The Wolf & The Witch
Mortar

Claire woke groggy and cold and stiff. She knew immediately she had been drugged- she forced her eyes open and dull light swam in circles- grays and blacks and motes swirling, and she clamped her eyes shut and took slow, steady breaths, easing the nausea out of her throat and back down into her stomach.

Her skin felt cold to the touch; she reached down with her fingers- over her breasts, down her ribs, her stomach- she was naked, and she could only move her right hand; her left was anchored to something. She heard movement beside her and struggled to sit up. One deep breath, and another, and she climbed to her knees and wedged her left eye open: in front of her was a naked man, asleep on his stomach, his face turned away. Oh what the fuck is this, she thought. Waking up naked beside a naked man is one thing, but the solid metal cuff clamping her left, and his right, wrists together was something else. How the hell had this happened? There was a meeting of covens, and a couple stupid wolf packs were there, and then what? What were they talking about?

She glanced around- she was in an old cell. The stone blocks were discolored and the mortar had cracked in places and cold gray light came in through the pinholes. The iron bars of the cell were rusted, and cobwebs, cold and empty, lined the stone ceiling. She looked past the bars then fear struck her- if her last memory had been at a meeting that involved covens and packs, and there were no male witches in the coven, and the only males there were in wolf packs…

He groaned, and pulled her forward as he moved his hands to his side and tried to push himself up and she jerked her hand back, causing him to crash into to the stone floor.

“You fucking wolf,” she sneered; she meant to say it loud and angry but the drugs still swirled around eroding some of her voice. “What the fuck did you do to me? Where are my clothes? Where are we?”

He groaned again, and pulled himself to his knees. His muscles were hard and proud in the dim light, but that was of no help right now- his head reeled and again he tried to bring his right hand up, to his forehead, and again she jerked it back.

“Answer me. Where are we?” Claire recognized him- he was one of the strays in the back of the tent, standing alone, not with any pack. And he had left before her memory went blank- past one of the guards, who had shoved him, and then he was gone. No words.

Lestat opened his eyes against the light. A woman’s voice, and cuffed to a woman. The last women in his memory were witches. And wherever he was smelled different- he couldn’t smell pine trees, or moss; he couldn’t smell rock outcrops, and the smoke from small campfires. The only odor in his nose was metal, and this woman. He looked from the stone ceiling of the cell to her and groaned again. A goddamn witch.

“Don’t look at me!” she shouted and covered her breasts and turned, but could only turn so far. “What have you done? Where are we?”

“You tell me you damned stupid witch. Wolves don’t drug people, and wolves can’t teleport people. This is all your damned doing.”

Claire paused- he was right. She had never heard of any wolf drugging someone- no, they would rape women, they would murder humans in their sleep, burn villages, kidnap and sell and take witches for their own sometimes, against their will, in cages. But they didn’t drug. She looked at the cuffs- “Those are clearly not witch cuffs.” Those looked far too sturdy to be made by women, witch or otherwise. Goddamnit- why were their wrists locked together? Not by chain, no- these damn cuffs forced their wrists together. They could hold hands, twist their arm an inch or two, and that was it.

Lestat stood, wobbly, and tugged her to her feet, partially against her will.

Her eyes ran over his nakedness and she turned her head in disgust- broad, hairy chest, strong shoulders, and soft black hairs running down his stomach, following his obliques, and-

“Who are you?” he asked. He touched the iron bars, then shook them- they gave in their sockets.

“It’s none of your damn business.”

“I guess it isn’t,” he agreed. “Is there someone in your coven who can send people places?”

Claire paused. “Yes.” There was. But why would the priestess send her anywhere, especially locked to a wolf? That made no sense. The priestess was nice enough, and protective of all the witches in her coven, and-

“How far?”

“She can s-” Claire paused again; she shouldn’t be telling him anything. She needed to break this damn cuff, replace clothes, figure out where she was, and go home. She shivered.

“…can send?”

“It’s none of your damn business.” She kept her right arm clamped over her breasts.

Lestat didn’t care about this idiot witch, and he honestly didn’t care that some witch had sent him somewhere- that damn forest was dying like everywhere else he’d been. So now his job was simple- get away from her. It really didn’t matter to him where they were, but he didn’t want to be shackled to a damn witch. If there’s one thing true about a witch it’s that they can’t be trusted. He reached out with his left hand and shook the iron bars- mortar chipped out of cracks and fell to the cell floor. He tugged harder and the bar bent. That was odd- how old must this iron be to bend?

“I’m not sure you should do that,” Claire said. She stepped back, still covering her breasts, her left hand still cuffed to his right. She turned to the side as much as possible in an effort to hide the tuft of brown pubic hair at her sex.

He looked back at her with sharp, brown eyes- drugs wear off quick in male metabolism, especially wolf metabolism. “So what? Just stay here naked till we freeze to death? Why don’t you make yourself useful and make a fire.”

Claire glared at him. “Do you see anything to burn, dumbass? I can’t set stone on fire.” What a fucking idiot.

Lestat turned and grabbed hold of the brace and shook it once, twice, then jerked hard and the iron bars fell in, clanging off the floor.

Claire jumped back- that nearly crushed her foot.

Mortar cracked, and fell down, and dust hung in the air.

Then the stones came down, not hanging in the air- Lestat covered his head, and Claire ducked, and their motion pulled him overtop her, and the stones came down on his back and his legs, pinning them.

He wasn’t hurt- badly, but he could hardly breathe or move.

“Get… off… of… me…”

“I’m-“

That’s all he could get out- the stone floor fell through into an old sewer pipe and the witch and the wolf tumbled twenty feet into two feet of cold water. Two feet of water was not enough to soften the blow- they smashed into the old brick sewer and gasped water into their lungs.

And the stones from above came down behind them, and the dust of mortar hung in the cold gray light, sifting down after them.