The Bastard Halfbreed

John watched how Cheyenne handled her fellow wargs with a bemused expression. Even the young warg that had suffered her knee to the face was now howling with his fellows. ‘They either really like Cheyenne or really hate Vulpis — or both,’ John decided, as the Chey sauntered over to him with a hungry grin.

“So, now that they’re dealt with, where’s my brother?” she asked. “I take it that you have an idea, given that you took the opportunity to sneak in here and free us during his absence.”

“Yeah, all the way across the Atlantic in my hometown, Springfield,” John replied.

Chey grimaced in response. “He knows where you live? That’s not good.”

“He has my mom hostage, so no — it isn’t,” John agreed grimly.

“That fucking bastard,” Red’s aunt snarled. “I promise you I’ll do my best to get her back alive, it’s the least I could do.”

“You mentioned that there were other people already assisting you?” Adelia recalled out loud, finding it relevant to the topic at hand.

“Yeah, I’m working with a group called the Order of the Golden Rose. They’re working on locating Vulpis as we speak — and I told Adelia this before, but they’ve also got food, warm beds, and a medical team waiting for you.”

“The Golden Rose, ‘ey?” Cheyenne chuckled. “Well, I guess I don’t mind teaming up with some frigid bitches; god knows my brother needs a good smiting.”

“And the America branch is supposedly more amiable than the branch to be found here,” Adelia added with a wry smile.

“You have history with the Order, here?” John guessed.

“Regrettably, yes,” the blonde milf replied.

“Mhm, had a few scraps here and there back when I was a lass,” Chey smirked as if remembering a fond memory. “But we’re not on their scrub list anymore, and we don’t go picking fights when it’s not necessary — excluding my bleeding brother, I mean.”

“Just another reason we need to deal with him quickly,” Adelia said with a heavy sigh.

“Oh my, what’s all this ruckus?” a kindly voice interrupted their conversation. John looked up the stairs to see Granny Smith hobbling down, one arm on the railing and the other supported by an antique-looking cane. John wasn’t sure he would ever get used to the sight of an anthropomorphic wolf. Sure, he’d seen them in cartoons or anime, or whatever, but it was another thing entirely to witness them in the vivid detail of real life. From the unnatural angles of Gran’s face to the thick coat of ageing fur that covered her entire body and even her digitigrade manner of walking. It was simply bizarre in a fascinating kind of way. In the back of his mind, he found himself wishing Red never developed her grandmother’s skin condition. That being said, the idea of seeing her with some cute wolf ears and a tail wasn’t unappealing.

“Ma!” Chey squealed in a surprising burst of girlishness, leaping up the steps in threes to wrap her mother in a long and loving hug.

“My oh my, Chey, and Lia too! Goodness it’s a thrill to see you both! It’s been a good while; Vulpy said you could have at least given me a tinkle, I’m getting lonely in my old age,” she sighed, arms on her hips, before she spotted John and Saccharine. “And if it isn’t my darling, Saccharine, and Charlene’s sweetheart, John, was it?”

“That’s right,” John smiled warmly at the homely grandmother. “I hope you’ve been well.”

“Fine, fine. If only two certain someones would give me a holler from time to time,” Gran complained, eyeing Cheyenne and Adelia suggestively. “But since you’re here, Charlene must be around too, where is my dear?”

‘She really has no clue what’s been going on under the manor,’ John thought in amazement. “Uh, no… she’s not…” John replied evasively. ‘Is it really the right thing to do, keeping everything a secret from her?’

Cheyenne must have had a similar thought. “Listen, Ma, we need to have a chat about Vulpis…” she said gently. “How about we go and sit down?”

“Has something happened, dear?” the elderly wolf asked, worry tinging her rasping voice.

Her daughter let out a burst of venomous laughter. “Many… many things have happened.”

Cheyenne helped her mother down the stairs and escorted her to the living room. John and Saccharine followed, the former helping Adelia along. While she seemed capable of walking on her own, she was fatigued, and John was more than happy to assist.

