Wild Wolf Page 3

  “Stanislav Dmitrijevich Morozov.”

  No wonder the uchastkovyi had come knocking at my door. The overseer’s death would cause trouble in spades as the sawmill workers vied for the right to take his place. Weary resignation took hold. “How? When?”

  “The sumasshedshiy volk hunted him and his family to his home, killed them, and fled sometime last night.”

  I wondered about that. Why would a mad, wild wolf kill so precisely? Why hunt specific people? Wouldn’t someone mad and beyond control kill indiscriminately? “That’s terrible.”

  “We are concerned the sumasshedshiy volk will hunt all who work at the sawmill, including you despite you being new to our city and homeland. I saw you keep a talisman on your door.”

  “I wasn’t sure where else to put it.”

  The uchastkovyi waved his hand in a dismissal of my concern. “It’s well placed. Had Stanislav Dmitrijevich taken half as much care, he and his family might still be alive. Still, I must ask you. When did you last see him alive?”

  “I last saw him with you at the sawmill. Afterwards, I went to the general store, the library to study, and to the butcher. I stayed there for a few hours, as he needed help to fix his truck. I then came home, and I’ve been here ever since. I try to avoid making unnecessary trips whenever possible, although I will head back to the city to resume my studies soon.” I shook my head and regarded my mortar-encrusted clothes. “I thought it would be the best use of the time preparing for winter.”

  “You built all of this?”

  “Most of it. I had fixed a car for a co-worker in exchange for the chair, which he made.” While I kept an eye on the coffee, I pointed to the hearth. “I installed that yesterday. I will add the heat shield tomorrow. I need to get a few extra parts from the city for that. I’ll finish the chimney and the mantle last, along with anything decorative around the fireplace.”

  I already made plans for expanding the cabin, getting a better tub, and expanding the septic tank I had built myself. The crumbling state of the public works in Blagoveshchensk still stunned me, and I’d used every skill I’d scraped together over the years to build my home.

  Some of my co-workers didn’t even have functioning toilets in their homes. I had it all, from a good well, my hot water tank, a nice bathroom, a septic tank large enough to last me years without worry, and the necessary permits needed to build them.

  “And you have the permits to do this?”

  Most Russians disliked the government’s rules, obeying the critical ones to dodge the politsiya. With my ID, as legitimized a fake as I could get, I’d acquired every permit legally to dodge additional scrutiny. I went to the shelf I used for books and papers, and I grabbed the envelope with my second copies of the permit, as I had them all in triplicate. Just in case. I offered the envelope to him. “All of my permits for the property are in here.”

  The uchastkovyi wasted no time sifting through them, and I finished making our coffee while he read. I brought down my Turkish coffee cups, one of my few conceits, and made use of the tray that had come with the set of four, bringing him his cup and taking a seat on the edge of my fireplace’s foundation.

  “You are quite thorough, Sergei Sokolov. I am impressed.”

  “I told the office what I wanted to do here, and I gave them all of the details. They issued the permits.”

  “They guided you well. This is all in order. I would be interested to see the work when you have finished. By your job, I did not think you are so skilled of a worker.”

  I had learned the appropriate answer to that question through unfortunate trial and error. “It was all that was available when I applied.”

  “That is often the way it goes. Have you noticed anything strange lately? Anything at all? Either here or at the sawmill?”

  I took my time thinking about it, although one thing did stand out to me and seemed safe enough to mention to him. “Yes, actually. Petra is unwilling to leave the yard and is eager to come back inside. She is usually far more energetic.”

  “Do you think there is something in the woods?”

  “I have heard the wawkalak sing in the forest, but Petra has never been quite so unwilling to roam before. It could be nothing.”

  “But it could be everything. Animals always know.” My unwanted guest finished his soup and drank his coffee before rising from his seat, and to my surprise, he took the cups to my sink and set them on the counter with care. “Be careful, Sergei Sokolov. The wild wolf hunts, and I believe you are his prey.”

