Chapter 5: Condemned by Moonlight
The click of the cane was a cold, precise sound, a nail being driven into the coffin of their peace. It stopped just outside the door. Mério’s body went rigid against Scarlett’s, a wall of tension. He didn’t move her aside so much as reposition her, shifting his weight to place himself squarely between her and the entrance.
Through the window’s warped glass, the figures materialized from the drizzle. Elder Silas stood centered on the path, his long white hair plastered to the shoulders of his dark coat by the rain. The silver wolf’s head atop his cane gleamed with a sickly light. He was not alone. Two village hunters flanked him, men Scarlett knew—Jonas with his longbow, and Hal with a heavy cudgel. Their faces were set, their eyes avoiding the cottage window.
Scarlett’s breath hitched. The rabbit’s blood felt like it was still on her skin, a damning evidence.
Mério’s hand tightened on the axe handle. The wood of the doorframe where he’d gripped it earlier groaned in sympathy.
Silas’s voice cut through the door, thin and sharp as a razor. “Vanilla Oum. Scarlett Oum. Open this door in the name of the village council.”
“She’s not here,” Scarlett said, her own voice surprisngly steady. She stepped out from behind Mério’s protection. Hiding would do no good now.
“Then it is you I address, moon-touched.” The title was a slur on his tongue. “The council has convened. The evidence of your corruption is plain. The slaughtered livestock, the terror in the woods… and the blood you wear even now.”
“I didn’t touch any livestock,” Scarlett snarled, her fear burning away into a hot, clean anger.
“Your word against the fear of an entire community.” Silas’s ancient eyes, pale and watery, found hers through the glass. They held a chilling triumph. “The verdict is reached. There will be no more cycles of this plague. The moon-whore dies at dusk.”
The finality of the words sucked the air from the room. Dusk. A few hours. Not even a full day.
Mério moved. It wasn’t a rush; it was a deliberate, unstoppable shifting of mass. He opened the door, the movement so sudden it made the hunters flinch back a step. The rain-scented air swirled into the cottage. He filled the doorway, his axe held loosely, casually, at his side.
“No,” Mério said. The word was quiet, a stone dropped into a deep well.
Silas’s smile was a tight, bloodless stretch of skin. “Mério. Step aside. This is not your concern. Your family has honor. Do not stain it by defending this creature.”
“She’s Scar,” Mério said, as if explaining something simple to a child. “You’re not touching her.”
Jonas nocked an arrow, the sound a soft tick of death. “Don’t be a fool, Mério. There are three of us.”
Mério’s gaze didn’t waver from Silas. He seemed to consider the hunter’s words, his head tilting slightly. The silence stretched, filled only by the patter of rain on the threshold.
Then, he spoke, his logic brutal and undeniable. “If she’s what you say… if the wolf comes out at night…” He looked back at Scarlett, his blue eyes clear and certain. “Then I’ll spend the night with her. In the tower. If I’m dead by morning, you’ll know you were right. She’s free game.”
The proposition landed in the tense space between them, absurd and brilliant. It bypassed all arguments, all accusations. It was a challenge based on their own fears.
Scarlett’s heart stuttered. “Mayo, no—”
“If I’m alive,” Mério continued, cutting her off, his eyes still locked on Silas, “you leave her alone. Forever. You tell the council it was a mistake.”
Silas’s smug certainty fractured. This was not a scenario his ancient texts covered. He had expected fear, begging, perhaps a futile fight. Not this… this brute-force wager. He studied Mério, this man of simple thoughts and immense physical truth. He knew Mério’s reputation. Knew he could fell an oak in half an hour, that his strength was the stuff of village legend.
“You would truly risk this?” Silas hissed, his composure slipping. “You believe her… affection… will leash the beast?”
“I believe I’m harder to kill than a rabbit,” Mério said flatly.
A flicker of doubt crossed the hunters’ faces. They respected Mério. Feared him a little, too. The idea of him facing a wolf—any wolf—was not a foregone conclusion.
Silas’s mind raced, calculations visible behind his milky eyes. If Mério died, his obstacle was removed and the girl was proven guilty. A clean sweep. If Mério lived… the old man’s authority would be shattered. But the latter seemed impossible. The wolf was a savage, mindless thing. It would not recognize its lover.
“The council’s decree was for an execution at dusk,” Silas protested, trying to regain control.
“Change it,” Mério said. It wasn’t a suggestion.
The rain fell. Jonas’s bowstring creaked. Scarlett held her breath, watching the battle of wills on the muddy path.
Finally, Silas gave a curt, jerky nod. “So be it. A test, then. You will both be confined to the old tower at nightfall. The door will be barred from the outside. We will return at dawn.” A cruel smile returned to his lips. “I will pray for your soul, boy. Though I fear it is already forfeit.”
He turned, his cane clicking sharply against the wet stone. The hunters followed, casting uneasy glances back at the giant in the doorway.
Mério closed the door. The bolt slid home with a solid thud that echoed in the sudden quiet. He turned to face Scarlett.
