Burdened Beasts

Viola I’m finally sleeping well, for the first time in what feels like a very long time, when the two worst possible things happen. One, my alarm goes off, making my phone buzz and chirp from the pocket of my discarded jeans on the floor. Two, a massive werebear arm comes crashing down around my waist. It would be one thing if he were trying to kill me. At least that would get me out of bed. Give me something to do. But this is worse. He’s trying to cuddle. “Get off me,” I hiss, flipping onto my other side and catching him in the stomach with both of my feet. Despite his being about ten times bigger than me, I launch him. He flips out of the bed and goes sprawling across the floor. In a delightful display of thick limbs and wild hair, he skids all the way into the opposite wall, finally landing with a fleshy thud. I feel the urge to giggle, but I don’t think that’s a sound my body knows how to make anymore. “Jesus, Vile,” he groans. But I am already up, pulling on last night’s jeans and silencing the infernal alarm on my phone. Scanning the messy floor, I can only locate a portion of the rest of my outfit. I’d worn a black tube top under a silvery mesh blouse. I can find the tube top, but not the blouse. This is really not a promising way to start the day. Twenty minutes, Morgan growls in my head. Yeah, yeah, I say. “You get up this early even on mornings there’s no training?” the lump asks from his place on the floor. What is his name? Tony? Tommy? I don’t answer him, either way. Instead, with a grunt, I dislodge my other shoe from beneath his bedside table. He’s still talking, saying something about how I should blow off whatever I’ve got going on and grab some breakfast with him instead. The only two things bears ever think about: fighting and food. Well, and one other very choice F word… “V, are you listening?” he asks. Fifteen minutes, Morgan tells me. “Yeah, yeah,” I tell them both. There’s nothing for it. My mouth still tastes like werewine and I positively reek of bear. No amount of slicking it back with my sweaty palms is going to flatten the spikey mess I can already tell my hair is in. I can’t find the damn blouse, and without it I’ll look like a backup dancer in a 90’s rock video. I snatch a toothbrush from the top of dresser as I swing the door open. Outside, the hallway is quiet. “I’m gonna take this,” I tell him over my shoulder, Tommy or Tony, waving his toothbrush back at him in farewell. “See you around.” Shutting the door, I pad down the hall, tube top in one hand and my shoes in the other. I shimmy back out of my jeans as I go, but just leave them on the floor in the hall. Naked, I shoulder the big bathroom door open, just as someone else pulls it from the inside. Diego’s massive chest nearly takes me out like a freight train. “My eyes!” he shrieks. I ignore that, moving past him toward the big bank of communal showers on the other side of the room. Luckily, it seems the bears are all sleeping in, except for Diego. I’ve got the place to myself. Flipping the water on as hot as it goes, I smash the dispenser button for soap. “Got any toothpaste?” I ask over my shoulder. “Why are you in the werebear dormitory?!” Diego demands. “Why aren’t you at the packhouse?!” “That place is depressing,” I say, glancing back to make eye contact, but he’s got both hands covering his face. “Toothpaste,” I remind him, loudly. “You have your own toothpaste!” he shouts. “In your own bathroom! In your own apartment! At the packhouse!” Ten minutes, Morgan growls. “Alright!” I shout back. “Aside from being scarred for life,” Diego gripes, “I’m worried I’ll have to fend off a dorm full of horny bears from assaulting their naked Beta in the showers!” “Nothing most of them haven’t seen before,” I mumble, to myself, but Diego hears me. “Not me! Not me!” “Listen,” I say, flipping the water off and hunting for a towel. “If the pack’s General can’t handle a few of his own warriors, should he really be in charge of our forces at all?” “You make a good point,” Diego says, grudgingly. “A naked point, but a good one.” “Toothpaste,” I snap. “And give me your shirt.” “What in the-” “Your shirt, General!” Grumbling, Diego digs through a nearby cabinet until he finds a tube of toothpaste. He flips it over his shoulder without looking at me, but I snag it out of the air easily. Brushing quickly, I yank the black tube top up my legs with one hand. Smoothing it over my hips, I turn it into a miniskirt. Still without glancing at me, a bare-chested Diego hands me a grey t-shirt. Letting my claws extend, I slice his shirt neatly. Glancing in the mirror, I access the damage. The outfit is a little casual, but the black skirt and cropped grey shirt will have to do. At least I smell clean, and my breath is fresh. The rest, much to my dismay, is the same as it always is. Too-pale skin stretched across my tiny frame, an uneven smattering of freckles dusted below dark eyes. Short, uncooperative hair, so pale it looks nearly silver in the light. Sighing, I look away. Five minutes, Morgan warns. “I’ve gotta go,” I tell Diego, slipping on my shoes. Startled, he finally looks at me, clearly shocked to find me decent. He accesses my outfit, crosses his enormous arms over his chest. He shakes his head at me, a dark wave falling into his face. But in that face I can see, despite himself, he’s impressed. Then again, in my experience (though I would never tell him this), it doesn’t take much to impress a werebear. “How do chicks do that?” he asks. “Bye,” I tell him, already moving through the door and into the hallways beyond. “Vile, you could be late, you know,” Diego calls after me. “He wouldn’t