Legacy(2)

“Are you quite all right?” the man asked again, head still cocked. He looked down at Wolfe’s chest. “You are a hairy fellow, aren’t you?” His hand came up to indicate Wolfe’s front. “And large, save for ... that trifling area, there. Though I suppose it’s not trifling for everyone, but a fellow as coarse and disgusting as yourself likely doesn’t allow for it to see much happy use.” The man’s curious look had turned into a wicked smile.

“It teases the Wolfe,” Wolfe whispered and felt a seething fire run through his brain. “It mocks.”

“Indeed,” the man said with a nod, apparently pleased to see the subject of his jest had gotten the joke. “Yes, I was insulting your manhood with that one, though I wondered if you’d be bright enough to catch it. You have the look of a man who’s been in the woods entirely too long. Perhaps you haven’t heard any complaints because you’ve switched to animals? Because I don’t know if you realize this or not, but running down the King’s deer for unsavory practices is a crime—”

“It shuts its mouth!” Wolfe hissed, holding off the urge to spring. Intimidate. Make him fear us, savor that for a few minutes before we start, regain the sweetness before we start to make him scream ...

The man raised an eyebrow. “‘It’?” He looked down again. “That doesn’t look large enough to have a mouth, now does it? Rather like a caterpillar crawled up your leg, actually, then retracted—”

Wolfe sprang with a howl of rage. Wolfe will make him pay, make him scream, make him suffer for the insult. He watched during his long arc through the air, waiting for it to register on the man’s face that he’d made a horrible mistake. Death was coming for him now, death and so much worse—things that would make him scream and cry before it was over, beg for an end that would be slow to arrive, that would be savored ...

The fist hit Wolfe in the side of the head with enough force to interrupt his landing; he’d jumped and led face first, hands extended toward the man, but his momentum was halted with brutal force. He felt his jaw take the brunt of the punch and break—actually break! A follow-up kick sent Wolfe flying until he hit a tree and snapped the trunk with his back, bringing the whole thing down with him. He landed on his left arm, the shock of the impact making his forearm go numb, something that hadn’t happened in well over a thousand years. His head hit the ground and bounced off an exposed root, stunning him. He looked up to see the tree he’d broken lying next to him; its trunk had snapped in the middle, the jagged splinters of a section of wood two feet in diameter jutting out unevenly from the top of it.

“Manners,” the man said quietly over the ringing in Wolfe’s ears, which sounded as though an abbey’s bells were pealing in his head.

Wolfe snarled and lunged to his feet. Strong. Meta. He felt blood run down his chin and tasted it in his mouth. Wolfe’s own blood. Precious. He held himself back, looking for the opening. The man stood still, regarding him, cloak opened to expose one arm and one arm only. “You ... you’re a meta,” Wolfe said, the low hiss overcoming the still-noisy humming in his ears.

“You really aren’t terribly bright, are you?” The man stood, looking down his nose at him. He wasn't any taller than Wolfe, but that was the way Wolfe saw him; imperious. “I assume in those years of working with your brothers that you were never considered the brains of the operation.”

“Who are you?” Wolfe let the snarl escape and fidgeted, his shoulders moving left and right, his toes keeping him up on the balls of his feet, ready to spring if an opening presented itself.

“Just a man,” came the reply. Wolfe watched calm brown eyes follow him, but the man was still, completely so, absolutely unconcerned about him. Lucky. Had to be luck. Wolfe was slow, too slow, not expecting a meta, that’s all. No one is faster than Wolfe. He clenched his fist, felt the points of his nails dig into his nearly impenetrable skin. The suffering will be even greater for this one ... Healing will allow this to go on and on ...

“Don’t,” the man said calmly, and just the slightest hint of a smile turned up one corner of his mouth.

Wolfe leapt, the rage taking over. He came in lower this time with a perfectly aimed forward spring that was fueled by anger. He saw the stranger’s face so close, his hands extended ...

A fist met him and Wolfe flew again in a low, lazy arc. The world grew dim around him, as if he’d landed in one of the low areas and been wrapped up in the fog. He hit the ground and rolled twenty feet, his ribs slamming into a tree. He blinked his eyes and realized he’d gone unconscious for at least part of the flight and after, as there were now broken branches and leaves matted in his hair. Blood ran freely down his chest. I ... don’t remember that happening ... A face appeared, leering down at him, hovering just above his and almost out of reach. Wolfe’s hand came up but the man grabbed his wrist, putting pressure on it greater than anything Wolfe could recall. The sound of bones snapping filled his ears and an exquisite pain filled the rest of him. Is this ... what it feels like ... when I ... ?