White Fangs (23 page)

He respects her
, Jack thought.
At last, the beast has found someone — some
thing
— that he considers on his own level
. He glanced at Sabine, only to discover she was already looking at him, eyebrows raised.

Soon the violence died down, and within half an hour the only sound was Lesya's footsteps, light and delicate for something so huge. Then even they died down, and moments later she appeared to them as Jack had first seen her. Naked, beautiful, eyes still filled with the wild, the forest spirit came toward them and knelt on the damp ground.

"Dawn," she said, her voice like a hand across rough bark, "and it will be over."

Jack looked up at the tree canopy. He could see three shapes up there, struggles lessening but their silhouettes still moving against the constant sky. He knew there were more. When dawn came, the last of the vampires would meet their end.

"All of them?" Ghost asked.

"All but three cowards that fled north," Lesya said. She glanced at Callie then looked directly at Jack. "A polar bear, a cougar, and a hawk. Injured, but not dying."

"They'll never come back," Ghost said firmly.

"Not in a human's lifetime, perhaps."

"Lesya," Jack said. Her name felt strange on his lips.

"Jack London. You left me."

"I value my freedom."

"I would have given you such wonders." She glanced at Sabine, said to Jack, "And are you not
still
a prisoner?"

Sabine stood, proud, defiant. "At least I don't try to
force
Jack to stay with me."

"And who are . . . ?" Lesya began.

Jack saw Sabine's eyes go wide. She stiffened, and Lesya did the same.

He saw the glimmer of a tear on his loved one's cheek.

When Lesya stood again, her eyes also glittered.

Crying without a sound, the two women came close, reached out their hands, and almost touched.

When dawn arrived, the treetops erupted in flames and screams. Those vampires impaled up in the canopy by Lesya's wilder self first shook and cried out, then smoked, then burst afire as dawn's early light kissed their cursed skins and pelts. As they exploded into unnatural flame and writhed where they were pinned, Jack could see their bodies deforming back to their original states. The vampires died halfway back to human, and he supposed there was some comfort in that.

He would never know the pain of the vampire curse, and for that he would be forever grateful.

They watched together, apart from Sabine and Lesya. Those two had disappeared into the forest alone, and no one had sought to accompany them. Their need to connect with each other had been so obvious, and as they'd left Ghost had sat down beside Jack.

While they had waited for dawn Jack, Ghost, and Callie had all remained silent. The wolf lay sleeping. Jack had sensed something between him and Ghost that confused him through those hours of darkness, and he had spent some time thinking back to their time together on the
Larsen.
Those bad memories offered no clues.

As the last of the canopy fires guttered out as the charred remains fell to the forest floor, Jack realized what that feeling was. The tension was gone. The almost palpable barrier between him and Ghost had melted away into the darkness, and in its place was the open space of potential that existed between all human beings. Jack knew from experience that sometimes that space was filled with love, sometimes hatred, sometimes violence or indifference. The air between Jack and Ghost was empty, a blank slate waiting to be written upon.

Jack sensed that there was nothing left to write. Their story was almost over, and as he glanced sidelong at Ghost, he was almost sad.

"New day," Jack said.

"Aye, Mister London."

Jack smiled at Ghost's use of his first mate name. Then the smile slipped when he thought again of Louis and the Reverend, and the sacrifice they had made. Several times through the night he had heard movement and hoped it was them, but no one had materialized from the shadows. He suspected it was merely Lesya's forest shrugging itself back to life once more.

"They fought as wolves and died as men," Ghost said quietly, again appearing to read Jack's mind.

"And you find value in that?" Jack snapped. The captain he had known would have laughed at the sacrifice, scoffing at the idea that such glory might be worth more than a continued, wretched existence.

Ghost sighed softly, but did not reply. Jack supposed that was answer enough.

"And you," Jack said. He examined Ghost in the dawn light. Relaxed though the big man was, he had only half-reverted to his human form. Thick fur lined his arms, neck, and cheeks, clotted with dirt and mud. His large hands bore curved, deadly claws. His face was elongated, still recognizably human yet possessed of a wolf's unmistakable contours. Perhaps this was his new normal.

"I've reached the end of one journey," Ghost said.

"Killing your brother, Death Nilsson, wasn't the end?" Jack asked.

"No," Ghost said. But he did not elaborate.

The wolf suddenly growled, leaping to its feet and readying for a pounce. Callie stood up quickly, stepping forward and raising her gun.

Jack stood with her. He had one cartridge left.
It's daylight
, he thought, but he could not ignore his wolf's caution.

Movement ahead of them, through the trees.

Ghost took in a deep breath, then chuckled softly as he let it out. He sounded almost happy.

