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a w a k e

THERE WAS SOMETHING alluring about music. It was that finely woven net of melody, harmony and rhythm that you could just shut your eyes and sink into, forgetting both the passing of time and the worries of reality until the song was finally over.

Brooke never liked being in the limelight. But three times a week, when she donned her mask and stood on the small stage, she'd forget all about her aversion to being the center of everyone's attention.

That was what the Nightingale was good at.

And tonight was no different.

The lilting chords of the piano reverberated around the diner as she pitched her voice a little higher. From beneath hooded eyelids, she swept a glance across the crowd. Most of her audience were men, although she spotted a few familiar faces. Old Maude, who ran the diner-turned-bar at night. A couple of waitresses who stayed to grab a drink or two. Her gaze clung to them for a moment, finding relief in familiarity, before she swiveled her attention back to the main crowd.

Eventually, the song spiraled into a steady diminuendo until the last strains of the melody faded away. The crowd erupted into applause. More whistles, more catcalls. She couldn't help noticing that the number of patrons on her performance nights had increased over the past month. Some were regular customers from the Wharf, but others were strangers. Probably from the other towns nearby. Or even from the city, if they bothered to drive all the way up here.

Anxiety gnawed at her and she let out a breath. Focus, she told herself. Finish it.

With a sultry smile, Brooke set the microphone back onto the stand and moved off stage. There was a small storage area beyond the kitchen that she used as a makeshift dressing room. She hurried towards it, only to falter when she noticed the customers that had taken residence by the narrow hallway. It was impossible to miss the leering expressions on their faces. The multiple shot glasses on their table suggested that they had plenty to drink and she steeled herself.

"Good show tonight," one of the men said. He held up his glass in a mock salute, seeming less tipsy than his companions. "That last song was a lovely number."

She tilted her head in brief acknowledgement. "Thank you."

"That dress you're wearing is a lovely number too," drawled another man. He had his hand wrapped around her arm before she could move away and she could smell the whiskey on his breath. "Stay here awhile and we'll show you a good time, sweetheart."

She stiffened under his iron grip and fought to keep calm. What she really wanted to do was to wrench her arm away and run upstairs. Her dad would be watching one of those old sitcoms on his television. One quick word from her and he'd lug his gun down to shoot the balls off this man.

But as a general rule, the Nightingale did not interact with the crowd. She was all poise and finery. Men like this one were beneath her. Brooke had worked so hard to create this image for herself that she couldn't destroy it. She couldn't show this man that his actions had scared her.

She'd shown her fear once. Never again.

"No, thank you," she said steadily. She pulled away from his grasp and turned towards the hallway, but he blocked her path with one quick stride.

"Come on, we'll treat you real nice - "

"Gentlemen." A dry voice sliced through the tension. Brooke almost sagged in relief when Maude stepped up and shot the men a hard look. "Our Nightingale is now off her shift and she has plenty else to do tonight. You have a good evening and be sure to come back for her next show."

Brooke felt a pointed nudge from Maude. She didn't hesitate. Without so much as a backward glance, she swept off down the hallway. It wasn't until she was inside the dressing room that she allowed herself to relax.

With a sigh, she leaned against the door and peeled off her mask. Sometimes, she couldn't decide if the Nightingale was a good or a bad thing. It certainly helped her fall back on something she was familiar with and the tips were always plenty. But she was tired. Tired of always hiding behind a mask. Tired of men showing more interest in what they thought her mouth could do than what beautiful music came out of it.

She blinked rapidly to keep the frustrated tears at bay and shoved the mask into her bag. She was in the midst of buttoning up her coat when Maude stepped into the room.

"Alright there, honey?"

No. But the opposite left her lips in a heartbeat. "Yes." She straightened and threw the old woman a grateful smile. "And thank you for what you did earlier."

"Oh, don't let those bastards get to you." Maude waved her gratitude off. "There are more bad men than good ones these days, and we've got plenty of those bad ones coming in from the city. I've been thinking of hiring a bouncer lately. God knows we need one with all the violent drunks we get."

