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| All content on this site, including but not limited to artwork, photos, written works, etc, unless states otherwise, are copyright to Melissa 'Mel' Miller 2002. Theft will result in immediate legal action. Buttons and banner text provided by www.flamingtext.com. |
| By Melissa 'Mel' Miller Chapter 3: Dealing With the Devil This story features original fanfic characters, which are characters of Melissa Miller, andcharacters from Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, which are trademarks of Sullivan Productions and CBS. This is an unauthorized work and no profit is being made on this work. This work is © of Melissa Miller 2001. If you'd like to archive this story somewhere, let me know first. Thanks. SPECIAL NOTE: Cherokee translations can be found att he end of this chapter. All at once, nashing fangs, horrific snarls and sneers, the fast decendence upon Hank Lawson in the form of four furry muscular beings, accompanied by both Hank and Wolf's startled cries arose in a speed and delerium of panic. Wolf, terrified, fled into the woods as the barkeep was knocked to his back, his gun firing a wild shot in the air before flying out of his hand, and he was crushed to the deathly cold forest floor, screaming and flailing, a beastly bloodied face of cold gold eyes and ivory sneering teeth snapping at him, coming just inches from its goal of ripping out his jugular and life as it were, when-- "HA-LE'!!" Anna's screamed command brought the potential carnage to a screetching hault, the furious, dizzying motion around them seising, and an abrupt, eery silence fell over the forest. Hank couldn't breathe. Wouldn't breathe. With the weight of the massive, mangled wolf upon him, its evil, toothy, deathly silent sneer just inches from his face, its heavy, taloned paws pinning him to the ground and his gun yards out of his reach, he was paralized with fear. His wide eyes were unable to see anything but the wolf. His ears, however, caught the only sound to be heard within their small, hellish world. "Don't... move," Anna whispered cautiously, almost inaudibly, and ridgedly frozen in place herself, "Please, Hank..... " For once, Hank Lawson did as he was told. There was a pause, and then- "Akita, He-tsi Hia galoque," The barkeep watched in brittle aw as, following the girl's stern yet silkly spoken demand, the grey-eyed pale-furred timberwolf to his right released its threatening grasp on Hank's boot-protected ankle, on cue. Padding over silently, the wolf obediantly, carefully, grappled Hank's Colt from the leaves on the ground with her teeth, walked gracefully over to Anna, dropping it at her feet. "Osda," Adrian thanked the wolf cooly, and, in one rueful swipe, chucked the gun into the river. Hank was in no position to argue. Adiran, the wolf she'd adressed as Akita at her side, walked over and removed the knife from its hiding place in the boot the wolf had pointed out and nearlly dismembered, slipping it into her belt before pacing back to her previous position, glaring coldly into Lawson's face. She looked him over with a peircing glare through long black lashes, her gray eyes incredibley bitter for a woman so young. Her expression was that of true complexity. Adrian's battered mind begged for her to let him die, for the need to know that she had rid the world of one lest Roach, but her heart cried out against the thought of another life being destroyed due to a fault of her own. Hank glared back up at her, a right awful mess, his blonde mane tangled, perspiration beading his forehead in panic. He tried to look macho, to make the anger he felt override the utter shock he was in, but his heaving ribcage, short of breathe and the pulsing in his temples belied him completely. The look of desperation within the barkeep's eyes, despite his identity, made Adrian's decision for her. She couldn't let him die. Not here, not now. After what seemed like an eternity, when Hank was sure that this moment of terrifying tension would be his last he, to his own rush of releif, heard the She Theif sigh. "Konner, Kallee, Kaidon," despite their snarling teethe and peircing, hating glares that threatened the barkeep's brutal demise, the three wolves' ears perked back towards Anna as their names were each called, followed by a bitterly spoken command. "Alas-gv-da gasohi." Hank watched in amazement as the hate litterally seemed to drain from the bodies of the two wolves at his sides. Though with no less a threat in their eyes, they backed up slowly, reaching Adrian's left and right