Wendigo Wars Read online

  “You okay Mathilde?”asked Violette with a hint of laughter in her voice that made Mathilde want to pinch her.

  “I’m fine,” replied Mathilde frostily, her senses quite recovered. “It’s just I thought he was dead. I mean I’m sorry – I thought you were dead,” said Mathilde as she turned her attention to the man, knowing what an imbecile she sounded and hating herself for it; hating him a little bit too.

  “Sorry,” said the man with a slight smile. He spoke in English but his voice was heavily laced with a Romanian accent, far more so than Violette’s. This man was definitely a born Romanian not just someone who was raised here. His voice sounded chocolaty smooth but with a dangerous undercurrent to it. Mathilde couldn’t work out if this was purely because of his strong accent or if there actually was a streak of danger to him. He certainly looked like he could be dangerous yet Mathilde couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

  “It’s okay. I mean, not okay, I am happy you aren’t dead. That’s what I mean. It was just, because you are in the side room. This room is usually for the dead.”

  “I thought it would be more private for him,” said Violette “He needs at least a week of bed rest.”

  “Oh” said Mathilde and continued to stand in the doorway, not quite sure of what to say. “Well I had better get to the training room. I have a Protectorate to improve.”Mathilde turned on her heel and quickly scarpered. As she left she could hear Violette answering an unspoken question.

  “My sister Mathilde. You will get used to her.”

  Mathilde frowned as she stomped past a smug looking Seb who was still slumped in the corner. She was sure that the rest of the day was going to be just as bad as the start had been.

  An hour later the dubious collection of amateurs which made up the Bucharest Protectorate gathered in the training grounds outside of the Cantacuzino Palace and within the settlement walls. They stood in a loose and messy formation facing Protector Superior Paul, Mathilde, Seb, Arnold and Sian. Several members of the settlement had gathered around the perimeter of the training ground to see the action.

  “Morning everyone, I hope you are well rested. Today we will do two hours of exercise then will break into two groups to practice defensive formations. After that we will have weapons inspection then break for something to eat before we move onto weapons practice and an hour of dream barrier practice.”

  As Mathilde’s voice projected across her twelve new trainees, a grumble of disbelief went through the group and a few sniggers and chuckles could be heard from the audience. Even the watchers who had looked like they were just stopping by settled down and looked like they were here to stay. This Protectorate had never done more than an hour of exercise in their short Protector career. The audience looked like they thought that this was going to be fun to watch.

  Mathilde raised her eyebrows and suppressed a sigh as she heard Seb tut in annoyance and Paul whisper “I know” out of the side of his mouth. There was a lot of work to be done.

  The exercise session passed without event, though there were several points where Mathilde had to force exhausted middle aged men and pimply youths back onto their feet. By the end of the session there was a lot of huffing and puffing and several red, sweaty faces. The audience had all but disbanded. After the initial humour of seeing their friends struggle to keep up, the biting cold proved to be more pressing than the need to watch two hours of running, sit-ups and shadow boxing.

  Formation practice was better received and the Protectorate became more eager and responsive at the hint of real action. The few stragglers in the audience sat back down to watch the motley crew go from an un-organised, uncoordinated rabble to a slightly more organized, vaguely more co-ordinated rabble. Mathilde split the Protectorate into two groups of six and taught them some of the basic moves; how to create a stretched hunting line, how to move from that into a close defensive circle and how to do the figure eight formation to get the archers in various positions depending upon the number of attackers. They were by no means as tightly coordinated as the Suceava Protectorate and there were several tangled feet incidents but they were making progress and so, by lunchtime Mathilde was satisfied with the progress made.

  By the end of the day she was nervous again. Not many of the Protectors had made it all the way through weapons practice. There had been a mixture of older Protectors collapsing in exhaustion, younger Protectors lacking the strength needed to hold up a sword or axe for long and not one of the Protectors showed any of the aiming skills or depth perception needed to control a crossbow. It would take a long time to get them to a standard to be able to fight just one wendigo. Time they didn’t have.

