Chapter Seven
He lied to her. As Mary cleaned the bite wounds on the back of his neck, her stomach dropped. Bile rose in her throat. Her hands shook, but she kept cleaning the wound. She recognized the bite as coming from a Wolf. She had seen enough of them, from when her brothers' roughhousing got too heated, or when they got into fights with other young Wolves.
He was attacked by Wolves from my community. Why wouldn't he tell her? Had he come across them as they were looking for her? Or had they come to him, knowing she was here? Had they scented him in the forest and attacked, trying to kill him for the sole reason he was a Bear?
"Was it my father?" The words escaped unbidden.
Andre startled, jerking away from her hands. "What?"
"The Wolf that made these marks, was it my father?" Why did tears have to come into her eyes now? She blinked rapidly, pouring a little hydrogen peroxide into the bite. White foam instantly bubbled and Andre flinched. Because of the stinging or her words? "Please just tell me."
"Yes. Him and your brothers."
"They attacked you because of me."
Andre shook his head, his long hair falling out of his bun. "Not because of you, Mary. If they knew you were here, some would have come to get to you while the rest drew me away."
Would they have? Mary bit her lip. Yes, they would have. Peter, only a year younger than she was, had always been very protective of her. Before he got married, he often took some time during his day to help her with things that needed to be done in the house such as changing light bulbs, checking the fire alarms. He was also the one who convinced her father to let her start driving. If he knew she was here, he'd come with a shotgun to get her back. And her father would, too, if he thought she was being held prisoner by a Bear.
"So you're going to have to leave, then," she said, taping some gauze over the bite. "You can't stay here if my community knows you're here. They'll kill you."
Andre did not respond, and Mary shuddered at the implications his silence held. She knelt at his feet, grasping his hands. His black eyes stared at the wall behind her.
"Andre, you are going to leave, aren't you? You're not going to stay here. My father hates Bears. He'll try to kill you!"
His eyes finally flickered to hers, but his face was expressionless. "If he tries, I'll kill him first."
His words punched her in the gut and left her gasping for air. She hadn't considered this–that if her father came, if he faced Andre, that one would kill the other. That Andre would kill her father. In an instant every happy memory with her father flashed through her mind: the way she used to sit on his knee when she was a child, him reading to her, teaching her how to feed the chickens and gather the eggs, being gathered around the fire and listening to his stories.
How could she stay and watch one or the other die?
"But you could leave," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You could run away and not be put in that situation."
"I can't."
"Why?" Her voice rose until she was shouting. "Why not? What is so important that it's worth dying over?"
One of his massive hands stroked her hair from her face. She leaned into his warmth despite herself. "Eve."
She jerked.
"Isadore."
Mary pulled away from him. She knew an Eve in the community, but Isadore? It was a woman's name, but not one she recognized. Her stomach flip-flopped. He had other women? Were they tucked away in cabins around here, too? Is that where he disappeared to? "Who are they?"
"Isadore was my wife. Eve was my daughter."
Was? Mary pressed her hand to her mouth.
"They were both Bears like me. We had this farm. It had belonged to Isadore's father. He was a human. But we were happy here, together, Isadore, Eve and I. And then one day, I lost everything."
He dropped his gaze again for a moment, closing his eyes. He inhaled deeply, and Mary knew every word he spoke pained him to the core. She pulled a chair to his side and held his hand silently. What was she supposed to say?
"Isadore and Eve were up in the mountains when… when some hunters found them. They were with their Bears, and… I suppose they didn't have time to change. I found them. Bullets ripped into their hearts, their throats cut." Andre shuddered. "They were just left there, like garbage. Left to be scavenged, to rot."
Tears ran down Mary's face. She leaned against Andre, her heart breaking for him. His face was bleak, eyes haunted. He turned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then wrapped his arms around her. He shook against her, breathing hitched, but no tears came from his eyes. Mary buried her face in his shoulder, wishing she could take away all his pain.
"I buried them here. And then I left. I ran as far as I could. I couldn't stand to be here, with their memories all around me. I had been with Isadore since I was eighteen. Eve was only six years old. I didn't know how to cope. I didn't know what I had to live for." His head came up, and his body went rigid.
Mary pulled back, glancing around, sure that his sudden tension came from some danger in the room. But Andre stared straight ahead again, hands clenched as he glared at the wall.
"And then I vowed I would kill the hunters that had killed my wife and daughter. I strengthened my body, I hunted them. And—" He glanced at her and seemed to freeze a moment. The tension drained from his body. "I found them. I killed them. And I came back here, to where Isadore and Eve were. I got the sheep and goat, and now this place is all I live for. I can't leave."
Leave for me. Live for me. She wanted to beg him to come with her, but after that harrowing story, how was she supposed to tell him that she loved him? Would he believe her? Would he even want her love, or would he turn her away because he couldn't accept it?
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him again. What was she supposed to do? All she could do was hold him, try to ease his heartache for a little while longer.
But he pulled away from her, shaking his head. "Mary, I can't."
"You can't… what?"
"I told you once before that I can't give you my life. It was selfish of me to draw this out, to keep you here this long. I am going to start the truck. You need to go. It's not safe for you anymore."
Her heart stopped. No! The word got caught in her throat, choking her. No, she couldn't leave! Not now! How could she just walk away when the man she loved was going to kill and be killed by her family? She jumped to her feet, but Andre was already out of the cabin.
She took a step towards the door but stopped. Running after him and begging him to let her stay wasn't going to do any good. No. She needed to have another plan.
***
What had he been thinking? Of all the lies he had prepared for this moment, he had to tell the truth! Andre's hand shook as he turned on his truck. He had told the truth and almost too much of it. For a brief, wild moment he had wanted to tell her everything. Everything! He could have laughed at himself.
Mary, your father and two of your brothers, Peter and Philip, were the ones who killed Isadore and Eve. I didn't have to hunt them down, I saw them cut my daughter's throat, I heard them laughing. I was there. I barely escaped with my life. And I am here because I am hunting them. I am going to kill them. As soon as the time is right, I am going to go to your community and kill every werewolf I can before they kill me.
An angry, bitter laugh bubbled up his throat. He hated to imagine her expression of horror, the fear that would be in her eyes. She would think everything he did was because he wanted revenge. She would distrust every tender touch, every kiss, everything that was between them. He could never hurt her like that!
Every time she was in his arms, the rage of hate in his chest cooled a little. Her smile, her laugh, made him think that maybe he could be happy again. If she asked him to go with her, what would he do? Was revenge worth losing her?
I can't burden her with my life.
Mary emerged from the cabin, her face downcast, carrying the blanket and Ziploc bag of money that she had come with. She wore her dress, and it looked wrong on her. It was shapeless, like a potato sack, and showed none of her curves. But even worse were the tears on her face.
She slid into the passenger side of the truck. He shifted gears, but a small hand laid on his forearm. Andre couldn't look at her. Seeing her long green eyes, with her beautiful black hair haloing her pale face would be too much.
"Before I go, can I see their graves?"
The question startled him, and he looked up involuntarily. She looked just as he knew she would, and the tenderness in her face was too much for him to deny. A lump rose in his throat, and he nodded silently. Mary tucked her hands back into her own lap as he drove down the dirt road. His heart beat uncomfortably.
Is revenge worth losing her? He asked himself again, and he didn't have an answer.