flank, not once turning their backs to the heavily perspiring barkeep. "Kaidon!" Anna bit, moments later. Despite her command, the massive, sneering wolf that had Hank pinned to the floor within inches of his life had not moved in the least. The tension rose once more. "Gasohi!" Anna's voice was drenched in a paniced decible, but was emediately captured and torn back into a demeanor of dominence, "Kaidon, Gasohi! Kaidon!" Finally, with not even a hint of concern for the barkeep, let alone fear of the same, the badly battered brown wolf know as Kaidon stepped off of and away from him with galant, pompous strides, and the threat on Hank Lawson's life was released, leaving the lot of them to stand idle in a hallow, awkward silence. Seconds passed before Hank Lawson remembered to breathe. Knowingly out of the way of danger, he gasped for air. It had only then accured to him that he'd been holding it in the first place. He choked, lungs burning, the fire reds and yellows of the leaves on the trees above him spinning in a drunken flurry. Coughing, sputtering for air, he breathed in lungsfull, shaking his head, trying to regain his bearings. .... The view from above him came into sharp focus almost emediately as he finally came back to, his eyes blinking into focus, fluttering back like drawstring lampshades to let in the light. His blue eyes turned cold as his vision fell upon the saultry shape of a haunched-over, dispicabley smug Adrian Anna Leigh. Wolfen companions standing not too far behind her, the girl was haunced over him, smartly just out of arm's reach, and wearing a smirk deviant enough to slap the hell out of. Hank glowered... The bitch was wearing his hat! Adrien unsuccessfully tried to smother a grin as she spoke at the fuming, mean-faced barkeep, pulling his worn black hat over one eye coyly and strattling the man where she stood, "The workman's compensation deal, Lawson, is off. I ain't your damned whore, pops. Ain't gonna be owned by any of you stinkin' cowboys, no matter how damned bad you think you are. I let you live, now I don't owe you jack," She knealed in closer, her auburn locks nearlly brushing him in the face, poking him in the chest roughly, her voice tinged with haughty malice, "And you might want to listen to me this time, cowboy, got me? Pick up your shit and leave." Any other time- in any other instance at all- the look of sheer, unadulturated anger thet contorted the face of a man Lawson's sized would have scared the living hell out of Adrian. But now she was on an adrenalin high to beat all others, and they both knew why... He'd lossed ... she'd won. With no more then a flick of her hair, she gathered her fallen knapsack and pelt in arms. As the click of her tongue that sent her wolfen packmates trailing at her heals, Adrian turned and left the fuming barkeep grimacing in the leaf litter. ***************************************** "Theres something suffocatingly soul crushing about watching the life slowly drain from the last bit of symbolism to your own humanity that you've managed to keep hold of... to watch your soulmate, your best friend die as the seconds tick away, and theres nothing you can do to grab her soul from the body its so desperately trying to leave and mend it back in place- no matter how strongly you wish it were possible..... Its a prolongued suffering- for you, selfish as it is, as well as for the soulmate who's bane in life is life its self. You wish nothing more then for that agony to stop... but for the suffering to end, you'll lose your closest friend on earth. Who would ever ask for a double-edged sword like this? Its a joke of a choice. Hell, it isn't a choice at all. It must be so horrible for her... To have to live every waking moment wondering, would the pain get any worse? How could it possibley get any worse? ... and when it does, you cry. You cry for your helplessness, you cry for those who feel your pain.... you cry for God to take you. Why has he not yet let you free? I'm not sure how much more I can take of this. She's dying, Maudry. I'm so ungodly scared that she's going to leave me- that I'm going to be alone out here. She's all I have left of you. The last bit of tangable memories, the last bit of my past. I always thought my past was something I wanted to rid of entirely. To push away, to forget... but God, I can't lose her, Maudry, I can't lose you..... An infection's set in. I'm not entirely sure, as I'm not really the doctoring type, but I think its the infection. Things are so swolen and red now, It's carnage gone from bad to worse. Caked and gored