They meet her signs of peace with their language of war. Large canines exposed with the curl of lip, noses scrunched tight. Ears flattened, not in submission. Shoulder muscles twitching excitedly to jump. Tails straight out. My Wild is watching all this posturing as she starts to give her own snarl back to them. If they want war, she can do exactly what they are doing. Stiff leg stance, her snarl of menace is just as fierce. This won’t be an easy fight, she’s telling them as she flashes her war of sharp white teeth.
She’s taking all of them into her brain, trying to memorize who they are as she lifts a nose to smell scents in the air.
A large male approaches, more ferocious than the others. A female on his right, her head angling underneath his neck every so often. Paws turning up the snow, grey fur stained in blood. They both have eaten their fill with the way their stomachs are bloated out.
This is the most hostile environment we have ever been in.
She crouches down instead of holding her form high. The alpha has taught her that lesson of hierarchy. Do not challenge a wolf you can’t beat.
The closer the pair gets, the more she starts to panic slightly. They smell wild, full of the savage nature they come from. I notice a few scents of others like me, but they pay the wolf no mind, concentrating on eating the fresh kill.
The leading pair approach cautiously, eyes regarding a new female that wants to enter the pack. The male putting his nose up against the fur, running it down the side until it’s pressed firmly underneath the Wild’s tail, taking her scent into his nose.
The female leader does the same thing, having a good sniff of the female parts. Both of them give another snarl but don’t abuse us in any way.
The Wild takes it as a cue that it’s okay to approach the kill sight. All heads turn her way in a wall of snarl and fang, which has her backing up, away from the threat. She’s hungry and wants what they have. The only problem is they are also hungry, and they earned that right to eat.
The first wolf rushes us, biting into our shoulder once we get too close for their liking. They will not share, and their teeth hurt when they bite.
It’s a long night of watching them eat pound after pound of flesh. Once all members of the pack have eaten, the Wild takes her chance, tearing into what remains, nothing but bone and a few pieces of meat clinging to the edges.
It’s not enough to satisfy the hunger.
Another day turns to three and nothing has been eaten. The pads of the Wild’s feet are bruised and bleeding with the way the snow freezes to it, cutting into the skin. The fur looks rough and mangled.
The Wild is welcomed in the pack but only on the edge, the periphery.
She spends the days watching the juveniles practice pouncing on the mice in the deep snow. The Wild puts her muzzle on the trail like they do, sniffing out their hiding places—finally figuring it out and relishing in the crunch of our first real kill.
It doesn’t take long for the mouse population to suffer underneath her jaws. These little bites have sustained her throughout the long weeks.
The pack refuses to let her hunt the big game with them, only allowing her to watch on the sidelines.
Days and nights slowly go by as she learns from these wolves how to be a wolf. It’s not all teeth and claws, it’s licking, rubbing up against each other, it’s family looking out for one another. It’s companionship that makes her heart happy and mine.
Listening to their language, it’s beautiful songs they sing at night to the moon. She even sings and no one is there to laugh at her. She is free to be who she is—a wild wolf.
Blizzards roll in, ice storms entombing the trees in clear sheets of crystal.
I’m really not sure how long I’ve been out here, but I know the way the moon was on the first night out here. The Wild has lost a lot of weight, but she’s still surviving.
All the while she learns to start hunting with the pack. At first, they only let her observe, but today they are having her join them. No longer the juvenile that gets too excited by moving things, she understand that this is for survival.
She has to eat; it’s not an option anymore.
The hunt takes her over miles of terrain, slowly wearing down the bull moose through deep snow. She watches as the wolves circle it, doing her part to close in, tightening around the moose until it faces the oncoming assault of teeth, nipping at its hooves and legs.
It has no chance now, its life just a memory as the alpha wolf grabs its throat, crushing it in its jaws.
Once it’s dead, it’s a viciously controlled order of things, hierarchy playing its role. The Wild isn’t at the top, but she won’t eat last either.
After some time, she gets the courage to approach the growls and snapping jaws, taking a few bites in the process, crawling belly low toward the goal. Sinking sharp teeth into the fresh blood-soaked meat, the Wild becomes drunk on its flavor. Her growls are just as furious as theirs. The Wild never tasted anything this good. Bite after bite she fills her stomach, and when she thinks nothing can be eaten anymore, she still continues to gorge until almost sick.
After the successful hunt, it’s a lot of grooming each other, licking, smelling, and playing. They teach her how to play fight, nipping softly until she can hold her own against any one of them, including the Luna female. She is no match now for the Wild, who loves to sneak attack her.
Another phase of the moon passes, and that makes four months I have been left out here to be raised by the wild wolves of Valentine. Part of me doesn’t want to go back. It wants to stay where everything is simple and easy.
That’s why when my name is called, she deliberately runs away from the noise. Except the pack now tightens its noose around her, pushing her back toward the sound. Now it’s the Wild’s fangs they meet as she puts effort into not going back to a reality that has only brought pain and suffering to her. To me.
Those wolves return the bites until the pack’s teeth are all against her. Whimpering, crying out to them, her wolf song pleads to stay with the pack, but they reject it, still pushing her toward the voices and heavy footsteps that crunch the snow loudly for ears to twitch against.
