Life Changed: An Examination of Patricia Briggs' Fantasy World, the 'Mercyverse,' and a Short Story

LIFE CHANGED: AN EXAMINATION OF PATRICIA BRIGGS’ FANTASY WORLD, THE “MERCYVERSE,” AND A SHORT STORY by Richelle Braswell A Senior Project Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Major in English and the Bachelor of Arts Degree Stetson University, DeLand, Florida Advisor: Dr. Grady Ballenger Archival Copy December 14, 2016 Final ENGL 499 Archival Copy Table of Contents The Senior Project: LIFE CHANGED: EXAMINATION OF PATRICIA BRIGGS’ FANTASY WORLD, THE “MERCYVERSE,” AND A SHORT STORY ABSTRACT ............................................................................................................................................. 1 INTRODUCTION ................................................................................................................................... 2 BRIGGS’ RESHAPING OF GRENDEL ................................................................................................. 3 BRIGGS’ RESHAPING OF THE BEAST OF GÉVAUDAN ............................................................... 11 CONCLUSION ...................................................................................................................................... 16 WORKS CITED .................................................................................................................................... 17 LIFE CHANGED, A MERCYVERSE-INSPIRED SHORT STORY ................................................... 18 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS .................................................................................................................... 47 AUTHOR’S NOTE ................................................................................................................................ 48 Braswell 1 ABSTRACT Contemporary novelist Patricia Briggs has created a common world called the “Mercyverse” for her two best-known series: Mercy Thompson and Alpha and Omega. Within this fantasy world, Briggs has reinvented old tales through her characters and their backstories. Through focusing on her characters Bran Cornick and Jean Chastel, I examine how Briggs’ remaking of old tales enhances the significance and development of her characters and what power these reimagined backstories provide Bran and Chastel. I accompany this critical essay with a short story, ultimately combining my English major with my creative writing minor. The short story Life Changed is set in Briggs’ Mercyverse with one recurring character: Bran Cornick. Texas ranch owner, Maribelle Donovan, decides to be Changed into a werewolf. The short story follows Maribelle as she must learn how to adjust to her new life while astonishing information crops up from her past. For the purpose of my paper, the terms ‘folk tale,’ ‘fairy tale,’ ‘legend,’ and ‘lore’ are used interchangeably, because one particular story can have a thousand versions. However, I mostly use the words tales or stories. Braswell 2 INTRODUCTION Stories are constantly adapted, modified, and reimagined by the people who tell them. One prime example of the ever-changing story is the Brothers Grimm: Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. They began gathering oral stories from around Europe, mainly Germany, to compile into one book. As they collected tales, the Brothers Grimm altered oral stories to coincide with what they considered to be “an educational manual” for children as well as removing possibly offensive, sexual elements and inserting many Christian expressions and references, among other revisions (Zipes 15). These brothers went further than the average storyteller who wishes to influence his or her audience; as Jack Zipes explains in The Brothers Grimm, they “kept mending and ironing the tales that they collected so that they would ultimately fit the patriarchal and Christian code of bourgeois reading expectations and their own ideal notion of pure, natural German culture” (23). The Brothers Grimm appeared to ingrain their own values into their edits. Just as the Brothers Grimm revised oral versions before transcribing them and then recurrently tailoring their additions, people today rewrite older works in new ways. Cristina Bacchilega, author of Postmodern Fairy Tales, explains this need for adaption: “As it images our potential for transformation, the fairy tale refracts what we wish or fear to become. Human—and thus changeable—ideas, desires, and practices frame the tale’s images” (Bacchilega 28). In other words, we adapt stories to make them applicable to us and to our current culture and beliefs. Bacchilega expands upon the idea of remaking the old; she states that these newer stories “hold mirrors to the magic mirror of the fairy tale, playing with its framed images out of a desire to multiply its refractions and to expose its artifices” (23). Similarly, we believe stories are meant to affect their audiences—whether that is to provide a relatable basis from which they can understand the world in which they live or as an escape from reality. Braswell 3 Although people today tend to insist that writers must create new, original ideas, a fresh twist on a familiar tale is enchanting. Patricia Briggs, a contemporary author of fantasy and urban-fantasy novels, does just that. Her two most notable series are Mercy Thompson and Alpha and Omega. As Briggs writes these two series (and a number of short stories) that share several side characters, the common imaginary world has become known as the “Mercyverse”—named after Mercedes “Mercy” Thompson, protagonist of Mercy Thompson (“A Time-line”). The supernatural live among humans in this universe: fae (a broad term for creatures ranging from sprites to selkies to trolls and everything and anything in-between), vampires, witches, werewolves, and anything that—as Mercy sometimes describes—‘goes bump in the night.’ For Patricia Briggs (at least, my interpretation of her and the Mercyverse), the significance of retelling a story does not lie in the details, but rather in the impression it leaves behind. As I have noted, stories evolve over time; bits and pieces are frequently changed and altered. Briggs reinforces this evolution within her novels. By embodying her reinvention of these old tales in her characters’ backstories, Briggs enhances the significance and development of her characters, their personalities, and aspects of their fictional lives. In this essay, I consider how Patricia Briggs reimagines older stories in her characters’ backstories and what power these reimagined backstories provide her characters. I examine this technique through two characters: Bran Cornick and Jean Chastel. Bran, the Alpha of all Alphas in North America, has a backstory that inspires the creature Grendel in the great Anglo-Saxon epic Beowulf; and Chastel, an evil French Alpha (leader of a werewolf pack), is the legendary Beast of Gévaudan. BRIGGS’ RESHAPING OF GRENDEL One of the most important side characters in Briggs’ Mercyverse is Bran Cornick, the Marrok—the title he has used for almost two centuries as the Alpha of all werewolves in North Braswell 4 America. Briggs portrays Bran as a man of mystery; he prefers hiding his dominance and power, opting to disappear into the background. Mercy describes Bran as a “sandy-haired young man with a nondescript face” who “like[s] to be unobtrusive” (Briggs, MC 92). One of Bran’s two sons, Charles Cornick, observes, “Bran [is] always a deceptive bastard, gentle and mild right up until he rip[s] your throat out” (Briggs, CW 253). Bran loves to appear infallible—which is reinforced when Mercy makes the comment, “Bran ha[s] a deserved reputation for finding out everything” (Briggs, MC 261). These observations of Bran illustrate his dominant, yet subtle, nature and reveal that appearing unremarkable and innocent are two of Bran’s favorite talents. Bran is the most dominant werewolf in the Mercyverse. Briggs’ portrayal of his power and chameleon-like persona stems from his legendary backstory, Beowulf. Briggs reshapes the inspiration of this tale in both Mercy Thompson and Alpha and Omega; within these series, she invents a history in which Bran’s backstory inspires Beowulf’s enemy, the monster Grendel. Like any good tale, Beowulf has been told and translated countless times. For the purpose of my essay, I am only summarizing the portions of the epic that pertain to my argument: those that refer to Grendel. This epic focuses mainly on a hero named Beowulf who first ventures to Heorot, where the men had lived happily “until one [had begun] to work deeds of wrong, a fiend / of hell. Grendel [is] that grim creature called, the ill-famed / haunter of the marches of the land” (Tolkien, lines 82-84, page 16). Grendel reigns terror over Heorot for twelve years before Beowulf arrives and kills the “accurséd thing” (line 97, page 16). Grendel’s death infuriates his mother, who seeks revenge by killing a man. Beowulf then follows Grendel’s mother to her cave and kills her. Patricia Briggs incorporates this idea of a monster tyrannizing an area of land into Bran’s backstory. She reshapes the idea of such a monster through a period in Bran’s life, long Braswell 5 before the epic Beowulf was written, when Bran was a berserker. Briggs then connects her story to the real world’s Beowulf by making Bran’s berserker inspire the Mercyverse’s Beowulf. Before I examine how Briggs reimagines the epic in Bran’s backstory and the power that his reimagined backstory gives him, I believe deciphering Bran’s age is prudent— his age is the key point that allows Briggs to claim Bran had inspired Grendel. Within Briggs’ fantasy world, rumors say Bran is the oldest werewolf, but no one knows his exact age. All anyone really knows is that Bran was born in Wales a long, long time ago. Briggs’ novella, “Silver”—published in Shifting Shadows: Stories from the World of Mercy Thompson in 2014—provides me with more details to determine Bran’s age than the novels reveal; ultimately, his age supports that he was born long before the earliest written manuscript of Beowulf, which allows Briggs to claim that, in the Mercyverse, Bran had inspired Grendel. “Silver” narrates the story of Bran’s and his firstborn son’s, Samuel’s, forced Change into werewolves by Bran’s mother (a nasty, evil witch), their time under her control, and how they finally break free. In the brief description before “Silver,” Briggs admits she has no idea exactly how old Bran and Samuel are, but she does narrow the time frame: “As a historical note—and for those who need to know how old Samuel and Bran are—Christianity came to Wales very early, perhaps as early as the first or second century with the Romans. When exactly the events of this novella took place, neither Samuel nor Bran could tell me” (Briggs, “Silver” 1). Briggs’ historical note proves fruitful when a forest lord—an independent, powerful