Debra L. Rollins - Revenge For the Huntsman

Wolf was exhausted from the last two days of restless sleep during the daylight hours and endless pacing of the large cell at night. Each evening, Wendell’s most trusted servant had placed either a few plump chickens or rabbits in his cell through the feed door to satisfy his need to hunt and to curb his voracious appetite for fresh meat, succulently red. It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of, although at the time he felt great joy in the chase, abet a short one it was in the confines of the cell.

He looked longingly at his bed, then at the light gray suit embossed in silver laying in wait for him to put on.

Sleep would have to wait, for the ball began at eight o’clock and he was already a few minutes late to greet his lovely Virginia. Huff-puff! He had missed her so much during his more lucid moments, usually at high noon, but as the clock ticked steadily toward the evening hours, he felt the moon’s pull and his body shift as his inner wolf came out to play. Then, his corky Virginia was all but forgotten and the moon became his mistress once again.

“Cripes!” He cried, tears stinging his eyes and arms spread wide to the ceiling above. “Will I ever be able to control my inner wolf? How much more therapy does a wolf need?”

The clock rang the quarter hour, cutting through Wolf’s misery. With haste he donned the beautifully cut suit, slicked down his hair and raced down the hall to the ballroom as fast as he could to find his one true love.

Cierce’s neck hairs bristled as she tried desperately to close her ears to the loud snores erupting from the carriage seat directly across from her. The obnoxious Troll she had been forced to travel with had not lost his Troll manners when he lost his Troll appearance. A pity, for he made an attractive human she supposed…as humans go. As for her own transformation, well…she would just have to trust her mistress and her word. Madam Tatler had promised to allow her return to her own kind in the northern regions of the Second Kingdom, if she brought back this male half-wolf that had killed her son, the Huntsman.

Cierce smiled without humor. She personally felt no sadness for her mistress’s plight in the death of her son. The Huntsman had captured her as a cub over three years ago after killing her mother and siblings. He allowed her to live only because Madam had complained of needing a companion, hinting for her son’s company. Instead, he took her to his mother as a gift. Cierce wished she could have died with the others, but was chosen to live for her striking silver fur and blue eyes.

Now she must prove her worth by traveling to the Castle White to find the doorway to the other world to bring back this “Wolf” chap, alive preferably, with the help of only her natural abilities and a transformed Troll. She eyed Burly again and wrinkled her nose in disgust as drool escaped from the corner of his mouth while he slept.

They were nearing the village Madam Tatler had told them to stop in on their way to the Castle White for clothing befitting a royal ball. The black riding habit Cierce wore was ugly and ill fitting, but was all that Zenda had to give her for the journey until they reached the village’s seamstress. Dooren was a very old and close friend of Zenda’s and could be trusted totally with the witch’s request for privacy in the matter of fitting out two strangers in ballroom attire quickly. It would not be hard, Madam assured them both. A scribbled note to the seamstress delivered by Burly and Cierce from Zenda was all that would be needed to see that they would have the best finery as befitting a noblewoman and her escort from the northern regions of the Eighth Kingdom. From there they would travel on to the castle in time for the royal ball and with luck, find the traveling mirror and enter the Tenth Kingdom. There were bound to be hundreds of people milling about, moving from room to room, that no one would notice what Cierce and Burly were up to until it was too late. With any luck, the castle would not find out her accomplices had left this dimension and come back with prisoners at all.

The carriage slowed to a stop outside a prominent looking shop with a beautiful assortment of gowns and hats filling the windows and a sign declaring the shop to be their destination. Burly was still snoring, deeply asleep until Cierce cracked him atop the head with her folded traveling fan.

“Dragon’s dung! Why did you do that for?” he yelled, rubbing his stinging head fiercely.

“Straighten your clothing and get out, Troll,” she ordered scathingly. “If you could manage to stay awake for one minute, you would see that we are at the shop of the seamstress. Come!” She slid off the seat and bounded from the carriage before the footman had a chance to help her down, much to the disdain of the little woman watching from the shop door.

