eyes with an expression of such benevolence that Michael halted any action on his part.
Instead, he locked stares with the werewolf and was stunned. In that eternal moment Michael comprehended the message the wolf was trying to send. It wanted to help them, not hurt them. Astonished, Michael broke away from the welcoming embrace offered by the eyes of the creature and wondered.
Why should the werewolf - and Michael knew it was a werewolf, felt it so strongly that he wasn’t capable of doubting where this knowledge came from even if he could question it in the first place - try and save them? What could it possible gain? Indeed, logically, if the werewolf was a minion of this female werewolf, it would have been easy for it to creep upon them unawares and either kill them outright or lead them to their deaths without any harm to its person. Not to mention that it would have been far more prudent than revealing its presence now.
The storm would perfectly conceal any evidence to the true cause of death. Heck, even without manufacturing their deaths they would have probably perished - after all he was lost.
Yet, here was this odd wolf offering salvation. If the werewolf truly did mean to help them what ought he do? Was this wolf even real or simply the apparition of a desperate mind?
“Are you real?” he whispered hoarsely.
Was that amusement in the orbs below? Slowly standing the wolf thrust a very real and wet snout into his spare hand. Startled Michael touched the animal with shaking fingers and even with his gloves on he knew this animal was real and not a ghost.
Letting his hand fall Michael made a decision. Every instinct he possessed was telling him to trust this werewolf and his instincts had never led him ill before so he wasn’t going to stop listening to them now. Also, logic suggested the werewolf was what it indicated itself to be: a guide in this unforgiving world governed by nature.
“So,” said Michael facing the waiting werewolf. “Lead on, we’ll follow.”
Immediately the wolf brushed past, long fur rubbing against his legs, body firm and pace agile as it headed to Michael’s left and the wolf’ right. Michael changed position with difficulty and stumbled after the wolf all the while debating the identity of their werewolf.
Onwards through the rumbustious elements they trod, the werewolf never further than a swipe of the tip of its tail. Even as he utilised his energy to propel Fenway and himself after the werewolf a small part of his mind stewed on the unnatural visage of their guide. Michael was sure he recognised those exotic looking eyes, and finally as his brain dwelled on the subject in some far recess of his mind the answer bloomed in his head and such was his shock at the hypothesis that Michael stiffened and blurted it out.
“Alexander?”
Their guide froze in its tracks and cautiously turned and Michael saw surprise gleaming in the striking eyes of the wolf and did its’ ear twitch in recognition at the name?
Then the spell broke and the werewolf began to lead once more.
Bewildered, but still trusting the strange apparition ahead, Michael continued with the barely coherent Trapper draped over his shoulder. Watching the werewolf carefully Michael wondered why he bothered to fear, it was evident that the wolf would not leave them and was unshakeable in its determination to lead them somewhere - by the grace of God to his car - for every time Michael sagged or fell behind the beautiful red wolf would either sit and wait or pad back to him, until the wondrous animal was only inches from him.
As the peculiar trio continued Michael grew more certain that this was Alexander. The stunning eyes and the fine coat with its deep shade of red reminded Michael of Alexander’s warm, loving eyes and soft silky hair. The silent and protective nature of the wolf also recalled Alexander’s quiet and reflective demeanour, and the charming redhead’s loyal attitude.
Snow still whipped in front of him, but more slowly now as the winter storm was easing. Still, they couldn’t take chances and with his improved vision Michael could discern that their guide - Alexander - was injured, he often favoured his front right paw. The stab of worry that pierced his heart made Michael speak, in an attempt to formulate his meandering thoughts.
“Alex---” He coughed as his voice, raspy from the chilling air sputtered into life. “Alexander.” There was no mistake this time, the wolf halted, tensed and turned, gold grey-green eyes reflecting trepidation.
“I..I don’t care if you’re a werewolf. I know you couldn’t have committed those crimes and well, you’re saving us. If you wished us dead, you could have left us to die so thank you.”
Michael could see the relief Alexander felt. “I…l l-lo---”
A moan from Fenway cut him off and the wolf seemed to sag, whatever momentarily hope it had showed fading. Yet, without further ado, Alexander rose and resumed his course. Frustrated Michael pulled Fenway closer and focused on following, praying he had a chance to say what he had wanted to say later.
Time flew past, and in what seemed an hour later, though Michael knew must have been only minutes, they reached the road. Michael’s heart was fit to burst for there, directly ahead, was his car. Practically dragging Fenway the last few yards Michael reached his vehicle and braced Fenway against the freezing steel with his body. He fumbled with the keys, clumsy with tiredness and fingers numb with cold even through his thick gloves.
Eventually, after two or three attempts Michael permitted Fenway to slip to the frozen ground. In a flash of bright colour the wolf was draped over the slumbering form. Alexander’s hot breath ghosted across icy cheeks, eyelashes, mouth and forehead.
Astounded by the vision Michael only succeeded in tearing his gaze from it when Alexander snarled, snapping at him with shiny white fangs. Chastised, Michael hurriedly returned to his task of opening the door. In a moment it was unlocked and after a slight struggle he succeeded in opening it fully. However, getting Fenway in was more difficult. In the end it was with Alexander’s aid that Fenway was pulled into his car, wolf strength saving them from a long and arduous struggle.