  Chapter Ten

  Mathilde made her way to the hospital alcove. It was a week since Dash had arrived and Mathilde, Seb and Violette had fallen into a set routine of caring for him. Violette looked after him each day, Seb each evening and Mathilde from midnight until 6am. Mathilde had arranged the schedule. This way she rarely had to see Dash awake. Mathilde felt uncomfortable when she was around Dash. Her heart raced faster and she became breathless. It was even worse when he was awake. His piercing eyes seemed full of secrets and she couldn’t tell whether he found her interesting or despised her.

  Whenever anyone spoke to Dash he smiled at them and made normal eye contact but when he looked at Mathilde he stared straight into her eyes and barely blinked. She always broke eye contact first, looking away embarrassed, unsure of what he was thinking or why he treated her differently. That was why it was better to take the night shift. It was still uncomfortable being so close to Dash, Mathilde wasn’t used to not being in control of the way her body reacted, but it was far easier to be with him when he slept than to face down those sapphire eyes every day.

  Mathilde arrived at the hospital alcove and went into the side room. “Night shift is here Seb”

  “Hi Tilly. Come to watch our security risk again? Just can’t keep away can we?” joked Seb.

  Mathilde did not wholly trust Dash but her gut feeling was that he was no security risk. Seb was not so convinced, in fact he seemed to hate everything about him and Mathilde caught him glaring viciously at Dash more than once. He had been more than happy to take the evening shift so that Mathilde could do the night shift though. Mathilde wondered, not for the first time, if this was because he didn’t want Mathilde to talk to Dash.

  “Found out anything more about him?”

  “No. The freak is great at dodging questions. I’m pretty sure I could get some answers out of him but Violette would kill me if I got heavy with her patient.”

  Seb chuckled in undisguised glee and Mathilde had no doubt that he would get some pleasure out of getting heavy with the person who he seemed to have decided was his enemy.

  “Anything I can get for you before I leave you to it?” Seb gave Mathilde one of his usual one armed hugs as they looked at the sleeping Dash

  “No thanks. Just have some breakfast ready for me in the morning.”

  “No probs Tilly.”

  With another squeeze of the shoulder and a kiss on the top of her head Seb reluctantly left. Seeing as he hated Dash so much Mathilde would have thought that he would have been more eager to leave. Then Seb was gone and Mathilde and Dash were alone. Mathilde took up her place in the corner of the room at a small table. She had meant to bring something to do tonight to keep her distracted, a pack of cards or one of the old books she had brought from Suceava, but she had forgotten again. Mathilde cursed her forgetfulness. Now she would have nothing to distract her from the body lying on the bed in the corner.

  By the end of the first hour Mathilde had memorised, yet again, every crack, corner and shadow in the room in her attempt not to look at Dash. Only five hours left to go thought Mathilde as she wondered how many times she could count the bricks in the wall before it drove her mad. She cursed her forgetfulness once again. A game of Solitaire was looking really appealing right about now.

  All of a sudden Mathilde became aware that it was too quie
t in the room. Dash did not snore but he did breathe heavily enough for it to create a constant background noise. The noise was now gone. Mathilde squinted at Dash from across the room, not wanting to get closer if she didn’t have to. His chest was still, his face like a statue. Mathilde stood up and approached slowly, stopping every couple of steps to squint at his chest and listen for a sound of breathing. As she reached his body his chest still did not seem to be rising and falling. Mathilde gently placed her hand on his neck, her hand resting on his collar bone and her fingers touching his skin, lightly at first and then with more pressure as she searched for his pulse. Where her fingers and palm touched his skin she felt as if she were on fire. Though Dash’s skin was no hotter than hers the touch sent a thousand tingles through her palm and finger tips, up her arm and into her chest.

