Chapter Twenty-Seven

Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius…

—Marilyn Monroe

 

PENN DECIDED HE’D completely lost his mind as he looked back at the rough skid he’d made and the unconscious Wolf now lying strapped to it. He turned around and faced the only place in their territory, the Steele territory, or the forestry’s, where no one would ever look or dare venture near. The only logical place to hide the enemy.

Fuck me, Penn muttered as his Wolf recoiled at this idea. Where else?

Nowhere safe, Wolf agreed on that point.

Then, this is it, Penn decided and prayed he survived his own insanity.

Already, he could feel the vacancy of this northern-most part of the Steele Pack land—a cave no Wolf dared go near, much less enter. This cave, the very reason why the Mitchum pack had not purchased the land when it was for sale all those years ago. Penn drew in a breath and prayed to their Pillars.

“Great Pillars, please keep us safe; there’s no other place to go,” Penn whispered to them and took the first step across and into the sacred Native American land surrounding their old burial cave. The Cave of the Chindi. A cold slow breeze began at Penn’s ankles and seemed to twine up his legs as he dragged the sled closer to the cave entrance.

“I mean no harm; we only seek shelter,” Penn said aloud as he drew closer. “My friend is sick and needs to heal. I will not disgrace this sacred place.”

Wolf whined, slinking back as far as he could into the recesses of their shared being.

Oh, brave Wolf. Penn acknowledged themselves as he shuddered.

He was talking to the air now, but it did make him feel better as he stopped and examined the entrance and cobwebs. He shivered as it felt like something crawled across his skin, and ghostly fingers trailed across the back of his neck. The heebie-jeebies had nothing on this place. Gooseflesh bloomed across Penn’s skin. He lowered the stretcher and picked up a branch. Clearing the way, he expected to smell death and disease but only smelled cooler air, a little musty, as he dragged the Bellum Wolf in with him.

Once inside the entrance, the spidery crawling feeling went away. Still, he wasn’t letting his guard down. Penn wasn’t sure how far back it went but laid the Wolf down again and used a flashlight to search just within. He saw no artifacts, bones, or talismans and took several steps in deeper. Through a narrow passage, Penn found what appeared to have been a living area, with a small freshwater pool and evidence of an old firepit and sleeping area. They were all vacant other than some broken pottery and disintegrated furs. He looked up to check where the fire vented and that the hole wasn’t blocked. Seeing no other tunnels or passages, he decided this was it and not a burial cave at all. Still, it won out on the creepy scale.

Danger? he asked Wolf.

No, Wolf reported and seemed just as surprised.

After checking on the unconscious passenger, Penn went to work. He still had a mission, but it would wait for a day or two. He glanced at the Bellum Wolf and estimated that was likely all the time he had left for this life. Penn cleaned up the cave quickly, then went out into the woods and fetched wood for a fire. With that done, he studied the narrow passage and sized up the Wolf. With no other way of going about it, Penn struggled but dragged the Wolf across the ground by the front paws and on his back until he finally wrestled his dead weight inside. Penn panted from the effort. He looked down at the big-ass Wolf, far larger than himself, even in his starved state. Penn retrieved his sleeping mat, rolled it out in the area previously used, and hefted the Wolf onto it.

After checking the bandaging and satisfied the wound was beginning to look slightly better, Penn built a fire and prepared his dry soup mix with water from the small pool. He contemplated what in the hell he should do. Yes, he had a mission, but part of it was to gather intelligence on the Bellums. He had one. Well, sort of. What better source of information than to just ask one? If he’d even talk to him if he survived. Taking him back to the packhouse wasn’t an option. Telling the pack wasn’t either. Not to mention he was trespassing on Steele land and harboring a fugitive.

Not so different than what Thomas is doing, Penn realized. Ryan is a fugitive, after all.

Penn sat on the mat next to the Wolf. With his head in his hands, he closed his eyes thinking of his next steps. His original plan had only gone as far as getting to this cave and surviving that madness. He would need supplies and time. Iron poisoning was no joke. Penn had medical training the same as they all did. Grace made sure of that—but Penn didn’t have what he needed. If this Wolf was to have any chance at all, Penn would have to go back to the packhouse. He’d have to go at night when they were all asleep to even try to attempt to save this Wolf. Save something they would all definitely want to kill.

Penn sighed and drank his water before refilling the bottle, and then he made a mental checklist of all the things he’d need. He assessed the cave; what a lie they’d all believed about it. Undoubtedly, the outside was a deterrent; that creepy feeling didn’t live inside. The sense of not being welcome lingered all around the land close to this place.

