Her Wolf King

LENORE HAD NO time to absorb her husband’s bitter words before a... a vile thing, long-clawed and sharp-toothed and covered in something acidic that made the floor smoke where it dripped off of the creature, barrelled through the hallway and headed directly for them. She wanted to scream, to flee, but... some magic, or perhaps only her own fear, made her stay put. Everett attempted to shield her with his body, to push her aside—he was telling her to run, she could hear the words ringing in her ears as though from a great distance—but she stayed frozen to the floor, witnessing what she knew would be her own demise. The monster drew closer with a hiss, with a growl, its impossibly long teeth separating to snap around her neck—

And then it screamed. Not a growl, not a hiss, not some sound to frighten Lenore—but a scream of fright, of pain, of sheer agony. It fell to the ground, and then the shell of its scaled body seemed to crumple in on itself, folding and shrinking until it was no longer the enormous beast looming over her. Until it was... it seemed more like the size of a child. Although it would have been the most elfin, the most unnatural child she had ever seen. Horns protruded from the back of its hairless head, like those of a goat, and its hands and feet were webbed. Its skin was translucent and pale-green, like the colour of glass polished by the sea.

"You,” it said in a voice that was not human; it seemed to be something akin to the hiss of a snake’s tongue, the rustle of the wind through tall grass, the purr of a cat. ”I am here to kill you.”

“Me?” Lenore repeated. “You’re doing a fantastic job of ransacking my home, but you’ve still not managed to kill me.”

She wasn’t quite sure why the words my home came so readily to her lips, why she was so eager to defend this castle, this place that she had not even seen the entirety of yet. But it felt, somehow, far more welcoming than the meagre shack she had crammed into alongside her father and brother. Even now, in the state that it was in.

“Did Marya send you?” Everett tried to push her back, his hand covering hers, his shoulder edged in front of hers.

The creature let out a laugh that sounded nearly human. “I will not so easily divulge the secrets of my master.”

“But what of the secrets of your mistress?” Lenore attempted, sneaking out from behind her husband and darting towards the beast. It shambled behind a vase that had yet to be shattered.

“Play no games with me, mortal. You shall not win.”

But Lenore was tired of being told to accept her lot in life no matter how terrible, tired of tying herself to wretched fates on the threats of others--no, she would not accept defeat. Only victory.

“If I shall not win any games played with you, why then did you diminish so when you attacked me?” Lenore pondered. Her heart thudded in her chest, so loudly she could hear its pulse. “What power do I hold over you, you wicked monster?”

“Lenore,” Everett breathed, his usually rough growl sounding softened, more like a warning. “Do not try its patience--”

The creature lunged again. Lenore simply allowed it, feeling something spark in her blood, in her bones, as she watched the beast stretch out a hand to scratch her. It immediately darted back, smoke erupting from its form, and shed a layer, like a snake, growing smaller still.

“What are you?” It hissed, its red eyes wide with what might have been shock. “Witch? Fairy? You are no mortal, that is sure--”

It let out a howl of pain after Everett charged towards it, and gripped the creature around the neck, holding a dagger to its throat. “Answer my questions, monster, or you may find that your head will part from your miserable, pathetic little body.”

“Very well.”

“Who sent you?”

“A fairy,” the creature replied with a grotesque smirk. The blade dug in deeper.

"What name did she give you?"

“She gave me no name, only a title,” it answered. “The Queen of Curses.”

Everett swore, and Lenore had the absurd notion that she ought to clap her hands over her ears, as her mother had taught her to do, years ago.

“What did she look like?”

“She took many forms, at least a hundred, in all the times that I saw her. Shall I describe them all to you?” The creature was cunning.

“Why did she want you to kill me?” Lenore asked.

“She never gave me a reason,” the monster responded, and she had the sudden urge to smack it across its hideous face. “Only a description--a human girl, wed to a wolf.”

When Everett slit the creature’s throat, Leonore was glad to see another pool of blood staining the tiled floor--only this time, it was black. It sizzled and simmered before finally vanishing as if it had never been there at all.

***

A piece of parchment fluttered to the ground amidst all the wreckage of the castle, in a pile of broken glass. Everett bent over and picked it up though Lenore had reached for it first. Was he trying to protect her from harm? Yet oddly enough, as if by invisible hands, Lenore could see the residence repairing itself. Crystals reattached themselves to chandeliers, vases were glued back together and overturned pieces of furniture were righted once more.

“What is it?” Lenore had to get on her tiptoes, holding up the hem of her gown that was crusted now with slush and ice, to peer over her new husband’s shoulder at the note.

He folded it up before she could see anything but a name: MARYA. His former wife. This castle felt haunted all of a sudden, their new marriage like fresh-fallen snow tracked with the footsteps of this Queen of Curses, whoever she was. She felt as if the walls were closing in, every painting on the wall suddenly filled with leering eyes and ghostly stares. Who is she?

“It’s nothing more than a string of taunts,” Everett said, the note crumpled in his fist. He cracked a sardonic smile. “Do not fret about it.”

“Then may I see it?” Lenore folded her arms over her chest, forgetting the stains on her dress and the broken glass on the floor. “If it is so harmless a note?”

He spun around to face her, tucking the note into his breast pocket. A moment of silence fell between them as they stared at one another. The wolfish gleam present in Everett’s green eyes alerted her to the fact that perhaps, he had not snatched the note up to keep her from harm. He had done it to keep a secret from her. This, she would not have.

“I dislike secrets, husband,” Lenore said. Then she slowly slid her hands down his shoulders, fingers trailing across the woollen fabric of his coat before they slid into his pocket--

Everett made a low, animalistic noise that could only be described as a growl before his hand reached up and pinioned hers before she could take the paper from him. “I dislike tricks, wife.”

“I am your wife, aren’t I?” She smiled even as she tried to wrench her hand free from his grip. He gripped it tighter, pinning her wrist to the wall next to a gilt-framed painting. The wall was cold against her skin, the length of his form radiating heat onto hers. “What is yours is mine... what is mine is yours...”

“And you are mine,” he murmured, those green eyes boring into her blue ones. “You made an oath to obey me.”

Her face blanched, eyes widening, and she finally tore her hand free from his. She had exchanged one prison for another, it seemed. Because those words rang in her ears and reminded her of Kirk Stone, of cold, dead eyes, of bruises and fetters. “I belong to no one.”

He did not let her go so easily as she pushed past him, forgetting the note as her eyes stung with tears. How could she have been so foolish? “Lenore, if this is about the note--”

“I am tired,” she gritted out between her teeth. “I am so tired of men thinking they own me.”

To his credit, he did let her go.