  Dash gasped for air and then settled into his steady breathing pattern again. Mathilde started in surprise and pulled her hand quickly away from his chest but then lay it back down again before she could stop herself. Now that she had crossed that barrier and touched him once she felt like her hand was pulled back and held in the same spot, as if a magnet lay under his skin with the partnering magnet under her own.

  Mathilde’s head told her to go back to her seat in the corner, move your hand, stop touching him, move back, but she couldn’t move. Mathilde could feel Dash’s heartbeat under her palm, his chest was comfortably warm and she could feel the slight scattering of rough hairs under her hand. His pulse pressed against her fingertips and she moved them slowly to stroke the part of his neck where the blood pulsed through his veins. Mathilde could hear her own breath now and felt her own chest rise and fall. She wanted nothing more than to lay her cheek on this stranger’s chest or to lightly press her lips against his and feel the breath from his nose against her face.

  Mathilde pulled her hand violently away from Dash’s chest, causing him to move and frown a little in his sleep. She shot back to her chair in the corner, embarrassed and scared at the strength of attraction she had felt. This wasn’t her. She was always in control, she had never felt like this before, and over a stranger? It just felt wrong.

  Mathilde spent the rest of the night pressed into the corner. Dash’s breathing faltered a couple of times but Mathilde could not bring herself to go to him, not trusting that she could come away again. For the first time Mathilde did not try to avoid looking at Dash but instead stared at him from a safe distance. She examined and memorised every shadow on his face, his pale and perfect skin with the thick black stubble, his red lips which were neither thick nor thin, and his straight perfect nose. His jawbone was straight and squared. His dark hair curled over his collar and locks of it stuck to his forehead. It took all of Mathilde’s will power not to go to him and stroke the hair off his forehead.

  By the time that Violette arrived at 6am Mathilde knew every part of his face and her head swam dizzily. Her mind swam with images of his face and the beginnings of fantasies that made her blush. As Violette came into the room Mathilde felt embarrassed, as if Violette were Fleur and could read her mind. Of course she couldn’t but she did raise a confused eyebrow at Mathilde’s flushed face.

  “Anything happen overnight?” asked Violette with concern for her patient.

  “Nothing,” said Mathilde a bit too quickly “I’m off. Battle plans to make,” Mathilde said as she

  stood quickly make her escape but as she walked to the door she heard the voice which she had successfully avoided for the past few days, heavy with a permanent hint of humour and sadness in equal measure, rich with the Romanian inflections.

  “Come back to visit later, after lunch.”

  Mathilde jumped but forced herself not to turn around. To see him awake after some of the thoughts that had been going through her mind just moments earlier would be mortifying.

  “Erm I am not sure I will have time. There is a lot of work to be done with the Protectorate”

  “Please?” the voice drawled, deep and persuasive.

  “Maybe,” said Mathilde and she hurried out of the door, happy that she had made her exit without having to look at her beautiful enemy.

  Mathilde arrived back at Violette’s alcove to the smell of bacon cooking and the sight of Seb’s face grinning as he towered above the stove making it look like a child’s toy.

  “Good night Tills? You look in a foul mood. Does the freak snore?”

  Mathilde glared at Seb, grateful for the breakfast he put in front of her but not in the mood for any of his good natured ribbing. Not when her head was swimming and she was still annoyed at her traitorous heart.

  “Give it break Seb, ok? I’m a bit tired.”

  Mathilde tried not to be too grumpy with Seb but her irritated nerves didn’t help. Seb gave a strange smile and sat opposite Mathilde. He didn’t speak but just watched her in silence as she ate. His eyes watched her every move as he seemed to be trying to work out why she was in such a strange mood.

  “Don’t worry Tilly. We will get them into shape.”

  Mathilde looked at Seb in confusion for a moment, trying to figure out if she had missed part of the conversation.

  “I mean they are hardly the best Protectorate in the world but we will get them there with a bit more training.”

  Mathilde smiled, finally understanding and thankful that Seb had guessed the wrong reason for her mood.