even notice.” It may be a cruel thing for him to say, but it’s true. Then again, we didn’t put Diego in charge of security for the entire pack because of his soft heart and gentle demeanor. I don’t know many bears who deal in bullshit, but Diego is particularly straightforward. Still, it stings. “I’ve never been late before,” I say, though I’m in the yard now, moving across the grass with no one left to hear me. “I’m not starting now.” * * * I make it to the top floor of the packhouse with two minutes to spare, and that’s after I swing through the kitchen to snag a muffin from the chef. Since I appear at the same time every single day, the old woman bent over the stove wasn’t surprised to see me there. Neither is the guard stationed outside the elevator. “Good morning, Beta,” he greets me. “How is he?” I ask, ignoring the pleasantries. The guard follows at my heels when I turn down the hallway to the left. The first door on the right is the office, but I haven’t even seen the lights on in there in ages. The next door used to lead to a library, where shelf after shelf was crammed with pack history. Now, two nurses don’t even glance my way when we pass by the transformed medical space. Last, a closed door, beside which stands another guard. “Sleeping, I believe,” the first guard answers, and the second guard nods in agreement. But before I can drill them any further, Dr. Navarro comes through the door. “Ah, Viola,” he chides. “Visiting hours don’t begin for another-” he checks his watch. One minute, Morgan says. “One minute,” Navarro teases. “I thought he was sleeping,” I toss at the guards, who have the decency to look nervous. “I roused him, I’m afraid,” the doctor goes on. “Take your frustrations out on me, Viola.” The old warlock is the only person I can think of who still calls me by my full first name. I let him, without complaint, because he was the doctor who delivered me as a baby. My mother thought the world of him, then, and I continue that family tradition now. That’s about the only thing my family and I ever agreed on, actually. Every broken bone, every battle wound, Dr. Navarro’s was the face I awoke to in the infirmary. Now, after everything he’s done behind that door, I only think more highly of him. “Any change?” I ask, noting that the old doctor frowns. “I’ll let him fill you in,” he says, which makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “You can go ahead.” But as I move to push through the door, the brown paper bag I’m holding lifts into the air on its own. It hovers, then floats, cutting through the hallway and into the doctor’s waiting hands. Neither of the guards bat an eye, used to the magic that happens up here. But I frown, on edge. Deep in the back of head, Morgan whines. “Double chocolate,” Dr. Navarro says with a wink. “My favorite.” With that, he goes through the door where the nurses were stationed before. The guards trade places, one heading back in the direction of the elevators. I smooth my makeshift skirt, set my shoulders back, and push into the last room in the hall. A long time ago, this was my favorite place in the packhouse. You’d come through the foyer into a cozy sitting area, where a tray of tea or coffee or tiny cakes and sandwiches would be waiting. A fire might crackle in the stone hearth, and through a wide set of French doors you would be able to look out over the yard, past the tops of the trees, toward the very edge of the river snaking its way through the forest beyond. At night, those doors would be left open, a breeze dancing through the pale curtains. Around the table you’d find board games, or books. All through the room you’d hear laughter. Voices, all talking at once. You’d find friends who were more like family. At least, more like a family than mine ever was. You’d see us all living without a clue that those would be the very best moments of our lives. That, soon, those moments would all come to an end. Now, the overstuffed chairs, the low table, the games and books have all been moved away. The curtains are firmly drawn against the sun. The only sounds here are the constant buzzing of machines, the beeps and drips of monitors and medicines. There’s a bed dominating the space, and in it lies what’s left of the best friend I ever had. “Alpha Hunt,” I say, bowing my head. “Vile,” Sam laughs low around my nickname, the one he gave me. “How many times must I tell you to set aside such formalities?” “At least once more,” I say, and he chuckles. “It’s only me,” he smiles. He reaches out his hand to me, and I take it. He’s propped up on some pillows, though they don’t do much for the way his shoulders droop, the way his back bends forward just a little, as if it can no longer carry the heavy weight of him. He’s pale this morning, with a little sheen of sweat on his forehead. Neat crimson waves fall nearly to his shoulders, though their brilliant color has dimmed as of late. Still, Sam smiles. I move to my usual chair at his righthand side, holding his big palm againt my small one. But I don’t even get halfway there when I notice the changes. It all clicks – Morgan’s whines, my unease, the guard’s nervousness, Navarro’s mood, even why he kept today’s muffin for himself. My eyes flick across the new equipment, cataloging. Morgan whimpers, a low sound that I can feel against my skull. I drop his hand. “Sam-” “Vile, don’t start-” “We had a deal!” I hiss, all formalities forgotten. “We made an agreement!” “What did you want me to do?” Sam asks, and when I have nothing to say, he goes on calmly. “I mean it. Tell me, and I’ll listen. What do you want me to do?” “We said, you said,” I sputter, pacing. “As long as I could