“Tsk, tsk,” she murmured disapprovingly. The ill-dressed young woman showed a horrible lack of etiquette whilst exiting the carriage. Why, she totally ignored the footman completely, leaving the gawky-looking, young man standing there with his hand out, peering after the chit with what Dooren supposed was adolescent awe written across his face. He stood there as if frozen; watching the woman sashay sensually up to the shop until his features changed from the mooning of youthful lust to one of extreme pain.

An attractive looking man had exited the carriage after the young woman and grabbed the footman’s extended hand with such force that Dooren thought his hand might be broken. The footman’s face turned sheet white as he bellowed in agony.

“Gee, did I grab too tight? I’m so sorry.”

Dooren’s eyes narrowed. The man didn’t appear sorry at all; in fact he seemed to enjoy the pain he had inflicted on the young man. She studied the stranger more thoroughly. The man was tall…extremely so at what she figured to be nearly seven feet. Long, dark hair hung scraggily down his back and his clothes were filthy, with the stench of decayed food, blood and dirt. The young woman on the other hand appeared neat and clean, though her clothing may have been stolen or given to her, she knew not which. The riding habit was much too big and black did not suit her coloring. A lighter shade would do her better justice to her skin tone. Grays? Perhaps, but not quite. She put aside her thoughts as the couple entered the shop door and locked it behind them.

Dooren pulled herself up to her full height of four foot-three and gave them an icy glare.

“What gives you the right to lock my doors. This is not your shop. I demand you leave at once before I summon the constable!”

Burly reached down, picked the old Dwarf up with only two fingers, and laughed at her red, rounded, little face. She reminded him of an apple after it had been peeled and left to dry in the sun.

“Go ahead, old woman! Do your worse. Bring on the constable and anyone else who would dare to fight me, Burly, son of Relish the Troll King! I will crush any who dare to…”

He lost his ability to talk and let loose of the Dwarf as he felt Cierce administer a sharp jab in his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. He looked down to see her helping the little woman up from the floor, the she-wolf’s eyes blazing blue fire at him for his show of Troll machismo. He took a step forward as he stared into their depths. They were hypnotic and alluring at the same time in her ire. He felt himself unable to resist her command as she told him, “Leave her be, you foolish Troll. Madam Tatler told us this woman would help us to succeed in finding the correct wardrobe for the royal ball. Do not foul her plans with your atrocious Troll manners!”

“Madam Tatler? Zenda sent you?” Dooren asked with suspicion. “Show me proof of this and I will indeed help.”

Cierce pulled a written note from her clutch and handed it to the seamstress. Hastily the older woman scanned its contents, then folded it neatly before tossing it into the fire in the hearth.

“Very well, come into the back of the store and hurry, for there is little time to supply you what you need if you must arrive at the castle by this eve.”

Quickly the Dwarf shoved a closed sign in her front door and followed the odd couple into the back storerooms. She remembered now what color would suite the strange woman best. A certain special order given by a remote customer she had not heard from in some time now would set her complexion off to perfection. As for the “Troll”, the best she could do for him was supply him with a well-turned suit and pray that she could coax him into a bath to wipe away the stench. It unfortunately would have to fall upon the young woman to teach him any manners. That was, she sighed as she watched the two snarl and bicker at one another, if the woman had any herself.

Virginia scanned the ballroom for any signs of Wolf, but so far met with no luck. She had already danced a few waltzes with a nobleman from the First Kingdom, very pomp and full of himself and a thin, skinny man sporting a very long mustache. She had no idea where he hailed from for he hardly spoke a word after his initial invitation and she was quite glad when the dance ended to escape into the crowd to look for her fiancé.

“May I have this dance, young lady?” Another voice asked from behind her shoulder.

“Sorry, but I…” she turned slowly to find an excuse and came face to face with King Wendell, smiling down at her.

