The Wolf & The Witch

They made camp that night in the grass, and for the first time since waking up cuffed together, the wolf did not hold the witch, and the witch did not hold the wolf- they laid on their backs and watched silver clouds drift across the black sky, and they both wondered the same thing: was their relationship real? Did they like each other because of the cuff, or was it something else? Forced mating was the goal, after all.

They woke tired, and approached the cinnamon cart, their heads low, when Lestat stopped, and turned to Bev, and Soph, two of James’s five wives. “We’re going the rest of the way on our own,” Lestat said.

“That’s not wise,” Soph responded. The wives, and James, certainly cared about the possibility that these two could kill Edward, but there was much more than that. And this wolf and witch were so dumb that they could somehow manage to fuck up everything if they weren’t careful.

“Wise or not, we’re going through the forest.”

Bev walked up and looked at Claire- she was looking down, and away- upset about something. “The woods are dangerous.”

“With?”

“Wolves, bears, bandits. If you stay with us, we can sneak you into the city. The gate across the bridge can only be opened by Edward, and-“

“We appreciate the help,” Lestat said, “But we’re going our own way. We’ll kill the last couple, and Edward, and all his men. I’ll cut his hand from his body to use at the gate, and if that doesn’t work then we’ll kill every son of a bitch in that city and build a bridge with their bodies.”

Bev and Soph looked at each other and followed them to their horses. The wolf gathered their packs, and weapons, and helped the witch up, then hopped up behind her.

“Just so you know,” Beverly said, behind them. “If you do this, then you will be alone in your fights.”

I’ve always been alone in my fights, Lestat thought, but then felt Claire in his arm.

Claire hadn’t said a word. She didn’t want to spend another minute in that damn cinnamon cart, so she was fine riding the rest of the way through the woods, and she didn’t care what happened when they reached the next city. Fighting couples, assassinating alphas- those were problems, but not the one that was on her mind. She kept thinking that,if they couldn’t manage a simple romantic date, then their closeness, their relationship, their attraction, could only be due to the cuff. Right? She knew, without any doubt, that she would’ve never gone on a date with Lestat, or any other wolf- it didn’t matter what the date was. She felt the cuff around her wrist, and doubted. She felt his arm around her and waist and doubted.

They rode quietly through a dying forest. Red and yellow and orange leaves sifted down on the still air, twirling, and spinning, gathering on the forest floor.

Lestat felt her in his arms, and he felt the cuff at their wrist, and like her, he had to wonder how much of this was the cuff. How much of this was due to being forced together? He had been positive since the moment he woke from the fever that they were finished, and this relationship done, the moment this cuff fell off. He felt his right hand around her, touching her stomach. She would go her way, and he would go his. He felt her in his arms. She would go her way, and... he smelled her hair, and felt the weight of her body against his, and... he would go his.

They rode quietly as the afternoon fell red around them, crinkling, and rustling. They came upon a stream heavy with leaves and followed it through the trees, and as the sun was setting, they came upon a small shack in the woods- an old house slowly falling back into the forest it came from.

Lestat tied the horses to a tree and looked around. The shack was in good enough shape to spend the night, and there was an old pile of rotting wood against a tree. The stream had also been built and widened into a small depression- standing water full of yellow leaves. A broken stone wall kept most of the stale water in, and most of the cold stream water out. “We might be able to take a hot bath if we can wait a few hours.”

Claire looked up at him- she badly wanted a bath, hot or cold. “Ok.”

He lit a fire and found large rocks and tossed them into the flames, then covered them with more wood. Then he walked to the stream, to the stone indention someone had made, and scooped leaves away. He took her into the shack and the door broke off in his hand. He tossed it across the yard to the fire. Inside he found mice, and old blankets, and old rags, and old cots, all chewed up and mildewed. He found dried food that was so expired even the mice avoided it. He found old tools in a sinking closet, and candles. He spread blankets on the floor, then sat down in the middle of the single room shack, and Claire sat down with him.

He handed her dried meat, and nuts, and they sat in silence, side by side, facing the open door. When they finished, he went outside and used a stick to roll the hot rocks through the dead leaves into the pool by the stream. Then he retrieved more rocks, and tossed them into the fire, and tossed more wood on top of those. Then he sat down on the decaying porch. The wood was soft, and damp. The fire cracked and popped to their left, and the stream whispered in front of them, and the leaves sifted slowly down, like the dust of mortar hanging in the air.

“Thinking about the cuff, and the date?” he asked.

She nodded.

Lestat sighed. “I’ve been positive this entire time that the only reason we liked each other was because of this cuff. And I’ve also thought that as soon as it falls off, we’re through.”