sneak in something you might actually enjoy – instead of this disgusting hospital s**t, those are your words – you said you’d try, you’d keep trying. Today was muffins, Sam, double chocolate.” “Vile,” he says, smiling sadly, still calm. “I can’t keep it down. You know that. Doc knows that. I certainly know it.” “We said no feeding tube!” I shout at him. “For as long as I could manage,” Sam finishes gently. “We said no feeding tube for as long as I could manage.” I stare at him, frozen, trembling. I don’t want it to be real, but the evidence is right in front of me. The bags, the tubes, the additional machines. I don’t want this to be happening. I didn’t want any of it to happen, but it just keeps going and going. It won’t stop. It gets worse and worse every day and I want to wake up, someone please wake me up- “I’m not managing, V,” he says. I don’t need him to tell me, I can see that for myself, have heard it from Navarro a hundred times already. I can even understand it, have seen death come in a thousand forms, swiftly or slowly, for enemies and allies. I can even reconcile each machine, recall every purpose for every medicine hooked up to the man in the bed before me. I turn away. I can’t look anymore. What I can’t reconcile is the man himself, this beaten thing, with the force that used to be my best friend. Sam was so many things. A scholar, a lover, a warrior, the best I ever fought beside. He was a prankster, a stubborn fool, a kindhearted and generous Alpha to every member of his vast pack. He was a wild teenager, a visionary adult. A broken little boy. “Sam,” I breathe, pressing my hands to the window. If I parted the curtains, I could see down into the yard. The pack would be rising now, a few at a time. Little wolves racing toward their breakfast. Warlocks and witches flickering between the trunks of the trees beyond. Werebears splashing in the river, seeing which of them can stand the cold waters the longest. If I parted the curtains, I could let in their light. But I don’t. I belong in the dark. I belong here with Sam. “It’s time, V,” Sam says softly behind me. “There’s no new intel,” I croak, shaking my head. “There’s no trace of him.” “Then it’s time to send you.” Hanging my head, I suck in a deep breath through my nose. Holding it, I count down from ten. I can’t lose it right now, can’t fail Sam. What I want to say is that I refuse, that he can’t make me. I want to tell him that this is pointless, this whole useless search has been a stab in the dark from the beginning. I want to ask him how, when an entire team of his best trackers have found nothing, he somehow expects me to produce a miracle. I turn toward him, but now he isn’t smiling, because he knows that’s exactly what we need now. A miracle. “They’re coming, Vile,” he tells me. “I can feel it.” “No,” I growl. “There has been no movement from beyond the river, no intercepted messages, no increase in export or import. Sam, there’s no reason to believe they’ll ever come back.” “We cursed their King,” he answers solemnly. “And what does it look like they’ve done to us?!” I demand, gesturing to him. He’s quiet for a long time. When he finally speaks, it is soft, nearly a whisper. “I think that was their plan all along. They must have known, if they took Lily from me-” He has to swallow hard before he can go on. “I think they knew that to take my mate from me would be as good as a death sentence. Only slower. More of a show. It’s their kind of justice, a King for a King. An eye for an eye. Why else would they bother? Why else kill an innocent woman who was with child-” This time he swallows, but cannot go on. “Their kingdom will wither and die,” I swear to him, swear to all the ghosts that gather around us both. “Ours will flourish. Long after we’re gone, both you and I, what you have built will go on, Sam.” “There’s only one way to ensure that it does,” Sam says. “How can you be sure?” I demand. “Because I know him.” “You used to know him.” “Because I know they will come. I know I will die-” “Sam-” “And I know, when I’m gone, there will be moves made. Whether it’s from them, or another pack, or a rogue challenger-” Let them come, Morgan growls. “The only way,” he goes on, breathing hard, “the only way left to save what we’ve worked so hard to build is to guarantee that my line goes on when I can’t. There can be no gap, not a moment, not one single hour where this pack is left without an Alpha. I have no child. They took that from me when they took my Queen. They’re banking on the chaos that would ensue were I die without an heir. They don’t know.” Sam grins, though no light reaches his emerald eyes. “They don’t know there’s two of me.” “He may be nothing like you,” I snap. “He may be more like you,” Sam laughs. He expects me to laugh, but I can’t. “That’s why you’re sending me,” I breathe. Sam sighs, pats the empty chair at his side. Finally, I sit. He takes my hand again, squeezes my fingers in his. He’s so cold. He lets his head falls back onto the pillows. His green eyes find the ceiling, but I know he’s seeing something else. His red hair falls over his ear, and I want so badly to tuck it back. Instead, I squeeze his hand. Hold on tight. “You’re the only warrior I’ve ever known whose wolf was bigger than mine,” he says, chuckling softly, staring at the ceiling. “Morgan would be ashamed to see me now, beaten as I am.” Never, Morgan swears. “Never,” I swear. “You know, you may be the only woman ever born with a male wolf,” he tells me. “I know,” I say. “But you’re not the only one of your kind,” he says with a smile. So I do the only thing I can, the only choice that’s left to me. I nod. “I’m on it,” I say.