The Wolf & The Witch
Snow

Claire trembled, and her hands shook, and she cried, and held Lestat’s head on her lap. Snow came down around them, and most of it evaporated before it hit him- his fever kept them warm. Claire never moved to put her clothes on, but she reached back for the saddle blanket on the ground, and laid it over their legs. She took handfuls of snow and rubbed his chest, and arms, and face. His eyes fluttered and his breathing fluttered. She watched drops of water get stuck in his chest hair before they rolled off, in the cold, silver dark. There were so many things in this world to fear, and he kept saving her from every damn one of them, and had been since the first day they woke up together. He covered her when the roof of the cell came down, and he pulled her out of the river to the bank; he held her on the bank, and he held her as they ran through the city, and surely he held her feet near the fire that first night, all night. Some of that was him acting in his own best interest. Some, but not all. I have no interest in you, I don’t like you, I don’t want to sleep beside you, I don’t want to hug you- I’m going my way, and you’re going yours. Those were very direct words, that left no doubt. Crystal clear. And she felt the exact same way. Once this cuff was off, she was going her way and he was going his. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

She laid down beside him and covered them both up. She was on her back, looking up at the snow. It hit her face. It didn’t hit his. She wondered if he could truly save her from everything she feared. She turned and looked at him. He better get to work, because first and foremost, she was afraid of him dying. She frowned- her hands were still trembling, and she started crying again, and rolled over and laid her head on his chest, and it was burning hot. She put her hands in the snow till they were white hot with the cold, then laid them on his forehead, and his eyes, till she eventually fell asleep holding him.

Claire woke abruptly in the dark. She tried to move, but couldn’t- she was bundled up in his arms, her left hand behind her back. “Lestat?” She shifted in his arms, and could feel snow on her back, and could tell snow was in her hair, and the blanket was pulled up over her ears, and her feet were tucked in between her legs and his. “Lestat?” She struggled and he held tight. She squirmed and tugged and pulled her right hand free and slapped around until she found his forehead- no fever. A big, broad smile crossed her face, and her nose crinkled up and she pulled her upper lip in. She pushed against him, and couldn’t budge him. “Lestat…” she tried to straighten her legs and could tell he was pinning them down against her. “Damnit- let me up.”

“No,” he answered, sleepily. “Go back… to sleep.”

Claire’s eyes went big and wide and she pushed and shoved and scrambled free and scooted back just far enough to throw her right arm around his neck; she hugged him tight, then rolled him on his back, into the snow, and checked the red line- it had retreated back to his wrist, and his fever was gone. She unwrapped his hand- the salt was a thick mass of yellow jelly- infection the salt had drawn out of him. She wiped his hand clean in the snow, then held his hand in hers, and looked down at him. “I’m glad you’re ok. I was very... worried.”

“Thank you, but I need… more sleep.”

She smiled. “Not just yet.” She looked around, saw a water skin in the snow and brought it to his lips and forced water down his throat. She was naked, and he was watching her- even beat up, even in the dark- she was beautiful.

Claire reached the other way to her pack, leaning against the cuff. She was smiling, and trying to hide it. She was so happy he was alive. She dug though her pack, fed him a bite, and another, and noticed he was looking at her, watching her. Then she noticed she was sitting naked in front of him, and cold. She blushed and crawled to the end of the cuff again and grabbed his shirt out from under the snow and pulled it on over her head. It hung off her left shoulder. “Are you cold?”

“Yes.”

She reached for his cloak and covered him with it, straightening it out.

He watched her- not staring at her naked body, but watching her, looking at her. This goddamn witch. She was so very beautiful, even beat up. And she was so very strong, even beat up. And she was so very intelligent- in a different way. Those three traits don’t usually combine in most people. But they did in her. She was also fiery- her spirit burned hot, and Lestat liked that about her, probably most of all. But Lestat’s mother had been a witch, and so had his grandmother, and his grandmother had the same fiery spirit. Most of his friends were witches when he was young. And he knew many others. And one truth over-rode every other truth when it came to witches: they cannot be trusted. Their actions eventually fail their words. His mother was, by far, the worst. Which is why he grew up without a mother, or a grandmother, or friends, or anyone else. There is simply no point in loving someone that can’t be trusted. Claire was a beautiful, intelligent, competent, strong woman. Claire was also a witch. And he needed her as much as she needed him, and while that lasted, he thought he could trust her. And when it ended? When the cuff came off and she was safe, and she went home to her cute little house in the woods? How much could he trust her then?

She brought dried meat to his mouth, and water, dried figs, and water, and nuts, and water. He ate and drank everything for her. “Now, go back to sleep,” she ordered. She pushed heaps of snow back, and repositioned their one saddle blanket over them. The snow was deep and still falling, and the ground was cold. She waited a moment, thinking, pausing, biting her lip, then she pulled her left hand behind her back, forcing his arm around her, and snuggled up into him.

Lestat shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Holding her, hugging her, felt a little bit like standing on the edge of a cliff, and tightening his arm around her felt like leaning over the edge. Holding her to keep her alive, or holding her to hold her? He was certain there was only one possible outcome with a witch. Any witch, including her. He took another deep breath, and looked down, and pulled her close. His hands were trembling, and he was weak, and he was worried about nearly everything Rana had said, and he needed Claire’s strength, and help, and holding her calmed him- she fit perfectly against him; her hand fit perfectly in his, and holding her body, her warmth, even when he knew he didn’t trust her, calmed him. He wrapped his arms tight around her, then his legs, and pulled her up against him. He trapped the bottoms of her feet between her thigh and his, to keep them warm, and cradled her head between his left arm and his shoulder, covering her ears. He draped his right arm down her back, covering as much of her as he could, and held her hand in his. He held her close for a long minute, feeling her warmth, feeling her breathing, slowly, in and out, in and out, like feet hanging off a dock.