Those were cold, heavy words, and she looked up at him, and felt very sad. He literally just verbalized the doubt that was weighing down her heart. So she was right- it was the cuff, and they were done, and they had no future, and... She looked down, and did not want that to be the truth. She bit her lip.

He cleared his throat. “But I was wrong.”

She looked up. “What?”

He took her hand in his, and laced their fingers together; he felt the warmth of her small hand in his. “I would not have given you the time of day before, I’m positive. I would’ve never gone on a first date with you. But… I’m also positive this cuff is not the reason I like you.”

She didn’t answer right away. Doubt and hope filled her, the same way orange and yellow leaves filled the stream- covering her heart. She looked at the fire, thinking. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the sky was purple through the trees, and the world was quiet, except for fire, and water, and leaves. “I feel the same. I would’ve avoided you, and I would’ve said no to you.”

“Would you still?”

“No.” She pulled her upper lip in, and the world blurred at the edges.

“Because of the cuff?”

“No. It’s just… “ Claire sniffled up high in her nose, and scrunched her nose up. We do not lie. We do not lie. “I... I so badly wanted that date to be romantic, and for us to have fun, to prove to myself that you’re the one for... me.”

“It was a pretty bad date,” Lestat agreed. Although, for them, it was a pretty normal day. He stood, and helped her to her feet. He rolled more rocks into the pool. “But for what it’s worth,” he said, tossing more logs into the fire, “I’ve been on worse.”

“I’ve been on a lot worse,” Claire agreed, and realized she had. It wasn’t his fault it rained, and it wasn’t his fault they were tired and sore and dirty. It was his fault, though, for not saying anything about the dresses, for not insulting the hags, and for killing people. But, it was also true- part of that date was her fault. Pushing women and throwing books and turning him back to look at swords.

He led her back to the shack and retrieved threadbare towels, and dug through her pack for soap, and found one of the scarves she bought. Red silk. He carried it with them back to the pool, and unlaced his shirt, and pulled his boots off. It was darkening, but the fire cast plenty of light. He handed her the scarf, and turned around.

Claire held the scarf in her hands, thinking. She chewed her upper lip, and her heart felt like ribbons clipped to a clothesline. She took a deep breath and reached up and tied the scarf around his eyes. That time in the village, when he carried her around eating, and buying scarves- that had been a romantic date, but even then, he spent half the time looking down. She pulled her boots off, and untied her long skirt. She unlaced her shirt and slipped it off and tossed it aside. She pulled her underwear down, and tossed those aside, and he pulled his down, and she led him by the arm into the pool of warm water, and she helped him sit down. “I really want to go on a romantic date with you, to... to...”

He scooted down into the pool, and dipped his head underwater, and rustled his fingers through his hair. He came up slowly, so as not to lose the blindfold. “We’ve been on romantic dates. But I know what you’re saying. It’s the romantic dates that are my problem.”

How was that a problem? And what dates? “When?”

“Well, the one before last. Carrying you around the village while you ate and fed me.”

She dipped her hair in the water and looked at him- blindfolded with the red scarf he told her to buy. “Except, you were distracted, and lost in thought, so I don’t know how you think that was romantic.”

He reached his left hand up for the blindfold. “Can I take this off?”

She nodded, and didn’t bother covering her breasts, then realized he couldn’t see her nod. She reached up and pulled it off for him and dropped it into the water, and it floated red between them.

He blinked, and looked at her- her hazel eyes, and brown hair, and pale skin, by the light of a bonfire. “I was lost in thought,” he agreed, and reached his left hand up, and touched her cheek. “I was lost in thought, until I started thinking about you, and then I wasn’t lost anymore. That's how I know it's not the cuff.”

Claire bit her lip, and it was so hard to hold his eyes, but she did. Goddamn if that wasn’t another perfect answer. She swallowed. “Then... why are romantic dates a problem for you?”

Lestat smiled a weak, half-lost smile. “I’ve been waiting for you to lie to me, or for something to convince me that you’re not right for me. But every day, every night, every hour, you just keep...”

She sniffled, and crinkled her nose, and felt tears coming, and he leaned into her, and put his left arm around her shoulders, and hugged her, and she collapsed into him. Claire put her arm around him, and held him tight. He was right. Their fight in the snow, him stitching her leg in the cave, taking a bath together in Almavedic. Even when he got her drunk. He had done nothing since their first day together but prove to her that he was the one. The right one. The only one. One stupid date, and an argument or two, could not change that. She cried, and sniffled, as he held her. She was naked in his arms, and he was naked, and she climbed up on his lap, and wiped her eyes. “You’re right,” she said. “Falling in love with... with you wasn’t the right words. Lestat, I.. I love-”

“Wait,” he said, and covered her mouth. “Hold on.”