“Heck, your jaws harbour a firm grip,” gasped Michael as he clambered into his seat. To his surprise, the wolf tapped on the back passenger window, front paws braced against the now mostly clear pane - he must have knocked the snow off when he stood up against the car. Reacting slowly, senses muddled by the intense cold, Michael managed to reach behind and open the rear passenger door. Alexander helped pull it towards himself and then leapt in, stretching out on the backseat.
Tentatively pulling the door shut, shivering with pleasure as he touched the wolf as he did so, Michael welcomed the closed, protective interior of the vehicle. Remembering to switch on the engine Michael cranked the heating onto full and closed his eyes as exhaustion smacked into him. /Must remember to call for help…. /
Sleepily, Michael tugged his gloves off so that they fell into his lap, and then untangled his mobile phone from his jacket. But even as his painfully weary fingers cradled cold metal sleep swamped his exhausted mind, rapidly pulling him down a whirlpool of fading consciousness until he slept.
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“No!” cried Alexander but it issued out of his mouth as an abrupt yowl not even stirring Fenway let alone the exhausted Mountie.
Anxious, Alexander tried to sit up and hit his head on the roof of the vehicle - the designers hadn’t taken wolves in consideration when they created this car. /Damn./
Again Alexander attempted to move, by sliding his front paws under him as carefully and as slowly as he dared under the critical circumstances. He had to rouse Michael from his slumber or the two men would perish from exposure. Eventually he managed to lift his frame a little off the backseat and using what leverage he had obtained, the werewolf manoeuvred his body around by bracing one paw on the driver’s seat and twisting until at last he was uncomfortably lodged in the space between the front seats.
Awkwardly turning his head Alexander licked Michael’s face. Nothing, not even a murmur. A growl of frustration and displeasure echoed in the cramped quarters. Alexander repeated the gesture, yet after continued lickings elicited no response Alexander surrendered to the inevitable.
He couldn’t risk Fenway waking and discovering a wolf in the car - that would hardly end well - so he had no other choice but to Change.
Swallowing and knowing he was trapped in his current position Alexander concentrated, permitting his worry and irritation to wash away until only peace and clarity of mind remained. Then, relaxing, Alexander focused and shifted.
An instant later and Alexander was blinking as he registered human form and gasped. The car may be warm but it didn’t do much for a naked man. Repressing a shiver, Alexander flinched Michael’s mobile, inwardly rehearsing the story he would tell. He would have to hide Michael’s phone so if the number was traced he could say that their phones had been mixed up, hence he had Michael’s phone and Michael his, (assuming that Michael collaborated his story, but Alexander believed he might as the Mountie had confessed his belief in his innocence - a confession which would have made him delirious with joy if not for the current precarious circumstances).
Dialling the number Alexander reflected that Michael had been on the verge of admitting something else too and if his heart beat wilder at the prospect that it could have been the words ‘I love you’, he wasn’t denying it.
A voice answered and Alexander launched into his role. “Fey!”
“Alexander? What’s the matter, you sound distressed.”
“I am, Michael just called and he sounded so confused that I’m not surprised he phoned me and not you.”
“Slow down Alexander, why did Michael call you?”
“Mr Fenway is injured and they became lost in the storm---”
“They were outside in this weather?” Fey’s tone was incredulous.
“Yes, we don’t have time for this Fey. Michael said they wandered for a while before locating his car, now they’re barely conscious, and Michael was becoming less coherent as we spoke…” /Breathe!/ “And now he’s too befuddled to drive the car. Can you find him?”
A thoughtful pause. “Is he on the Dempster Highway? He mentioned his intentions to go there to me just a few days ago.”
“Yes!”
“Then I have an idea where on it he is. Thanks Alexander, now don’t worry, we’ll find them and I’ll call you when they’ve been retrieved.”
“Thank you Fey, I better finish the call so you can gather the rescue team huh?”
“Yes, chat to you soon. Bye.”
“Bye,” uttered Alexander softly and ended the call. Glancing at Fenway and Michael he tenderly touched Michael’s cheek, then gently kissed the still cool flesh. “Bye,” he repeated, anguished at having to leave but it wasn’t safe for him to stay and he had to be at home when Fey rang.
Knowing Michael’s clothes would be searched Alexander debated simply ‘losing’ the phone in the wilderness but decided it might hold important data for his beloved Mountie, plus he might need it as evidence. So, hastily stashing the phone into a spare glove he wormed from Michael’s pack to conceal the flavour of metal, Alexander lay down on the backseat once more, and pointed his head towards the car door.
Ensuring it was ajar Alexander Changed as rapidly as he could - /It grows easier,/ - and pushed his way to freedom. Successfully slamming the door shut with his weight Alexander the werewolf gripped the gloved phone in his jaws and pointed towards home.
The storm had abated, leaving only a few errant flakes to spill from the blackish-grey maw of the sky.
/God be with you,/ was Alexander’s final parting as he ran home with all the speed of a werewolf.
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