Becoming the Lone Wolf

Illustration by BANE aka Dennis McElroy

Her dagger was in hand, the tip pressed into his belly. 

“Let’s go, Wanderer.”

He looked around for anybody to help him, but the revelers were blind to his distress. 

Ella Bandita gripped one of his arms and kept the blade at his side below his last rib.

A sense of unreality pervaded the Wanderer pushing his way through the crowd. The cheery voices of the bar wenches, the rancid perfume of the night ladies, and the leering gazes of the men made a bizarre tapestry of raw living, a mirage that had to be a dream.

But the moment was real. 

He knew that when they stepped outside.

The salt of the ocean was cleansing, the chill of night oddly refreshing. Tall lamps illuminated patches of the wharf and left others in shadows. The Wanderer looked up and down, but all was still. 

After the chaos of the tavern, the emptiness of the docks was eerie.

Ella Bandita slid her dagger back in its sheath and slapped him hard across the face.

“You stupid fool,” she growled. “Why did you follow me?”

“Why do you think?”

His cheek stung where she struck him, but he almost laughed out loud. 

The Wanderer knew he was in the worst trouble of his life, yet he still wanted her. His flesh thrilled in her presence and he had to restrain the urge to grab her. 

Ella Bandita shook her head slowly.

“Damn you,” she muttered, and pulled her pistol from the holster.

Pressing the barrel into his spine, she pushed the Wanderer off the wharf and into the trees where her stallion waited. She needn’t have bothered with the weapon. 

The turmoil of his mind and body left him paralyzed, unable to resist her will. 

When they came to her camp, he saw it was much the same as the one in No Man’s Land, except the clearing amongst the trees was smaller. The autumn leaves were past their peak, but they glowed from the branches and on the ground in the milky light of a waxing moon.

Perhaps it was her scent that made him do it.  

Being so close to the honey musk that haunted his dreams drove the Wanderer to some kind of madness, taking him back to the night in his tent when the girl woke him up from a nightmare. 

Before Ella Bandita could dismount, he tightened his hold around her waist and brought his mouth to her neck.          

“Stop it,” she said, pulling away. “You’ve gone too far this time.”

“You don’t want to do me harm,” he murmured into her ear. “Do you really think I’m going to make trouble for you?”

“Trouble was never something I was concerned about, Wanderer. At least, not for me.”

She managed to wriggle from him and jump off her horse. 

The Wanderer dropped to the ground after the girl, and reached for her again. 

But Ella Bandita evaded his grasp.

“You already got what you wanted,” she whispered.  “Now it’s my turn.” 

She pulled the pendant she always wore from her blouse and held it out, the crystal facets sparkling in the moonlight.

Then the Wanderer was surrounded by a whirlwind of colors.

His heart pounded hard inside his chest, his pulse ringing in his ears. He remembered that first morning when the girl collapsed his tent in the clearing, then that day at the hot springs pool. 

“Of course,” he thought. “That’s her crystal stargaze. How could I not have known?”

The lights swirled faster around him and the Wanderer was spinning, lifted from the ground by the cyclone of color. 

He sighed against his will, the air drawn out of him by an unseen grasp. His heart beat once in his throat and then there was nothing. He was released and fell to his knees, struggling for breath until he had enough. 

But something was missing.

Pain throbbed inside his chest, its echo resonating in the space that was now hollow. His hand was shaking when he touched for his pulse and found it was gone. 

When he looked up, he saw his heart beating in the hand of Ella Bandita. 

Her eyes glittered and her teeth were gleaming. Her nostrils flared when she inhaled his scent.  She moaned softly and brought the hand to her mouth.

“Follow your heart…”

The memory of his grandfather’s counsel tore through the Wanderer. 

He howled and grasped his throat, frantic to find his pulse.

When he looked at the girl again, there was terror in her eyes. He lunged for her, but Ella Bandita stepped aside. He catapulted to the ground, rolled over and came up, crouched on his haunches and ready to spring. 

But Ella Bandita was faster. She reached with her other hand for the small pouch on her holster. Before he could attack again, she blew between her thumb and forefinger.

“Wolf!”

It couldn’t have been more than a pinch of dust, but a cloud glistened around the Wanderer before his body collapsed. 

The transformation was immediate. 

Before he knew it, he stood lower to the ground and was much warmer, suddenly impervious to the cold.