  The uchastkovyi left, and once the rumble of his car’s engine faded, Petra growled.

  Chapter Three

  With the worry of a rogue werewolf hunting in the forest surrounding my home, I took the route of caution. For the first time since moving into the area, I took Petra to the city with me. That she did not warble protests over being collared and leashed worried me, as did her inclination to stick close to my legs.

  Whatever lurked outside of my cabin scared the wolf enough that she jumped into my truck cab without me needing to get into an argument with her over it, and she hid on the floorboard as though that might protect her from whatever hid in the woods.

  I wouldn’t be able to study with her, as I refused to leave her in the truck unattended. Tyoma wouldn’t mind me bringing my ‘dog’ to his shop as long as I kept her on a short leash, and I’d have to keep an eye on my truck when I went to buy the rest of my supplies. Ten minutes into the drive, Petra relaxed enough to take a nap.

  Something was going on in Blagoveshchensk, and somehow, I’d landed in the middle of it. The sumasshedshiy volk supposedly killing my boss in addition to a co-worker changed everything.

  The rogue wolf, either wild, mad, or simply vindictive, would smell that another werewolf frequented the sawmill. If other werewolves investigated, they would look closer at everyone, myself included. With so much attention on me already, I couldn’t afford to run. I also couldn’t afford to stay.

  As always, I’d landed in a hot mess.

  When I viewed it from the angle of men seeking out a hidden werewolf, the uchastkovyi’s reaction to my talisman made sense: I was the most likely candidate to be an unknown werewolf in the area.

  Silver did bother me, as did pure iron, which sometimes made my work difficult, as iron nails and other tools frequented the sawmill. I worked around my limitations, and the times I did run into silver, I made sure to wear thick gloves, a good practice for anyone working with heavy machinery. Those precautions wouldn’t protect me forever.

  I wondered how closely the wawkalak monitored me, if they had counted the full moons I hadn’t transformed, and if they’d noticed when I’d shifted during the new moon when the darkness engulfed the quiet forest, the glow from my fur the only light for miles.

  Worse, I feared they’d seen me ghosting through the trees with Petra, who treated me like the leader of our pack of two. If they had, and they had noticed her with me, she might become a target. Was Petra just a wolf, or was she what happened to a human when they ran wild for too long, unable to remember being human at all?

  Until Desmond and his werewolves, I hadn’t known it was possible for the wolf to take over completely.

  My wolf still feared that fate, and he limited how much he pressured me to shift during the full moon and answer its call, as though he understood what would happen to us if we did become a wolf.

  We had gone years without shifting before. We could do so again. And this time, my wolf understood the reasons for why.

  I made it into the city, and I played to expectations as usual, going to the general store, leaving Petra in the truck long enough to ask the owner if I might bring her in, which he approved. Petra earned praise and admiration from the Russian, especially when I informed him she was a Siberian.

  Petra heeled as I’d taught her, never fought the leash, and followed me around without any of her usual warbled complaints.

  After the general store, I spotted the gray car that’d followed
me once before parked across the street, and after loading my purchases into the cab, I ordered Petra inside, pretended I hadn’t noticed the vehicle, and went to the supply store where I’d get the remaining items I needed to finish my fireplace and begin work on my other projects. Like at the general store, I got permission to bring in my dog, made my purchases, and escaped, acting as though I hadn’t noticed my unwanted tail.

  I lost an hour at the butcher, as Petra charmed the entire family, going out of her way to earn the admiration of the provider of her favorite treats. As promised, Tyoma offered her several extra bones and scraps of meat, and a few extra packages of paper-wrapped meat found their way into my cooler for the drive home.

  I hoped I didn’t regret skipping out on the studying, but with the rusted-out, gray car following me, I refused to risk Petra through leaving her unattended for more than a moment or two to acquire permission to bring her out.

  Unlike the last time I’d encountered the car, the driver opted to follow me out of the city, and I wondered who would be paying me a visit when I finally made it home.