Brooke blew out a nervous breath. "It didn't used to be like this."

"Course not. But word gets around about a pretty girl called the Nightingale who sings on weekend nights. Plus the food is good and drinks are cheap. Those young men were bound to come running into our town sooner or later." The old woman grabbed another crate of vodka and threw Brooke a glance. "You should reach. Don't settle. With a voice like yours, you're bound to go places."

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," she said with a laugh, tugging the strap of her bag onto her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow night, then?"

"Tomorrow. You stay away from the alleys, you hear?"

"Yes, of course." Brooke gave the old woman a quick hug. "Have a good night."

After hearing Maude bid her the same, Brooke left the building and stepped out into the cold. Pulling the hood of her coat over her head, she took a deep breath and took the usual route back to the cabin, remembering to keep near the streetlights. It had been this way for awhile now - an uneasy wariness she felt after her night shifts at the Lighthouse, a prickle down her spine that made her feel like someone was watching her, only when she glanced over her shoulder, there was no one at all.

It was no different tonight. After a backward glance where she saw nothing but shadows and an empty street, she tugged her coat tighter around herself and blinked back the cold that stung her eyes. The town was so close to the woods that she wondered if the wind had picked up a distant howl from somewhere and the thought of that made her shiver.

"Stop imagining things," she whispered to herself and picked up her pace.

By the time she got home, Argos was the only one awake. He came bounding up to her when she opened the front door, his tail wagging madly. Smiling, she bent down and dropped a quick kiss onto his head, scratching him by the scruff of his neck. "Hi, baby," she greeted softly, before straightening to shrug out of her coat.

Leaving it draped on the rack, she followed Argos into the living room, where she found her father snoozing soundly on the couch. He'd insisted on keeping an eye on the wolf while she was at the Lighthouse, and she'd left Argos with him for good measure. The wolf was still lying in front of the fireplace and she was relieved to see that he hadn't moved from its position since.

Good. At least he wasn't a threat - yet.

After leaving her bag on the counter, she turned to locate a blanket for her father, but then Argos unexpectedly jumped up on his lap and he bolted awake. "Lynnie?" he mumbled, scrubbing sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand as he stared up at her blearily.

"Hey, Dad." She smiled and took several steps closer, until she was perched on the edge of the couch. "Do you want to sleep in the guest room?"

"No, that's alright." He stretched and climbed to his feet. "I should get back. We've got a new stock coming in at the Lighthouse tomorrow and I have to be there."

Brooke nodded and followed him to the front door. "I'll walk you back."

"Walk me back?" He tossed her an incredulous look over his shoulder as he pulled his jacket off the counter. "How old do you think I am - ninety?"

"Getting there, old man." She laughed and reached up to peck his cheek. "Night, Dad. Call me when you get back."

"You'd better be in bed by the time I do."

She shook her head and smiled, watching him head down the same path she'd came from. Worry still gnawed at her. This was a small town. Any scream or shout could wake half the residents and send them running to help. But it still didn't seem safe enough. She kept an eye on her father until he'd disappeared past the corner.

Then she shut the door and headed back to the living room. The wolf was still sprawled in front of the fireplace. He seemed knocked out cold and she wondered if it was safe to check on his wounds. She darted a glance at Argos, who was staring at the wolf with an overall air of suspicion, and decided to risk it.

After stoking the fire, she knelt down next to the wolf. "Okay," she murmured, reaching for his broken leg. Blood had seeped through the gauze and it was time to wrap a new one. "Let's hope you don't wake up just yet."

She held the wolf's paw in one hand as she unraveled the gauze with care. It was rather frightening how large his paw was. He seemed powerful and intimidating even while unconscious. She tugged aside the last bit of gauze, prepared to see ripped stitches and a newly opened wound.

What she didn't expect to see was a healed leg.

"What the hell?" she breathed, staring down at the leg in stunned surprise.

She was no vet, definitely, but no animal could heal that quickly. Certainly not one that had its leg utterly broken to the point where she could see bone and muscle sticking right out at an awkward angle mere hours ago.