“Rya.” That Silverback male is standing there with a collar in his hand. His males are flanking his side. It’s as if they know that she’s going to put up a fight.
“Rya, come. Let’s go back home. This is not your home. You don’t belong with them.” His voice is strange against ears that have only had the animals to talk with.
Whimpering again, she backpedals, only to get teeth sunk into her haunches.
His sons start to spread out, trying to form a circle around the Wild, as if she’s their prey getting caught in their web.
They close the noose tighter, hands spread out, looking bigger than they are. The hair lifts on the ridge of spine as she puffs herself out as best as she can.
“Dad, look at her eyes,” Carson’s voice raises. Looking around at the options, the Wild decides to take on the weakest male, try to drive through that line. They must have known that would happen, because the Alpha steps in front of Crane fast as she tries to knock him down.
With a grab to the scruff, he’s holding her down, except he has to put his whole effort into not getting his fingers taken off.
The Wild has spent four months getting stronger, fighting with other wolves, running, hunting, using the body the way it should be used. She is powerful in her own way.
His jaw clenches with his effort to try to lock the collar into place. Once he does this, he attaches the steel chain. A muzzle goes over her mouth, leather straps binding tight to keep teeth from inflicting damage.
She cries the wild wolf cry while being dragged away from the pack that she has come to think of as family. They whimper and cry back but don’t move to help.
A long rope is tied to the sled the Alpha is on. He runs her the whole way home. It’s not as difficult as it seems…her stamina has greatly improved.
The Wild tries to break the binding, but it’s
just too strong, the sled too powerful for her to try and overtake.
The Wild cries the whole way back, her mournful song hurting even the males that are dragging her back.
Once back to the house, the collar is taken off. The muzzle is last, and all of them stand on the balls of their feet, ready if attacked.
Luna Grace comes out carrying a silk robe for me.
“If you attack her, I will end you,” the Alpha states to the Wild.
“Rya, come inside. Dinner’s ready.” My ears perk up.
“Shift.” Alpha Clinton’s hard voice hurts my sensitive ears.
I do as I’m told, and the robe is wrapped around me, protecting my modesty.
It hurts to shift back, but I don’t let on. I want to talk; it’s just that I can’t seem to find words.
Everything seems so strange walking upright on two legs.
“You are the first female to make it through a winter with the Wilds of Valentine. The whole pack is excited to meet you, Rya. We can’t be prouder.” She squeezes my shoulder with her hand. I push my face into hers, cheek against cheek, rubbing myself against her.
She has her fingers in my hair, pulling me against her chest. I can’t stop showing her my love, with gentle bites and nibbles to her skin. If humans were to see this, they would think I am just not right. But to wolves, this is how we show we care about them, how we love them.
The food’s laid out just like before. Looking toward Kennedy, she has nothing on her plate but a variety of fruits. She’s pale and looking as if she has lost some weight. Taking a deep breath in, the future inside her is growing strong. Angling my head to the side, I can even faintly hear it’s heartbeat.
Cash is sitting on his father’s left; his head is shaved again. Not one stray hair on his head.
“You can have everything on the table except the fruit. It’s for Kennedy. She can’t stomach anything else,” the Luna says gently.
“You should drink ginger tea.” Words are thick in my mouth. “It will help your nausea.” Luna Grace pats my hand.
“You’re very kind, Rya. I will get her some in the morning.”
“Let’s eat,” The Alpha calls out. This time, I take everything that is offered.
My growls are just as deep as the males sitting at the table. Gripping the platters of food, I take what I can. Fight for every bite. Kennedy looks at me as if she’s seeing a stranger. I growl her way, lifting teeth that are meant to intimidate.
“Rya.” A warning from the Alpha has me shoveling my meal into my mouth without dignity.
“Tomorrow is another early day for you. It’s the skins’ turn to start training, and I have the perfect sparring partner for you.” I keep eating, elbows on the table, protecting my meal.
“Who?” I say between mouthfuls.
“Cash. He’s going to help you train.” Both Cash and I look at him like he’s lost his mind.
“It’s about time the two of you fought it out.” Cash has a feral smile, and I give him mine back.
Chapter 2
Effort
Quiet indifference greets me when I walk into his room.
The ceiling fan blows cool air on my neck and somehow finds its way to my chest from the little gap in my robe. I don’t hear the constant communication of the pack. The noise is humming, man-made. It’s not true nature’s music that I can understand.
I want to go back. Taking a step out of the room, I think if I make a run for it, they might not be able to catch me.
I’m very fast now.
I take the first step down, and Cash takes the first step up. Both of us stop and regard each other. I take another step down; he takes two steps up. I take two steps down, he takes another two up, neither of us giving way to the other.
Meeting in the middle, I’m just slightly taller than him because I’m on the upper step and he’s standing below me. Does that irk him right now that I’m above him, looking down?
“You won’t be able to get out, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He says it like he knows what I’m about to do, a look shadowing his face.
“My oldest brother had to be dragged back at least three times before he finally stayed home. My father had his hands full with him. He even had to call my grandfather to help track him.” I try to step around him; his hands go on both railings, blocking my path.
