Bound

Part 31: Released, Turning Moon #2 Chapter 1

He ran, and beneath him, the earth bled. Mud-slick dirt churned under his paws, warm as if a river of fresh, glutinous blood. Above, trees strained for the ruby-tinged night, their limbs strung with scarlet needles, bark desiccating like flayed flesh, dried to a brittle finish by the icy winds. Even the moon hanging low and swollen above the mountain peaks reflected the fury in its hue. When he ran—pounded until his heart hammered towards explosion, tore across ground until spittle turned to sour foam, sprinted through sweat clogging his thick coat and stinging his eyes—the rage owned him, possessed him even, and in its terrible purity, granted reprieve.

He flashed through undergrowth, branches and thorns snatching, nature pleading with him to stop. But resolution only came when scalding breaths failed to fill his lungs and screaming muscles seized into in-operability. Then he would crash to the unyielding clod and surrender to exhaustion.

At first, the end used to come within a couple of hours. Now it took longer. The gruelling marathons stretched on, forcing him to pound for hours and hours before relief would settle. Not that he deserved respite; he wasn't worthy of anything good in his life after what he'd done.

A jagged memory pierced his consciousness: Eddie Stone, a strong and proud wolf—his friend—staggering backwards, eyes wide with fear, blood-greased hands clutching wildly at the gash in his neck, his mouth working to ask why, but only producing a rush of bubbling blood.

It was Michael who had cut his pack-member's throat; slit it at the exact point which would yield the best harvest before pressing the chalice rim to the gaping wound. 'Fill it to the brim,' whispered as he pinned Eddie in place.

'You were possessed!' a desperate cry yelled over the diabolical command. 'You weren't in control!'

He snarled the voice away, only to hear it replaced by Leanne Stone, Eddie's mate, wailing for mercy before he visited the same death upon her. 'No! Michael, no!'

Hearing his name, he cowered from the echo.

Michael Vincent shouldn't exist. As a vile, murderous piece of scum, his surviving pack members should have ripped him to shreds before flinging his limbs into the farthest corners of the earth. Instead, they'd allowed him to live. Perhaps this was the better punishment; a lifetime of guilt and torment.

Propelling himself forward, he welcomed the scalding cramps arresting his body. Breath thinned as lungs failed to suck in oxygen. Vision feathered, pinching out the forest. Oblivion called, urging him home.

The earth swam in red. Michael Vincent surrendered and crashed into its embrace.

***

"Day three."

Michael scored a line through the date on his hand-written calendar. He'd listed only two weeks. It was too soon to plan any further ahead—to cradle hope he might make it a whole month. Alone, he sat at a rickety table, his empty dinner plate shoved aside. Today was always going to have been the hardest, and while another four hours needed to pass before midnight arrived, the primordial urge to phase into his wolf raged weaker than the previous night. Setting down the pencil, he splayed his fingers. A slight tremble remained, but nothing as intense as earlier. The ringing in his ears had passed in the early afternoon, and shortly after, his spine had quit twitching to morph. "Day three," he repeated. A tiny win, but progress he wouldn't snub.

Compared to yesterday, his surroundings had also improved. The thin-walled, two-room hunting shack presented a damn sight worse when he'd first dragged himself over the threshold, but scoured and tidied, the space now took shape. Where he'd shoved the wobbly table against the wall, a single row of kitchen cabinets ran along his left. A cracked window splintering the forest view, sat above the sink, and to its right, the gas stove, which had taken him considerable time to get working. The shack's owner; Charlie Simmonds dropped off a fridge earlier that morning, and now wedged under the counter below the stove, Michael possessed all he needed to keep himself fed—on human food. Ripping into fresh kill every mealtime for the last few months had nudged him closer to fully surrendering to his animal side. He hadn't realised how close he'd come to losing his humanity until three days ago. Thankfully, he'd hauled himself back from the precipice, and the young woman he'd tracked through the forest escaped unharmed. Clearing his throat against the disturbing memory, he studied the room with a critical eye.