type of fae—visits Bran’s mother. She tells the forest lord, “They [a pair of fear hounds] said that the power you threw away to pad your vanity will not return to you because the followers of the sacrificed god have reached our shores” (15). The sacrificed god refers to Jesus Christ; thus, the followers are Christians. Braswell 6 While Briggs suggests Christianity may have come to Wales as early as the first century, her point is more about when iron would have reached Wales. She best establishes this notion in her sixth Mercy Thompson novel, River Marked: “It is the steel that the early Christian Church brought along with it that was deadly to the fae, not Christianity itself” (Briggs, RM 27). Iron burns the fae, excluding the Metallzauber—“the few fae who [can] handle metal of all kinds” (Briggs, MC 67). When the Romans invaded Wales around 50 CE, they would have brought steel with them (“Wales and the Romans”). Christianity simply increased the amount of iron present due to all of the churches they constructed. Briggs reinforces her emphasis on steel rather than Christianity later in “Silver” when she describes the fae losing power “beneath the growing tide of iron” (Briggs, “Silver” 24). This information cumulates to suggest that most of the events in “Silver” occur in the first or second century, which helps narrow down when Bran was born. Earlier in “Silver,” Briggs describes the witch forcing the Change upon Bran and Samuel. Briggs has Samuel note, “I do not know, nor do I wish to, how long I lived as a werewolf serving my grandmother. It could have been a decade or centuries, though I think it was closer to the latter than the former” (8). His next line—“It was long enough that I had time to forget my given name”—indicates it was definitely centuries (8). From this information, I estimate that Bran may have been born between 200 BCE and 1 CE, or about ten to twelve centuries before Beowulf. This timeline for both Bran’s age and when he broke free of his mother’s reign upholds Briggs’ claim that Bran had inspired the creation of Beowulf’s Grendel. This epic was not conceived until much later than the events in “Silver.” While no one knows exactly when Beowulf was composed, the earliest manuscript was not written until the late tenth or early eleventh century (“Beowulf”). This knowledge further supports Briggs’ proposal that Bran’s time as berserker sometime in the second or third century had inspired this later work. Braswell 7 Briggs twists the story of Beowulf to reveal the depths of fear and danger that Bran strikes within people and fantastical creatures alike. Toward the end of “Silver,” Samuel is completely free from his grandmother’s control, and the witch believes she has complete control over Bran. Samuel faces off with her to try and save his da—what Bran’s sons call him. While the witch thinks she controls Bran, Samuel sees the truth: “I [know] my da: if he’d ever looked at me with that expression, I’d have known my days on the earth were numbered on the fingers of one hand” (Briggs, “Silver” 58). Bran, on the other hand, finally breaks free when his crazed mother orders him to kill his son. Bran speaks in Samuel’s mind, telling him to flee. During this moment, Briggs writes from Samuel’s perspective, highlighting his da’s fury that initiates his transformation into berserker: Anger rose up from him, rage such as I had never felt before—not my rage, but his. Inflaming my blood so much that I was forced to quit running, held motionless in a murderous unthinking flood of fury. I do not know how long I stood there, heart pounding, growling and ready to rend everything around me into bloody pieces. (60) Bran’s wrath is greater than Grendel’s ever was. In one instance, Grendel’s anger and strength is shown when “thirty knights he seize[s] / upon their couch. Thence back he [gets] him gloating over his / prey, faring homeward with his glut of murder to seek his lairs” (Tolkien, lines 98-100, page 16). Bran is more terrifying; his berserker has no thoughts—only pure, murderous rage. Samuel thinks his father died, but returns to the same location a few weeks later “driven by the need to destroy or be destroyed—and [Samuel doesn’t] much care which” (Briggs, “Silver” 69). There, Samuel discovers the first sign that his father is actually alive: the smell of rotting flesh. He says he finds the witch’s body “savaged and half-eaten, but I would have known her if only a finger bone had been left. It had snowed once and melted since she died, but I Braswell 8 [know] wolf kill when I [see] it” (70). Briggs has Samuel go to sleep with hope, implying he will then search for his father. This period of time, after Bran kills his mother and before Samuel finds him, is when Bran was a berserker—an unthinking, rage-driven creature worse than Grendel could ever have been; thus supporting Briggs’ claim that Bran as berserker had inspired the creation of Grendel. Briggs reveals the most about Bran’s time as berserker in her second Alpha and Omega novel, Cry Wolf. When a rogue werewolf seems to be hunting in the Marrok’s (Bran’s) territory, Bran sends his other son—Charles (born in the early 1800s after Bran came to America)—and Charles’ mate, Anna, to investigate. They discover a witch who had created a great beast “who patrolled and killed for [the witch]—but never needed food or drink” (Briggs, CW 214). This witch, Mariposa, has been hunting Asil Moreno “the Moor,” an old wolf in Bran’s pack that few wolves would mess with, for two centuries. Mariposa gained the werewolves’ immortality when she had tortured and killed Asil’s mate before going after Asil. Bran realizes a witch is involved when a “dream warning” wakes him (223). Here, Briggs alludes to Bran’s berserker in his first thoughts: “Maybe he’d been dreaming of the past. He [doesn’t] do it often anymore. And when he [does], it [isn’t] about the witch—it [is] about all the people who died beneath his fangs after the witch was dead” (222). By writing ‘all the people who died beneath his fangs,’ Briggs asserts that Bran is the most frightening wolf that ever lived. When Mariposa, thinking he is a lesser werewolf, tries controlling Bran similar to how his mother had once done; Briggs has Bran note mentally that Asil understands the horrific possibilities and consequences that will occur if a witch makes Bran a pet. Bran realizes how few people are left who would still remember what had happened when he had broken his mother’s control: “Samuel, Asil … He couldn’t think of a third, it had been a long time ago. Likely the Braswell 9 witches themselves [don’t] know why it [is] forbidden to try to take a werewolf for a pet” (239). As a reference point, Asil is “about thirteen hundred years old” (110). Briggs amplifies the stories of Grendel terrorizing people for twelve years when she incorporates it into Bran’s backstory. This new twist of an old tale provides more insight into Bran: if Bran is the reason why witches are forbidden from making werewolves their pets, then he is incredibly powerful. Briggs writes the explicit connection to Grendel from Asil’s perspective, because he is the only one present who was alive when Bran was a berserker: Asil “had been in North Africa at the time, not even a century old. But even there he’d heard the stories. Deathbringer. Whole villages killed, from old woman to day-old infant. There were songs and stories, most of them lost now to time” (262). Similarly, in Beowulf, the story of Grendel travels far and wide: “So it [had been] / made known to men and revealed to the children of mankind / sadly in songs that Grendel strove a while with Hrothgar” (Tolkien, lines 119-21, page 17). Briggs uses this method of dispersing stories to strengthen the connection between Beowulf’s version and hers. Asil recalls what had happened after Bran had killed his mother: He [Bran] found a home in the dark heart of the great Welsh forests—and for years nothing lived within a day’s walk of his den. Great hunters of a generation, human, werewolf, or other, sought to win their honor or prove their courage—and they died. Some came to visit vengeance for lost loved ones. They died. Even the fools who didn’t understand, who were unlucky enough to venture too close to the monster, they died, too. (Briggs, CW 262-63) Briggs underlines Bran’s backstory and personality by expanding upon what Beowulf reveals about Grendel’s terror. Asil’s account of Bran as berserker allows one to appreciate why Bran is the most feared werewolf and why wolves all over the world tremble at his name. Braswell 10 At one point, Briggs has Asil quote Beowulf, “… him of eagum stod ligge gelicost leoht unfaeger,” before saying, “Roughly translated it is, I believe … ‘from his eyes shone a flaming, baleful light’” (263). She then connects this quote directly to her story as Asil continues: From his eyes shone a flaming, baleful light. Grendel owed something to Bran’s time as a berserker, as he did to other stories handed down over the centuries. But the lack of intelligence in his Alpha’s eyes and the cold black rage flowing slowly from Bran into every werewolf tied to him [is] far more frightening than Grendel or Grendel’s mother, those fierce monsters of the epic poem, could ever have been. (263) This explicitly clear link between Beowulf and Bran reveals Briggs’ recognition of how all stories owe various details to tales that came before. She links Bran’s berserker to Grendel before intensifying Bran’s beastly manner. Asil considers Bran’s wrath—which Asil feels slinking across the pack bonds—more frightening than Grendel or his mother could ever have been. At the end of Asil’s speech, Briggs highlights the horrible aftermath that would ensue if Mariposa succeeds in controlling Bran, or worse if Bran breaks free and snaps like he had when he had killed his mother: “Death would flow through the world as it had not since the Black Plague, when a third of Europe had died. And there would be no peace for a werewolf in this world ever again” (263). These sentences induce fear at the idea of Bran’s berserker being unleashed once more. Briggs accomplishes this feat by reimagining Beowulf with more horror. For her, no one could kill Bran. Only the love for his son had helped Bran rein in his madness. During Asil’s lengthy telling of Bran’s story, Briggs presents the greatest difference between Bran’s berserker and Grendel: Bran does not die. While readers clearly understand that Bran survives his time as berserker, since he is alive in Cry Wolf, Briggs identifies how the end of berserker is less dramatic than Grendel’s demise at the hands of Beowulf. Asil remembers, Braswell 11 “Then one day, or so he’d heard, Bran had walked out of the wilderness, his son at his side. No more berserker, only a harper, a teller of tales, and lone wolf” (263). While Briggs bases the core of Bran as berserker on Grendel, she reimagines some of the other details. Unlike