Claws and Fangs

Rebel with a Cause for Concern

I pace angrily in front of a roaring bonfire. I have been ordered -- just the word makes me so mad I could spit -- to speak with Isaac about my recent behavior. I've been here two weeks, and I've been in three fistfights, not that I'm notching my belt or anything. Twice with a burly man throwing insults after me in the hall, who stopped after I bit a hole in his arm. A bit low of me, I know, but never expect a girl to fight fair when her opponent is twice her size, even if she's the one who throws the first punch. At any rate, it bought me a tiny sliver of respect among the rest of the pack, and the man I beat (well, bit), Bartolomew, has become an ally. He sits by me at meals most days, and glares down anyone who looks at me funny, and claps me on the back with a meaty hand and a full-bellied laugh whenever I say something funny, which is apparently every time I open my mouth. He's not the brightest, but that might just be because of how friendly he is. Once I watched him get cheated on a pair of good boots, but when I mentioned it later he just said, "If someone is that willing to swindle me, I suppose they need them more than I do."  He even tried to jump in for today's scuffle, but somebody held him back. I suppose that's for the best; if he had fought for me then he would have ended up at Isaac's mercy too. Which brings me to the matter at hand. If I had just let that one little sneer slide.... But I didn't, and Crystal left me with claw marks -- has the girl never heard of a nail file? With the number of tears she shed at her newly-matted yellow hair being cut off, you'd think she'd have a literal hoard of beauty products -- raking my shoulder and face. They'll heal soon enough, barely even bled, but boy if they don't sting like a bitch.

I hope the black eye I gave her lasts as long. I let a small smile slip out at the memory. I should've known she'd be a bitch about it and whine to her master like a domestic. If only the old dog could turn his lustful gaze on her, I'm sure she'd appreciate it more than I do.

Speaking of old dogs and domestics, Isaac shoves open the heavy oak door and storms into the room, Mark hot on his heels, ever the obedient pup.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Mark blurts out. It's hard to tell in the one-hundred-percent archaic light of the fire, but I think his face is flushed. His eyes catch the light and send it dancing into mine. Isaac silences him with a look, but a cold, calculating anger remains burning in the older man's pupils.

"Would you like to explain what happened today?" Isaac says calmly. I can't help but detect a note of false sweetness, no doubt coming from his unending spring of twisted affection for me. Already he's sent me maybe a dozen gifts, small pastries and flowers delivered by fearful stooges. When he has me sit at his side at a meal, his eyes pick at me like disquieting barbs, trying to sink into my skin at every opportunity.

I square my shoulders, prepared to fend off another slew of pretense and unwanted advances. "I was getting sick of being looked down on," I report dutifully, and honestly. "I took action."

Isaac nods, the gesture dripping with condescension. "And what did you hope to accomplish by attacking one of my pack?"

I frown. "I did not attack that snooty little--" my own emotions choke off my protests, but Isaac doesn't falter.

"Unless I am mistaken, you made the first move," he replies, his voice turning dark. "There are several witnesses. From now on, you will contain your temper. You will not lose control of yourself." 

"But--"

"I will not be disobeyed."

With that succinct remark, he turns on his heel and leaves. Mark stays a moment to toss an exasperated look at me, but then he follows his father out the door. 

I wait a moment to see if they'll come back. I half expect Mark to slip away from his father's side to berate me the way Isaac neglected to, but eventually I walk out of the room as well. Bartolomew clambers to his feet from where he's been waiting. I hope he got someone to cover his duties all this while, or he'll receive a tongue lashing from Bethy, and she scares me more than anyone.