  Petra amused herself on the floorboard with one of her new bones, and the car tailed me all the way home. I parked, growled to warn Petra things were not going as I wanted, and got out of the truck. Petra took the hint, and she stuck close to my side and growled at the interloper’s vehicle, her ears turned back and her teeth exposed.

  Any other day, I would have corrected her, but I kept one hand on her leash, ready to release her if I thought things would sour.

  I expected things to sour.

  A woman emerged from the vehicle, and everything about her put me on edge, from her pristine face, clear of even a hint of a blemish, her youth, which put her in her early twenties at most, and her poise, which reminded me a lot of Amber, who carried herself with the confidence of someone who rarely experienced failure. She opened the back door of her car, revealing a wolf twice the size of Petra, with a dark red coat bridled with black and white-tipped ears. He regarded me and Petra with open interest, one ear pricked forward while the other twisted back.

  Petra lowered her head to protect her throat and growled.

  The interloping wolf ignored her.

  A second, smaller wolf joined the first, and my nose informed me she was a female, and she reminded me a lot of Petra, right down to her wider chest and sturdier build. Someone who didn’t know better might believe the wolf to be a Siberian husky, but I wouldn’t be pulling the wool over the woman’s eyes.

  “You’ve come a long way,” I said, instead of greeting the woman, although I spoke in Russian, uncertain if she spoke English.

  She cringed. “I know you are a foreigner, but you have much to learn about speaking Russian.”

  I shrugged. “You obviously wouldn’t have come all this way just to say hello and criticize my Russian. What brings you my way?”

  “I am but one of the ved’ma of the Blagoveshchensk wawkalak. I have been told you know about us.”

  “It would be hard not to know about you. Within a week of arriving, I was given that.” I pointed at the talisman on my door. “But I have doubts it would do any good if you or your wolves decided to take offense to me and my cabin.”

  “I speak English,” she informed me in a pained voice.

  I shrugged again, and as I could be a stubborn mule on a bad day, I replied in Russian, “For all you know, my English could be worse than my Russian.”

  Her eyes widened. “I find that possibility disturbing.”

  “I am Sergei Sokolov, and I don’t have a patronymic because my mother never told me of my father,” I Informed her in English. “Who are you, and why have you come here?”

  She sighed, probably from relief. “I am Alevtina Petrovna Volkova. The pack wishes to make your acquaintance, as you are a foreign vucari living in unity with your wolf without a ved’ma to guide you and safeguard those around you. I was chosen to ask how you have remained a vucari without falling prey to the temptation of becoming a bodark, a wawkalak, or a sumasshedshiy volk. We do not know what to think of you.”

  In some ways, I wish I’d tried my luck sticking with Desmond and the other Fenerec. They came across as saner—and significantly more practical. “My mother was the equivalent of one of your ved’ma. She taught me.” I didn’t quite lie, although I toed the line. I regarded her with interest. “Her first rule was to never shift without just cause.”

  “I see. And the full moon?”

  “Shifting during the full moon was not just cause for her. I learned through resisting the full moon, and I would listen to my wolf’s need and only transform when it was necessary. That was our way. And anyway, my nature would scare Petra.” I gestured to Bodwin’s wolf, who leaned against my leg and kept her attention on the two werewolves, who stayed behind the ved’ma while regarding me with open interest and curiosity. “Her owners passed, and there was no one else to care for her.”

  Alevtina narrowed her eyes at Petra. “How old is she?”

  “At least seven or eight, maybe older. I never asked. I only knew someone needed to care for her, so I took care of her. I’ve had her for about a year.”

  “And her behavior? It is good?”

  “She’s very good. She knows her commands, she is stubborn, but all of her breed are stubborn. Please don’t try to pet her. She is not friendly towards most strangers, and she prefers having space.”

  “Yet she is cowered against you.”

  “Well, you brought two wolves, and she knows wolves are dangerous. She is not a stupid animal, and she knows a predator when she sees one. Anyone sane would find safety in numbers.”

