The Wolf Esprit: Lykanos Chronicles 3
Chapter Twenty-Six

Father showed me how to dispose of the farmer’s body, guiding me back into the forest where the ground was damp. With his powerful arms, he used his talons to swipe at the earth in a frenzy until he’d dug a deep hole.

In my lust to see the fiend destroyed, I’d already torn out his throat and bowels when I set upon him. But now Father showed me how to dispose of the corpse by ripping it into pieces, separating the legs and arms from the torso. Then he removed the head and snapped the torso in half. He dropped all these pieces into the compact hole before replacing the dirt to pack it tight.

It’s deep enough to keep predators from noticing it. We left pieces of his flesh behind near his musket, so anyone would realize what happened to him when he left his house to fight off a pack of wolves. If other humans come in search of the remains, they’ll never expect to find them disposed of this way by simple beasts.

While the mechanics of this practice interested me, I was far too absorbed in the excitement of what we’d done to pay close attention to his guidance.

Where to next? I asked, almost jumping up and down with anticipation.

That’s enough for one night, Gabrielle answered. Dawn will arrive in two hours, so we return to the fortress.

It was the last thing I wanted to hear, but Father insisted we return to our rooms before the house staff awoke.

I considered running off alone with these new gifts to take in more of the world around me, but neither of them would tolerate such disobedience.

We ran for home, stopping only at a small pond to bathe. Here they instructed me how to revert to my lycan body. The process was humbling, to say the least. Stepping into the cold water only shriveled me more, but losing my intoxicating strength brought a striking clarity of mind. It wasn’t until I was naked and alone with them in the pond that other matters caught my attention.

“What of that woman? What will happen to her in the light when she finds her husband is missing?”

Gabrielle reached lovingly to smooth my wet hair back from my face.

“Precisely,” she answered. “We must never allow the wolf’s impulses to steer your rational mind away too far from your ultimate obligations. You are now responsible for her well-being. You must see that you have not replaced one ill for another.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant, but I nodded all the same. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“We cannot allow her to be ruined by what we’ve done,” she continued, as if realizing I didn’t follow. “In a couple of days, when the truth of his death is clear to all, you and I will return to that farm to bring her assurances. Max is the rightful lord of all these lands, so you will speak to her as his nephew and representative. You’ll assure her that her farm is not in jeopardy and that you will not collect taxes in the coming years. You will offer her coin to aid, even offer to send hands to help with the fields when possible. And I will search for a proper man to replace her husband. We will not insist she remarries, but we will enable the possibility. After such abuse, she may not wish to remarry, but she cannot stay on the farm forever without a husband. She has no children—likely why that man felt himself in place to abuse her as he did. So, if she wishes to surrender the farm and come work in the house, we will support her.”

I continued to nod at her words, though what went through my mind was the realization of what I’d done. I’d saved a woman from her husband’s cruelties, but in doing so, I’d also set her world upside down. My heart raced as the enormity of what I had done permeated through my mind.

Gabrielle took my face in her small hands, just as Father might, and kissed my forehead.

“It’s not enough to let the wolf satisfy itself for the good of those in distress. We must see our work through to the very end. All of them, all the people in these lands for miles around, are our responsibility to protect. It will never be as simple as feasting on the flesh of the evildoer. We must also right their wrongs however we can.”

The first months of my new life moved quickly, but in ways I’d never anticipated.

My wolf changed everything, just as they had assured me it would in the prior weeks. I was no longer afraid of anything, just as Gabrielle promised. Nor could I control the wolf’s protective anger and lust for violence, as Father had insisted I couldn’t. And each time I came to the kill, an almost consuming sense of duty followed to ensure those moments of release were paired with sober action to make the survivors whole as must as I could.

What they’d not prepared me for was just how rich life would become to my senses. The world had taken on a light that wouldn’t let me sit still. It was as if my wolf’s infatuation with the mesmerizing glow of the moon had seeped into every aspect of my lycan life. The rich colors of a painting might hold my attention for hours. The vibrant texture of an autumn leaf would absorb me as I turned it over and over in my adoring hands. There weren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish half the things I meant to.

Father gave up trying to mold me into a wine farmer, finding it impossible to keep my attention long enough for such pedestrian duties. My studies with Gabrielle, however, continued daily—I couldn’t get enough of her teachings. My thirst for knowledge fed itself as she opened each new door of wisdom.

Reading became another obsession. I poured through the books in the fortress without the slightest respect for time. Father would take a book out of my hands when he found me in the morning, still seated in a lounge chair, the taper I’d lit the previous night long gone.

“You must sleep, mon fils,” he insisted. “You have duties you cannot neglect like this. These books will wait for you.”

But what became impossible to ignore were my needs as a young man.

It was difficult enough to witness how deeply Baron and Baroness loved each other. My heart wished to find such inspiring companionship one day. But how they demonstrated that love, particularly in wolf form, was too much for me to ignore.

Father often dismissed me in the field, even while we hunted, to couple with his wife. He gave no thought to the proprieties of their displays. He maintained an unapologetic physical passion for her that was impossible to ignore. His lascivious behavior did nothing for my cause, alone now as I was—an only child with a man’s needs.

My early concerns about their knowledge about my urges and practices quickly vanished, along with the rest of my fears. I pleasured myself so constantly that Father made endless jokes at my expense.

“Mon Dieu, he’s at it again,” he said once as I left the breakfast table to return to my room. “We must guard the linens, cheri. Not one of them is safe!”

The truth was I’d given up any notion of pursuing a sexual relationship with the surrounding humans. Though I didn’t fear another experience like the one with Dumas, I couldn’t overcome the realization that it would always be a disappointment. It wasn’t just how no other young men in the fortress were interested in me—Gabrielle made that painfully clear. Humans had become like ghosts the longer I lived with my lycan senses—they were the unreal countenance of something more. Being among both humans and lycans every day only further highlighted the disparity. With their minds open and every emotion unguarded, lycans made humans feel almost imaginary. And I couldn’t stomach pretending I wasn’t alone in this respect.

I wouldn’t allow myself to play with them like they were toys. That would never be enough for me.

Father didn’t push to contradict me, though he made it clear he thought I was overthinking the matter.

“There are others of your disposition in Saulieu. A farmer’s son is only a mile from here and suffers alone, as you do. Why not go out and meet him, fils? This self-denial is not good for your soul. You mustn’t overthink the matter. The body needs what it needs.”

But I stood by my resolution for months, taking the matter in hand each day (and night) at the expense of what dignity their jibes left me with which to persevere.

That is, until the day I changed my mind.

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