She squirmed a little, and reached up under the blanket and wrapped her right arm around him, and hugged him.

Lestat cleared his throat, and swallowed. “Claire?”

“Yeah?”

“I… said one thing wrong.” His voice was low, and soft.

“…so did I.”

He took another deep breath and put his nose and lips in her hair. “I do like you, as far as witches go, and you are worthy of my attention. As far as witches go.”

The witch’s heart stopped beating and her eyes lit up. What a nice shit shoveler he was being, and, apparently, he all of a sudden had enough energy to play. “I like you, too, Lestat. I’m not sure about the attention part yet.”

Lestat lowered his eyes. This damn witch. “And what did you say wrong, witch?”

“Huh? Let’s get some sleep.” She snuggled up against him, grinning ear to ear.

“Witch, goddamn you…”

He was growling and she could feel the rumbling in her cheek, and her hand, and her chest- everywhere close to him. She didn’t know why, but she liked making him growl. But she shouldn’t tease him too much; he had been through a lot lately. She should be nice. “Don’t cuss me. What is it? What do you want?”

“You know what I want- what did you say wrong?”

“Hmmm... hmmmm... let me think,” she said. She listened to his heartbeat in her right ear, and could hear little growls rumbling around in his chest- she could feel the small vibrations. She smiled. “I was wrong- not all wolves are scum. Not all wolves are stupid and worthless. There’s at least one wolf, who stands at the back of a tent, not looking at anyone, not listening to anything, drinking nothing but water, who is not scum. And I’m not saying that just because I’m cuffed to you in a creepy forest and we might die anytime now. I was wrong, and insulted you, and I apologize.” She looked up at him and smiled- it was a sincere apology, and she meant it.

And Lestat looked down at her, and smiled. “I did look at someone in that meeting.”

She was holding his eyes. She was waiting. One second. Another. There was a follow-up to that statement, and he wasn’t following-up. “Who?”

“Good night.”

“Motherfucker, who?” She punched him in the side and he reached down and caught her hand and held it against her.

“Go to sleep.”

“Stop giving me orders. And tell me now- who?” She struggled, nearly freed her hand, and he caught it again.

“Go to sleep.”

She struggled more, and pushed against him, and he let go. “Who, goddamnit.”

Their faces were a half inch from each other- he could see every eyelash, and the dark locust honey of her eyes, and the thorns that made the honey, and he could see- her eyes were smiling. “Some silly witch who passes out every time she uses magic. She milks goats for a living, and probably jiggles her tits while she does it. Go to sleep.”

“You’ll never know, asshole, and I take it back,” Claire flopped over, this time forcing him to hold her from behind. His big arm was around her, and she scooted back into him, and kind of liked this better. “Wolves are the scum of the earth, and that includes you.”

She huffed as he pulled her closer, and then she felt him laughing- snickering in her ear, and she smiled. He was perfectly fine- if he had the strength to laugh, then he had the strength to stay alive. But fine wolf, laugh at this. She reached forward, grabbed a handful of snow, spun and shoved it in his face- straight up his nose and into his mouth. She laughed out loud at him.

Lestat opened his eyes and spit snow. She didn’t think this through- she was all tangled in the blanket and their cuffed arms. He grinned at her- his left arm was free. He reached up for a handful of snow.

Claire struggled, then glared at him. “Don’t you dare.”

“Any sensitive spots?”

Her glare could melt metal, and it’s a goddamn lucky thing she couldn’t slap him. She struggled and fought him and glared at him.

“Ear? Neck? Lower back... what comes next?” He reached his left hand under the blanket and leaned into her.

“Stop! Lestat! Stop it!”

The chill of ice ran down her neck, down her back under his shirt, under the blanket, then past her bare butt, and hovered over the backs of her thighs. A drop melted and hit her thigh and she jumped and squeaked and he held tight.

“I swear to god if you touch me-“

He lowered the snow to her thigh.

“Lestat! Stop!” She glared at him; her eyebrows were writing out death threats.

“This is like a witch trial, isn’t it? This is pretty enjoyable.”

Claire would kill him if her hands were free- this goddamn wolf and this fucking blanket and his damn legs; she shoved and pushed. A plop of snow dropped from his hand and hit the back of her thigh and she bolted like a startled deer- she was out of his arms and the damn blanket in half a second, pinning him to the ground, growling, snarling at him.

Lestat laughed- he would have to remember that the backs of her thighs were off-limits. He tugged at his left hand, towards the snow.

“Stop it,” she threatened, huffing, pinning his left arm against the ground. Snow fell silent, and white, around them, and the only sound, and the only movement, was their breaths, suspended as white fog between them. “It’s bedtime goddamnit. You’re sick. You need sleep.”

“You started this.” He moved his arm.

She had his left hand pinned to the ground. The blanket was draped around her shoulders, and she was using all her strength, and he was moving against her, and she bared down, gritting her teeth, and stopped him, and crinkled her nose at him. “No. That’s enough. No more snow.”

So beautiful. Lestat jerked his right hand, the one cuffed to her left, and she came tumbling down onto him. He caught her, and pinned her against him, and brought a left hand full of snow towards her face.

She grabbed a big handful of her own, spun, and smashed it into his right ear and glared down at him. Snow was in his hair, his eyelashes, clogging one nostril... “Lestat- stop! I swear to go- Nooo!!!!! Stop!!!!!”

He found the back of her thigh again.

*

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