Louis emerged from around a burnt tree ahead of them, pausing when he saw them and then moving onward once again. He almost back to fully human, and nursing wounds that would have killed any lesser man. His left leg had been gored so badly that Jack could see bone. His chest was a mass of cuts, and his face was swollen and bruised from some terrible impact. Through it all his golden tooth caught the dawn and gleamed, his grimace turning into a pained grin when he saw them.

"Aren't you . . . going to . . . get breakfast, Jack?" he asked. Twenty steps from them he collapsed onto his front, and by the time Jack had dashed to him, Louis was moaning in delirium.

"The Reverend?" Jack asked.

"Gone," Louis said. He grew still. "But he took plenty with him. You should have seen him, Jack. He really found himself just before he . . . he . . ." Louis closed his eyes and slipped into unconsciousness. His breathing was ragged but his heart beat strong.

"A brave man," Callie said from behind Jack.

"Yes," Jack said, nodding. "A man."

"I can help him," a woman's voice said. As he turned around, Jack was unsure who he would see. There was something of both of them in that confident note, and the way the voice seemed to sing slightly out of synch with reality.

Both women stood up on the rock, but from her expression he could see that it was Lesya who had spoken.

"Then help," Jack said.

Lesya nodded, and both she and Sabine descended. Sabine came directly to Jack as Lesya tended the fallen man, and he saw a contentment in her that set a glow in his heart.

"It was all worth it," Jack said, a statement more than a question. Sabine's warm smile and grateful nod was the only answer any of them required.

Jack watched his wolf race off into the deeper forest and part of him felt as if he were running alongside. He knew he might well see the animal again, but even if he did not, it would always be there, just out of the corner of his eye, and in the thunder of his own heartbeat. The wolf would move from pack to pack, finding a mate here or there, tracking a meal or picking a fight. Forever restless, eternally a wanderer, it would search wild hollows and precarious peaks, until at last it had explored the last primal place in the world, or died in the trying.

I am with you
, Jack thought, as the grey tail of the wolf vanished in the shadows of the pines. His heart was full.

"A courageous animal," a voice said.

Jack had sensed Ghost approaching but ignored him, not willing to allow his private farewell to his wolf to be interrupted. Now he turned and nodded, unable to prevent a smile from crossing his lips. Ghost had changed. Somehow, giving himself fully over to the beast within him had calmed his soul, and though his hair was shaggy and his chin covered in bristles, he looked more human.

"Not 'noble,' Ghost? You wouldn't allow him that dignity?" Jack asked.

Ghost stared into the forest where the wolf had gone. After a few seconds he nodded. "All right. 'Noble' it is."

"So you believe in nobility at last?"

As Ghost turned toward him, the old pirate's face was shaded by pines, making it difficult for Jack to tell whether the upturned edge of his mouth indicated a smile or a snarl.

"I'm not fit for the way the world is changing, Mister London," Ghost said quietly, gazing again into the trees. "I know what you want to hear from me. Louis and the Reverend proved your point. The curse of the werewolf made them monsters, but you were right; that didn't mean they had to choose to be beasts. The Reverend died with honor. And Louis . . ."

Ghost took a deep breath and let it out, finding it difficult to speak the next words. At last he nodded to himself, as if his heart had given him permission to go on. "He's a good man," Ghost said. "All the better in that he has crossed every civilized line and delved into the freedom of savagery, and he has chosen the more valiant path."

Jack stared at Ghost in shock. "I wouldn't have thought, even now, that you would admit such a path exists."

Ghost walked to him and put a hand on his arm, squeezing firmly, gaze locked with Jack's. The ferocity in his eyes was not cruel, but it held a certainty that could not be denied.

"You were right about some things, Jack . . . but not everything. Some men aren't meant for civilization. You wanted to show me that I could live as a man, to tame the beast in me, and I confess to you that I wondered if such a thing were possible, or even preferable. But now that I have met Lesya, that I see in her eyes another truly wild spirit, I know that even before my brother made me a monster, I was never meant to be a man."

Jack gave a small nod. "Lesya has been searching for a wild man."

"A beast," Ghost agreed, nostrils flaring with pleasure. "And now she has found me. But I will not allow you to pretend, Jack."

"I don't take your meaning," Jack replied.

"Of course you do. Why else would she have worked so hard to lure you here and to keep you?" Ghost said. "Lesya and her father — nearly vanished from the world though he may be — are ancient things. They are of nature, of the wilderness, in a way almost nothing is in these modern days. She wanted a wild man, and she thought it might be you, Jack. There's a reason for that."