“You know, Virginia, I am becoming quite self-conscious in your presence. First, the dog Prince is asked about before his good king, now I am to be turned away, with ego shattered, for a simple request for a single waltz.” He sighed heavily. “What’s to become of me?”

Virginia laughed and poo-pooed his hangdog look. He was looking very handsome tonight in his royal green attire. His golden curls cropped close to his head in the Caesar fashion of her world made him look rather dashing and many a fair maiden sashayed closely by in the hopes of capturing his attention. To be Queen of the Fourth Kingdom was extremely prestigious, but to have a husband as handsome as King Wendell was an extra bonus.

“Nothing, but to live happily ever after, Your Ma…er, Wendell,” she said, smiling encouragingly at his long face. “I will accept your dance after all, if only to bring a smile to your sad face. Why so glum? You have dozens and dozens of eligible young ladies just longing for you to glance their way and here you are…dancing with me instead of finding that special woman.”

“Alas, dear Virginia. No one woman here appeals to me in that very special way. Why, Wolf was ready to die many times for you and quite frankly, though I am a chivalrous man, none here compares with the love Wolf felt for you the moment he saw you. I wish for that kind of love also, Virginia. One that knocks me off my feet in the instant I see her. One that would make me follow her to the ends of the world to show my love and desire. All here are very nice and many are more than just pretty, they’re beautiful. But none make me feel life would not be worth living if she were not mine forever. Do you understand?”

Virginia smiled a knowing smile and said, “I understand.”

Wolf entered the grand ballroom and searched the room with a cursory glance. He sniffed the air. It would be quicker to locate his Virginia by her succulent aroma. He did so in a matter of seconds. A spot in the dance floor parted and he found himself startled by his emotions as he saw her in the king’s arms, whispering softly in his ear. He fought against what he knew to be jealousy but couldn’t help himself. They actually looked good together on the dance floor. He, tall, blond and handsome, and sweet Virginia, small, petite and gorgeous in the most beautiful gown he had ever seen. Her pregnancy did not show yet, so her slender waist, cinched even smaller in the gown, was alluring between the swell of her hips and the firmness of her breasts. He still couldn’t believe that she loved him, a nasty animal that couldn’t control his thirst for bloodlust once a month. She deserved someone normal, someone who could give her beautiful things and take her wonderful places…someone like Wendell.

He turned to leave, to slink back to the dungeons where he belonged but Tony called out to him from a group of older men that Wolf presumed to be the escorts of the young ladies attending the ball.

“Huff-puff.” He murmured under his breath, but made his way over anyway, nodding a greeting to the older man.

“Hello, Tony.”

“Wolf, you're feeling better I hope?”

“Yeah, well, you know-now that the full moon is over and all, I’m back to my usual self. How’s things with you?”

“Fine, fine.” Tony seemed reluctant in his conversation, so Wolf waited, nervously pawing his temple. A bad habit, he supposed, but was unable to stop anyway.

“Look…I need to talk with you, you know-about my daughter and your remark before you crossed over to my world.”

“You mean about the baby?” Wolf asked, surprised at Tony’s lack of knowledge. Surely by now, Virginia had told her own father that she was expecting their cub. He had been locked up for two days, plenty of time for a private talk between the two, unless…

Unless she were ashamed of the pregnancy. Cripes! She had expressed her distrust of him for a long, long time. His fault he supposed since they got off to a very bad start with the grandmother thing and all. Then he tossed the magic shoes overboard, the flirting with the shepherdesses, the bad, bad haircut, and his irritability during his cycle. Worst of all, spending the ten thousand gold Wendalls and then lying about it. Huff-puff! Of course she was ashamed to tell her father.

“You mean it’s true?” Tony’s voice rose an octave. He cleared his throat, then grabbed Wolf by the arm and led him towards a secluded alcove.

“Come on, Wolf,” he said sternly. “We need to have a man to man talk…”