and dark 'round the edges. The wounds just don't look right anymore... She's in so much pain, Maudry. It hurts too badly to stand, yet I'm sure I'll never see her again if she lies down. Her eyes are so sad, so pained. It feels like my heart is being torn clear from my chest every second that that god damned infection further tears her soul from her body. Gives it back to the forest... takes her away from me. I can't lose her- what if I lose her? Please, Maudry... Please tell me what to do..." Charcoal letters on faded gray parchment catch tears and run beyond recognittion before the inward pleas are hidden from all but the helpless soul who bore her weakness within the folds of a ragged leather-bound diary. Uncurling herself from her perch on a fallen tree stump, Adrian grimaced as her grief-racked sides twisted with pain from hours of supressed grief. Adrian was truelly at a loss. For all of the confidence she'd had just hours before hand, the discovery of Spirit's infection had sent her pompous granduer spiralling southward, hitting rock botton and getting the hell kicked out of her the entire way down. Wiping a red, puffy-eyed face with an already tear-stained coat sleeve, Adrian finally stood, sniffling and breathing in deep, leaving the solace of her diary and seemingly endless stream of tears behind her yet again, and, bare feet on the cool earthen ground, strode with all of the confidence she could muster, back to Spirit's side. Somehow Adrian knew her psuedo confidence didn't fool the watchful eyes of her friend. Spirit knew better, knew what was happening, knew the reality of her pain... Knew she was dying. That was what tore at Adrian the most... that a creature so innocent must know what it was like to be dying... The breath-taking Spirit, a horse brilliant and bold by nature and beautiful, almost ghostly in appearence, seemed to be withering by the minute. The horse, a paint horse, with patches of mahogany on a fur coat of white that was now marred by ugly, seething wounds, seemed tepid and ridgedly tense. Movement was agony for her now, as the gashes were raunchy and infected. The galliant horse's entire demeanor seemed to droop pitifully. She didn't even dare move enough to shoo away the flies that seemed to culminate at her open, fleshy side, now. Something in the back of Adrian's head told her that that was the worst sign of them all. She ignored that 'something' as best she could. It was only a night... The wounds had been fine before I'd left for town yesterday! Adrian reccollected, feeling horrible, trembling hands mopping locks away from crying eyes. She couldn't help but hate herself. Chide her own stupidity... She should never have left Spirit last night. She should never have left her friend here alone.... She hated herself for having done so. Dipping a scrap of linen in a bloody wattered pan nearby, and slowly, delicately, working a cleaning the wounds once more, Adrian cursed the Barkeep for everything he was worth. She cursed him for keeping her in town over night. She cursed herself angrily for not having tried to escape earlier, despite her own unexpected wounds... ... and she cursed the panther... cursed the bastard animal in every way she knew how... Damning it bitterly, in english and native Cherokee tongue alike... She cursed that same mangey, clawfilled animal demon that had landed the lot of Adrian and her pack to be stuck camping here in Colorado Springs in the first place. The same wretched beast that had attacked Spirit as Adrian and the pack had rode just a little to close to the soulless creature's den... The same monster cat that the pack had mounted seconds later in a vicious, bloody fight in defense for Adrian's life... and it was that same worthless beast she cursed who's hide- or rather, what Adrian could salvage of its shredded former self, was drying in the sun, a symbol of victory over evil, back at Adrian's camp... Poor Kaidon would never be the same, Adrian grimaced, as she set her soiled, bloody cloth back in the pan. The wolf had taken the brunt of the Panther's wrath, and his face had the marks to show it. Adrian had thought he was dead at first when she'd finally managed to get to him. Although he was alive, abliet barely, his face was so horribley mangled that it was unlikely he'd ever heal enough to again resemble the dark, beautiful creature he's once been. Adrian had done all she could possibly do for Spirit's vicious near-slaughter wounds now. The infection ran deep- far beyond anything that her limited knowledge of cherokee herbal remedies could touch. The