Granny Smith listened attentively as Chey began explaining the situation. John, Adelia, and Saccharine all chimed in with their own accounts where appropriate. Yet as their accounts progressed, the elderly wolf seemed to find it harder and harder to listen. Her eyes eventually turned to stare out the nearby window, idly watching the fog thin, allowing the sun to cast its light into the room.

“This isn’t some grand fib, is it?” she asked quietly but hopefully.

“I wish it was,” Adelia replied glumly. “But it is the truth; my husband has degenerated into a base creature, fueled by greed and reprehensible lust for blood-”

“And a reprehensible lust. Period,” Chey added.

“No…” the old wolf told herself. “No, his good health has simply come about as his mother’s power manifested within him. There’s nothing wrong with him…” she continued, as if trying to convince herself.

John put aside his disbelief at the woman’s **** demonstration of denial for what he felt was a more pressing matter. “What do you mean ‘his mother’s power?” he frowned. “What power?”

The old warg eyed John warily. “Forgive me, I’ve said too much. It’s a private matter-”

“To hell with that!” Cheyenne interjected. “John freed us, and his own mother’s life is on the line. He has as much of a right to know as Adelia or I do. This power… it’s that flame shit, right?”

Granny Smith blinked in surprise. “How do you know-”

“How do I know?!” Cheyenne snapped back as she rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, revealing a series of scars and burns along her arm. “It gave him a real buzz to beat me with smoldering hands as he **** me — don’t you dare turn your eyes away! Look at what he did! LOOK!” Cheyenne demanded, thrusting the scarred arm under her mother’s eyes. “Stop making petty rationalisations and trying to protect him, Mum! He’s a monster, and he needs to pay for what he’s done.”

Whether it was guilt or fright at Chey’s outburst, Gran began to sob and hide her face behind her clawed hands.

“Chey,” Adelia said soothingly as she placed a hand on her sister-in-law’s shoulder.

It took a few minutes for both Chey and the old wolf to regain their composure, leaving John to squirm uncomfortably in the meantime. It was not pleasant being stuck in the middle of a family drama. He wished Red was there with him, at least.

“Gran, please,” Saccharine voiced from her standing position on the coffee table. “We need to save John’s mother, and this information could really help us.”

“Y-you’re right, dear,” Granny Smith sniffed, shakily dabbing her wet eye with a handkerchief she had pulled from her pocket. “I’m sorry, you need to know… you see Vulpis is only your half brother,” she told Chey. “You share a father, but I am not his blood mother. Though I suspect you already sensed that to an extent…” the old woman paused to noisily blow her nose. “His mother was a kitsune with the ability to wield healing and purifying flames. She joined your father’s pack after one time saving his life… and conceived Vulpis shortly after. Unfortunately, she passed away shortly after he was born, so it fell to me to raise him.”

John listened in attentively, all the while thinking of the Order Knight whose face had been burnt off. ‘So Vulpis hadn’t enlisted a pyromancer at all,’ he thought.‘He was the pyromancer himself.’ John wasn’t sure whether that was good news or bad news, but at least they now knew for certain.

Cheyenne crossed her arms and fell back into her armchair with a click of her tongue. “Purifying flames my arse; what Vulpis has is meant to destroy.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” the old wolf smiled sadly with her canine lips. “A part of me knew already… I could smell the change, the vileness, but I feared the truth and hid from it; some abhorrent corruption has seeded itself within him.”

“So you agree, then?” Chey asked. “We need to put him down.”

The elderly warg’s head turned back towards the garden window. Her gaze was grim as she pondered on her daughter’s words, struggling to breathe as a war of conflicting emotions raged inside her

“There is an adage for times such as these,” Gran finally sighed, finding no delight in the answer she had come to. “‘The pack comes first’... But it’s a bitter thing really, invoked when one wants to shelter from terrible pain with a sense of duty. Vulpis may not be of my blood, but I raised him. He is my son, and I am his mother. What mother would condemn her son?” Gran asked mournfully. “I do not want to. It pains my heart to do so… but the pack comes first...”