21. EVER SINCE WE MET

 

My eyes spring open as though from a nightmare. I’m in a vacuum of noise, free of the sound of planes. A sparrow soars, set against the backdrop of a cloudy blue sky. Actually, it just hangs there, a mural painted on the ceiling of Roul’s bedroom. My bedroom now. I squint against the bright daylight to get my bearings, and my left hand automatically goes up to shield my eyes. I expect a shot of pain from the movement, but it doesn’t come, even when I adjust myself upright in bed. I look around, confused. On the other side of the room, Arden sleeps on a chic daybed with Amara in his arms. His eyes flutter open at the sound of my movement, the color of honey in the daylight, widening as they watch me sitting up. He’s never been one for many words, and when his surprise dissipates he presents me with the rare gift of his smile. Amara stirs awake, slowly getting to her feet.

“How long have I been out?” I ask in a weathered voice.

“A day and a half,” she responds simply as Arden sits up on the daybed.

Her answer only confuses me more. Arden’s face is still heavily bruised. He’s otherwise cleaned up, but he must still be in a lot of pain. I pat my ribs, feeling nothing. Under the duvet, my palm strokes my wounded leg. It’s bound in thick gauze but there’s no pain, only numbness. At the rate that werewolves heal, a day and a half wouldn’t have been enough time to recover from my extreme injuries. Either I’m numb from painkillers or there’s permanent nerve damage. I never gave much thought about my physical appearance but the thought of a permanent limp depresses me. Amara comes to my bedside. Her hand grasps mine and pulls it away from the injury.

“You are lucky to be alive,” she tells me.

With a nod, I squeeze her fingers. “Thank you. Both of you.”

Voices travel from down the corridor, approaching the room. Trajan enters first and stops to look at me.

“Told you,” he says with a smile, walking over to check the monitor on a piece of equipment that I’m wired to.

Right on his heels is Ben, who lets out a hoot as he stalks to my side to get a better look.

“I don’t know what you’re giving me for the pain,” I start, fishing for answers, “but keep it coming. I don’t feel a thing.”

Just about everyone looks to Trajan for an explanation.

“Oh, right. I guess you can call it a case of accidental recombinant tissue regeneration,” he offers.

“Accidental ... what now?”

“You remember Lazarus?”

The memory registers. “Your zombie mouse? Yeah, he bit me. You said it was nothing. Did I get Peter Parkered?”

“Like I said before, he’s part of an experiment to test out scar-free tissue regrowth in humans. You were in pretty rough shape after what Breber did. But by the time you were brought here your wounds were already closing. Your werewolf regenerative system worked alongside what Lazarus added to your human one.” He turns the machine off and pulls the wire from my arm. “Welcome back, Mouse Man.”

I smile but my anxiety is impossible to hide. “I ... can’t feel my leg.”

“Dude, it’s been less than thirty-six hours,” he says, flippant enough that it relieves me somewhat. “I mean, damn it, Connor. He’s a mouse, not a miracle worker.”

Ben walks over to me, clearing his throat. “Now that you’re in the clear, I got a plane to catch.”

I’m not surprised about his eagerness to return after all that he’s seen. He shakes my hand in the same way Marrock greeted me when we first met, hands clutching forearms.

“Thanks,” I say. “I didn’t know him, but I think you would have done Habbakuk proud.”

Ben half-smiles, looking at his feet. “You coulda mentioned the bullets. I woulda done a lot less soul-searching afore pulling the trigger.”

He withdraws an object from a duffel bag and hands me an unexpected gift. It’s Amara’s sword, sheath and all. Beautiful in its simplicity, just like her.

“This doesn’t belong to me,” I tell him and look to Amara, who shakes her head.

“It is a relic of the past,” she says, “and has not been mine for a very long time.”

“Marrock told me to give it to you when this was over,” Ben explains. “He said it’s a way forward.”