most she could do now was wait and pray.... Pray for peice of mind. For Strength. Pray for a miracle, no doubt. Lord only knew that was what it would take if poor Spirit was ever to survive this... if she was ever going to survive the possibility of life without her. Anna nuzzeld her horse, holding Spirit close, trying to look past the animal's grief stricken blue eyes, stroking her veltet pink nose instead. She felt her heart twist painfully. Would she ever be able to let Spirit go, even after she was gone? Adrian doubted it entirely, and sighed in efforts to rid herself of the grieving tightness in her chest. "I'll be back, girl," Adrian then left Spirit, despite the desperite longing in the horse's eyes, and toggled over a leafy knull, wading through furns and bushes, back towards camp. She really only could take so much of this nightmare of potential loss, and needed to get away from it for now, even if just for a moment. She found her place on the pelt of the rabid panther, and sat, pointedly oblivious to the world- tired, aching, her head still pounding at a low null from the blow she'd recieved the night previous. Adrian rested back on both arms, her fingers weaving into the fur beneath her. Her head leaned back, grey eyes piercing through the firey folliage above, she did her all to take every thought, every worry that raced though her skull, grip it, and push it all away. She reveled in the cool tinge of the breeze that floated over her skin in its sing song voice. The beauty of her wilderness surroundings embraced her. She needed that comfort. Adrian was completely alone for the first time in months... Spirit was out of sight, across the way, even though Adrian could still hear her labored breathing. The pack was off somewhere, lord only knew where, as she'd shooed them off earlier, knowing that they'd needed the freedom in the woods for awhile. The near-kill with Lawson had gotten their adrenaline pumping to a dangeroulsy high measure. For as much atuned and respected as she and the wolves were within each other's presence, the pack were still animals, still surging with instinct and bloodlust- still deadly. Adrian knew this, and respected it. They deserved the time away, more then anything, though. They'd risked so much for her, so many times.... and.... and.... Something in Adrian's line off sight caught her attention, suddenly, jarring her senses back to full allert... She couldn't emediately grasp what it was that had shooken her back to... that had startled her. Gut instinct, however, told her that something was different then before... something oddly out of place, something... Oh no... Adrian could have sworn her heart skipped a beat there and then. Her stomach lurched, her eyes widened. She was on her feet in an instant, her tears stopped just as quickly, caught up in the form of a horrid cramp in the pit of her stomach. She epitomized panic in a cold sweat as slowly, painfully slowly, her eyes fixiated on their wanton target, dead ahead. A withering peice of parchment, tanned from use, its corners twitching in the breeze, hung haphazardly from a tree just feet in front of her... Of all things, this had not been there before... She knew this campsite, knew every leave and pebble of it by sight alone, and this wanton invasion, that of the rogue parchment, had deffinatley never been there before... and now, speared with a hunting knife into the bark of the old oak, it sent the oddest mix of fear and resentment into play that Adrian had ever experienced. She knew exactly what it was... Anna stared at it glassily, her chest thrumming, for the longest of tense moments, and then... "Just how long have you been playing me for a fool, Lawson?" Adrian spoke causticly. Her senses no longer boggled with grief, her panic in check, she could feel resentment seep icely into her blood, as well as the presence of someone else behind her. "How long do you think?" the smokey voice came from behind her, from suprisingly close, in a cocky, brassy aire. With it came the cauking of a Colt. "'Wanted, The infamous 'inidentified' Colorado territory Bar Theif... Reward, five hundred dollars'," Hank mocked the simplicity of the Wanted poster he'd likely been in posession of for months. There was a pause. Adrian shivered, and resisted shying away for the sake of what little of her pride and confidence she had left. Just above the cold steel jab of a hang gun pressed to her spine, Adrian could feel the barkeep breathing on her neck. "Thats five hundred dollars in the bank doll, and here you come, walkin' right to my own