Penn checked on the Wolf. His breathing was slow and steady, his coat filthy, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He hated to leave him alone, but the Bellum Wolf would have no chance if Penn didn’t make this emergency medical supply run; if he didn’t go, the Wolf would die. Penn made his decision.

When the sun had set, Penn stripped down and shifted. He occupied his mind with random thoughts to pull this off as he ran through the northern part of the territories. Penn approached the packhouse at the furthermost eastern entrance from the rear, the one they used for trucks and supply deliveries. He waited until he could sense no one awake or moving about and slipped inside. Penn took one of the sets of generic clothes and slipped them on. These were left at all entrances for pack members to use.

Penn began in supply, where he gathered several bags to transport supplies in, and he began to stock up. It didn’t take long to fill both bags with tightly packed clothing, bedding, and food. He grabbed a backpack and headed to medical—cautiously, because if Grace was still there, he’d be screwed. But the unit was quiet, and he went into the medical supply and filled the backpack with what he needed, moving things around to hide that he’d taken some inventory.

Penn donned the backpack with everything he thought he’d need and carried a large duffel in each hand. The load was burdensome, but he snuck out the way he’d come in and began the many miles back to the northern cave. It was so much slower as human than Wolf, but Wolves couldn’t carry loads well in their form.

It was nearly sunrise by the time Penn slipped through the narrow passage. The fire was out, but the enemy Wolf still breathed.

Penn lowered the supplies and let out a relieved sigh that the Bellum was alive. He rebuilt the fire and then fished out a lantern and bottle of oil. After filling it, he lit the wick and was pleased by how much it illuminated the cavern. Penn got to work on the IV, starting the line and adjusting the flow for the weight he’d approximated. This was a massive Wolf.

With no stand, Penn rested the bottles on top of several stacked stones. It would have to do. As the liquid cures ran, an antibiotic and a binding agent for the iron, Penn unpacked the food stores and lined them up with the few cooking gear items. He folded the clothing he’d used to protect the lantern and glass bottles during the transport.

“Food, clothing,” Penn said, checking them off. “Water, and now just the bedding.”

That would have to wait until the IV ran out. Penn yawned, and he rolled out a sleeping bag on the floor next to the Wolf, turned out the lantern, and slept in near darkness that felt like night inside the cursed cave.

Penn had strange dreams of figures dressed in robes speaking to him in a language he couldn’t understand, an old language. He disregarded it as his wild imagination over the legends and scary bedtime stories mothers and fathers told young Wolves about this place.

Upon waking, Penn rolled his head to the side, saw no change in the Wolf, and questioned why he was even bothering. The thought of ending the Wolf instead made his stomach roil. He glanced up to see that the bottles were empty and got up to begin another round. He’d only brought six, thinking it would be enough. The other two had been merely saline to try to keep the Wolf hydrated while he was unconscious.

After starting the second round, Penn went for a quick hunt. He brought back a rabbit to cook and eat. With nothing else to do but wait for the Wolf to wake, he decided not to waste the fur. Wolves rarely wasted anything, so he sat fireside and cleaned the pelt before going out to get branches to form a frame. They’d all been doing this process for years, learning as children and being taught to use as much of an animal as possible.

The leftover rabbit bits went into a pot over the fire with a can of mixed vegetables and stock. The fire burned low, and the simple stew simmered. When Penn had finished, he leaned the frame on the wall for the drying process to begin. It would be a fine fur when it was finished. Penn checked on the Wolf.

With no change in him, Pen sat down, closed his eyes, and recited prayers to the Pillars on behalf of the Wolf until the second bottles were empty. Penn disconnected the line, hefted the Wolf over to the small pool, and laid him down. It was a strange experience, bathing an unconscious Wolf and getting all the dirt, blood, and matted fur clean once more. His paws were a mess, his fur so matted with mud and dried blood. Penn was surprised at the white that began to emerge as he scrubbed a little harder with soap lather using water at the side of the pool.

If the pool had been a little bigger, he’d have dunked the Wolf in, but it was only about two feet deep and three feet wide. The overflow trailed down a deep crack in the stone. So Penn scrubbed and dipped a bowl to rinse, repeating the process many times and letting the dirt and wastewater flow into the crevice as he poured it over the Wolf. Thankfully, the water wasn’t freezing cold but not hot either.

An odd combination of sources, Penn decided. But as he continued to rinse, the pure white coat was more than what he’d initially thought was a patch of white. No, this was a white Wolf, with only black at the tip of his tail, and Penn dropped the bowl. It went clattering as he scrambled back, away from the Wolf, and covered his mouth with a wet, shaking hand.

