The Wolf & The Witch
Five Promises

Lestat shifted back, from werewolf to man, and collapsed on top of Claire, in their coffin of stone. Hard, and cold, with just enough room for him to slide off to the side, but her left arm was twisted around her body. “Are you ok?” He tried to move, positive he was crushing her, but the iron pike dug in his back. They might as well be grains and inclusions in the fabric of the stones for all the room they had to move.

“Yeah. I’m ok.” Darkness, like the void, like the color of things left behind after death, and Lestat and his warmth, and cold stones, were all that existed. She reached her right hand out- to touch the ceiling and banged her knuckles.

Lestat pushed against the stones and ran his hand down to the ground and the stones were beneath them. Stones surrounded them in the shape of them, but at least they had some room to hold each other.

At least they were trapped in stone while wolves and witches tore each other apart. They felt magic pounding the ground, and wolves pounding the ground. They felt wolves and witches killing each other through the vibrations- the power to shake the earth, but not move it an inch.

At least they were trapped away from the forest fire, although they felt the heat radiating; they felt flames scathe the earth and shake the ground, and the felt black thunder rumble across the land. Heat had churned the storm into black fury, and moss, vibrant and verdant, waited at the mouths of caves, waited beneath the water of pools and ponds. Waited. The moss smelled death, and survived fire the same way we all do: in the hollows.

Their horses did the same nearby in a small lake.

Claire took slow, steady breaths, easing the nausea out of her throat and back down into her stomach. Lestat still had his arm beneath her head. Cradling her, protecting her. She frowned. Always protecting, even when he was mad at her. Sacrificing himself over and over, and for who? What was she actually worth? Not much if she couldn’t even show the man she loved her house. He was exactly right, and she knew how important trust was to him. Claire knew she had messed up, and she bit her lip, and swallowed. “Lestat, I’m-“

Lestat would not know how to define love if asked- even if asked by Claire, even with the promise of never lying. He wasn’t sure exactly what love was, except that, without any doubt, he knew how badly his heart hurt to see her injured- it was the same pain he felt when she cried. And it was even worse when he was the one injuring her. She had apologized to him, on the dirt road; now it was his turn. “I’m sorry, Claire,” he said, and scooted down, so he could hold her closer. “I growled at you, and glared at you, and that… isn’t how I promised to treat you.”

“No. This is my fault. Not yours.” He was so right- how would you feel if I hadn’t shown you my house. She would’ve done a hell of a lot more than glare and growl- she would’ve stomped his toe, punched him, shoved him, cussed him, and maybe fired arrows at him. She was not being fair. “I know how important trust is to you, and I… I was stupid. I’m very sorry.”

The wolf and the witch shared five promises between each other, and it was the first one that had shaped their relationship more than any other: I promsiss I will never hert you. I promsiss I will never let you get hert. That shared promise- the effort to never hurt, or injure, and to always protect, was by far the hardest one to honor, and was heavier than all the others combined.

Lestat sighed, and held her. Her left arm was wrapped around both of them, and their ankles were stuck together, and the pike against the stone drove his hips and chest into her. “Why didn't you want me to..." He tried to move and made it worse. "...see your house?”

Claire pinched her lip in. “Would you be mad at me if I didn’t want to answer?”

Lestat sighed again- his heart would be mad- the same heart that pulled him so strongly towards her would be mad at her. We tell the truth. We do not lie. And why would his heart be mad? “I would not be mad- I would be hurt, but sometimes they feel like the same thing. But I don’t like being angry at you. I need to... do better, or... be better than that, for you. For us.”

He needed to be better for her, after being hurt by her? She felt her heart crack as if it were a glass jar tumbled off a high shelf. I promise not to hurt you... She frowned, and pulled her lip in, and tried to stop frowning, but instead tears came in the dark and spilled over her eyes down his neck, and cheek. Her tears ran down his ear, tracing the scar- the one he got protecting her. She did not want to hurt him; she did not have the heart to purposefully hurt him.