damned doorstep. You think I'd let an opportunity like that just run off like you did this mornin'?" The voice made its way to her ear, and Adrian finally flinched. Something in that alone seemed to satisfy the lanky barkeep. The barrel of the Colt left her back, "Turn Around." Adrian paled considerabley. Turning, head throbbing, fists clenched, she litterally had to step back in order to be able to peer up at the tall man in the face with an incredulous, frustrated glare. Without the presence of her pack beside her, she was completely and totally screwed. "Looks like we have a little bit off a situation here, now, don't it?" Hank Lawson looked dispicabley pleased with himself. His blue eyes were glinting behind the tawny locks that had fallen into his face as he looked down at Adrian with a type of sly amusement that made her wish she were in the position to knock his coneiving block off. ... And she nearlly made move to do so, when she spotted the Colt he had held low, abliet aimed at her abdomen, in case she did anything stupid. Adrian glowered. She supposed five hundred bucks *would* be worth wading around in an icey river in a needle-in-a-haystack search for his handgun. She made note to kick herself later for not having properlly disposed of the bullets. "There's two ways we can work this, doll," Hank, at this point, was stalking around Adrian like a big, lumbering cat. Anna stayed fixiated firmly in place, glaring at the man through the corners of wary eyes, contomplating making a run for it, despite the gun. "One," Lawson pressed on, "You stick with our initial deal, you work for me until the damages," Hank snatched the parchmant from its place on the tree, and held it in his fist, "Five hundred dollars worth've damage h's met its due. 'S long as yer at the Nugget, this-," the parchment rustled, "-Never happened, no questions asked." "Forget it," Adrian bit sharply, imediately, cutting Hank off, panicked and infuriated, and confused all the more, "No way... in hell." She took off the barkeep's widerimmed hat and threw it asside resolutely, spinning around on her heals. She should have known there was more to this coneiving Roach then met the eye... he was just like the rest... money-hungrey, heartless, scheming... She was through here, through with his devilish deals, through with him, "Goodbye, Hank." "Don't walk, Adrian," Hank's voice bit with warning at her back as she stormed away. Dispite the warning, She didn't slow. Hank sighed, "Stop, Anna! Dammit, Girl--" "Get bent, Lawson!" Adrian barely yelled the words when Hank fired his gun in a wild shot in the air. Her entire demeanor crumbled as she shrieked at the ear-piecring shot behind her, her heart lurching in her chest. She stood frozen and ridged, eyes wide, hands guarding her ears from the deafening noise, tensed, fearful, and still long enough for the towering barkeep to snatch her vehemately by the wrist, his rather violent expression over road completely by Adrian's fixiation on the gun he held in the opposite hand. "Its your call, Anna, " Hank baited lethally, "Its with me, or I drag yer ass back into town, turn you in, get my reward money, and thats that. No fuss on my part, no quest'ns asked," his blue eyes peirced her gray, "You, on the otherhand, 'll be left to tryin' to talk your way outta a nuse." Adrian's head swam at this. Her knees puddy, she jerked out of Hank's grasp, moving to grapple the nearby tree instead in fear of losing her balance completely. Her mind was a flurry of conflicted thoughts and mad panicked notions. How had it come to this? How in THE hell had one damned rabid cat lead her to such a joke of a pitchforked trail? And left with what- the option of choosing between death or slavery? What sort of pitiful excuse for a choice was that? The thought of facing a sheriff, of facing her mounting legal charges, or the possibility of death... It was inconceivable. Impossible. What chance did an ex-whore theif have in her defense against a history of stealing to survive? The local sheriff could very well physically hang her with her wrap sheet alone... She'd never get out of it. Grant it, she'd pleaded and fought for her life on more then one occassion before with menial success... yet, at least *then* it had been on her own terms, or if anything, on the raw end of a buisness deal gone increadibly, dangerously sour... Now however, somehow, past trials by fire in the custody of a barkeep seemed far more promising then the threat of a nuse in the arms of the law... While Lawson peered down at her coldly where she sat, glaring at her with his raucious victory preen - Adrian having collapsed southward to regain her bearings- a sinking feeling of dreaded premmonition was weaseling its way into the pit of Adrian's stomach. She knew which trail she had to follow- knew the only road she could take that had any possibility of escape in the end. Adrian knew, all right, and was begining to feel wickedly naucious... The moment of deafening silence spread out between them, the sounds of nature over riding everything, the call of the wind filling the gaps in between the two in a stagnant, tepid air. Adrian finally broke the silence. "I ain't.... 