Erica's Arc

Chapter 1 of 7

Erica woke on the bathroom floor, six wolves waiting in her shed, and her body refusing to move. Her stomach had turned traitor again. She barely reached the toilet before the vomiting started. Between waves, her gut cramped and forced her onto the seat. She gripped the small sink and breathed. The wolves needed feeding. She was the only one who could do it. Erica had promised Lydia. Six wolves hid in her shed now, safe from the town hunters who shot any wolf they found. Lydia lay in the hospital with the same sick stomach Erica knew too well. Rest for a week, the doctors said. That left Erica alone with the pack. If she failed, the hunters would win. Worse, the horses she wanted to gentle would never learn that wolves weren't monsters. Another cramp folded her double. She pressed her cheek to the cool tile of the little washroom and counted. The bite had cured her seizures. It had not cured this. Being a werewolf did not stop her guts from betraying her on the worst morning. A scratch came at the bathroom door. Then a whine. Lydia's Pomeranian nosed inside, orange fur puffed like a small fox. The dog stared at Erica with bright, worried eyes. It had followed her home when Lydia went to the hospital. "I know," Erica whispered. "They're hungry." The little dog trotted to the door of the cottage and scratched again, insistent. It would not stop. Erica understood. The dog was telling her the same thing her promise told her. Get up. Erica pulled herself to the sink and drank straight from the tap. Small sips. Her hands shook. She waited for the next cramp, but a gap opened. She used it. She crawled first, then stood, one hand on the timbered wall of the cottage. She filled a jug with water and grabbed the meat from the cold box. The Pomeranian ran ahead through the flowered garden, barking her toward the shed. Erica followed slow, stopping twice when her stomach lurched. She swallowed it down. She did not vomit again. At the shed she slid the bolt. Six pairs of eyes turned to her in the dark. The wolves crowded close, whining, and she poured the meat into their trough. They ate. She sank against the doorframe and watched them, sweat cold on her neck. She had done it. The pack was fed. The dog leaned against her leg. Then she saw the water bowl. Empty and bone dry. She had brought the jug, but her arms shook too hard to lift it far. The wolves would drink today. Tomorrow she would have to do this all again, sicker or not, and she could not keep it up alone. She needed help. And the only people close enough to ask were the ones who feared these wolves most.