Curse of Ferreus

3 - Runaway

Myles heaves another dead wolf onto the pile and groans, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead and only succeeding in smearing sweat and blood across his skin. "Why am I always left cleaning up the mess?" he grumbles. "It's fucking disgusting."

The glare I send his way is wild as a trapped animal and crackles an inferno. It promises pain.

My cousin retreats half a step and mumbles, "Sorry, River. Not her. I didn't mean her."

My heart collapses inside my chest, leaving a gaping abyss in its wake. My very soul is shattered and leaden and every shuddering breath is an effort. Tears leak down my face but my head is empty. Thoughts are leaves caught on a gale that I can't quite reach.

Esme is dead. My sister is dead.

"Right," Myles says, wiping his hands on his trousers and surveying his work. "I'll get the stuff. You stay here."

He wanders off into the shrubs, becoming one with the shadows.

The carnage of our battle lies in a heap of bloody wolves all splayed at unnatural angles. Their forms frozen, their eyes empty, their blood seeping into the damp ground. All around, trees shudder and groan. The last of the smoke clears, revealing an inky sky speckled with stars.

I sniff and wipe my eyes. "I'm sorry," I whisper, cradling Esme close. "I'm so, so sorry."

Agony strengthens to resolve. My sister isn't another beast for Myles to burn. She's a Ferreus hunter and she'll be treated with respect in death. It's the least I can do for her to ensure her body won't be tossed aside like she's just another werewolf.

So I set her down, close her empty eyes, and I start to scoop out loose earth. The ground is trodden thick with mud in the chaos of our fight, and it comes away easily.

I make remarkable progress by the time Myles comes wandering back into view. He's swinging a jerry can idly, but when he sees me, he falls still. The gasoline sloshes angrily in return.

"River," he begins, his voice patient and gentle, as he sets the can down and approaches. "Come on, man. Dad said—"

"She's not one of them. I'm not burning her," I bite back, scooping more and more dirt. The mud marring my skin just about covers the lichtenberg figures and runes and symbols on my arms— the chains to my legacy. It's a relief to be rid of them, if only temporarily.

Myles sets his hand on my shoulder. I shrug him off.

Instead, he drops to his knees beside me. "Listen to me. I'm going to be patient with you because she's your sister, but we've got a duty to uphold. You don't want to go against my dad's orders on a night like tonight."

A sob rushes from me, but I do not stop. It's muscle memory, at this point, and it keeps me from thinking. Scoop, dig, scoop, dig. The hole grows steadily. I can't stop.

Myles releases a short breath. "Fuck this."

He gets up and trudges away. I'm only vaguely aware of his movements as he throws gasoline over the wolves and strikes a match. With a careless flick, our enemies go up in flames.

And then he's approaching once more. He doesn't kneel at my side, though. He hoists Esme up as though she's just another wolf and takes her towards the crackling flames.

I dart to my feet. "Let her go," I say numbly, the words thick in my mouth. Intention floats just out of reach, an ember caught on a breeze, but as it comes to rest in my mind with all the sharpness of a burn, the jolt of agony sends forth a tidal wave of pure rage.

He doesn't stop. So I stop him, instead.

I explode on him.

I drag him to the ground, fists flying, shouts erupting from my mouth. I straddle him and I pin his arms between my knees and I hit him and hit him and curse him for being born into a family that puts bullets in the skulls of their daughters, their nieces, their cousins.