Grendel, Bran survives. Bran’s berserker stays with him, shaping Bran into the man of mystery that he is today. Briggs ends Asil’s speech by stating, “Given enough time, even the most horrific story drifts to legend, then nothing” (263). This sentence truly highlights how stories evolve over time, sometimes losing their most alarming aspects—such as the complete portrayal of berserker. In Patricia Briggs’ Mercyverse, Beowulf may have been a way for people to explain why the mysterious killings suddenly stopped. Since Bran had inspired Grendel in this fantasy world’s Beowulf, people changed the story to how one man actually defeated Grendel (a beast that no one could previously defeat despite the many attempts) instead of Bran (a more frightening version of that beast) walking out of the forest one day by his son’s side. BRIGGS’ RESHAPING OF THE BEAST OF GÉVAUDAN While werewolf lore contains a myriad of stories, one of the most well-known legends is that of “Beast of Le Gévaudan.” People’s real fear of wolves had ignited the original belief in werewolves and had kept rekindling that belief. According to this werewolf tale, during the 1760s, a French werewolf reigned terror in Le Gévaudan, “a barren, seventy-five-mile stretch of hills and valleys in the rugged mountain range that runs along the edge of the Auvergne plateau in southern France” (Steiger 29). Villages and farms were abandoned. Peasants fled fields, refusing to work. History reflects these years of werewolf butchery: “Parish records reveal daily attacks by the monster, who seemed to choose housewives and children as its principal victims” (30). According to legend, hunting parties were formed and sent in pursuit of this creature, but a man named Jean Chastel was credited for the kill. Braswell 12 According to one version of this story, Chastel loaded his double-barrel musket with silver bullets blessed by a priest. He killed the beast, purging the area of its werewolf. However, Abbe Pourcher of the St. Martin de Bourchauz parish interviewed residents and noted “that certain rumors had it that a large wolf carcass had been paraded through the village streets because the actual beast had been too terrible to display” (31). Patricia Briggs uses this legend’s uncertainty to her advantage. While the story states that the beast’s carcass was too terrifying to parade through the town, perhaps those rumors were a thinly-veiled excuse. Perhaps there was no body to be paraded because the werewolf was never killed. Briggs explores this thought-process in her third Alpha and Omega novel, Hunting Ground, in which European Alphas gather for a summit in Seattle; at this meeting, Charles explains the Marrok’s decision to have the werewolves’ reveal their existence to the public. Briggs alters the “Beast of Le Gévaudan” legend so that Jean Chastel did not kill the werewolf; rather, he is the Beast of Gévaudan. Charles first introduces readers to Chastel by referring to him as “The Beast” (Briggs, HG 9). Anna, Charles’ wife and mate, does not know whom he means; Charles elaborates, “Jean Chastel, the Beast of Gévaudan […] He likes to eat his prey—and his prey is mostly human. […] The Beast was forced to stop killing openly, but a tiger doesn’t change his strips. He’s still doing it” (10). Readers familiar with this werewolf tale already know Chastel is a malicious creature. Before revealing the story in her novel, however, Briggs elaborates on Chastel’s character; she uses his Beast of Gévaudan backstory to emphasize the rationale behind his nature. The first night in Seattle, Anna meets Jean Chastel at a restaurant where three werewolf groups composed of very dominant Alphas unfortunately all decide to eat. Presenting readers with a fresh outlook on the group, Anna notes, “There [is] something abject about the way the rest of the French contingent [stands] that [tells] Anna that none of them [like] what their leader Braswell 13 [is] doing, that they [follow] Jean Chastel out of fear” (67). The French wolves, all Alphas, would dare not cross Chastel; they know he would make their lives miserable if he so chooses. Chastel notices Anna when she sneezes from the smell of most everyone’s fear: “Jean Chastel’s eyes [meet] hers, and she [holds] them, despite the violence they [promise]. Here, she [thinks], here [is] a monster worse than the troll under the bridge. He [stinks] of evil” (67). Anna’s perceptive insight illustrates Chastel’s malicious personality. From the novella “Alpha and Omega,” readers know that Anna had been physically and mentally abused for three years before meeting Charles and becoming his mate. She has seen and experienced evil; if she believes Chastel is evil, then readers are inclined to agree. Briggs uses Anna’s perspective to tie Chastel’s personality to the violent Beast of Gévaudan. During the first day of the summit, Briggs reveals the Beast’s power and mindset through Charles’ thoughts. Chastel could have been the European ruler equivalent of the Marrok, the Alpha of all Alphas in North America. Once, there had been a European equivalent of the Marrok, but “Chastel had killed him—and anyone after him who tried to reestablish rulership. Chastel could have taken it for himself, but he didn’t want it. He didn’t want the responsibility. He just wanted the freedom to kill and keep killing as he pleased” (88). Briggs presents readers with an insight into who Chastel is: an evil, murdering monster who thrives on the pain and fear of those he considers weak—humans predominantly, but especially women and children. Charles’ thoughts also provide readers with their first glimpse into Chastel’s background. Despite the power gained from ruling Europe when he pleases, Chastel murders more secretively now than he had during his Gévaudan days. Briggs writes, “And that, Charles [thinks, is] because there [is] one person on this planet the Beast fear[s]. And his da [Bran] had told Chastel that he didn’t want to hear about any more ravaging monsters in France. That had been a couple Braswell 14 of centuries ago” (88). This scene presents two insights into how Briggs uniquely reshapes old tales through her characters, making these new versions serve her purposes. First, she reestablishes her characterization that Bran instills fear in other frightening creatures. Second, Briggs informs readers that Chastel had been both stupid and malevolent if Bran had to make him stop. Although Briggs does not yet clarify Chastel’s past aside from stating he went on a murderous rampage, she implies it had been horrific. Charles’ thoughts suggest that the Beast of Gévaudan, at least in the Mercyverse, had lived as a monster. This idea is strengthened by Bran’s presence: if Bran had been compelled to hunt down and threaten Chastel, then Chastel’s actions must have been truly endangering the werewolves. Briggs emphasizes Chastel’s violent side throughout Hunting Ground. One such instance is when Charles tries to figure out who had orchestrated an attack on Anna. He asks Angus, Alpha of the Emerald City Pack and the summit’s host, if it could have been Chastel. Angus thinks not: “The Frenchman’s a beast. A powerful beast—but he’s addicted to the kill. He wouldn’t send anyone else. He wouldn’t want someone else to spill blood that he could feast on instead” (126). Again, Briggs highlights Chastel’s thirst for blood and brutality, derived from his time as the Beast of Gévaudan. Michel, a French Alpha, seeks out Charles despite the brutality Michel knows Chastel will probably deliver for going against Chastel’s wishes. Michel warns Charles: “Your mate, he [the Beast] wants her. You understand? He kills women and the innocent—and he has fastened on her as a victim. He thirsts for her.” (147). Charles thanks him for the warning, which Briggs uses to remind readers that Chastel is never good news. By embodying this werewolf lore as a backstory for Chastel, Briggs emphasizes his violent personality. Braswell 15 The day after Michel’s warning, Chastel confronts Anna when she is away from Charles. While Charles runs the summit, Anna sits in Angus’ office and chats with Ric—a relatively new wolf belonging to the Italians (151). While he and Anna are discussing pack hierarchy and different types of werewolves, Ric wonders “if there are dominant wolves who do not protect?” (163). Chastel appears at this moment, answering the question with a wicked smile, “They call us beasts” (164). Soon, Charles, much more dominant than the Frenchman, appears and makes Chastel leave. Anna later informs Charles about Chastel’s remark, saying Chastel has “all the violence, none of the protective spirit” (210). Charles responds, “I would have just called him a sociopath. My father calls him evil” (210). Through these interactions and his reinvented backstory, Briggs underlines Chastel’s personality as violent and evil. When Anna asks Isaac, Ric’s Alpha, why no one goes after Chastel, Isaac responds, “Because he’s as good as he claims. The fields of Europe are graves for a good many of our dead who have tried to kill the Beast” (193). Readers’ patience is rewarded when Briggs finally connects Jean Chastel to “Beast of Le Gévaudan” through citing a massive death toll: “In the first hundred years he [Chastel] lived, he killed three hundred humans that we know of, probably more” (193-94). Isaac then explains, “Late in the eighteenth century, Chastel concentrated his killing in Gévaudan, France” and describes how the killing was so bad that peasants refused to work and that hunting parties killed every wolf and many werewolves in the area (194). Briggs has Isaac recount the werewolf legend’s ending with “then history tells us a man named Jean Chastel […] took a silver musket ball […]. He had it blessed three times by the village priest and went out with a small party to hunt the animal down” (194). As the beast appeared before the hunters, “Chastel shot it once and killed it—and so died the Beast of Gévaudan” (194). Anna asks what really happened, and Isaac responds, Braswell 16 ‘The story I think is most likely is that Bran Cornick hunted the Beast down and told him unless he put an end to things, he would see that Chastel ended up in the hands of the witches.’ He smile[s] a little. ‘The witches were more powerful in those days—and would have liked nothing better than a werewolf to torture for blood, meat, and fur for their spells. Chastel was a hundred years old—and Bran was … Bran.’ (194) Thus, Briggs ties one of her Mercyverse characters to an old werewolf story: she reinvents the Beast of Gévaudan through her character Jean Chastel. This retelling—which gives the legend a new life—adds a special emphasis to Chastel’s evil nature while also reinforcing Bran’s intimidating and dangerous side. Reshaping “Beast of Le Gévaudan” ultimately strengthens Chastel’s dark backstory, giving Briggs a unique way to explain the origins of Chastel’s terrifying nature. CONCLUSION In her fantasy world the Mercyverse, Patricia Briggs reshapes old tales through her characters and emphasizes the power these reimagined backstories provide her characters. This technique is seen in two characters: Bran Cornick, Alpha of all Alphas in North America, and Jean Chastel, an evil French werewolf. The Mercyverse’s timeline for Bran’s age allows Briggs to assert that his berserker period had inspired the creation of the Anglo-Saxon epic Beowulf’s Grendel. Briggs also modifies the werewolf lore “Beast of Le Gévaudan.” In this legend, reports say that Jean Chastel had killed the terrorizing werewolf. However, Briggs proposes an alternative reason: in her fantasy world, Jean Chastel is the Beast of Gévaudan. The Mercyverse’s described massacre ceases only because Bran had forced Chastel to stop killing publicly. These two Mercyverse characters are a small taste of how Patricia Briggs alters and reworks tales, ultimately creating fresh, new versions that come alive through her characters. Braswell 17 WORKS CITED “A Time-line for the ‘Mercyverse.’” Patricia Briggs. hurog.com/books/timeline.shtml. Bacchilega, Cristina. Postmodern Fairy Tales: Gender and Narrative Strategies. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010. ProQuest ebrary. “Beowulf.” British Library. Web. bl.uk/collection-items/beowulf#. Accessed 6 October 2016. Briggs, Patricia. Cry Wolf. Ace Books, 2008. ---. Hunting Ground. Ace Books, 2009. ---. Moon Called. Ace Books, 2006. ---. River Marked. Ace Books, 2011. ---. “Silver.” Shifting Shadows: Stories from the World of Mercy Thompson, pp 1-70. Ace Books, 2014. Steiger, Brad. “Beast of Le Gévaudan.” The Werewolf Book: The Encyclopedia of Shape-Shifting Beings. Visible Ink Press, 2011. ProQuest ebrary. Tolkien, J.R.R., translator. Beowulf: A Translation and Commentary: Together with Sellic Spell. Edited by Christopher Tolkien, Mariner Books, 2015. “Wales and the Romans.” Wales History. BBC. Web. bbc.co.uk/wales/history/sites/themes/guide/ch2_wales_and_the_romans.shtml. Accessed 6 October 2016. “Wales and the Romans (Part 2).” Wales History. BBC. Web. bbc.co.uk/wales/history/sites/themes/guide/ch2_part2_wales_and_the_romans.shtml. Accessed 6 October 2016. Zipes, Jack. The Brothers Grimm: From Enchanted Forests to the Modern World. Routledge, Chapman and Hall, 1989. Braswell 18 LIFE CHANGED, A MERCYVERSE-INSPIRED SHORT STORY The last full moon of October, they gathered in the pole barn behind the Marrok’s house for the formal ceremony. He had told the inductees—his term for the people who wished to be Changed—how the ceremony would run. He or another wolf who loved them would savage everyone who wished to try becoming werewolves. The inductees sat with any family or friends who came to support them. Nervous chatter filled the room as the inductees fidgeted restlessly waiting for the Marrok. Some of the Marrok’s pack trickled in. They grouped together, scanning the inductees, perhaps to gauge who may or may not survive the Change. Maribelle was the only one sitting alone. She was always alone. Everyone was seated on hay bales that lined three sides of the pole barn in a horseshoe shape. The pole barn itself was about the size of a school auditorium, maybe a bit bigger, with a wooden-planked floor. She could feel the tension intensify as they all waited. It was a strange combination of excitement, dread, hope, worry, and sadness. Maribelle longed to feel her dad’s arms wrap around her and hold her tight, to hear him tell her it would be all right. At times, she felt as if his arms had been the only thing holding her broken pieces together. Or maybe they had shattered the moment he died. Once everyone had arrived, the Marrok, already in wolf form, emerged from the shadows that had been concealing him in the corner. Bran Cornick may be one of the most dominant werewolves in the world, but he thoroughly enjoyed appearing unremarkable. As he walked to the center, he let his power—the power that was his as the Marrok, Alpha of all Alphas in North America—wash through the room, bringing utter silence and an eerie, doom-like presence. He reached the middle and met, however briefly, the eyes of everyone in the room. Then, he waited. Braswell 19 “I’ll go first.” Maribelle’s voice rang through the barn. “Maybe if the others see the true brutality of being Changed, they’ll reconsider their decision. I’m too stubborn to back out now.” She knew most of them would die tonight. Bran waited for her as she slowly made her way to him. When she finally stood in front of him, she realized how small his wolf was compared to what he’d told them about the average size of werewolves. He could have been mistaken for a weird wolf-hybrid. His wolf was a medium grey with a white tip on his tail. Maribelle thought the white tip was cute, but she’d never dare say that to him. His pale-gold eyes stared into hers for a split second. “Thank you.” Bran’s voice slid into her head like silk, startling her. Rumors about the Marrok had quickly spread among the inductees when they had first arrived two weeks ago. The most popular one was that the Marrok was able to speak mind-to-mind, but she hadn’t expected him to say anything. “I hope you are right. I pray some of them will change their minds once they see this horror.” That last sentence was so quiet, she thought he hadn’t meant her to hear it. “Brace yourself.” With that, he attacked her. Bran’s teeth sank into her calf. Her right thigh. Her left. Maribelle crumpled to the ground and bit her tongue to stop herself from screaming. Fire crackled and burned as it spread along her nerves. Claws shredded her clothing. She felt something warm under her and looked down to see dark liquid forming a thick pool. Her blood. Bran’s familiar voice whispered in her head like a cool breeze on a hot summer day: “Fight.” She turned her head. Pain shot down her neck and into her limbs. Her body shivered as it worked overtime to keep her alive. But she didn’t want that. Not yet. She tried forcing her body into doing nothing. Braswell 20 A sharp pain in her stomach drew her attention. Bran’s fangs were buried in her, ripping her open, somehow mindful to miss hitting her internal organs. Parts of him slipped in and out of her vision though she sat still. She managed to move one arm, each movement causing the black spots in her vision to dance. After what felt like hours but was actually less than a minute, she was able to touch Bran and grip his fur. She struggled to hold him as tight as she could; her muscles were weak from blood loss. Just as she was growing numb to the pain, a searing flash jolted through her, bringing fresh waves of agony with it. She slumped forward onto Bran, too weak to scream. Maribelle wondered if this was what her dad had felt when the mountain lion had killed him. Hot pinpricks covered every inch of her, the same feeling as when her foot falls asleep but magnified a hundredfold. She felt like she was on fire, burning from the inside out. When she felt her life begin to drain with her blood, she released her control. Her emotions surged forward, wrapping around and through every nerve, every cell. She thrust her dreams, thoughts of her brothers, and love for her father into all of her being. New pain washed through her, dragging something unknown along with it. Magic perhaps? She hoped she survived so Bran could uphold their deal. Maribelle blacked out. ∞ The power of the moon pulsed through her veins. A fast-paced enchantment beckoning her. She closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the moon, basking in its welcoming rays on her bare skin. The moon’s call tugged at her gently. Another week and it would be full. Dismissing thoughts of her new pack’s full-moon hunt and what else joining the pack today meant, Maribelle initiated the Change. She sucked in her breath as the familiar pain engulfed her, spreading like wildfire along her nerves. Changing was always more painful than she Braswell 21 remembered, but it also filled her with a sense of joy. She was a part of nature, a part of its beauty. Fifteen minutes later, she rose to her feet and shook her fur to shed the last pains of the Change. Maribelle knew she wasn’t gorgeous by any standard. She could clean up well for a ranch owner perpetually covered in dirt. Some people even called her pretty, but she didn’t see it. She never had. But her wolf. Oh, her wolf was beautiful. A dark silvery-black, her fur looked as if someone had dusted a light snow over a black coat until the snowy color burrowed to the base of her fur and blended with the black. Her tail and paws darkened to pure black while her stomach lightened to an almost-white silver. Then there were her eyes—a light gold, like Bran’s wolf. She’d been a wolf now for just over a year, but she was still amazed at how much she loved it. She loved her coloring. She loved the feeling of being a wolf. The only part she hated was the Change itself. Well, that and the feeling that she still didn’t quite fit in. She suppressed that feeling and snatched the bag she’d put her clothes in before she’d Changed. Clothes made the Change more painful, clinging to her until they finally ripped apart. Any touch made the Change more painful. With the bag firmly between her teeth, she started running across the plains, exploring Jax’s lands. She wandered into a canyon with groups of trees. She wove her way through valleys, around bushes, under branches, and over small creeks. An hour later, she came across a tank. Non-Texans would call it a pond. She drank some water from it and rested a bit. After a while, she realized Jax was probably wondering where she was. She sighed, picked up her bag, and headed toward his house. Her thoughts drifted, as they often did, to her brothers. She wasn’t sure if the nightmares were getting better or worse. Braswell 22 Maribelle rounded a curve in the canyon … and collided with a warm, solid object that rolled with her down the incline. Damn. She was too wrapped up in her own thoughts, she hadn’t sensed anyone; she needed to start paying attention to them more. They came to a stop at the bottom of the slope: Maribelle on her back, a giant wolf sprawled across her. She rolled quickly from underneath him and onto her feet. No way in hell was she going to show submission before she knew who was more dominant, despite the probability that she was less dominant. A snarl worked its way up her throat, barely being voiced before she swallowed it. She finally registered the other wolf’s coloring. At night, her wolf eyes were not the most reliable when discerning colors, but she could tell he was stunning. Then again, her love of wolves made her partially biased. Red streaks wove their way through a gold coat. Moonlight flashed off his fur, hinting at the golden sunset his fur would sometimes resemble during the day. Black outlined his ears while a white snip nestled on his nose. He must be one of the few pack members