'entertainin'," she spat the latter word with lethal malady, rubbing her pulsing temples, then shooting a meloncholy glance in the barkeep's direction, wanting to know little of his reaction to her speech. Hank scoffed, "If you ain't entertainin' How in hell d' you expect to be makin' any money?" "I can tend bar, tend house, tend stable... whatever it takes," She looked straight up into Hank Lawson's face, "But I can tell you right now, if you're lookin' for me to head back to that booze fest you've got runnin' back in town and whore myself out, then you might as well be introducing me to the sheriff... or just fuckin' shoot me here. Get it over with." "Christ," Hank looked to the sky in annoyed exaspiration. For everything he was worth he didn't want to see this girl at the wrong end of a nuse. She was too damn young, running, scared. He'd had no intention of tossing the girl into a jailcell to await the gallows, although the reward was rediculously tempting. Reguardless, as hard and mean spirited as he could be, it simply wasn't in him to contribute to the murder of a lady, for anything short of murder. Lord only knew what the hell she was running from. Nothing good, no doubt. Hank had known she was the warrented 'bar theif' from the second he's caught her rummaging behind his bar at the Nugget, had known the money she was worth.... He'd also figured she'd be easily wrenched into working for him if he had the threat of turning her into the sherrif hanging over her head... However, he entirely hadn't recconed on the girl being so damned stubborn... or, apperently, educated in what goes on in a brothel enough to shun the idea with repulsed refusal, even against the threat of hanging. Adrian tensed for a moment, trying with everything that she was worth to read the placid, somewhat dark expression on Lawson's face, and then sighed heavily, giving him a look of utter perplexity all of her own, "Well, there, Cowboy? What'll it be?" Her voice sounded exausted. There was a peculiar twinge in Hank's features as he looked down at her- an odd break in his usual defensive malice. Head tilted somewhat, peircing blue eyes in a scrutinizing squint, he seemed to be studying Adrian's so deeply that she flushed, shied, and looked away. "A whore on the run." The deviant novelty of such an idea almost made Hank laugh. Yet the more he thought about it, the explaination was plain as day. What other explaination for this stubborn bar rat could there be? Adrian winced... He was reading her like a blasted book. Recoiling, more so inwardly then out, she shot him a ruthlessly defensive glare, "Just answer the question, Hank! Can I or can I not be workin' for you without entertainin', 'cause if thats what's required," She breathed in deep, "I'd rather. Be. Dead." It was Hank who looked away at that. He couldn't just take her in without a deffinate chance for revenue- what in the hell was he thinking? His broad shoulders heaved in a sigh. Adrian Anna Leigh was turning into more trouble then she was worth... but what was he to do? Let her run off and get herself caught again? Turned in and hung? Raped? Killed? It wasn't right. "You're gettin' soft, old man," Hank thought to himself finally, his frame again heaving in a frustrated sigh as he tooked down placidly at Adrian's determined yet obviously scared face. "Allright. Get yer stuff," He finally spoke alloud, "I reckon we'll work something out," his voice sounding odd, as if his current resolute was totally against the grain for him. Adrian, standing, watching the man with sheer perplexity as he shook his head and turned for his horse, was willing to bet that it was... she only hoped the quirk in character would be enough to aid her in asking him for help... "There is one thing..." Adrian bit cautiously. Hank halted, mid-mount. One foot on Hurricane's sturrup, a hand on the saddle's horn. He squinted suspiciously, "What 'One Thing.'?" |
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