After she bandaged his leg again, she glanced down at the wolf. "Hopefully your shoulder and back are no longer a train-wrecks too."

Pushing herself up, she settled on the other side of the wolf to get a better glimpse of its back. True enough, the split knobs of its spine were no longer visible, blood matting the fur that had slowly but surely sealed itself back up. Not the best condition, but still - it was remarkable how quickly the wolf seemed to heal.

It was easier now that the injuries on its back were healing on their own, so she made quick work of disinfecting the open wounds and applying a fresh layer of antiseptic and ointment across its spine. The antiseptic clearly stung because the wolf suddenly tensed, its canines bared and a low growl ripping from its throat as its back arched in pain.

Brooke gasped and Argos was on his feet in seconds, but she held out a hand to placate her dog. The wolf's sudden movement had taken her by surprise because she wasn't expecting it, but its eyes were still shut and he didn't seem like he was about to attack - yet.

"It's alright, Argos," she patted her dog briefly before focusing on the situation at hand.

The wolf's back was still arched as fresh blood ripped at the newly healed seams, and its canines were frighteningly sharp, definitely meant for ripping its prey to shreds. She hadn't noticed it until now, but one side of its face was clearly scarred - random lines cut in deep that prevented the fur from ever growing in properly - and she couldn't help but wonder what kind of wild fight the wolf had been in to come out looking like that.

"Hey, it's okay," she said softly, placing a gentle hand on the wolf's matted fur and brushing her fingers against its neck, while keeping her other hand steady on its back to make sure the antiseptic was applied on. "I know it hurts, but it's going to be okay."

The wolf stilled and so did she, suddenly anxious as she saw its ears prick up at the sound of her voice. For a moment, she wondered if it was finally going to wake and she half thought of grabbing the gun her father had left for her earlier. But then the wolf relaxed, mouth slowly shutting and canines disappearing, and she let out a sigh of relief.

"That's it," she whispered, smiling a little when she felt the wolf arch up into her touch. "You're going to be alright."

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The sound of familiar barking woke her the next morning.

For a few seconds, Brooke stared up at the ceiling, blinking the sleep away from her eyes. Argos always did like to wake her, especially when it was a bright, sunny day and all she wanted to do was sleep in. He, on the other hand, adored morning walks along the pier and barking at every seagull that flew past.

Reluctantly, she dragged herself out of bed, stuffed her feet into her slippers and slowly made her way to the bathroom. After making quick work of freshening up, she left the room, running an arbitrary hand through her hair and feeling her fingers catch onto the knots at the end.

"Argos," she called, stifling a yawn as she rounded the corner in search for her dog and tryingnot to wince when his barking grew louder. "Could you please not - "

And then she froze when she caught sight of the huge mass of grey fur standing in the middle of the living room.

"Oh, shit!"

Her breath caught in her throat and she took several abrupt steps back, feeling fear race down her spine when she noticed that the wolf's eyes were following her every move. Argos was still barking madly, but the wolf didn't seem at all fazed, its tail pointed up and ears pricked. In fact, with its tall posture and large size combined, it seemed completely capable of snapping her dog into two if it tried.

"Argos!" she whispered, trying not to make any loud noises or sudden movement. Who knew what would trigger the wolf? "Argos, come here!"

Argos ignored her and kept barking, circling the wolf in suspicion. Brooke's gaze darted to her room, where she'd left the door ajar. From here, she could see the dark shape of the gun that her father had left with her just the night before.

Should she shoot it?

But then a sudden growl had her eyes snapping back to the living room again. The sound hadn't come from Argos, but from the wolf - a decidedly aggressive and threatening one, and Brooke watched in dismay when her dog backed down immediately. Seriously, she'd had endless trouble trying to stop him from barking at arbitrary shadows, but one growl from this wolf and Argos was tucking tail between his legs and docilely curling up on the carpet like a good little dog.

"Argos," she hissed. "Get over here and - "

The rest of her sentence lodged in her throat when the wolf took a step towards her.

Oh no.