  Alevtina turned enough to stare at the two werewolves, and she frowned. “I suppose.”

  “Do your companions not scare other dogs?”

  “We make a point of keeping other dogs away from our pack.”

  “I will go put her inside.” I clicked my tongue at Petra, who heeled and followed me. I grabbed her new bones and took them to the cabin, unlocked and opened the door, and offered her the largest of them as a reward for her good behavior. She seized it between her teeth, careful to avoid my fingers, and retreated to the safety of her favorite corner. I closed the door. “I would invite you in, but I’m sure you understand my hesitancy.”

  “Of course. I would not invite you in were you to come to my home unexpected, although I assure you we mean you and yours no harm.”

  I wondered if her less-than-welcoming stance was because I was a wolf, a foreigner, or a man. In either case, I’d do my best to ignore the slight, as bristling over the ved’ma’s behavior wouldn’t do me any good. “And does that include keeping your brands far from me?”

  “You do not live within the boundaries of our city, nor do you meet the requirements to be branded. You are vucari.”

  “I do not understand the difference between being a vucari versus your bodark, wawkalak, or sumasshedshiy volk. I have pieced together that the wawkalak are prized, the sumasshedshiy volk are mad and violent, but I don’t understand how the bodark or vucari fit into your culture.”

  “I find your honesty refreshing. I would say it is simple, but it is not. I will simplify it for you as I can. For our purposes, vucari means you are foreign and possessing control. We have watched you for many moons, and you do not stray, not even when the entire pack came to your door, which would break the control of even the wawkalak, who respect our ways and are at little risk of endangering others. You are correct about the nature of the sumasshedshiy volk. The bodark are beloved but lack control and may become sumasshedshiy volk at any time, and they must learn control. The bodark must demonstrate their control through not shifting for five years so they might become wawkalak.”

  “That sounds like a guaranteed method of creating sumasshedshiy volk to me. Such control must be learned, gradually and over time, not forced like that.” I considered my childhood. “It took me ten years, maybe longer, before I could go without shifting, and my mother took great care with me during th
at time.”

  Once again, I skirted lying, but I spoke enough of the truth I doubted anyone would catch me.

  “That is not our way.”

  I had no interest in trying to convince them their way would lead to more deaths. Shrugging, I sat on the step leading up to my porch and considered the two wolves, who eyed me with the same wary regard. “You asked. I’m sorry you dislike the answer.”

  Flea-bitten titmouse. Why did people ask questions when they didn’t want to hear the answer? The woman would drive me crazy long before my wolf became a wild, ravenous beast and took me out with him. I kept a close eye on her and her wolves, waiting for her next move—and questioning why I cooperated with her at all.

  “How old were you when you learned this?”

  “I started learning when I was twelve,” I answered, and aware of how Desmond and his family had reacted to my situation, I added, “Americans begin learning at roughly that age, sometimes a little older. That is our way.”

  “And you Americans do not have sumasshedshiy volk?”

  “They have similar, but they rank their wolves in different ways, based on their position within their pack. Otherwise, there is no distinction like you have. I’m no expert, however. I can teach you what I know, but I don’t know if it will do you any good. But Americans don’t brand, and they’re private about what they are.”

  “We tell nobody outside of our home, although outsiders like you are taught and given a talisman. But we did not realize what you are when you were gifted the talisman. We meant no offense, as we did not yet realize you are a vucari.”

  “There was no harm or offense. The talisman does no harm where it is at.” The sting of silver hadn’t lasted long, either, and didn’t tend to sap away my strength like iron did.

  Silver just burned and stained my fingers black, and it didn’t bother me all that much—and the metal only caused a problem with too much exposure.

  “I can remove it for you if you would like.”

  “You may as well leave it. It seems to reassure visitors. I’ve found people here to be quite superstitious. It doesn’t hurt me where it’s at on the door, and I’d rather not invite trouble without it. I would rather be left alone.”