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He finished his shelter, feasted on the berries, washing them down with water, and settled down to sleep. With any luck he’d wake up and all of this would have been a dream. A sick, unbelievable dream.
But it wasn’t.
When he woke, he found the odd forest still surrounded him and his hunger had grown tenfold, as had the ache from the slash on his cheek. If he’d still been with the army, one of the men would have tended to the injury as Jaemus had tended to theirs. He remembered sewing the tip of Reardon’s ear once. He hadn’t done an impressive job, but the bleeding had stopped. Reardon’s ear had healed—more quickly than normal due to his werewolf abilities—but the tip was missing and what remained was misshapen. Still, he’d eased his brother’s pain. No one was around to do the same for Jaemus now.
Because of Reardon.He should have let his brother bleed to death. Not that he would have. His werewolf abilities would have closed the wound eventually.
Jaemus fingered the cut again, wondering why his own werewolf abilities hadn’t rid him of the wound yet. It would be his luck to have garnered all the unwanted traits of the werewolf and none of the advantageous ones. Shaking his head at his dark thoughts, he lashed the sharp-edged rock he’d picked up earlier to a long, sturdy branch and set out in search of something a little… meatier to eat. Being part wolf now made him more carnivorous and his mouth watered thinking about tearing some flesh from bone.
He thudded the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying desperately to clear the wolfish notions from his mind. Looking at the makeshift spear in his hand, however, made him stop and consider other options. Wolves were good hunters. They needed no man-made tools to catch their prey.
Setting the spear down, Jaemus shifted to wolf form and raised his nose, sniffing the warm breeze that ruffled his fur. The sun rested on the horizon and everything was cast in dim shadows, but his wolf eyes didn’t care. They saw much more than his human eyes could. A small creature scurried amongst the dense, green brush on the forest floor. Something that moved fast, but Jaemus could move faster.
He stalked the animal for a few moments, becoming familiar with its movements, its patterns, its unawareness of his presence. Coiling his body back, he sprung forward and pounced on the creature. Its small body wiggled under his large paws, but he didn’t relent. With a few squeals of horror, the critter ceased moving.
Jaemus lifted his paws and regarded the lifeless body. He’d killed men in battle. Many men. Without a guilty thought. Without remorse. Without questioning his life. This defenseless creature, however, that he’d sacrificed so easily, caused a wave of regret to crest and crash over him. He backed up several steps, attempting to put distance between himself and the bloody meal he’d garnered for himself. He didn’t want to want it.
His stomach growled again. Louder this time. Like a rumble of thunder. He had no choice but to dine on the kill. Better to devour it than to waste the life he’d taken. In human form, he’d never felt so connected to what they’d hunted, cooked over a roaring fire, and ate. Why was it different now? Why did he feel as if he’d cut a strand in the spider web of life and the web’s integrity had been compromised?
Animals ate other animals. Cycle of life. Food chain. All natural.
And yet… he felt like a betrayer.
You are not like a regular wolf.Flidae’s voice cut through the growing darkness.You are part man, part wolf. Both. And neither. What you feel is a reflection of that.
What he felt was due to his brother’s selfishness.
Growling, Jaemus shifted back to human form and grabbed the slain animal by the hind legs. It appeared to be some form of rabbit and fat enough to fill his belly for tonight. He pushed aside any kinship he felt to the creature and set about building a cook fire. After roasting the meat, he ate greedily until his stomach no longer protested and sleep overtook him once again.
Jaemus did the same thing for weeks. Slept, explored, ate. He did not make contact with any other humans. There were none. He did not hold out hope of leaving this place. No way of escape existed. He practiced fighting imaginary demons with the spear he’d made to keep his body in good shape, but each day that crawled by made him wonder if he shouldn’t lie down in the sand and let himself wither to nothing under the beaming sun.
This was not a life.
This was punishment and nothing more. Punishment for what Reardon had done. Punishment Jaemus did not deserve. If he ever saw his brother again, he’d… he’d… Gods, he couldn’t even come up with a revenge plan harsh enough.
He lowered to the sand as he’d done almost every day since being exiled and rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, his fingers raking through his chin-length blond hair. He scratched at his beard that would soon be unruly—except for the spot where he’d been gouged by the sea and no hair grew after the wound had closed. As the gentle waves rolled along the pristine shore, a flash of light cracked open the sky as it had back in Ireland all those weeks ago.
When his eyes adjusted, Jaemus found himself away from the sand and sea and in a very different forest.
