Lestat, in the mean time, was roughly an hour from Black Cats castle. It had
started to rain as before, only this time not quite so violently. Lestat
though was miserable. He was tired of questing for his father. He was annoyed
with the entire situation, to be honest. In fact, wouldnt it be nice to see
Black Cat once more. It would be heavenly to hear that silkily masculine voice
purring on and on about literature and poetry and the history of the world, to
watch those emerald eyes at they seemed to bore straight into Lestats very
soul. Lestat smiled at his own strange thoughts. God in heaven, if only he
were a man! I wonder what sort of things I would be able to do with him.
Lestat
smiled wickedly, Or to him.
He was wrenched from his thoughts, however, by the piercing sound of wolves.
The pitch of the howls and the sense of superiority in the keening wails
announced that something somewhere was about to be attacked. What worried
Lestat
was the close proximity of the howls for the wolves couldn't be more than
thirty yards away. The dappled mare was becoming skittish, moving toward Black
Cat castle at a more urgent pace. Lestat directed the horse as best he could,
keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword in case the wolves somehow
overtook them. But that was impossible, really. The castle wasn't very far
away and
they could make it in a matter of moments.
Or so he thought.
The first wolf appeared suddenly, as though birthed from the earth itself.
It was running before Lestat could quite register the creature. Its powerful
legs launched the furry body into the air, its jaws yawning wide for a swift
kill. Fortunately Lestat was accustomed to being ambushed by beasts of the
forest, since he had been hunting for his family for years to provide them
with
meat. Once he realized what he was dealing with, Lestat could normally
out-maneuver his foe.
This day, he was not so lucky. Though he reacted well by steering his horse
to the side, the wolf somehow collided with the hindquarters of the mare. As
the horse panicked, Lestat swung his sword and decapitated the bloodthirsty
creature before leaping from his mount.
The horse was wounded, blood slick and streaming down its rear right leg.
Lestat, however, was unharmed. He was proud of himself for handling the
situation in such a manner, though his horse was paying for the wiliness of
the dead
wolf. But something hadn't been right about the wolf as though there was
something unnatural afoot. Lestat knelt to study the beast only to find that
its
body was literally melting, collapsing in on itself like rotted fruit as the
rain pelted the remains.
It was then, as the realization that something supernatural was hunting him
began to take shape, that the howls of more wolves could be heard from
behind, to the left, the right, and even straight ahead. Lestat stood, pulling
his
pistol from his waistcoat with a flourish. There was no point in making a mad
dash toward the castle, though the drawbridge was within no more than five
steps. They would be on him and feasting before his first step made contact
with the grass.
Realizing that their prey was not about to blindly charge toward false
safety, the remaining wolves emerged from their hiding places among the
foliage.
They formed a complete circle around Lestat, not snarling but waiting as
though the death of this particular young man was inevitable. Lestat held his
sword in his right hand and the pistol in his left. On his back was a holster
containing a loaded shotgun. In his right boot was a jeweled dagger, a gift
from
Black Cat only days ago. He could tell quite plainly that these were no
ordinary wolves. Besides the stinking puddle that was once their compatriot,
they
made no move toward the bleeding and wounded mare that hobbled toward the
moat in obvious pain. They merely regarded Lestat coolly, as though their
objective did not involve a horse, but a man. A very particular man.
"Witchcraft," Lestat muttered, and as if on cue the wolves began to close
in.
The first wolf to attack came from behind. Lestat almost didn't hear it
until it was too late. He swung blindly, missed, and felt razor teeth sink
deeply
into the muscle of his thigh. He screamed, and thrust forward with the
sword, hilting it in the beast. It collapsed upon the ground and began to
melt,
hissing and screaming the entire time. Lestat dropped the sword in disgust as
whatever the wolf was made of began to corrode the metal.
The next two wolves came as Lestat was drawing his pistol. They charged at
the same time forcing Lestat to shoot quickly in two opposite directions. The
one on his left went down hard in the grass, but the one to his right snapped
its jaws on Lestat's booted foot. Desperate, Lestat reached into the boot
and pulled out the dagger, determined to drive it into the eye of the beast.
But at the sight of the dagger something strange happened. The wolf, only
moments ago ready to rend Lestat's foot and calf to shreds, whimpered and
backed
away as though spooked by someth