Reluctantly, I take the short, curved sword and whatever power it holds. I pull the blade from its sheath to examine it. The metal is cool under my fingertips, the etchings rough. Marrock sent it not only to acknowledge our history but also to set things right so we can move ahead, together, as allies. I still have a long road ahead. My own pack was decimated by the Luparii. It will take years to rebuild, but no doubt others have suffered equal losses. We’ll always have enemies. If anything good came out of all this, my hope is that the European packs will have a clear picture of the benefits of coming together. The Luparii will rise again under a different name. There will also be those like Vukašin who find me wanting as a leader. But now is not the time to think about that.

“I’ll see you again,” I say to Ben. “You’ll make a great chieftain.”

He gives me a proper salute — right hand almost touching his brow, palm facing forward.

“Well, I’m his ride,” Trajan announces. “So, I guess that means I gotta jet. Peace out, boss.”

I wave at him. As they leave, my ears pick up a faint murmur outside my bedroom door.

I anticipate Madison, but reading my body language, Arden says, “There’s a man who wants to see you. A Hound.”

“Who is it?”

“A monk named Christopher.”

He gestures with his head toward the door.

“He set up a vigil here,” Amara explains. “He has been praying without stopping.”

“Send him in.”

They exchange a loaded glance.

“I owe him my life,” I note. “I think maybe we all do.”

Amara nods, and after a whispered few moments at the doorway, the white-robed monk rises into view from a chair outside the door and follows her to the foot of my bed. I recognize him from his heavy facial scars as the man who ran the hostel where Josh was staying in Paris. It’s hard to forget a face so heavily scarred. Tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe, he bows his head in greeting.

“I’m afraid I have to confess that I heard what you just said,” he says with a sheepish smile. “You owe me nothing. Your life, all of your lives, belong to a higher power than my own.”

“And Breber?” Arden asks, leaning forward in his seat. “Who will judge him now that he’s human again? Your God? Have you taken charge of ... Heaven’s Hand now?”

“I’ve always preferred the Hounds of God. And, yes, they are now under my charge. I want to assure you, though, that our intent has not changed from its origins.”

“And what’s that?” I ask uneasily.

Brother Christopher lowers his gaze. “Times have changed. I’m not a fool. The tenet of untouchability is outdated. I’m not so naive to think Breber can do no more harm simply because he’s human.” He pauses. “The Hounds of God minister to the bitten and guide them back onto the path of the righteous. That is still a noble calling.”

“They can all be cured now.”

“Physiologically, yes. Many still require counseling to find their way.” Peering into my eyes, he says, “I understand there are only two laboratories that can produce Wolf’s Bane.”

“If you think—”

He raises a hand from his long-sleeved robe. “Please hear me out. Offer us amnesty and we will come to you. I only wish to administer the cure to those who remain. Give them this small mercy and I will counsel the survivors of this terrible curse so that they may return to the human world and die, by the grace of God, in their old age.”

I know there will be men and women who challenge his rule, who are unwilling to give up the purpose bestowed upon them by Breber. Peace has to start somewhere, and what better place than with the man who saved my life by stopping his own misguided leader?

“Fenrir Pharmaceuticals can reproduce Wolf’s Bane,” I tell him, not committing to anything, “but it’ll take a while. We’ll be in touch.”

“Bless you, Connor,” he says, turning to leave but pausing as he remembers something. “I ... believe there will be soldiers unwilling to return to civilian lives. Magistrate Breber convinced them of his new world order. But we may still save them yet.”

He bows his head once more and turns to leave. Then glass shatters, surprising us all. At the doorway, Madison stands with a splattered beige puddle, shards of ceramic at her feet and a small bag of Cheetos in one hand. Her hair is a bed-headed mess, and even though she looks like she hasn’t slept in days she’s never been prettier. Racing ahead, she slips on the remnants of what I know is her special concoction of coffee and hot chocolate that now covers the wet hardwood. She catches herself before she wipes out. Instead of moving forward, she takes a breath to just stare at me from afar. With a smile, Brother Christopher moves past her and walks to the exit, dodging the puddle.

