Failine - 8. Chapter 8

I had lost the ability to feel. Or there were so many emotions in me that they blended into mental white noise. The result was the same.

The brain is a strange organ, for it cannot stand emptiness. When there was nothing to feel, it filled that void with action. I grabbed the silver chain around my arm and ripped it off. With a high, bell-like sound, it dropped to the ground. I dashed forward through the door and into the assembly room.

“Jeremiah Knightington, I challenge you!” I spoke with vigor, but didn’t scream.

The room froze. No movement, no sound.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Elias,” my dad said. “Wait here with the others!”

He didn’t have the power to give me commands any more. “I’m a member of this pack, and I have this right.” I tilted my head. “Stick to the laws you’re hiding behind to put a boy to death!”

He squinted his eyes. “This is a fight for life or death, Elias.”

If this was to frighten me, my father didn’t know me at all. “No, Dad. It’s a fight for two lives or two deaths.” I looked at Dillon, finally returning the smile he had given me in the store room.

“If you succeed to shift into the wolf, I will fight you.” Looking into his face, I realized that for my whole life I had confused smugness with dignity.

I ripped open my shirt, unbuckled the belt, and unbuttoned my pants. Agony wasn’t caused by a herbal mixture. I kicked off my shoes. Agony was caused by having missed three years with a lover. I removed my socks. Agony was caused by seeing your little brother suffer when reprimanded by his parents. I pulled down my boxers. Agony was caused by having your childhood wasted with lessons of mistaken beliefs. If there was any honor to the wolf in me, it couldn’t bear this and live with it. Evoking those feelings reconnected them with me, separated them from the white noise. I felt them, and only them, and pain lured the wolf. It took two heart beats from the first signs of fur to the complete transformation. I snarled at my dad.

“So be it.” He rose his hand, silencing my mom who made a step forward, and handed the gun to Mr. Goddard.

I added cruelty to the list of my father’s shortcomings for choosing Dillon’s father of all people to hold the weapon. Just another reason why this confrontation was inevitable.

Dad’s clothes didn’t reach the floor before he shifted. In wolf form, we had the same size, and we couldn’t deny being relatives. His fur was a little lighter than mine, but apart from that we could have been twins. What really separated us was 25 years of shifting experience.

He pounced.

I made a jump to the left, but I reacted a tad too late, and a pang shot through my shoulder. One of his fangs had cut deeply into my flesh.

The second attack followed suit, and his claws scratched over my flank. The wounds were superficial, but burned like paper cuts. I growled.

In a direct confrontation, he would take me apart in no time. I knew him so much better than he knew me, and I had to use this against him.

I evaded the third attack by plunging forward and rolling to the side. This maneuver took me right before the door of the store room.

He’d attack again and again because winning by strength was the only way for him. This was the flaw I could use. I took some steps back, so that I was half-way into the twilight of the storage.

He jumped at me.

I dropped to the side, bringing up all four legs, and kicked him in mid-air.

He crashed down, skidding over the floor.

I rolled around and pounced at him.

He doubled up, protecting his belly from my teeth, but I didn’t intend to bite him.

With all my weight, I pressed him down to the ground. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. His fur melted away. The silver chain that cut into his back banished the wolf. He shivered. I placed my fangs over his throat. The only thing I had to do was closing my jaws.

“Don’t off Daddy-sir!”

Jamie’s voice cut deeper than the fangs of my father and chimed sweeter than every other sound. I wouldn’t kill our dad before his eyes. I wouldn’t kill our dad. Period. Jamie’s voice reminded me what it meant to be human. I was human at least.

I let go of Dad. My fur melted, and the pulling sensation announced the completion of my transition to humanity.

I gazed into my father’s eyes. “I seize from you the power over the Creek Forest pack. Do you yield?” The pack wouldn’t follow him after witnessing his defeat, but would it follow me after not killing my dad? One command they had to accept, more wasn’t necessary.

In Dad’s face, shock and admiration agreed on a standoff. He nodded. “Given with honor.” This was the traditional phrase of an outgoing pack master handing over power to his successor. ‘Outgoing’ usually meant dying.

“Taken with honor,” I said, completing the rite.

“The pack bows to Elias Knightington.” Mr. Zelger proclaimed. Behind the smiling facade, there was enough of a politician to avoid the vacuum that nature abhorred so much.

“We bow to Elias Knightington,” the pack echoed.

My emotions snapped back into place. Elation, thrill, delight, but no pride. There was nothing to be proud of. I got up and turned around. The pack stared at me as they had done earlier this night, but this time their stares couldn’t harm me.