“No,” Penn whispered in both horror and awe.

No, his Wolf echoed.

“It can’t be,” Penn breathed out with a horrible, sickening suspicion.

The Riddle Wolf, his Wolf said in both deference and fear.

“I am in so much trouble,” Penn whispered to himself and began to tremble, immediately going prostrate on the stone floor.

He braved glancing up, then stared dumbfounded at his unworthy hands that had dared to touch, much less bathe, a god. One of their gods, a Pillar. And not just any Pillar. This was the one who happened to be the god of Death—who he’d recited a prayer to less than an hour ago. Penn scrambled up to his knees and clasped his hands tightly.

“Pillars, forgive me, help me. I meant no disrespect, but he is sick.” Penn prayed hard.

Nothing happened, but Penn was no fool as he looked at the warm water pool, the perfect cave that wasn’t haunted after all, his ease of getting supplies without getting caught, the large rabbit that had just sat there and didn’t even try to run away.

“Okay, okay,” Penn said, and carefully, so carefully, he dried the Riddle Wolf and prepared the bedding. He was terrified but moved the much cleaner Wolf to the fresh bedding and connected the IV line to a bottle of saline. He covered him, feeling it was appropriate to do so now. Penn ran a nervous hand over his face.

Then, Penn eased outside, needing a minute to think. He knew he couldn’t complete his mission and would be unavailable for an undetermined amount of time. Penn swallowed hard, and then he severed his ties to his pack completely. Back inside to guard his god, he sat, arms around his knees, and wiped the tears from his face, but it had to be done. No one could find them or risk harming this Wolf.

What have we done? The thought about the war rolled through Penn’s mind.

Dumbly, Penn looked down at himself and his own state. He quickly washed his hands and face, combed through his hair, and ensured his clothing was neat. He checked on the silent but breathing Wolf and blew out a breath. This stress was terrifying; surely, he’d wake soon. He looked better, clean, sure, but he appeared to be healing. He would need food and a lot of it.

Penn felt so scattered, but he covered the soup, setting it on the firestones to stay warm, and added more wood to the fire. He would go out and hunt and gather, fill the cave with provisions for a healthy recovery, and provide for his Pillar. He would build a spit to roast game. He ventured out, after one last check, to begin gathering before he hunted as Wolf. Penn found herbs and healthy roots with healing properties to add to the stew and the branches he needed for the spit. He carried everything back to the mouth of the cave. He would use this entrance area to work and sleep. Gods, he’d slept right next to him.

Wolf started to say something but then changed his mind.

Exactly, Penn agreed. There are no words for what we’ve done.

We? Wolf flashed the memory of Penn sleeping next to their god.

Penn ignored his Wolf and wiped the nervous sweat from his brow. He muttered to himself as he stripped the bark from the branches and used twine to create the supports for each side of the spit. It took a little while, but he carried each piece inside and quietly worked, setting it over the fire high enough not to burn. He washed and prepared the healing roots and herbs full of needed vitamins, added them to the simmering liquid, and checked on the still-sleeping Wolf. Penn replaced the empty saline bottle with the last full one and put the empty one with the others to return to Grace.

Now, he needed more game. He stepped out into the front section and stripped down, and then, he shifted. The three rabbits had been easy to find and were all quick, clean kills. They had been too easy, just like the first. Penn made fast work of them and had them skewered on the spit, and their furs scraped and stretched by the next sunset. When the last bottle of saline emptied, Penn carefully removed it and the IV line, then bandaged the small wound it had left. He cleaned and replaced the packing and bandage on the leg injury and covered the Wolf again.

Penn kept the fire going, and the food was ready on a flat stone, covered and warm, with a pot of soup also prepared. All water containers were filled to immediately drink. The Wolf was breathing more steadily now, and Penn hoped he would wake soon. He took the bedroll and headed to the outer part of the cave. He stood with his mouth open at the thick snow now on the ground in the middle of spring. A frigid blast hit his face.

Penn looked suspiciously past the immediate area to see green grass, flowers blooming, and no snow. The message was clear, so he turned around and went back inside the cave to sleep. He moved to the other side of the cave—as far from the Riddle Wolf as possible—opting to sleep inside with the fire rather than out in the cold cave mouth. He also didn’t want to piss off his other three gods.

Penn could, at least, be sure the fire didn’t go out. He removed his soiled clothes and quietly washed them, then stretched them to dry over a few branches he’d dragged inside. Penn slid on a pair of pants, all he had left, and curled up tight in his sleeping bag for the night.