she had yet to meet. She’d met most of them earlier this evening when she’d joined the pack. Some were unable to make the ceremony due to work or guard duty. Jax kept two wolves, one in human form and the other in wolf form, on guard duty most days. They kept watch unseen along his house’s perimeter. The wolf guard was in case a cougar, mountain lion, or other random animal wandered too close and tried attacking. After she and her wolf had eventually worked out a compromise during her year in Aspen Creek, Montana, home of the Marrok’s pack, Bran had sent her back to Texas and her ranch as promised. Since Bran knew he was going to send her to the Davis Mountains Pack, he had gone ahead and informed Jaxon Gibson, her new Alpha, about her impending arrival a month or two Braswell 23 before her year was up. Jax had then informed his pack, so they all knew pretty much everything about her before she’d arrived. Well, most everything. There were some things she had asked Bran to only share with Jax. Now, she had to keep her end of the deal with Bran: try and play nice with her new pack and not harass him. Okay, so he hadn’t said it in those exact words. She was supposed to find a way to fit into the pack and to not pester him about updates. Close enough. Her pack mate slowly stood up, interrupting her thoughts. He shook himself, perhaps so as not to startle her. Their Alpha must have warned everyone she could be jumpy at times. The wolf’s amber eyes surveyed her without ever meeting her own or acquiescing dominance. He started to Change. Maribelle turned her back and laid down, resting her head on her paws to show him she was no threat while he was vulnerable. And because she was still unaccustomed to the lack of modesty most werewolves have, but he didn’t need to know that. Having to Change naked didn’t allow modesty. At least he didn’t have to worry about being cold once he finished. While werewolves were able to withstand more cold than a human, November in Texas was usually in the 30s or 40s at night. She tried to ignore the sound of his bones reforming into human shape. The minutes passed slowly enough that she began wondering how long he’d been a werewolf. Finally, he cleared his throat, telling her he was done Changing. She stood up and turned to face him, keeping her eyes averted so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable staring at his naked body. She really needed to get over her modesty issues. “You must be Maribelle Donovan,” he stated. She dipped her head in confirmation. “I’m Nolan Archer.” He paused. “The pack’s third.” Braswell 24 His admission startled her into meeting his eyes. Dammit. She hadn’t meant to do that, but she also hadn’t expected him to be third. Nolan’s hazel eyes looked either light brown or green. She couldn’t tell which. Interest and curiosity lit his eyes when she tipped her head down and to the side, exposing her throat and acknowledging his greater dominance. Or did she just imagine the emotions in his eyes? “Now that we’ve sorted that out,” Nolan continued. “Jax sent me to find you. He was displeased to discover you’d disappeared after he explicitly told you to stay close.” His alliteration delighted her. Maribelle cocked her head, staring intently over his shoulder and not at his muscular body. She had stayed close. Relatively. “I guess you interpreted staying close as remaining on his property.” Was that amusement she heard? “Nonetheless, he was seething when I left. We need to get back.” He didn’t say why as he turned and started walking, expecting her to follow immediately. She waited a few seconds before snatching her bag and trotting after him. Maribelle stared unabashedly at his back, his muscles flexing nicely as he walked. Naked backs she could deal with. It was the other parts she had trouble with. His back was as well-toned as his chest. Just because she was uncomfortable staring at his front didn’t mean she hadn’t noticed how fit he was. She’d learned all werewolves were in shape—their wolves were too restless not to be. Nolan’s tanned skin and the natural blond highlights in his brown hair told Maribelle he worked under the sun a lot. He wasn’t your average attractive man, but the intelligence she’d glimpsed in his eyes intrigued her. Nolan didn’t say anything when they reached the house. He opened the door for her. Gentleman-like. Or maybe because the doorknob wasn’t werewolf-friendly. She wiped her paws on the “Wipe Your Paws” mat people usually buy when they have pets. She appreciated the Braswell 25 irony of an Alpha having that. She meandered down the hall quietly and followed the sounds of Jax’s voice to the living room. Her Alpha didn’t acknowledge her when she entered the room, despite the aggravation she sensed. He knew she was there all right. Nolan hadn’t been kidding about their Alpha; his fury was palpable. Jax probably wanted to see her squirm. She pulled on her years of practice to subdue her emotions. She’d long ago learned not to let others in or see what she felt. Not that she’d ever been good at that in the first place. Maribelle slipped into her confident persona as she walked to her Alpha and lay at his feet, dropping her clothes bag beside her. She hated confrontation, but she had stopped running from it eventually. ∞ After the pack meeting, Maribelle drifted away silently and into the woods behind the Alpha’s house. Tomorrow was the full moon. Maribelle could feel the moon’s song in her blood; it made her wolf restless. She wandered around, drifting aimlessly. After a while, she found herself drawn to a quiet babble. The Texas sun lighted her path as it breached the canopy’s leaves. Her eyes drifted up to admire the green miracle above her. She’d always loved nature, but she’d sometimes forgotten how beautiful it was. After she’d been Changed, her senses had heightened. She’d been so used to wearing contacts and glasses that her vision’s clarity still amazed her. A hummingbird flitted among the branches before zooming away. The babbling grew louder as she used tree trunks to keep herself from tumbling down the slope and into the creek. The Davis Mountains in west Texas—not to be confused with West, Texas the city—didn’t get much snow, even in January, but the creek would be frigid. Maribelle might be a werewolf and like all werewolves could withstand more cold than Braswell 26 humans, but she had no desire to go for a swim this time of year. At least not without a hot tub to jump into afterward. She eased her way down the slope and onto a short ledge, where she sat with her feet dangling over the side. The sound of water rushing over and around rocks soothed her. She wondered what her brothers would think of her now. A werewolf of all things. She’d give almost anything to see their expressions when they realized she was the strongest one now. She laughed at the thought and then sobered. Maribelle missed them so much, almost more than her dad. She knew she could never get her daddy back, but some part deep, deep down hoped her brothers were alive. But if they were alive, why had they abandoned her? After a while, she sighed and pushed them to the back of her mind. She laid back and closed her eyes, listening. A rabbit rustled through some bushes on the other side of the creek. The familiar scent of oak trees comforted her. Underbrush—mostly rocks and twigs—tumbled partway down the hill before stopping: someone was working his or her way down the hill. That and the almost imperceptible sound of movement told her the person was probably someone in her pack. Werewolves tended not to make a lot of noise, so someone wanted Maribelle to know he or she was coming. The werewolf was downwind from her, so Maribelle couldn’t say for sure, but she had an idea of who it was. “Whatcha doin’?” Seraphina asked, confirming Maribelle’s suspicions. “Ponderin’ life.” “Mind if I join you?” Maribelle opened her eyes to see the other wolf crouched beside her. “If you want.” Seraphina mimicked Maribelle’s position. Maribelle turned her head and studied the older wolf. Although Seraphina had been born in the 1800s and Changed in her thirties, she Braswell 27 appeared about twenty-five. That’s how old most werewolves look. Seraphina’s straight hair was as black as the night sky, sometimes resembling a dark blue. She had pulled it over her shoulder where it now spanned across her stomach, stopping at her waist. Maribelle glanced down at her own hair. Quite the opposite of Seraphina’s, Maribelle’s hair rested in waves across her chest, stopping about an inch below her breasts. The light filtering through the branches above them, oddly enough, brought out the natural hints of red amidst her sandy blonde mass. She’d inherited that coloring from her mom. Since her mom had died days after giving birth to her, Maribelle felt her hair connected her to the mother she’d never known. Maribelle’s hair was the only feature she truly loved about herself. The rest of her features were plain—roughened and tanned from time spent in the Texas sun. She knew her tan didn’t hide the light freckles on her cheeks. She looked like a rugged cowboy, but that’s what she was. The younger wolf gazed back toward the sky and closed her eyes. Seraphina was more dominant than Maribelle, but that didn’t take much. Maribelle was at the bottom of the pack, only a step above the pack’s submissive. In a different pack, she may have been ranked higher in the pack structure, but the majority of her pack was very dominant. Ironically, on her ranch, she was the leader. She believed that was the case, because her ranch hands respected her. They knew she would take care of them no matter what, so they acceded her the Alpha position. Maribelle was okay with her position in the pack. She didn’t particularly like bossing people around. She preferred being in the background, but she wanted the people close to her to accept her and actually see her. Maybe that was why she had never really had friends; she pushed them away before they could reject her. She’d had friends in college whose companionship she’d enjoyed, but afterward they’d drifted apart. Not that they hadn’t tried. They eventually stopped when Maribelle wouldn’t respond. Braswell 28 Seraphina and Maribelle laid there, not talking, for a good thirty minutes. Maribelle loved the silence. She still didn’t feel as if she belonged, but relaxing there with Seraphina made her think that maybe she could. The older wolf nudged her. “Come on. I’ve got something to show you.” Seraphina stood and offered Maribelle her hand. Maribelle took it. As Seraphina turned to lead the way, she stopped. “You know that wasn’t an order, right?” Maribelle smiled shyly. “Yeah. I know.” ∞ She was riding Night Storm, her black Quarter Horse, bareback in the round pen. They’d gone on a long ride that morning, and he needed to be cooled down some more. It may have been late February in Texas where summer occupies half the year, but it