“Marguerite!” he cried, as she ventured out of the house. “I caught the damn beast! I had it, and somebody cut it loose.”
“I know. That was me.”
The whirlwind of Cheyne’s fury paused as he struggled to accept the new facts. She almost felt sorry for him. He had puffed himself up with righteous indignation, only to discover that the damsel he was supposedly fighting for was the one who had ruined his plans.
“Why would you do that?” he choked.
“Because I want you to stop this hunt. I think you should accept that you deserved what you got and move on.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snarled.
“Oh really? Then tell me, Cheyne, what would you have done if the wolf had never appeared? Would you have tried to kiss me? Touch me? After I’d made it perfectly clear I want nothing to do with you?”
Abruptly he grabbed her shoulders, oblivious to the small crowd that was slowly forming.
“How dare you speak to me like that, after everything I’ve done for you?”
“Stop it. Just stop it,” she spat, twisting away. “No wonder you want the wolf dead so much. He proves what a fraud you are.”
Marguerite looked at the sky as fat clusters of snow began to fall around her. She held out her hands to feel the icy drops bleed over her palms. Then she continued her tirade.
“It’s too late now, Cheyne. I know that you outright lied about rescuing me. I was only thirteen. How could you lie to me like that? And the you held it over my head for years trying to guilt me into caring about you. What kind of person does that?”
She tried to walk away, but Cheyne refused to give up.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” he said.
When he grabbed her wrist, she twirled around and slapped his cheek as hard as she possibly could. The impact made her hand throb, but it also left a red print of her hand across his stupefied face.
“If you touch me, or even talk to me, ever again, I will make you regret it.”
The bystanders tried to call her back, but she ignored them and fled into the forest. Being outside always made her feel better. The woods were her special place, even after everything that had happened. Even her greatest fear could not make her stay away, especially now that she knew she’d been wrong all this time.
The snow was pelting her harder than ever. Fluffy flakes hit her face and stuck to her hair and cloths. She still wasn’t dressed properly for the weather. Her mother would have given her such a scolding.
Soon she had to stop walking. She could no longer see clearly. Heavy sobs hurt her chest and throat and she was forced to her knees. For a moment she simply curled up in the icy softness. She didn’t even stir when a familiar shadow trotted up in front of her.
“Somehow I knew you would find me,” she said, when her weeping finally subsided.
The wolf regarded her evenly. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” she sniffed. “I just yelled at Cheyne in front of most of the people I know, so they probably think I’m crazy now, if they didn’t already. I just couldn’t stand what he’s been trying to do to me anymore. I was so scared of you for so long and now...”
She had to break off before she started to cry again. She winced as the wolf stepped forward, but managed not to break away as he licked the last of the tears off her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat as she reached out with shaking, near-frozen fingers to touch his thick fur.
“And I want my mother, but she’s gone, and I don’t know what to do,” she whimpered.
The wolf nuzzled her shoulder reassuringly, but he still didn’t answer. Marguerite supposed he mostly had no idea what she was talking about, but somehow that wasn’t what mattered.
“Thank you for listening,” she told him. “I always feel like everyone else is just judging me.”
His eyes glittered. “Why don’t you hate me anymore?”
“I should have known you weren’t my enemy when you let me walk out of your den. It just took me until last night to really understand.”
Her eyes were drawn to the cut on his leg. He backed away when she tried to look closer at it, but she could tell it was still raw. It worried her that it wouldn’t get any better. She marvelled at how quickly it had become alarming to think of leaving him alone and hurt. Perhaps she was the only one who would care if his injury got worse and he died out here in the cold.
“You should come to my mother’s house with me. I can take care of you.”
“You have already helped. Why should you do more?”
“I want to repay you, for saving my life,” she said, brushing off some of the tiny crystals that dotted his pelt. “I want to do something to apologize for treating you like a monster.”
“I am a monster,” he said.
But he let her lead him back to the village.
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