A panicked breath escaped her. Her heart slammed in her chest and her eyes darted to the bedroom again. The gun was right there. She just needed to outrun the wolf these few steps and slam the door shut to lock him out. Or lock herself in.

But just as she was about to run back into her room, grab the gun and shoot the wolf once and for all, the wolf took a decisive step back. Lowering both its head and tail in a manner that almost seemed like it was retreating, it kept its dark eyes still fixed on her.

And let out a faint but unmistakable whine.

Brooke blinked. "Did you just - "

- whine? She wanted to ask, but the word froze on the tip of her tongue when she realised how pointless her question was when it was an animal she was talking to. But the sound surprised her. She could understand the growling - wolves were aggressive and territorial creatures.

But a whine?

Argos's head had perked up at the sound and Brooke watched in disbelief as her dog began to wag his tail, ears pricked as he looked at the wolf. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room had taken a turn from downright hostility to enthusiastic friendliness and she wasn't too sure what to make of it.

Although, it wasn't the worst thing for Argos to lethis guard down. Maybe that meant that the wolf wasn't a threat, right?

She bit her lip. "Alright," she whispered to herself, gathering every ounce of courage within her. "I can do this."

Her Dad had taught her once not to look a wild animal in the eye or it would be seen as a form of provocation. So, keeping her eyes averted, she moved forward slowly, one step at a time, making sure to keep the wolf in her peripherals in case of any wayward attack. But it stood entirely still, and she couldn't quite shake the feeling that it was waiting for her to approach.

She was close enough now. If the wolf chose to attack her, she'd be dead in seconds. Taking a deep breath, she held out a shaking hand. "Don't bite me, okay?"

It took everything in her to remain still while the wolf sniffed the back of her hand. She could feel its breath on her skin, a hesitant press of its nose against her fingertips. Then the wolf lowered its head just so, before pressing upwards into her palm so that her hand was resting on its head.

"Oh, thank God!" She exhaled in relief and let out a little laugh. Assurance swept through her and she stroked his head in feather-light brushes. The wolf arched up into her touch and her smile widened. "I'm glad you like me. For a moment there, I thought I was going to have to shoot you right after I saved you."

She brought her hand down to rub him by the neck, in the same way that she knew Argos liked. The wolf leaned closer still and, fascinated by his response, she knelt down next to him. His eyes followed her movement but he didn't pull away. Up close, his irises were darker than she expected. So dark that they reminded her of the sky at night when it was bereaved of stars, and they seemed to drag her right in.

The thought of that surprised her. She turned her attention to the feel of his fur beneath her fingers instead. It was nothing like Argos's. The coarse strands sifted through her fingertips and the gray tint was never fixed. It swept across his body, light in some places and darker in others. She traced the lighter path of gray down to his injured leg until she grazed the edge of the gauze.

"Okay,"she murmured, tugging on the tape. "Let's see how those wounds are coming along."

Keeping her movements slow so as not to alarm it, she unwrapped the gauze around its leg, surprised that the wolf kept unexpected passive while she inspected its wounds. Oddly enough, it didn't seem to be concerned with what she was doing, keeping its gaze steadily fixed on her instead.

Fresh scars had formed around the bullet wound on his shoulder and down the ridges of his spine, but none of the stitches had ripped. His hind leg was still bent a little at an awkward angle and she figured he'd probably be limping for awhile. But other than that, he was healing splendidly. It was still unsettling how accelerated the healing process was.

She shoved that thought aside and sat back on her heels. "There you go," she said, brushing a hand over the gauze along the wolf's back. "In a couple of days, you'll be as good as new. And then you can go back into the wild. Until then - "

She paused and observed the wolf for a moment or two, absentmindedly scratching its neck in a way it seemed to like. Maybe it was bad form of her to get so quickly attached to an animal that she was going to release back into the wild after only a few days, but she couldn't help it. She'd done the same for Argos before.

Give it a home; give it a name.

" - I think," she mused at last, a tiny smile flitting across her face when a fitting name suddenly came to mind. "I'll call you Diego."