"I'm no beast," Jack said, a chill running up his spine. Somewhere far off in the forest, his wolf howled, but Jack did not know if it was in farewell or in accordance with Ghost's words.

Now Ghost smiled in earnest and released his hold on Jack's arm. He leaned in, his breath hot on Jack's cheek as he growled a whisper. "We're more alike than you'll ever admit, my friend. If you refuse to admit that, you will wander the rest of your life trying to find a place to fit in, but you will never feel settled. You'll never be at home."

Anger rippled through Jack. He felt the heat rushing to his face and he opened his mouth to reject Ghost's words, only to find he could say nothing.

The snapping of a small branch made both of them spin quickly around, on edge after so many violent clashes, but it was only Callie approaching. She stood by a tree, a heavy pack on her back, pistols hanging from her hips. Jack had felt a weight lift from him when morning had broken, but the same familiar expression of grim determination was etched on Callie's face. Her hunt wasn't over.

"We're ready to go, Jack. If you're comin', let's get along," she said.

Jack hesitated, still feeling as though something remained unsaid between himself and Ghost. But when he looked at the wild man, he knew that was only an illusion. They understood each other perfectly.

He started back toward Lesya's cottage, Callie falling into step beside him.

Ghost did not follow.

Jack adjusted the straps of his pack as he trudged eastward along a ridge, the sun warm on his face. In his mind, he could practically hear the music of the little trio that sometimes played in the bar in Dawson — jaunty banjo, jangling piano, and sad, weeping harmonica — and he wetted his lips with his tongue, thinking about the whiskey that would go along with the music. He had no interested in staying very long in Dawson, but he looked forward to getting back there, to the noise and stink and general unruliness of people. It was said that absence made the heart grow fonder, and Jack knew that was the case here. Once he'd spent a few hours amongst them, he'd be longing for the wild. But at the moment, he wanted a steak and a drink and the sound of music, even poorly played.

Up ahead, Callie led the way along the ridge, with Louis following close behind. The gruff, rough-hewn woman was a damn fine tracker, but it didn't hurt to have a werewolf at her side, sniffing out the trail of their quarry if she became stumped for a minute or two. Sabine strode along about twenty feet behind them, with Jack bringing up the rear. He watched Sabine, enjoying the way she moved and the blowing of her hair in the wind. The time spent with Lesya had restored her to full vigor and her beauty in that state left him breathless. There were other changes in her that went beyond that invigoration. Whatever secrets Lesya had shared with her had brought a lightness to Sabine's step that had never been there before, and now, when lost in her own thoughts, she had an ethereal quality about her, as though at any moment she might take flight for the heavens. In those moments, Jack wanted to reach for her, to kiss her and love her hard enough to hold her down. Most of the time when she smiled at him, his concerns abated. But from time to time she glanced at him with a sadness in her eyes that gnawed at his gut.

At a break in the ridge, where a rock-fall had left a gap, Callie and Louis paused to sort out some confusion over the direction of the vampires' retreat.

"They can't have gone too far in just a few hours of dark," Callie said. "If there ain't a trail, we just go on in this direction till we hear tell of some folks done in by bears or drained of blood, and we'll find 'em."

While Louis explored the gap in the ridge and Callie called out encouragement, Sabine turned and walked back to Jack, smiling.

"This could take a while," she said.

Jack nodded. "No doubt. And I admit, I'm impatient. I'm surprised you're not. I thought you'd be in more of a hurry to get back to the sea."

"Oh, I am," Sabine said, but her gaze shifted off of him as she said it, and he knew there was something she wasn't saying. Renewing her smile, she stepped up and gave him a gentle kiss. "You didn't say goodbye to Lesya."

Now it was Jack's turn to look away. "You two were talking and I didn't want to interrupt. Anyway, what would I have said? She wanted to keep me as her prisoner, once upon a time. Then she tried to kill me. We're not the best of friends."

Sabine gave a small shrug. "She wouldn't have tried to keep you there this time. She's got Ghost, now, and he's willing."

"More than willing," Jack said.

"She did ask me to thank you for her," Sabine went on. "For rescuing her."

"We all did that."

"Yes, but you had an excellent reason not to, and you did it anyway." Sabine kissed him again, and spoke in a whisper. "You're a good man, Jack."

They pressed their foreheads together, resting there a moment with him inhaling the cinnamon aroma of her skin. They had rarely been closer or more intimate.
So why do I feel as if she's drifting away?

"You're not going to tell me what Lesya said? About your past?" he asked.

Sabine's eyes glittered,. She touched his face, running her palm over his stubbled cheek. "Not just yet. But soon enough. I promise."

