The Last Pack

6. A ROGUE’S ROAR

Days had dripped by in an infinitesimal momentum, a cycle of identical daily drudgery. The only saving grace for Fidella was that she hadn’t had to serve the Dominus since the orange juice transgression, so even though she had peeled every root vegetable known to man, plucked numerous birds for meals she never tasted and had the unique experience of cleaning the Ludus’ lavatory, she still preferred all this to serving the Heatons. She had also made a genuine friend in Iselda who would shock her with her stories of unusual fetishes or names called out in the heat of passion. Equally, Fidella would disgust Iselda with tales of what she had found lurking in Jerrick’s bedsheets. On days where exhaustion threatened to pull her into the pits of desolation, the companionship of Iselda often was the ray of light that she needed.

Therefore, it was to her utter dismay when she was woken in the early morning hours to bring wood to the fire pit in the atrium. Having taken Ewan’s advice to heart, she lifted only four wooden logs from the shed, a fraction of what she could lift, and returned to the house. The night was serene with the clear skies and stars that seemed to sparkle in a skirmish for space.

As she advanced towards the fire pit, she was momentarily stilled by the heavenly combination of raspberries and lemon. Desperately wanting to, but not daring to look, she began to restock the fire, ignoring how the hairs on her body seemed to stand up simply because he was near.

“Wait there slave, until you are dismissed,” The Domina commanded.

Fidella bent her knees till they hit the ground and kept her eyes on the floor.

“Conri, when the new gladiator arrives you must protect your Domina. If anything goes amiss, the last thing I need is to have to explain an incident to her father,” The Dominus instructed.

In the distance, the clapping of hooves could be heard on the tiles, they sounded hollow and rushed. Ewan’s voice could be heard shouting instructions with a frantic edge to his commands. The doors opened and Ewan walked in holding a wooden stick attached to a silver collar, attached to a snarling man, clearly struggling against the constraint.

“He is wild. If we can make him obey, he will be a fierce gladiator,”. Domina evaluated for her husband.

Frustrated by his restraint, the man began to thrash and partially shift, emitting a terrifying roar. A scream could be heard and Fidella saw Conri swiftly move to the Domina’s side and, even though he had no choice, she keenly felt the sting of not being the first person he wanted to protect. She was so distracted by this thought that she didn’t discern that the man on the leash had managed to throw Ewan off balance. It was too late to run. The man grabbed Fidella around the waist and pinned her back to his front using his huge brawny forearm. Ewan was shouting and Conri had turned pale, but he was still protecting the Heatons even though his face looked torn about it.

“Don’t panic Fidella, we will get him off you,” Ewan shouted.

Fidella wasn’t worried. Unfortunately, she had seen too many wolves turn feral in her youth before she was captured. The imprisonment of wolves meant that many pack members lost their mates, and the pain would result in their death or their descent into madness. Her father had called these wolves’ rogues, but all wolves were rogues now. Many had never seen a pack at all. Sadly, Fidella had more in common with the wolf who had trapped her than many in the Ludus. He had known deep loss and grief and so had she. She refused to wait and be rescued. Tentatively, reaching her hand to the rogue’s half-shifted arm, she ran her hand through his fur and the snarling began to fade to a softer warning growl. Fidella began to hum, it was a song that her pack used to sing when they lost a member. She hoped that this tradition would sooth the man who was in so much pain, and slowly he started to shift back, with his focus only on her.

“I know the prayer, I understand some of your pain. Can I recite it so whoever it is can be at rest?” Fidella's voice was so low that only those with werewolf hearing could listen to her. She was relieved when she felt the rogue slowly nod his head, giving her permission.

“To lose your mate is to shred your soul into pieces of shattered crystal. One day Selene will call you and you will be made whole again. Your mate will be there. Until that day, allow this child of the Moon to complete whatever task you have entrusted him to do.”

By the end of her coaxing, the arm had reverted back to human, and had dropped from Fidella’s waist. Ewan grabbed the silent man, wrapping his arm around his throat until he passed out. The entire room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as he was dragged towards the Ludus’ cells. The werewolves in the room couldn’t ignore the poignancy of what they had heard.

“Return to your quarters, slave girl,” The Dominus instructed.

Conri had never been so distracted since the night he learned Fidella’s name. His performance on the training yard had been agile in the past, but now his movements were lumbering, unless he saw her bounding through the corridors from a distance carrying buckets of water, ingredients from the pantry, scrubbing the gladiator’s cell, which he thought was the job she hated the most based on her facial expression. Einar howled on the days she hadn’t appeared, however for a two-second glimpse of her he would bask in the joy of her faint scent and fleeting form. It was with veneration that he would softly say her name each night like a prayer. Einar had upgraded his queen to a Goddess, but rational Conri needed to know why she had such an effect on him.

In the early hours of the morning Ewan had woken him up, informing him of the night’s plans. A new gladiator had been purchased and was being brought to the house. He had been sought after because he was almost inseparable from his animalistic counterpart. Conri’s job was to protect the Heatons as the gladiator had been bought from a new supplier and his behaviour was likely to be aggressive.

He had been guarding the Heatons for three hours, purposefully effusing his aura to ward off any threat. Ewan had left after an hour as the Alpha aura was suffocating him and he had to protect his secret from the Heatons. Conri couldn’t help but smirk at how uncomfortable his friend must have been while trying to appear unaffected.

Suddenly, he savoured the almond milk and honey fragrance that whirled through the atrium announcing the arrival of the one person he longed to see more than any other. Carrying wooden logs towards the fire, he knew from her expression that she knew he was there. She seemed unresponsive to his aura, and this only made her even more desirable to him. Did she think of him as he thought of her? Did he have a certain scent that calmed her inner wolf? Conri’s musings were interrupted as the master commanded him to protect the Domina after a mournful roar ripped through the restful evening.

Ewan brought in the gladiator with the collar around his neck. The complexities of the chained man’s emotions were difficult to observe, like a grotesque painting of agony. His face was vacant, and his eyes seemed stark. His body seemed weary and gaunt and his entire countenance was outlandish. Abruptly, the man half shifted and grabbed Fidella, and the entire world stopped for Conri. Einar was prowling ready to launch on to the beast when he was interrupted by a strange pulling sensation in his head that made him look at Ewan. Ewan’s palms were spread out facing the floor in a gentle bouncing motion as if telling him that he would help Fidella. Although relinquishing his anger went against his instinct, Conri stepped closer to his Domina, and allowed Ewan to save Fidella.

Unbeknownst to him, Fidella didn’t need to be saved by anyone. Her compassion was her own defence. Conri listened as Fidella soothed the brute that gripped her.

“To lose a mate is to shred your soul,” This line continued to repeat in a loop in Conri’s head.

After she had returned to her cell and Conri was in his own, the phrase swept up more meaning as it circled around his head. When Fidella had been in danger tonight, the dread he had felt had caused him physical pain, like a sensitive bruise that spread and discoloured rapidly. Even recalling what had happened, it felt like prodding the painful area, only the pain was deeper than the typical bruise that stained the skin. This pain felt like it was jabbing some burrowed unknown part of himself. A part that she had brought forth.

“A mate is the person entwined with your soul. If you lose them, you lose yourself. Is that right, Einar?” Conri asked his wolf for confirmation, to ensure this wonderful revelation wasn’t a conjuring of his lonely mind.

“She is our soulmate, but she is so special that if she were to die, we would die with her,” Conri smiled.

After seeing her tonight, he was sure Fidella could take care of herself, and although he didn’t understand the mate bond fully, he was proud that someone had decided that he might be worthy of her.