“Why don’t you just turn around? I’m not in the mood right now,” Cash says with tired eyes, as if he hasn’t been sleeping well. He looks like he’s bulked up slightly, hormones of his mate’s heat and subsequent pregnancy making him more chiseled, with firmer muscle tone. His aggression level should be climbing more and more as Kennedy can’t shift, unable to protect herself from any threats that might come her way. The moon provides a natural testosterone-induced bodyguard for her females at this vulnerable time.
I grab onto the railings with both of my hands blocking his way up.
He leans into me, touching his chest against mine. Lips close to my ears, he says, “Just because you made it out there doesn’t mean—”
“Excuse me.” Kennedy’s standing behind Cash, wanting to pass by the both of us.
We both concede to her, letting the female pass by. It’s as if our aggression dissipates as she carefully slips past.
I can see she accidentally brushes against Cash, reminding me of the way the female leader wolf of the pack showed her affection for the leader male, but Kennedy somehow made it look like it was by accident. It wasn’t; I can tell the difference. I watch her lean in slightly, smelling him. He angles away, looking everywhere else except her way.
When she goes by me, her shoulders slightly curl forward, the faintest of movements, but I can see now. I notice the language of wolves. No sound, but big bold statements are being made right now. Her scent is of life, motherhood.
“I’m taking a shower. You can have one after I’m done.” He’s talking to Kennedy as he follows the gap that Kennedy left from my hand being taken off the railing. His shoulder hits mine, shade thrown my way.
“Rya, I’ll see you in the morning. Wear something that you don’t mind getting your blood on.” There is harmful intent in his tone, looking me in the eyes before he goes into the bathroom.
Walking back into the bedroom, I notice the way ice still clings to the windows. Winter’s icy grip still hasn’t broken its hold on the land yet, their winter lasting a few weeks longer than my birth pack’s.
Everything is how I left it, except the bed is made, nice and tidy. A present sits on the desk by my phone. I smile slightly to myself as I look at it, giddy at getting a present.
I pull out a thick cookbook; the title is The Carnivore’s Guide to Meat.
I open up the white envelope. Dallas’s handwriting is scratchy, but it looks like he’s trying to be legible.
I saw this and thought of you, my meat eater!
Congratulations.
I miss you
XO
Dallas
I feel like twirling again with a happy smile. I like his humor.
Opening the book, I like that the pictures are matte and not shiny and glossy. You get a better feel for the meal. Sometimes I think that instead of fairy tale books that little girls get about a princess meeting a prince and living happily ever after, they should get cookbooks.
Cookbooks can tell the history of the family, of regions, of culture, of religions, of how to get through the lean times. Not an illusion of make believe with a glass slipper that fits the right person and boom, your prince will love you forever, because that’s not real.
Picking up the phone, I go into the bathroom and turn on the tap. The water sputters out just for a moment before it bursts out full of power. Someone has lined the counter with shampoos and conditioners, body wash, toothpaste, toothbrushes, everything a female needs.
Looking around, I see no towel, so I step out of my room, watching Cash leave the bathroom he was in with a towel wrapped around his waist. Little beads of water still cling to his bald head
. As soon as his door closes, I watch Kennedy slink out quietly, going into the bathroom and quickly returning with the shirt Cash was wearing. She has it to her nose before shutting the door behind her.
She’s probably feeling the extreme need to have her mate by her side while pregnant, her compulsions getting the better of her, stealing his dirty clothes to satisfy her internal needs.
Getting a few spare towels, I close my door, locking it behind me.
Steam starts to rise up, surrounding me like a warm blanket. Stepping in, I let the water pool over my ankles. It’s slowly rising up, getting deeper. I sit down, pressing my back against the cold back of the tub. It’s a conflicting feeling. I have hot water soaking into my bones, but the cold porcelain against my back has me gasping with cold.
It feels weird not having fur covering my body.
I must stink of wild musky wolves. How did they stand my offensive smell at dinner time?
The water is now up to my chest, relaxing me as I take a deep breath, the ends of my hair soaking wet, floating at my sides. Turning off the water, I turn my phone on. Noticing my messages are full, I place the call first before listening to them.
He picks up before the first ring ends.
“Rya.” My skin shivers with the way he says my name. I feel a rush of nervousness, and I don’t know why.
“Dallas.” I watch as my toes peek out of the water, resting on the edge of the tub opposite me.
“My meat eater. I’m proud of you, Rya. I knew you could do it, and in the winter. First female to ever do that!” Pride, that’s the tone of his voice. It feels good to have someone have pride in me.
“Thanks, Dallas.”
“How do you feel?” I can sense a smile in his voice.
“I feel weird. It feels different. Like I can see things clearer. I notice little things more. I can hear better without words. Does that even make sense?”
“I felt the same way when I came back. I had a hard time staying home. I kept running away from my house back with the wild wolves, drove my father crazy. He sent my grandfather the last time to get me, and I never ran away again. But I understand the pull to stay out there. After the accident, I thought I could go back out there and live out my life with them.”
The Wildflower Series Page 23