Chapter Nineteen

Winter, Year One

In the letter to his son, Nickolaus had described Klaus as "a child both regrettable and unfortunate". The letter, begun soon after Klaus's birth, went on to chronicle each disappointment felt by the father at the hands of his son. The letter's content was disparaging and sinister, and unsparing in criticism. Nickolaus even detailed Mara's death, which he attributed to her inability to cope with what she'd birthed and the shame she'd wrought upon her husband. Near the close of the letter, in summarizing Klaus's person, the older man had written that, instead of living to please his father as any good child would, his son was madly egotistical with a penchant for amoral behavior.

For Klaus, the opprobrium of his person was well merited, and he accepted the verbal beatings as a child accepting punishment for a wrong-doing. Rather, the pieces about his mother were the most difficult to process and, though his memories of her were hazy and few, he knew his father's descriptions to be entirely inaccurate. As a boy, Klaus had consistently pressed the village adults for details of her, and he could clearly recall many evenings at the feet of Marian's parents as they recounted her numerous qualities.

Though "tragic" was a word he'd heard many times in conjunction with her name, he more closely associated her with another frequented word: kind. His mother, Klaus knew, had been kind to a fault and the knowledge of her kindness had been the source of his epochal change in the aftermath of his expulsion from school. In being expelled he had distinctly felt, aside from fear, one central emotion: guilt. That particular night, as his father gripped the front of his shirt, their faces inches apart, strips of spittle clinging to Nickolaus's teeth, Klaus had been oblivious to the hatred and abhorrence painted across his father's visage. Instead, Klaus had only been able to see the same gold-colored eyes staring back at him, as if a mirror had been placed in front of his face. I'm becoming my father, he'd later realized, in recounting his callous mistreatment of the other students that had led to his inevitable expulsion.

The reasons behind his decision to alter his personality, mannerisms, and lifestyle were three part: first, he feared he would become his father, judgmental and cold; second, he was concerned that if he didn't change, his mother's passing would have been justifiable by Nickolaus's reasoning-that Mara's selfish and inconsiderate son had caused her death; and third, Klaus felt an unrequited desire for Nickolaus's love and approval, which could not be obtained in his current state.

From that day forward, Klaus strove to be kind to every person and to be welcomed in every society. All the years of torturous teachings were put to use, regardless of necessity. He bowed when he parted from company, held open doors, and kissed the back of the hands of ladies. He shook the hands of equals and un-equals alike, his marks at school were perfect, and he excelled in his musical studies. At times, when he felt he'd faltered, had let himself or someone else down, he would work until he couldn't discern scents and details were hazy from a lack of sleep. He would not let himself sleep past his alarm, no matter at what hour he'd slipped into bed. In moments of weakness, he needed only to remind himself of the content of his father's letter and his determination was renewed.

The change was almost instantaneous in all matters except for his affections toward women. The great, yawning absence of love that he felt, he tried to fill with sex. In his youth, he'd loved and made love to numerous girls, more than he cared to count. His love was transient, easily transferable, and entirely dependent on his mood. In practice, he was like a wolf stalking prey, imperceptibly slipping in and out of lives. He would wake up before his partner, dress in the dark, and leave before she could even stir. When she called him, he would pretend to not be available. He couldn't be tied down, the next woman was around the corner.

All of that changed with the letter. With the realization that his father did not love him, Klaus had forced himself to look inward and to think about all the people to whom he'd promised love and, with the exception of Marian, hadn't delivered. These painful memories had served to quell the fire of interest and, seemingly overnight, he developed an indifference to women. If a woman insinuated an attraction to him, he politely declined. "She's pretty" or "she's smart", he would think, and could admire them for their qualities, but he did not love them. He could not love them, he'd thought, until now.

The persistent thoughts of Minori, both positive and negative, had become irregular in nature, and were evident in his self-loathing, which had reached new, frightening levels because she inspired in him desire, both physically and mentally, despite his vigorous attempts to resist it. Yet, at times, he also felt an internal kindness as if he could, with her help, learn to forgive himself for his insufficiency and past mistakes. In her presence, he was both strong and weak, the peak of which he had experience during their encounter in the woods.

At the time, his intentions had been pure: he'd wanted only to act as her protector and to issue a warning meant to keep her from harm. Regardless of his aim, his demonstration had had several unforeseen consequences: mingled within the sweet smell of her hair and skin was the undeniable scent of excitement. Her arousal, combined with their close physical proximity and his own budding feelings, had instigated a physical reaction in himself. The feeling had followed him home and he found he could accomplish nothing, as the floral scent of her person continued to pervade his senses.

Now, in his father's home, the sun wavering along a distant and mountainous horizon, Klaus lay down on his bed, not bothering to slip beneath the blankets. With his arms crossed behind his head, he allowed his eyes to close, his thoughts still ricocheting around his brain.

Klaus could not escape the knowledge that he had feelings for Minori. They would follow him, even if he left the town, left the country, or left the planet. He again felt the ache of unrequited love, though he could not bear to present himself to Minori as a potential lover, for fear that she would actually accept him. If she did and if she asked him to open up to her, she would inevitably see the dark, disgusting parts of him that his father had pointed out all those years before. No matter what you do, or what you accomplish, you will always be filth. You're not even a true Wolffe, just a wolf, hairless with wolf-like eyes; a monstrosity.

The pieces of love and kindness that his mother had sewn so long ago were hazy memories, and he could only clearly recall the parts of his life that were distressing. The letter had been the final push toward change and self-awareness and, even at the young age of seventeen, Klaus had understood his feelings: he had been both saddened by and grateful for his father, because without Nickolaus's cruelty, Klaus might have become the very thing that he feared the most-his father.

[***]

In the quiet moments before dawn, Marian returned, the bottle of powders rattling in his pocket. He closed the door behind him and stamped his feet to shake the snow from his slippers. When he lifted his eyes toward the bedroom, his mouth partially opened, prepared to chastise Klaus for disobedience, he immediately stood still, all movement ceasing.

Laying on the bed was Klaus, dressed in his pajamas and sound asleep. His eyebrows were knitted together in concern and his breath came in ragged draws.

He must be having a nightmare, Marian thought as he crossed the room. He lifted the hair from Klaus's damp forehead to check for an irregular temperature. Nothing yet, but better safe than sick. Marian retrieved a quilt from the left-hand armoire and spread the blanket over his friend before creeping back to the front door and slipping soundlessly into the swirling white snow outside. Klaus, rolling onto his side, let out a sigh and continued to sleep, his dreams fragmented and frightening.