“It’s ok. Shhhhh. We’re ok. It’s ok,” he said, squeezing her, holding her. Lestat felt her body tremble, and her sobs echoed around the inside of the stone coffin. He pulled her closer, and tried to roll onto his side, to cradle her, but the pike, and the stones, prevented it. “Claire, you don’t have to tell me. Let’s drop it, and forget it.” Sweat was starting to run down his arm, and every drop stung as it hit the cut on his wrist.

She wiped her eyes on his chest, and his nose, messing up his shirt. We do not hurt; we protect. We do not slap. We do not lie. We respect, and value. We do not leave. That was the sum total of their promises, and none of those promises required her to answer. But she did anyway. “I was... I was afraid that if you saw my messy house you'd think less of me. You..." Claire pinched her lip in and bit it, and held her breath to stop the words and the fear that came with them, but she said them anyway. "You... you would see that I’m a mess, and that I’m alone, and that… I don’t have any friends... and you would think...”

He nudged her forehead with his nose, and kissed her cheek. That was her reason? Such an easy woman, but he needed to redirect her away from apologies and sadness- they had both been wrong, and they still had work to do, and they needed to do it together. "I think no less of you, beautiful witch. I love you as you are. Besides-" he paused for effect as sweat ran down his forehead, along the crease of his nose, to his lips, then into her hair. "I knew you were a hot mess.”

Claire sniffled, and her eyes were full of tears- she felt the path of them on her cheeks, but she smiled. “A hot mess? Is that what you said? You did not know I was messy.” Her eyes sparkled with tears and sweat. And happiness. I love you as you are.

Lestat heard it in her voice- her fire was back. He smiled again- his little witch was perfectly fine. He angled his head against the rock and kissed her temple. “You still haven’t told me what a village witch is, but I know you poison mice and rats and toss them out- before they start leaking. I know you probably keep cabinets full of jelly. In jars. You own a straw broom. You pack more soap than food but don’t use it that often, and you have no problem collecting the nastiest shit forests have to offer. With your bare hands.” Lestat felt her shift, and brought his left hand up, ran it along the stone ceiling, and put it on the back of her head. “I mean, shit- you ate a human. Although, for some reason, you don't like horse liver.”

Claire laughed at the dark- she laughed at him, and at herself, because he was right. And because it was impossible to hide herself from him. Her heart, like a ball of ribbons, no matter how tight she held it, unwound for him and slipped through her fingers. Ribbons respond to the breeze, and flowers the sun, and her heart responded to him the same way. “You can shut the fuck up,” she said, grinning, her eyes still wet. “You don’t know everything about me, smart-ass.” She raised her head, to straddle him, or glare at him, or pin his hands over his head, and she bumped her face against stone- except it didn’t hurt: he shielded her with his hand. Claire smiled, high up in her nose, and relaxed against him. Goddamn this wolf- he had seen through all her walls. He had seen her naked body, and he had loved it, gently and tenderly. And he could see her naked heart as well, and he was loving it, just the same: gently, and tenderly. "You know what? It didn't taste all that bad.”

"You don't keep humans in jars, do you."

"No! Don't be mean to me." Wait- was that a lie? She did keep toenails and fingernails, and hair, and bones, especially teeth. "I don't think so, anyway." Claire felt the pack under her left shoulder and was very glad those jars weren't broken. “Hey, um... after this, we’re living together, right?”

“Yes, we are.” As if Lestat would let her live in a different house, or sleep in a different bed- cuff or not, her little ass wasn’t leaving his side.

"Well... so... you saw my house. That's all I have to say."

Lestat laughed- he didn’t laugh much, and he doubted any other person alive could make him laugh except Claire. “We’ll just have to buy two houses. One for us, and one for all your... jars of things.”

Claire's eyes sparkled in the dark. He was so perfect, and she decided not to tell him that it didn't matter how many houses they owned, she was still messy. It wasn't just the jars. “Thank you, Lestat, for everything. But most of all for... being my friend. Now, let's break out of this. I want to kill that bitch and go replace our new home.”

"Let's give it another minute," he said, his voice low. He reached down and very gently squeezed her breast, then ran his hand around her cool skin, to her lower back, and Claire crept up him a quarter inch, a half inch; she was smushed awkwardly into him. She found his mouth, and kissed him. And they inhaled each other, and found each, in the warm darkness of their black stone coffin.