Madison quickly pads over to my bedside. I lean forward to catch her in my arms, relieved that I’ve healed so quickly. Otherwise her bear-hug would be causing some serious anguish. Over her shoulder, I see that Amara has taken it as a cue to also leave, leaning down to help up Arden. As they make their way out of the room, he casts us a sidelong glance, grinning, before kissing Amara on her temple. She shuts the door behind them and we’re alone in the room. I reluctantly push Madison back and she smiles. She’s close enough that her face fills my vision, and I scan every inch, memorizing each fleck of gold in her hazel eyes.

“Let me see,” she says, pulling back the sheet to prod at the bandage on my leg.

“It’s not fully healed yet,” I tell her, grabbing her hand. “Besides, what if I’m a hideous monster now?”

“You already are,” she throws back. “Didn’t Trajan tell you, Wolf-Rat?”

“You mean Were-Mouse-Zombie-Man,” I correct with a grin. “I’m still working on the name.”

Putting aside my vanity, I release my grip so she can pull back the dressing. I don’t look at my leg but instead watch her expression change minutely from an anxious anticipation to something unreadable — a mix of sadness, maybe a bit of disappointment.

Finally she says, “Yeah ... so ... is Ben single?”

Her mouth twitches and I grimace at her cruel sense of humor. With a laugh, she bends over and presses her lips against mine. My hands grip her waist and I hoist her up next to me in bed. As we kiss, her fingertips press through the thin cotton fabric of my hospital gown. I lean into the crook of her neck and try to breath her in.

“What are you doing, freak?” she asks.

“You didn’t put on your perfume.”

“No,” she says, pulling away. “Actually, I didn’t.”

I go in again for a deeper whiff, and she giggles. There’s no need to ask her why she’s stopped wearing the vanilla perfume. No more camouflage. No more hiding from me, or from anyone else for that matter. She nestles her head against my shoulder. I’m exhausted from a combination of the exertion and the toll on my body in the past few days. She traces her finger along the still-healing scar on my leg.

“When did you become such a badass?”

I smile sadly, the memory of Roul’s sacrifice coming back to me. “It was kind of thrust upon me.”

“You can’t deny you grew into it.” She tilts her head up slightly. “If you remember, you used to be the awkward guy who would wipe out just sitting in class.”

The memory seems so far away. “You noticed, huh?”

My thoughts go to everything that’s happened since I landed a scholarship here in Paris. Truth is, I haven’t had time to think about the changes in me. All I’ve done is react and prepare for everything that was going on around me. Now the lives of the pack are in my hands. I foresee months of traveling, inoculating wolves against Wolf’s Bane to ensure our enemies never have this kind of power again. Those who were already cured may be trapped in the bodies of wolves now, their human selves buried forever, but they made it clear they’re still in there. I’m beholden to them, to the legacy of Roul, to do right by them. I’ll do whatever necessary to keep them safe.

“Earth to Connor,” Madison’s voice beckons. “Where’d you go?”

I shake my head and she stirs, getting up on an elbow. Her eyes search mine for a moment before she sits up.

“I should get more gauze and, um, let you rest,” she says.

“Hold on.”

Not knowing what else to say, I hold up her hand to kiss the inner wrist but pause at the words she inked there with a pen: “libere vivere.”

Closing my eyes, I get a glimpse of our future — the years ahead of us, getting to know each other. A lifetime of firsts, mostly good, some bad. We’ll fall in love, because it’s worth the risk of heartache. We’ll fight, but the making up will put it behind us. Most importantly, we won’t take any single day for granted. Circumstances change, people do as well, but it’s a strange relief to know that anything is possible now.

“Will you stay?” I peer over at her with bated breath.

Even before she speaks, her smile is a catalyst for the endless possibilities ahead of us. “Yeah.”