Page 3 of Father of the Wolf

She didn’t.

The attacker’s massive weight slammed into her back, knocking her from her feet. Hope grunted when she hit the pavement hard, face first. She let out a strangled cry as her attacker rolled her over, straddling her. His weight trapped her in place. Her scream was cut short as he slammed his fist into her face. Horrible pain shot through her head once, then again. Black peace clouded the darkness around her. Pain and a burning need for air finally cleared her vision and brought her back to her senses.

He slung her easily over his shoulder and started back toward the alley. Hope sucked in the cool night air and began to struggle and scream again. There was no way in hell she would go down without a fight. Frustrated by not being able to kick hard enough to hurt the bastard, she flung herself sideways and pounded his back with her fists, managing to throw him off balance.

He growled and threw her back to the pavement. This time when he fell on her, he followed his punch with a painful, fierce grip on her hair, pulling her head back.

His breath blew hot and foul into her face. “That’s right. Fight me.” The crazy psycho licked up across her cheek. He followed it with a biting nip to her jaw. “Humans are the best prey for so many reasons,” he growled in a dry harsh voice as he tore his hand across her chest. Her jacket and blouse ripped open easily and his nails clawed her flesh.

If the asshole wanted her to fight, she’d oblige him. She braced her arms and heaved her body upwards in a sharp arch. When his forearm brushed her face, she turned into it and bit him deeply, tasting the copper of his blood.

He yelped and pulled back, and she kicked him with her stronger leg, solidly connecting with his groin. Surely, she had caused him no lasting harm, but his pain was enough of a distraction to give her another chance to scream and crawl the few yards back onto the road.

The clinic door slammed open, and Steve stepped into sight calling, “Hope? Are you out here?”

“Steve! Help me!” she cried. What a wonderful man. She’d never tease him for being late again. His timing was perfect.

The man’s grabbing hands let go of her and his weight disappeared. She looked up, but her attacker was gone. Just gone. She lay on the edge of the street, alone.

No, not alone. Two eyes in the shadows glowed malevolent green, feral eyes promising all the agonies of hell. They were the eyes of her attacker, no matter how strange they seemed now. She’d remember them even if she never saw another feature of his face. Those hate-filled, glittering green eyes.

Steve reached her side, firing questions at her. “What happened? Did I hear you scream?” He squatted down and wrapped his arm around her. “Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

“Steve, look,” she said, trying to draw his attention to the deep shadows of the alley.

He followed her gaze, but the man was no longer there. All Hope saw was movement and a quick glimpse of black fur and a bushy tail. If she didn’t know better, she would have said it looked wolf-like. But must have been the stray dog.

Had the dog been with the man? Had there been more forming a pack? What had happened to the woman? What could she tell the police to help them catch this man?

Steve tried to help her stand, but her weak leg buckled. He more than half carried her back to the clinic. As they reached the dim light at the front of the building, Steve let out a gasp. “What the hell! Who did this to you? What happened?” His fingers brushed her tangled hair back from her battered face.

She knew she must be quite a sight. Suddenly, she was too tired to explain. Her whole body ached, and her head throbbed.

“You’re going to the hospital. No arguments.”

Hope didn’t argue. She barely nodded before slipping into the welcoming black of unconsciousness.

* * *

Despair crawled over Athair’s skin and tore at his heart. He knew this fog-shrouded clearing and was sickened by the sight of the ravaged village before him. The acrid smell of their smoldering homes burned his senses. Echoes of the dead sounded through his soul, crying out the last emotions of the many who had died. His family and friends had been killed here only hours before he returned. Sorrow rooted his feet to the ground, trapping him in place, drawing out the pain his mind refused to process.

On the verge of an anguished howl, Athair pulled himself sharply from the dream. The same dream, it was always the same. But it wasn’t just a dream. This nightmare was a memory from the day his clan had been torn apart. He and his two brothers were the only adults of the clan left alive after that horrible day. Barely into maturity, he’d become the second eldest of what remained of the Eagle Clan.

They’d been unprepared for the Irish hunters. How could they have expected the unwarranted ambush? Aside from a few they’d grown to trust, their clan had avoided humans for the most part. It just hadn’t been worth the risk when so many humans misunderstood their kind. Their fear exaggerated the half-truths about werewolves. The common man saw wolves as evil and a man-wolf as an abomination that stole children and fed on human flesh. How many centuries had passed, and still he wished his kind, the Valàfrn, would someday be accepted. A day when he and his family could live without fear.

A discreet cough drew Athair’s attention to the doorway, where a young man stood. Young was a relative term since the man was nearly three hundred years younger than Athair.

It wasn’t like Rath to bother him early in the morning. What could be so important? Rath’s big body was tense. His golden eyes flicked towards the exit, showing his desire to be done and away.

Quietly, he asked, “What is it, Rath?” He hid the strain the nightmare always brought and willed the tension from his own body. He extended his empathy. Yet from the sympathy Athair felt in Rath’s emotions, his effort was wasted.

"Romie and Mo are trying to kill each other. Dàn said to come get you," Rath answered in Gaelic, their native language.

"What?" Athair shook his head, He must still be asleep. Only in a nightmare would the light-hearted twins turn on each other. "Where are they? What happened?"

"What do you think happened? Romach walked in on Molach and Allaidh," he said with a snort. "She is not always clear about when she has moved on to her next partner." Rath was the oldest of the children saved from the village massacre. Nine children were found hiding in a cave with his brother’s mate, Cairistione.

In the past two hundred years, Allaidh had shared her beautiful body with the young men of the clan. For a time, her actions helped to keep their wild libidos at least somewhat spent, but recently, the urge for long-term bonds overrode their good sense and caused bickering and bloodshed. Why didn't they realize that Allaidh would not bond with any of them?

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