was still too cold to hose him off. So, she walked him in the arena. She noticed when Nolan showed up; she also noticed when he climbed onto the railing. But she paid him no attention. Maribelle walked Night Storm for another ten minutes before dismounting and leading him toward the gate. Nolan was already there, opening the gate for her to walk through. “Thank you, Nolan.” He looked good today. He was wearing a green, long-sleeved shirt that made his hazel eyes pop. “Any time, Maribelle,” he said as he tipped his hat. A dimple appeared in his cheek when he smiled. Damn, he was getting to her. No. No. Nope. She wasn’t falling for him. She was not falling for him. He closed the gate and walked on the other side of Night Storm as she led him to Braswell 29 the barn. Neither of them said anything as Maribelle led her horse into his stall and removed his bridle. She went into the tack room across from her horse’s stall and hung his bridle on the wall. Night Storm’s saddle and blanket were already on his stand from where she’d put them earlier. She heard Nolan murmuring to Night Storm as she grabbed a flake of hay and filled an old coffee can with some grain. Nolan moved aside so she could give Night Storm his food. “That was a good ride today, boy,” she told her gelding affectionately. He neighed happily and leaned into her hand as she scratched under his chin. “I’ll come check on you later. It’s lunchtime for me.” She took off her blue, baseball cap that had her initials in white on the front, wiped her sweaty forehead, and settled her hat on backward. She gave Night Storm one last pat and kissed his nose. “Love ya, boy.” She turned around and saw Nolan leaning against the next stall, surveying her. Oh dear. She had no choice but to talk to him now. “Where’d you ride?” he asked. “We went out by the closest creek and followed that for a ways. Then, I took him along the fence line that’s over there. I wanted to check it. That led us toward where the cattle are currently. After that, I let Night Storm go where he wanted before we made our way back.” “Sounds like y’all had fun.” “We did.” They stared at each other silently. Maribelle finally broke the silence and asked, “So, what are you doing here?” “I was hoping to borrow one of your horses.” “Sure. That won’t be a problem. Take whomever you want, except Night Storm obviously.” She wondered why he didn’t borrow one of Jax’s horses. They fell silent and listened to Night Storm eating. Did he want something else? Braswell 30 “Well, I better go fix some lunch,” she said before her impulse to kiss him overpowered her. “Okay.” He pushed himself away from the stall door with his shoulders, his thumbs tucked in his jeans’ back pockets. Nolan was between Maribelle and the barn opening nearer her house. Her heart was racing. The fact that she knew he could hear it only made it beat faster. She took several steps forward just as he headed for the tack room. They bumped shoulders and paused. He turned toward her. They were so close, she had to tilt her head slightly to see his lips. His face. To see his face. Oh dear. No. She really shouldn’t. She had too much else on her mind to add this to her plate. Whatever this was. His scent, leather mixed with the mint-and-musk of werewolf, flooded her senses. She should get inside before she did something she regretted. A voice deep inside asked why she would regret kissing Nolan. She ignored it. “So, whom do you think you’ll ride?” she asked. She needed to focus on her words and not how good he smelled. Focus, dammit, she chided herself. “I think I’ll take Brown Sugar.” “Oh.” His words helped distract Maribelle from her thoughts. “You can’t take him. I just remembered he got into some barbed wire last week. I’d like to give him a little more time to heal fully before letting anyone ride him.” “Let me think.” Nolan cocked his head wolf-like. Did he hear something she hadn’t? All she heard was Night Storm eating and the other horses grazing in the small pasture connected to the stables. She realized Nolan’s heart had started beating a little faster since their proximity had increased. She tucked that little tidbit away Braswell 31 to ponder later, when he wasn’t so close and smelled so good. She took a deep breath and just barely caught herself before revealing how much his scent affected her. Not good. “What about Dancing Willow?” Shit. Whom did he ask about? She’d been sidetracked by his pulse and scent. Dancing Willow. That was it. “She’ll do well. I hope you’re in the mood for some fun. She loves to run and test her rider if he’s not paying enough attention.” Maribelle paused, thinking. “Except for children. She’s really good when it comes to handling kids.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “I’m always in the mood for some fun.” Was it just her or had his voice deepened? She needed to get of there quick! Oh shoot. She needed to show him Dancing Willow’s tack. “Good. Good. I use a breast collar. She’s healthy, but ridiculously skinny. It’s sometimes hard to get the girth tight enough, so the breast collar helps keep the saddle in place. But you already know that.” Dear, Lord, she was babbling. She turned quickly and went into the tack shed, Nolan following her closely. “Her bridle is right—” “Here,” he said, reaching his arm in front of her and grabbing the bridle off its hook. “I can see her name printed on the side.” “Right.” Why did that fluster her? She wasn’t used to feeling this way. Dammit. She needed to get a better hold on her emotions. They always seemed to wiggle out whenever Nolan was around. “You can select whatever saddle will work best for you. I keep the breast collar over here.” He watched her pick up the piece before inspecting the saddles. He hooked the bridle on one saddle’s horn before lifting it. She handed him the breast collar. “Do you know how to attach it?” Braswell 32 “Yes.” He smiled, the dimple reappearing. That was a stupid question. Of course he knew. She felt like an idiot. “Right. Well, Dancing Willow should be in the paddock behind the stables. You can hang the saddle over her stall door. It won’t fall. Her halter is on a hook inside the stall. You shouldn’t have any trouble catching her.” “Thanks.” “No problem.” He took a step closer to her. Or to the door. She was standing in his path to the door, wasn’t she? Nolan took another step. They were only inches apart. He had one hand hooked inside the saddle’s gullet, the open spot in front of the seat. The breast collar was in his other hand. She gazed up at him and made her decision. Maribelle popped up on her toes and briefly kissed his lips. She smelled his surprise as she turned, darted out of the tack room, and sprinted away—partly proud, mostly mortified. Hopefully the shock kept him still long enough for her to reach the safety of her house, a grin spreading across her face. ∞ “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Maribelle said. Tears poured down her face. Jax embraced her and allowed her to bury her face in his shoulder. Underneath the mint-and-musk scent of werewolf, Maribelle could smell pecan, engrained from his whittling hobby— wood roadrunner carvings were scattered about his house. Four and a half months after joining the Davis Mountains Pack, she finally associated his smell with pack, with safety. Her tears soaked his shirt as she continued to cry silently. She sniffed and tried to pull away, but he held her close. Braswell 33 “Shh,” he murmured into her hair. “Forget about the shirt.” How did he know she was worried about ruining his shirt? “I’m your Alpha. You should have told me all this before. So why didn’t you?” She shook her head as it rested against him, the silk of his shirt smooth against her cheek. “I didn’t want to bother you.” Jax made a soft, tsking noise. “You should know you can always come to me. You can tell me anything. I’ll take care of you. I won’t disappear, not like your brothers did.” Her shoulders shook as she cried harder. No one had ever really listened to her before. Except maybe her therapist, but that didn’t count. She was paid to listen to Maribelle. Her brothers had listened to her, but she didn’t know where they were or if they were even alive. She had been too afraid to tell them everything anyway. She hadn’t wanted to bother them too much, just as she didn’t want to bother her Alpha. Too late. “Other Alphas may run their packs differently, but in my pack, with us, pack is family. We lean on each other so no one falls. We want to help, but we can only do that if you let us in. I know Seraphina gathered some of the pack to show you our love. As a part of this family, you will never be a burden.” Fresh tears slid down her cheeks. Just when she thought she had her emotions back under control, he did that. He made her feel safe. What was with the people in this pack making her lose the control she’d worked so hard to find? “Is that why you ran off the day you joined our pack and I had to send Nolan after you?” She nodded. Jax sighed heavily and sank to the floor in the middle of his living room, pulling Maribelle onto his lap. Curled in his embrace, she felt so small. He murmured nonsense, his voice wrapping her in a warm cocoon. Several minutes passed as her sobs subsided and her Braswell 34 breathing slowed. She wiped her eyes, but left her head pressed against his chest. She wasn’t ready to look at him. Maribelle took a deep breath before speaking. “I love being a wolf. It’s everything I had dreamed of. That’s not the problem.” He waited patiently, rubbing his hand on her back like her dad had done when she was a child and had run to him after a nightmare. “I don’t know how to be in a pack.” “No one does at first.” She stared at him, his sorrel brown hair a mess. She’d thought he was infallible. He’d had troubles adjusting to pack life too? “I had been fiercely independent before I had been Changed.” “You had?” Her voice was barely a whisper. He nodded, his eyes—the color of faded denim—lost in another time. They sat in companionable silence. Maribelle rested her head on the comfy spot just below Jax’s shoulder. She let the sound of his steady heartbeat and the smell of pack soothe her. Soon, her breaths deepened to match his. She stayed like that for several minutes before what he had said fully registered. “Jax?” “Mmm?” “You said you had trouble adjusting to pack life because you’re fiercely independent. But you’re the Alpha. How does that work?” He chuckled softly. The sound comforted her. “I wasn’t always the Alpha. I did not enjoy having to obey someone, which caused a lot of problems when I first became a werewolf. Eventually, I learned to deal with it. And then, I became an Alpha. Even then, I had difficulty Braswell 35 adjusting to my new role, to taking care of around thirty other people. The leader part wasn’t hard. Learning how to think of that many people all the time was the real challenge. “An Alpha has a lot more