Wolf Omega: Lykanos Chronicles 2
Chapter Six

Apollonia’s face hovering above me, lit up by the morning’s first light when I came too. She sat on the bed just beside me, and there were tears in her eyes.

“What is it?” I attempted to say, but then I felt it.

It was not a sharp pain, but it was unmistakable. The muscles of my face objected to my attempt at scowling.

“Shh, no, please. Don’t do that,” Apollonia insisted, and she brought a wet rag to dab gently at my face.

“Cecco,” I whispered with exhausted condemnation when the pain subsided. “What do I look like?”

“We must prepare your things,” she said without an answer. “He told me to pack a bag and dress you as soon as you woke.”

“A bag?” I asked in confusion.

“You’re both leaving here this morning,” she answered. “I don’t know where.”

“I can’t go out like this,” I responded.

“I will cover your head with a hooded cape,” she answered. “The blue one you love.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I insisted. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Within the hour, I found myself sitting in a cart, dressed and hooded, waiting with my bag. Cecco arrived and ordered the driver to go, and the horse pulled us forward.

My husband didn’t speak to me. I had nothing to say to him, but I badly wanted to know where we headed at this hour.

The sun was burning in our eyes as the carriage pulled out of the city. Cobblestone soon gave out to muffled dirt, and the quiet countryside opened before us.

He’s taking me back home, I realized.

A mixture of relief and fear overcame me, but more pressing was the nausea building with every mile we passed. I chose to believe it was the cart’s movement, shook by the uneven ground, but that was of little comfort.

Not again, I thought. God couldn’t be so cruel.

I tried to remember how quickly the first pregnancy had unsettled me. By the time Signora Vervio had pronounced me with child at her party, I’d already been uneasy for days. But we coupled almost nightly, so there was no way to be sure.

Not the morning after, I repeated to myself over and over.

I resolved it was the carriage, its erratic movements, and everything else I’d endured.

Hours went by without a word to me from Cecco. If the driver commented on the road or asked a question, my husband would answer briefly and sternly. When I asked where we might stop to refresh, the driver spoke up to suggest a tavern in the next village.

Early autumn was beautiful in the countryside, with its orange and gold changes, but I couldn’t appreciate them. Nor could I enjoy the break in the summer heat that had joined the dazzling colors. Even when I saw my father’s farm come into view in the distance, I realized I didn’t want to be there any more than I did in Morbegno.

When the driver pulled up to the tiny house near the farm’s center, I saw Father turned in confusion.

“Signore Alfonsi, I did not expect to see you here!” my father exclaimed with a bright smile.

When he saw my face, a shadow fell over his eyes.

“Get out,” Cecco said to me.

I looked at him in disgust, then stepped down from the carriage.

“What’s happened?” Father asked.

From inside the house, I heard Savia’s voice alert our mother to our presence, and both came smiling to greet us. I tried to keep my back to them, but they circled the carriage to come to embrace me.

Savia gasped when she saw my face. Mother seemed to go lifeless.

“What is the meaning of this?” my father prompted Cecco again. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I have returned your daughter to you,” he answered. “She’s not fit to be a wife.”

“She is your wife,” Father countered. “She’s lived in your house for almost a year. You cannot bring her back here.”

“What did you do to her?” my sister screamed at him before Mother could react.

“Stop,” she whispered, pulling Savia’s arm. “Don’t speak for your father.”

“What’s happened to her face?” Father asked with measured severity. “You beat her?”

“It’s she who attempted to beat me,” Cecco snorted. “I’ve done everything I can to tolerate her insolence, her failures, but I will suffer them no more.”

“What failures?” Father asked. “Has she been unfaithful?”

“She has killed two of my sons,” said Cecco.

“Killed them?” Father returned warily. “What do you mean? How is this possible?”

“They have died within her. The second was born fully formed but dead, nonetheless.”

“Signore Alfonsi,” Father implored gently, “you mustn’t say such things. Many of my children have not survived their birth. Some lasted only days.”

I looked to see an unexpected emotion in Father’s face.

“My heart has suffered, too,” he managed, “but this is the way of the world, signore. You must not bear such anger for your wife. It’s not her fault your children didn’t survive.”

Cecco was silent for a moment, seeming to take measure of my father’s words.

“It is her fault,” Cecco said. “I’ve played my role in this offense—I understand that now—but it is her Godlessness that has ensured my children’s ruin. I will take a baptized girl for a wife and spend the rest of my life in penance for attempting to deceive the Almighty.”

“You already have a wife, signore,” Father said, raising his voice.

“We are not married. Not in the eyes of God or His church. Again, I take the blame for allowing that to be but will tolerate it no longer. And do not burden yourself with our arrangement. I absolve your debts to me. Take her back, and we’ll pretend this never happened. I want nothing to do with either you or your family.”

Cecco moved to return to his seat in the cart, but my father advanced on him, reaching for his arm.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Father insisted.

Visibly enraged to be pulled backward, Cecco turned and struck my father in the face, sending him to fumble back onto the ground.

My heart exploded with anger, and I raced past my mother and sister. I hadn’t seen the blow coming. It was a staggering realization of how powerless my father was. He had only ever figured in my life as a strong presence, towering over me, though I could plainly see now he was neither tall nor large. Without any sons to support or defend him, Father, a fifty-three-year-old man, was at my husband’s mercy. And the clarity of this truth fired my mind with blinding rage.

I attacked Cecco, pounding as hard as I could against his back with my fists. He returned with the back of his hand to slap me down. I fell as if I were made of straw.

“You dare!” Cecco yelled.

Savia struggled to fall by my side on the ground, attempting to shield me from a second strike.

From behind my husband, Father rose and pulled on Cecco’s clothes to unsteady him. Instead, Cecco’s fist landed sharply into Father’s stomach. The counter move incapacitated Father and left him open savage blows that quickly knocked him unconscious. Cecco kicked Father over and over as he lay on the ground.

Before I could move to stop him, Mother had raced to beg Cecco on her knees to contain his wrath. To my surprise, he stopped.

“I should kill you, u nholy witch!” Cecco spat. “You’ve ruined my life just as wickedly as he has.”

My sister and I moved to aid Mother, and with a final look of disgust, Cecco turned back to the cart and ordered the driver to return him home.

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