  The morning passed both too slowly and too quickly. Mathilde had a constant fandango of butterflies in her stomach. Though terrified to see Dash face to face and have to look into those eyes she was also excited and found herself thinking, for the first time in her life, whether her hair looked ok and whether her clothes fit well enough. Once again this kick started a feeling of annoyance at being so affected by him. By lunchtime Mathilde was a wreck. She had never felt so completely unsure of herself and her own emotions.

  As Mathilde walked into the hospital alcove she saw that Dash was sitting up eating his lunch. A plate had been set on the table for Mathilde. Dash looked at her and once again she felt a jolt and her stomach turned over as he looked her steadily straight in the eye. Maddeningly he looked even more attractive and younger than he had before as his hair had been trimmed and his stubble shaved off leaving his pale skin invitingly smooth. Now he looked merely six or seven years older than Mathilde rather than ten. She guessed at age twenty four. His expression was serious and for a moment Mathilde thought that she had misunderstood, that the other plate was for Violette and that he hadn’t really meant for her to visit him. Then his gaze became warmer.

  “I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure that you would.”

  Mathilde was surprised. Dash didn’t look like he had lived a single day in his life where anything but utter confidence had entered his mind. His sense of superiority unsettled Mathilde. She was positive that he hadn’t really been unsure for a second, that he knew that she was already completely under his command.

  “Sit down and eat. You look like you need a rest.”

  “So how are you feeling?” asked Mathilde as she took a seat, cursing the unnatural sound of her voice.

  “Sore but your sister is taking good care of me. She says I might be able to go for a walk around tomorrow. Get my muscles working again.”

  “So what happened to you?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Mathilde frowned. She didn’t know who he thought he was impressing by being so difficult. It was infuriating.

  “You look like you know a little about wendigo attacks yourself. Your sister told me a little about you. I’m sorry about your mother, and your brother.”

  Mathilde was taken aback for a second. It was a long time since anyone had mentioned her mother or her scar. She suddenly felt very self conscious, both of who she was and how she must look. She shook her head so that her hair fell over the scar on her face a little. Dash laughed.

  “Hey look at me! Compared to you I am a patchwork quilt.” Then more quietly “besides it is kind of attractive. You suit your scar. It�
��s.....interesting.”

  Yeah really interesting thought Mathilde interestingly hideous. Thanks for pointing it out! “So why did you want me to visit you?” she said. “From what I have heard half the women here have come to have a peek at our mysterious visitor.”

  “It is nice to be made to feel welcome but they are all open books. No mystery. You’re different. You have seen things. The same things as I have - the same enemy.”

  “So about this wendigo attack then?. How did you come to be out of a settlement on your own? Stupid or unfortunate?”

  Dash glared at Mathilde, “So how come that wendigo didn’t eat you when you were little? Not tasty enough?”

  Mathilde gasped at Dash’s arrogance and insensitivity. Dash had the good grace to look ashamed. They sat in silence glaring at each other and picking at their meal. If you think I’m going to be nice now you can guess again Mathilde thought, wondering how she could ever have found him attractive.

  “So come on. We take you in, look after you, heal your wounds, feed you and you can’t even be bothered to tell us how you got in this state or who you are. Some gratitude! We should toss you back to the wendigo. We don’t even know your surname.”

  “Domanescu. My name is Dashiel Domanescu”

  “Great. That means nothing to me though. That doesn’t answer any of my other questions. Who are you really? Who is your family? What settlement have you come from?”

  Mathilde was beginning to get angrier with every passing second. He was a frustrating, infuriating man and she found that she was almost shouting at him.

  “It’s complicated. My family... well they are well known in old Romania, the Romania of a decade or so ago. I am not sure if the people at this settlement like my family, or me. They might not want me here if they knew.”

  “You sure think a lot of yourself. What makes you think that anyone will care? So if you are far too important can you at least tell me where your family is? How you came to be on the outside on your own? Hardly a close knit family are you?”