responsibility and work than you might think. I had been used to taking care of myself and not always considering how my actions affected others. I don’t mean I was an ass and only thought of myself and always put my needs before others and did anything I needed to do in order to get what I wanted. No, I mean I would sometimes forget to see the big picture. “The Alpha position does not excuse me from being dependent upon the rest of the pack. Actually, I would argue the Alpha depends more on the pack as a whole than anyone else in the pack. They all lean on me and depend on me, but it’s a little more mutual than that. Not wholly mutual of course, since Alphas can draw upon the pack for various things when needed—strength and faster healing to name two. We all feel when someone has particularly strong emotions, but I feel everyone’s emotions more than everyone else. I can lend a pack member strength. As you know, someone joins the pack through the Alpha’s flesh-and-blood. The Alpha is connected directly to each pack member, while everyone else is connected to one another through him.” Jax paused, as if trying to figure out the best way to explain what he knew. After a minute, Maribelle asked tentatively, “Where are you going with this?” Jax shook his head, as if he had drifted somewhere else and needed help returning to the present. Maribelle wondered what he’d been thinking about, but forgot about it as he continued. “The point is I had to learn how to live with thirty-odd people in my head when I had been used to just me. I’m basically trying to say that you should know you’re not alone. All of our pack members had trouble adjusting to living in this pack, each in their own way. Talk to us. We will Braswell 36 not always like each other, but we are family. We are here for you, just as I know, in time, you’ll be there for any of us.” An almost peaceful quiet filled the air around them. Maribelle slid off her Alpha’s lap and onto the floor, his arm on her shoulders. She stayed pressed against him, needing the physical contact, needing the reminder that pack does mean safety. She was finally, slowly understanding that. “Oh, I’m just feeling Magenta,” she said. “You’re feeling what?” Jax looked so puzzled, she couldn’t help but laugh. She wiped more tears from her face and gave him a faint smile. “Magenta. Blanche from The Golden Girls—that was a TV show in the late 80s and early 90s—once called the feeling you get when you’re having all sorts of mottled feelings tumbling together Magenta. I believe she described it this way: ‘You’re not quite blue, because you’re not really sad. Although you’re a little bit jealous, you wouldn’t say you’re green with envy. And every now and then you realize you’re kinda scared, but you’d hardly call yourself yellow.’ She hated that feeling, and she hated the color Magenta, so that’s why she called it that.” “I’ll bite.” He grinned at his own pun, flashing his teeth and making Maribelle laugh again. “Why are you feeling Magenta?” “You should know.” He acted innocent. She knew better but elaborated to appease him. “I keep thinking about my brothers.” “I’m not surprised. Bran asked me to keep him updated concerning you. He wants to make sure you’re following his orders, upholding your end of the deal, and trying to adjust to the pack instead of going off to find them.” Jax gave her a meaningful look. “He is working on it. When he finds anything substantial, he will tell you.” Braswell 37 “I know. It’s just so hard.” Jax wrapped his other arm around Maribelle and squeezed her tight. He kissed the top of her head. “It’ll all work out.” ∞ Maribelle leaned against the wooden porch post and watched the rain fall from the sky. Music to her ears. She was enveloped in the storm’s sound and sight. Rain pattered along the barn’s tin roof and thumped softly in the small, dirt arena. A frog croaked somewhere to her right. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a deep rolling sound that echoed in the canyons far off. An occasional lighting strike brightened the sky momentarily before dissipating into the grey-black night. Maribelle heard the fast rush of water rolling off the veranda. When she was little, she’d hated thunderstorms. Now, she loved them. She loved their beauty and power. Someone walking down the stairs inside caught her attention. Their feet didn’t make a sound on the staircase’s plush carpet or the kitchen’s cool tile, but she heard them nonetheless thanks to her super-sharp werewolf hearing. Just as she heard the horses swishing their tails in the barn, Maribelle heard her pack member’s gentle breathing and steady heartbeat. She’d always loved listening to her dad’s heartbeat when she was growing up, so calming and comforting. The soft thumping of her daddy’s heart against her ear had reminded her she wasn’t alone. Her pack mate opened the screen door and stepped onto the wraparound porch, shutting the door quietly before moving to stop behind her left shoulder. She knew who it was. His scent washed over her, the unique combination that was Nolan. Most everyone else was still upstairs, having migrated to the game room after the pack meeting Jax had held this evening, as he always did before the full moon. The pack would go on Braswell 38 their usual full-moon hunt tomorrow night. Since today was Friday and most of her pack members didn’t have weekend jobs, many of them would spend the night here. Without warning, Nolan grabbed her hand, pulling her off the porch and into the cool rain. She squealed from shock and delight. The spring rain brought memories of her childhood and running on the hay bales. She could still smell the bluebonnets after a good, spring rain. He lifted her hand and twirled her. Maribelle laughed with pure, unfiltered joy as she had not done in years. Her wolf was content, and she was beginning to feel the same. Nolan tugged gently on her hand, knocking her off balance and into his arms. Her hands got caught between them, her palms resting against his chest. She could feel his toned muscles and thrumming heart. Her eyes remained fixed on her hands. Nolan placed two fingers gently under her chin and tilted her head up gently. She stared at his nose. It was a really cute nose. When he knew she wouldn’t duck her head, he looped both arms around her back. “You’re beautiful,” Nolan said. His hazel eyes gleamed green in the moonlight as they searched her face. There was heat in his eyes—the only feature revealing any emotion. They longed for her. No matter how dark it was, she knew he could see the blush brightening her tanned skin. He could also smell her arousal, just as she smelled his. Stupid heightened werewolf senses. Nolan knew her story. She had to make the next step. Holding her in his arms, asking silently for a kiss he knew he could never take was as far as he would go. She knew he was working hard to resist his wolf’s need to control the situations and sometimes people around him. She felt more than heard both their hearts pick up as she leaned closer. Maribelle closed her eyes as she brushed her lips lightly against his before pulling back ever so slightly. Nolan waited patiently while she wrangled with the emotions that had suddenly surged to the surface. She tried shoving Braswell 39 them back into their distant corner where she kept them. But they slipped through. She buried her head in his chest. He squeezed her gently. “Shh. It’s okay.” She hadn’t realized the water on her face was no longer just from the rain until he said that. “You don’t have to say anything,” he crooned. The arms wrapped around her held her together as her emotions threatened to make her curl up. Maribelle sniffled. “I’m sorry.” When did she start apologizing so often? She used to never apologize, thinking it was a sign of weakness. “Don’t be. I’m more worried about you right now.” Yeah, Maribelle thought, but he’ll worry about me rejecting him later. She felt Nolan shake his head. “That came out wrong. I’m only worried about you.” Maribelle kept her head pressed against him. He gently lifted her head until he locked eyes with her, something he could allow since he was so dominant and since both their wolves knew she wouldn’t try challenging him. “Listen. I don’t care about the kiss.” “The one that didn’t happen.” He sighed, worry in his eyes. “Yes. That one. But that doesn’t matter. I just want to know if you’re okay, which clearly you’re not.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “Don’t even start. You know you can’t lie to me. Or did you forget that werewolves can do that.” She shut her mouth and glared at him. “Come on, let’s get inside and dry off. I’ll fix you some hot cocoa.” As tempting as that sounded … she shook her head. “No. We should talk. You deserve to know.” Bewilderment crossed his face momentarily before he erased all emotions. “We should get out of the rain at least. The barn will be warm enough.” Braswell 40 She gave him a small smile. He was taking her rejection so well. Stop it, Maribelle, she chided herself, you aren’t rejecting him. Other stuff is just getting in the way. Nolan led her to the barn, opening and closing the double-doors. Night Storm nickered softly at her. She smiled and went over to him. She’d forgotten she’d brought him over to Jax’s earlier. “Hey, boy. Sorry to intrude on your sleep.” He nudged her. “Oh I see. You don’t care about me. You just want a treat.” He shoved her, knocking her off-balance. Maribelle laughed. “Fine, you win.” She turned to grab him a treat from the tack room and ran into Nolan. She’d have fallen over if he hadn’t steadied her with his free hand. How hadn’t she heard him? She was letting her brothers get to her. “Sorry. I thought you’d heard me. I figured Night Storm would want a treat, so I grabbed some and brought them over for you.” “Oh. Thank you.” She took the treats from him and turned back to her horse. She hated that she was getting flustered after that almost-kiss. Night Storm devoured his treats and sniffed her pockets for more. She eyed him. “Greedy.” He looked at her as if asking, ‘Who? Me?’ She laughed and hugged his neck. He could always make her feel better. “I also grabbed some blankets,” Nolan said when she let go of her horse. He wrapped one around her shoulders and did the same with his. They climbed up to the hayloft and sat side-by-side. The rain made a pitter-patter sound as it fell on the barn’s tin roof, reminding Maribelle of all the times she used to curl up in her barn’s hay loft and let the soothing sound lull her to sleep. A lightning strike lit the barn every few minutes. Maribelle hated to break the peaceful silence, but she knew she had to. Who knew what Nolan was thinking? She took a deep breath. “My brothers disappeared six years ago.” Braswell 41 “What?” Nolan asked softly. She didn’t respond. She knew he’d heard her; he was in shock. He wouldn’t have been able to guess her secret. No one would. A minute passed by slowly. “Does anyone else know?” “Only Bran and Jax. And now you. And my ranch hands, I suppose.” His head was probably spinning. “Why haven’t you ever mentioned them before?” She started to shrug, but remembered Nolan deserved the whole truth. “It’s too painful. Besides, I already feel like everyone is treating me like I’m going to snap any second.” “They don’t think that.” She looked at him, mildly surprised she could sense his almost-lie. She’d been improving her ability to notice what her senses were telling her; now, it was nearly instinctual. “That smelled close to a lie. Not everyone thinks I’m crazy, but some of them do. Some of the others look at me with pity. The few old ones, like Seraphina, feel sorrow. They remember what it’s like having your loved ones die while you can’t do anything about it.” Nolan didn’t respond. The blanket was finally warming her up a little. Not that she had really been cold. Werewolves tend to keep their houses around 60 degrees. She liked the cold too. But whenever she was sad, she preferred the feel of the spring sun warm on her skin or a hot fire on a cold winter night. “You said your brothers disappeared six years ago?” She nodded. “And your dad died—” “Five years ago, the summer after I graduated college.” Finally he got to the question she’d been dreading and anticipating. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?” Braswell 42 Yes, her internal voice shrieked. Out loud, she said, “No.” Maribelle took a deep breath and exhaled. “I had two older brothers, twins. They meant the world to me, and I to them. They would move mountains for their little sis.” She broke off, her breath catching. She hadn’t realized how difficult this would be. With Bran, it hadn’t been so bad. Her annoyance at him had tempered the emotions now threatening to overwhelm her. She pulled them back and forced herself to continue. “They weren’t much older than me, seven years, but they were old enough that they often helped my dad care for me, since my mom had died. I adored them. One day during my senior year of college, they simply vanished.” She paused; a lone tear escaped her watery brown eyes. She wiped it away futilely as more tears rolled down her cheeks. “We never heard from them. No one could figure out what had happened. Wondering why they left and how they could have abandoned me and my dad kept me awake many nights and sometimes still does.” She turned her head and stared into the dark. A smile played at the corner of her mouth as images of her brothers flashed through her mind—the times they had teased her endlessly and the weekend they had pampered her when a stupid boy first broke her heart. A soft movement brought her back to the present. Nolan had shifted closer. Watching her for any sign telling him to stop, he carefully put his arm around her. She leaned into him, letting his scent soothe her, extremely aware of his hand’s resting on her back. She pulled herself together and continued. “I’d planned on searching for them after college, but since my dad died that summer, I was left with our ranch to run. That kept me busy enough for a while.” Maribelle stared at the floor, lost in time. “But then the nightmares began. I needed to know what happened. By that point, life had already begun annoying me. I’d been Braswell 43 running the ranch for several years and feeling alone without any family left. The nightmares only enhanced that feeling until I finally gave in. One day, I told my head ranch hand that I was going to search for them and that he was in charge until I returned—one year if I didn’t find anything.” She paused. “My search somehow lead me to Aspen Creek where I stumbled into Bran’s territory. Quite literally. Instead of finding my brothers, I found werewolf headquarters.” Nolan snorted. “I bet that made Bran ecstatic.” Maribelle laughed. “Yeah, he wasn’t exactly thrilled. Actually, he looked like he was ready to tear me apart.” They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. She closed her eyes and let the night’s sounds soothe her. The steady beat of Nolan’s heart became the focus. She drifted off to its beat, being lulled into a light sleep. Nolan shook her gently. “Hey, sleepyhead. You’re drooling on me.” She bolted up and wiped her dry mouth. “No, I wasn’t!” The corner of his mouth hinted at a hidden smirk. “That was mean!” “You look adorable when you sleep.” It was her turn to snort. “Yeah, right. You’re just saying that because you like me.” “Is there any harm in that?” Something in his eyes had her swallowing her sarcastic retort. “No, I suppose not.” The emotion in his eyes intensified; it hungered. Flustered, she felt heat spreading to her face and quickly changed the subject. “So, how long was I asleep?” He rested his head against the hay behind him, his arm still around her. “Not long. Maybe a couple minutes.” He fell silent, but she could tell he wanted to ask something. That was why he Braswell 44 had woken her in the first place. She waited patiently. “If you found ‘werewolf headquarters’—” Maribelle heard the amusement in his voice. “—then how did you get here.” She sighed. “I was wondering when you would ask that.” He gave her a pointed look. “I made a deal with Bran.” One of his eyebrows rose. “Yeah, I know that sounds odd. We agreed that if I survived the Change and my first year, I would move back down here to my ranch. Luckily, your pack … our pack was fairly close to my ranch so he didn’t have to relocate anyone. I had to try and learn how to live in the pack. Bran, in turn, would use his connections to search for my brothers. If or when he finds anything substantial, he will let me know.” She paused as her mind wandered to thinking if he’d made any progress, which reminded her… “Oh, and I’m not supposed to pester him about his search.” Nolan laughed. “How difficult is that last part for you?” She groaned. “Extremely difficult! I want to call him all the time, but I can’t. I can’t even ask Jax. Bran forbid me from asking and Jax from telling. Our Alpha is playing Bran’s spy. He gets to update Bran on me, but I’m not allowed any updates.” Yeah, she wasn’t bitter or anything. “You need to trust Bran.” Maribelle rolled her eyes. “That’s not the problem. I do trust him. My brothers used to tell me I’m too curious for my own good.” Nolan chuckled. “It’ll all work out. If you ever need anyone to talk to, you have Jax and now me.” He wrapped his other arm around her and held her close. She sighed as she rested her head against his chest. His intoxicating scent cocooned her in its reminder of pack and safety. She fell asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat and the rain falling gently on the barn’s roof. ∞ Braswell 45 She had found her place in this world. Becoming a werewolf only partially filled the hole she felt that was missing in her life, but it also allowed her to finally see and understand part of what she’d been missing. And now she had found it. She had been walking through life trying to find some meaning, some purpose to keep her going. Life was more complex than that. She was at peace and at home in the wild. Sitting on Night Storm, staring out at the desert she called home as the summer sun lowered on the horizon, she felt whole. This moment in time filled her with such happiness as she had not felt for a long time, not until very recently. It had taken being Changed into a werewolf and forced to live in a pack to once again see the little things she thought solely survived in her childhood memories. The way the wind whispered as it swept all around her. In the fading rays of daylight transformed into brilliant shades of orange, yellow, pink, red. How the light danced before being swallowed in the blue-black dark. Coyotes howling in a distant canyon. Her horse tossing his mane from restlessness. She breathed in the night air. The ringing of her phone interrupted her thoughts. “You’re needed,” Nolan said as soon as she accepted the call. Maribelle heard the crash, someone growling, a “Dammit, Ryan.” She turned Night Storm and asked him to gallop. “I’m on my way.” “Hurry!” She heard another crash, then unnerving silence. “Nolan? What’s happening?!” She urged her horse faster. Someone said something too faint for even her werewolf ears. The line went dead. Braswell 46 She stretched low across Night Storm’s neck. His strides lengthened until he was running flat out. She prayed everyone could hold it together in the fifteen to twenty minutes it would take her to get home. Was she hallucinating or had that been Bran’s voice at the end? THE END … FOR NOW Braswell 47 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This project would not have been successful without the help of some very important people. First, I must thank Patricia Briggs, whose works found a home in my heart. Without her novels, my senior project’s focus would not have been born. My parents have supported me throughout this long endeavor. I must thank my father, who read my critical essay again and again. He helps me see my paper through a new perspective. And, of course, I must thank my mother who encouraged me when the path seemed to disappear or veer off in an unexpected direction. She is the gentle breeze guiding me along when I stumble and the North Star helping me find my way. I fear to ask where this paper would be without the insightful help of my two unofficial editors: McKenzie Wulf Beery and Lynn Walsh. We have traipsed along this senior project together, keeping each on track and pulling them back from wandering too far away from the end goal. Without their extremely useful and often hilarious comments, along with their fresh pair of eyes to edit a paper I have read an infinite amount of times, this paper would be lost. My advisor, Dr. Grady Ballenger, must not be forgotten. I would not be here writing these acknowledgements without his help. He has advised me for the past three years as I tried to figure out what I want to do in and after college. He is also to thank for helping me narrow down my idea and for pushing me to do my best. Some people have surely been left in the wayside, and that is unintentional. I appreciate all you have done for me. Thanks, everyone. Braswell 48 AUTHOR’S NOTE Richelle Braswell, a senior English major minoring in Creative Writing, has long been intrigued by the innumerable versions of a single story. Her study of two characters from Patricia Briggs’ Mercy Thompson and Alpha and Omega series centers on how Briggs reshapes old tales through her characters, their personalities, and aspects of their fictional lives. Richelle plans to attend the Denver Publishing Institute, a four-week summer program, after graduation and then hopes to find a job in the book-publishing field as a copyeditor. She would love to return to her home in Lorena, Texas. Ultimately, she wishes to save readers from the soul-crushing pain of seeing typos and grammatical mishaps in their favorite novels.