The bravado drained from his face, replaced by a deep, unsettling calm. He looked at her, really looked at her, as if seeing the truth for the first time.
“Scar,” he said, his voice low. “The rabbit. Was there a rabbit?”
The question hung in the air, more terrifying than any threat from Silas. It was the first time he had ever openly questioned the story. The first crack in his simple, unwavering faith.
Scarlett met his gaze, her silver eyes wide with a terror that had nothing to do with the old man outside. The lie stuck in her throat. She couldn’t give it voice.
She just stared at him, and in her silence, he found his answer.
The silence between them was thicker than the cottage walls, a void filled with the unspoken truth of bloody nights and devoured things. Mério’s face, usually so open, became a landscape of slow-moving thought as he processed her non-answer. He simply nodded, a single, heavy dip of his chin, and the fear in Scarlett’s chest tightened into a sharp knot.
“We’ll need supplies,” he said, his voice a low rumble that dismissed the enormity of his discovery. He turned from her and began moving through the cottage with a practical efficiency, gathering his large pack from beside the fireplace. He stuffed in a waterskin, a heavy blanket, and a small, sharp knife from the kitchen block.
Scarlett stood frozen, watching him. “Mayo, you can’t do this. It’s a death sentence. I can’t control it—I don’t remember me when the moon is up.”
He paused, holding a coil of rope, and looked at her. His blue eyes were clear, without a trace of doubt. “The rabbit doesn’t matter,” he stated, as if rewriting reality with his words. “I do.” He returned to his packing, adding a flint and steel and a small, wrapped parcel of meat from Vanilla’s cold box. “Silas will be back at dusk. We should be at the tower before then.”
The afternoon light was bleeding away when they trudged up the path to the old watchtower. The structure was a skeletal finger of stone pointing at the encroaching twilight, its door hanging open on rusted hinges. Inside, the air was stale and cold, littered with the debris of seasons past. Mério lit a tallow candle, its flickering light casting long, dancing shadows on the circular wall.
Scarlett hugged herself, shivering as much from dread as from the chill. “They’re going to bar us in.” The thought of being caged when the change came made her skin crawl.
“I know,” Mério said, his voice echoing softly in the hollow space. He was already building a small, contained fire in the center of the stone floor, using dry kindling from his pack. The act was so normal, so utterly mundane, that it felt like a rebellion against the madness to come.
Just as the last sliver of sun vanished, they heard the heavy tread of boots on the path outside. Silas’s voice, thin and triumphant, sliced through the door. “The council’s will be done. May God have mercy on your soul, Mério.” There was a loud, final scraping sound as a heavy timber was shoved through the iron brackets on the outside of the door, sealing them in.
The sound of the bar settling into place was like a tomb door slamming shut. Scarlett’s breath hitched, and she pressed her back against the cold stone wall. The moon, fat and full, began its ascent, its pale light streaming through the narrow arrow slits.
“It’s starting,” she whispered, her voice already deepening, becoming rough around the edges.
Mério stood his ground by the small fire, watching her. He saw the subtle shift first in her eyes—the silver light in them seeming to brighten, to take on a feral glow. Then her body began to contort, a series of sickening cracks and pops echoing in the tower as bones stretched. Her short black hair seemed to grow, thicken, spreading like a dark pelt over her skin, which itself darkened and coarsened.
Within minutes, where Scarlett had stood was a creature of muscle and shadow, taller than Mério, with elongated limbs and a muzzle full of sharp, wet teeth. The beast shook itself, a low growl rumbling in its chest, and its piercing silver eyes fixed on him.
Mério didn’t flinch. He slowly reached into his pack and pulled out the wrapped parcel of meat. He held it up, the scent of raw beef filling the space between them. “Hungry?” he asked, his voice steady. The beast snarled, lips peeling back from its gums, but its nostrils flared, tracking the smell.
“I can make it better,” Mério said, moving with a deliberate slowness towards the fire. He skewered the meat on a sharpened stick and held it over the flames. The sizzle and pop of fat hitting the fire made the beast’s ears twitch. It took a step closer, a line of saliva dripping from its jaw to the stone floor. “See? Cooked. Tastes good.”
He cooked the meat until it was seared and fragrant, then carefully placed it on a flat stone near the beast. It stared at him for a long, tense moment, then snatched the meat, devouring it in two messy, gulping bites. It licked its chops, a rough, wet sound, and then its attention returned to Mério, but the aggressive tension had eased into a different kind of intensity.
The beast moved closer, its head lowered. It began to sniff at his boots, then his legs, its warm, panting breath hot through his trousers. It nudged his hands with its wet nose, sniffing the scent of the cooked meat on his fingers. Then it started to lick, a broad, rough tongue dragging up his arm, tasting the salt of his skin.
It worked its way up his body, sniffing and licking his chest, his neck, the side of his face with an inquisitive, possessive curiosity. The growl in its chest had softened into a contented rumble. Finally, it dropped its head lower, sniffing hard at the front of his jeans, where the scent of him was strongest. Its wet nose pressed firmly against the denim over his crotch, and then a hot, rough tongue dragged slowly over the stiff fabric.