The way she looked away that time, he wanted to stop her and tell her it was all right. That whatever she had to tell him might be something he didn't need to hear, that she should keep it to herself and just keep looking into his eyes and touched his face and kissing him. But he didn't stop her. The recent part of Sabine's life had been all about others using her for their own ends, trying to turn her into something they envisioned instead of helping her define who and what she was. He wouldn't be a part of that.

"Come on, you lovebirds!" Callie said. "We're movin' on."

Sabine took Jack's hand and the two of them made their way along the ridge.

"I'm sorry, Callie," Sabine said, "but I'm afraid this is where we must part. Jack and I are headed for Dawson, and the city's southeast of here. If you're headed north — "

Callie put a hand over her heart, a sad expression on her face. "Don't say another word, darlin'. I may be rough around the edges, but that don't mean I ain't a tender soul. I ain't never handled goodbyes well."

The woman threw her arms around Sabine and their embrace was almost comical. Then Callie turned to Jack and held out her hand. Jack shook it, feeling both the strength and the sincerity in Callie's grip.

"It's been a real pleasure knowin' ya, Jack."

"You, too, Callie," he said, surprised at just how deeply he meant it. "I'm not going to forget you any time soon. I'm sorry we can't continue on with you."

She waved that away. "Don't be foolish. You got to get your lady back where she belongs. We had, whaddayacallit,
shared purposes
for a while, but this was always my hunt. Safe travels to both of you."

Callie glanced at Louis. "What about you, Frenchie? You goin' back to Dawson, or you gonna help me finish this batch of devils?"

Louis grinned at Jack and Sabine, his gold tooth glinting in the sun. "Why not?"

"Are you sure?" Jack asked, frowning with concern. "Staying out here in the wild — "

"Don't worry, my friend," Louis said. "I'm not going to forget what I've learned. It's a part of me now. And the best way for me to remember I'm not a monster is to hunt the real ones."

"Safe journeys, then," Jack said.

"And to you,
mon ami,"
Louis replied, bowing low. When he rose from the bow, he met Jack's gaze and his eyes were kind. Human. "Once Ghost had made me a monster, I never thought I would have another friend. It's been my pleasure, Jack."

Louis extended a hand and Jack shook it.

"And mine," he replied. "Truly."

Jack might have said more, but Sabine took his hand then and led him away. When they had managed to descend the treacherous ridge, aiming toward the southeast, where they knew they would come upon the river, Jack glanced back. But Callie and Louis were already gone.

They spent a night beneath the stars, making camp beside the river. Jack caught fish and fried them in a small pan he'd had stowed in his pack and then they lay down together and listened to the wind and the rushing water. Sabine fell asleep long before he did, and Jack propped himself on one elbow and studied the peaceful beauty of her face, wondering where she went in her dreams.

In the morning they continued their trek, entering Dawson early. They found the sheriff at his breakfast table, his wife pouring him a cup of coffee to go with his eggs, sausage, and toast. Jack and Sabine spotted this domestic scene through the window as they walked up to the front door, and they were hesitant to break it up. Now that Jack had returned to Dawson, the romantic sheen had been stripped off the notion of music and whiskey in a bar full of hopeless dreamers and gold-stampeders. He loved and hated the Yukon in equal measure, and wanted to put it behind him.

When he knocked, Sheriff Killebrew called for them to come in. Jack tried the door and found it unlocked. As he pushed it open, he saw Mrs. Killebrew standing anxiously by the stove with a heavy cast-iron skillet in her hand. Walrus had a mouthful of egg and sausage, but his right hand was under the table. Jack figured he had a gun under them, aimed right at them, but the moment the sheriff recognized them, he let out the breath he'd been holding.

"All right, Martha," he said to his wife. "They're all right." The sheriff arched a bushy eyebrow and set his heavy gun on the table beside his plate. "Surprised to see you alive, though. That mean we don't have to worry about bloodsuckers anymore?"

"There were three left," Jack admitted. "But Callie King and our friend Louis are still after them. By now, chances are good they're all done for."

Walrus grinned. "Now that is a cause for celebration." Flecks of egg dotted his mustache. He leaned back in his chair and glanced at his wife. "Martha, if we've got enough breakfast to go around, cook it up for these folks. I expect making the world safe from monsters works up a mighty appetite."

The whistle of the riverboat made Jack squeeze Sabine's hand more tightly. They were standing near the dock with Hal Sawyer, who'd come down to see them off. Jack could feel Sabine's excitement, but the melancholy within her had not abated, and neither had his quiet concern for what awaited them next.

"You'll write me?" Hal asked. "I have a feeling you have a lot of adventures ahead of you, and I don't want to miss a one of them."