Gwen
I managed to keep my composure until the heavy steel door was closed behind me, where I leaned against it, letting out the breath that I had been holding and working to calm my trembling. The sound of her howl was… primal. I wasn’t afraid of wolves, I had spent enough time around them that I was ready for most things, but that howl was something I felt in my marrow.
For a split second, in her rage, Victoria had taken the beast form. Rippling muscle, enormous, clawed hands - it was so much more frightening in person than anything Hollywood had ever dreamed up. I could see her skin through her fur, parts of her were bare and human, parts were furred, but those claws. Those claws were terrifying. Each finger was nearly as thick as my wrist, and the claws that extended from them looked like they could cut right through the bars of the cage.
I knew that was crazy, but that cage wasn’t designed to hold the beast.
River had refused to show me that form, saying it was sacred, reserved for times of great need, gave me a speech about reverence for the gifts of the Wolfmother, but she had explained it to me. Only the Trueborn could reach it, the Turned never would, she had described it, told of the jaws, the claws, the muscle, the size - but no explanation could do justice to the hulking horror of that form.
I had been going for a weapon when the form slipped and she became the dire - that’s what the cage was designed for. That’s what Granddad prepared for. If she maintained the beast form, she could probably escape - but she hadn’t.
Thankfully. Thankfully as well, I had managed to pull the collar out of the cage with a leftover dowel rod that had been propped up nearby.
This left me in a bad spot though, I needed her in her human form to work with her, to communicate with her, and if I knocked her out now, she’d change to the wolf form - they went to their nearest “natural” form if they lost consciousness. The brute had become human, the dire would become wolf.
As the howl went on, I was very glad I had splurged on the additional soundproofing. I could still hear it, but it wasn’t overwhelming. There was something in that howl, something I had never heard from anyone in River’s pack, not even from Smoke, who was very much the most wolflike. It was rare that I feared a wolf, but that howl was unsettling.
My own instincts told me not to turn my back on that howl, on the door it was coming from but I needed to go revisit some of my designs. The workbench in the basement was far from my only crafting space - I had inherited all of Granddad’s silversmithing equipment, as well as the knowledge he had lovingly passed down to me, day after day of working together.
The soft smile I gave his picture in the hallway was bittersweet. Those keen green eyes, that knowing smirk, his slicked back silver hair and those wrinkles around his eyes that showed he spent far more time smiling and laughing than anything else. I missed him hard in that moment, I wished I could talk to him, ask him for advice.
“I think you’d like her, Granddad.” I laughed softly, shaking my head. He probably would, he liked everyone. The memory of him introducing me to River loomed large in my mind, how shocked they were that I didn’t fear them, how proud he was of me. “You’d call her a spitfire.”
Dragging my fingers gently along the frame of the picture, I gave a small, sad sigh.
Carrying his book with me, I made my way down the hall, to the den where Granddad’s enormous oak desk waited for me, covered in orders and invoices, bills and notices. I liked to keep everything the way he left it, his decorations on the walls, his inkwell and calligraphy pens that I never learned to use. I added a few touches of my own, a framed copy of the very first order I filled on my own, some wooden carvings that Hazel, a member of River’s pack, had given me a few years ago. And of course, the laptop.
I felt granddad’s absence most in this room. But I also felt his presence. Never as much as when I was working the forge, where I could almost feel his hands guiding me - here, I felt his smile, and his pride.
I pulled his book open to the page of notes he had made on restraints and equipment.
Silver is, of course, highly damaging to the skin at the lightest touch and weapons made from or coated in silver will not heal on their own. It causes severe burns on contact. Silver shavings or dust can be used to poison them slowly over time, weakening them over time. While this may seem cruel, it is the only way to work with some of the victims of the affliction who are too far gone.
The phenomenon of a wolf shedding its clothes and belongings during the transformation does not work on items that have significant silver content. I believe I’ve discovered the correct ratio for strong bonds that they can’t shift out of…
There. I knew I remembered this passage. I had been working on something based on this, but I had shelved the idea in favor of the collar, but seeing Victoria shift out of it proved that Granddad had probably been right all along. The shock worked, it prevented the change, but she seemed to overcome that with anger.
The giggle that came from me as I remembered her offended expression after I had squirted her right in the face produced a tinge of guilt, but her demands had been so cute, the way she had been demanding respect in what was essentially a child’s temper tantrum.
I tucked the book under an arm as I pushed away from the desk. I donned my heavy leather apron and my heaviest coat and made my way out to the forge. I needed something. Granddad’s notes indicated that certain concentrations could cause discomfort and a loss of strength… maybe in combination with the collar…
For better or worse, Victoria was a guinea pig for learning how to deal with a troublemaking werewolf. All of Granddad’s tools were for wolves trapped in the dire form, as far as I knew he had never really had to deal with a wolf that could still shift this way.
I lost track of time as I finished the bracelet design I had started probably a year ago - it was based on the general concept of an expansion watch band, lots of fiddly pins and precision, but nothing I wasn’t prepared for. It wasn’t the first one I had made, but it was the first one I had worked on to hinder a wolf - I was betting my life on my craftsmanship.
Exhaustion was clawing at my eyes when I was done. The cuffs wouldn’t slip off when she changed, and in theory they would go off in tandem with the collar. Hopefully the extra juice would keep me safe.
I had no idea how I was going to get the collar back on her, something told me she wasn’t going to put it back on without a fight.
Yawning and staggering, I left the warmth of the forge that rested in the barn behind my house. With my finished product in my duffel, along with my tranquilizer rifle, a tube of burn ointment I had tossed in earlier, and the collar. Glancing at the clock, I knew it was a bad idea, but I couldn’t just leave her down there hungry. Dropping my bag in the kitchen, I pulled a steak from the fridge - it was supposed to be my dinner later in the week, but it would hopefully work as an olive branch of sorts. Seasoned lightly, I kept it rare as I cooked. I knew wolves could eat meat raw, but I also knew that River salivated freely over one of my steaks, not that I was a particularly good cook in general.
I dropped the steak on a paper plate and made my way back downstairs, grabbing my duffel bag on the way. She’d had the few hours I had promised.
Maybe I’d get lucky and she’d be compliant.
Yeah, right.