Dire Wolves: Whiteout
Shelby Morgen
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Copyright ©2010 Shelby Morgen
ISBN: 978-1-60521-464-1
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Editor: Maryam Salim
Cover Artist: Marteeka Karland
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Dire Wolves: Whiteout
Shelby Morgen
As soon as she sees her newest patient, veterinarian Suzanne Grier knows he’s no normal wolf. Zan and her colleagues at Alaska’s Wolf Sanctuary have always believed Dire Wolves exist -- and they believe just as strongly in keeping their existence a secret. Zan’s never fought so hard to save a wolf -- or a man. The doctor can treat the wounded body, but only the woman can heal his wounded heart.
It’s been years since John’s felt the touch of a woman’s hand. Zan gives him a reason to want to live as a man again. But wolves mate for life. Before he can make that kind of promise, he’s got unfinished business to take care of. A wolf defends what’s his.
Wolf’s got a silver bullet to return to its owner.
Chapter One
Nome, Alaska
His breath came in deep, heavy pants that rattled his ribcage with every leaping stride, sending out moisture laden clouds which froze to his eyelashes in spiky crusts. And still he ran. He ran on instinct, blindly following paths he’d trodden for years, stumbling now and again on terrain he could see only in his mind.
Would have been a full moon tonight, were it not for the snow. He pictured the long expanse of tundra before him, frosted white, and desolate.
Instead he saw nothing. White out. Snow so dense it stung his nose with every breath.
Better this way. He wasn’t the only one running blind.
His own fault, really. He’d been too easy a target. But he’d wanted to get home before the storm hit.
And now he’d never see home again.
Pain tore through him with every step. He’d been wounded before. Shot, even. Shot at more times than he’d care to admit. Enough times he should have known better. His kind couldn’t afford to expose themselves. Not even at night. Not even at the start of a blizzard that promised the worst of winter’s wrath.
This time, though… this time was different. This time was worse. Far, far worse. This time the pain slashed through him like a knife in his ribs with every shuddering breath he drew.
This time he wasn’t going to heal.
Oh, it’d sealed over. He wasn’t going to bleed to death. He’d die slow. Eventually, when he couldn’t go on any more, he’d stumble, and this time he’d not get up. The cold would provide an escape from the unrelenting agony of the bullet buried deep in his side. When the pain finally brought him to his knees, when the cold won, he knew he’d feel warm again, for a bit. Then he’d feel nothing at all. Not such a bad way to go, really.
Except for the god-awful, burning pain.
The winds calmed as suddenly as they’d picked up, allowing the soft haze of the moonlight to penetrate the thickly falling snow. His nose told him what he should have known, would have known, had he been more alert. The pain was dulling his senses. He stopped, staring ahead into the night. The lights danced on the snow like faerie fire. The scene before him would have been beautiful, if not for the stench.
Garbage. Waste. Corruption. Pollutants. It all reeked of humanity.
Was that where he’d been going? Unconsciously seeking them out, the ones who might be able to help him?
Would they?
No. It was their kind who’d shot him.
Better to die as he’d lived. Out here. Alone. Die as a wild thing. The only ones who’d ever know would be his own kind. The snow would cover him, blanket his body until spring thaw. Then someone would come across him, here, too close to the city, like a marker, a warning. Stay away from the humans. This is what they do to us.
They’ve killed me.
Faerie light danced along the paths they used, calling to him, teasing him, making promises no human would ever honor for one of his kind. He turned to look over his shoulder, out through the vast nothing the fresh blanket of snow had woven. The faint mechanical noise of the human’s vehicle warned him he was not alone, not even out here.
Snowmobile.
The word came to his mind, unbidden, a reminder of times past, like the lights that called to him. A reminder he’d once been something more. He’d once had a pack.
But the man on the snowmobile was not pack. Not his pack. The man with the rifle was still after him. Probably wanted to make sure his cursed bullet had done its job. Or maybe he wanted a trophy. Proof of the kill.
And maybe, just maybe, that would be the shooter’s undoing. Bastard would have to come closer than rifle range if he wanted to view his handiwork.
As the snow cooled the heated agony along his ribs, Wolf burrowed in, turning his face to his pursuer. He knew how to wait. Waiting was the law of the land.
Time for the hunted to become the hunter.
* * *
Beep, beep, beep… The incessant, annoying mechanical blips brought him round, made him want to open his eyes, if only to find the machines and silence them.
“…doing a patrol after the storm let up.”
There were other noises. Voices.
“…chased him down with a snowmobile. God damned idiots, the whole lot of them.”
“Stupidest thing this state’s ever done, issuing permits to bastards like that. I’d love to be able to take a few shots at them.”
Human voices. Low and soft, as if they were far away, though his nose said they were close. Soap. One, the female, smelled delightful -- soap, something scented with flowers, and shampoo.
The other had the taint of the dead on him. His nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Think you can save him?”
“I don’t know. Depends on how much blood he’s lost, and how bad he’s torn up inside. I’m damn sure going to try.”
Wolf. He was Wolf. They were talking about him.
Wolf felt heavy bands cinching tight over his shoulders and hips, pressing him into the hard surface below. No! No one would tie him down. Never again!
He fought the bonds with all his fading strength.
“Watch yourself! He may be wounded, but he’s still a wolf, and a damn big one. If he gets loose, he’ll rip you to shreds.
”
The woman’s voice was louder now, closer, though still gentle and kind. “Easy, big guy. Easy. Don’t fight me. Please. I know you’ve got no reason to trust me, but I swear no one will hurt you here. I’m going to do everything I can to fix you up, but you’ve got to hang in there. You can do it, wolf. I know you can.”
Wolf tried to open his eyes, but quickly squeezed them back shut. Bright! Too bright. Whining in protest, he tried to move, to shift his head away from the light that hurt his eyes, but he was fading fast. His body failed to obey his simplest commands. Pain tore through him, drawing an unmanly whimper from his tortured throat. He attempted to lick his dry lips, but even that was too much. His muzzle was bound -- how, he wasn’t sure, but his paw refused to move, even to explore, let alone tear at whatever it was.
A soft, damp cloth wiped his mouth, dripping a few drops of water onto parched skin. “Shhh. I’m on your side. You’re safe here. I promise.”
She laid her hand on his shoulder, next to the matted fur, all crusty with blood.
So long… It had been years since he’d felt a woman’s touch. So many years… Too many to count. If he’d been able to move, he’d have leaned into the gentle pressure of her hand, pressed his nose to her skin, there at the pulse in her wrist, touched his tongue to her, memorizing her scent. Instead he whimpered again, because even her light touch triggered the agony that radiated through him.
“…going under… stay long enough to lend me a hand? Bullet’s going to have to come out, and I sent everyone home before this storm hit.”
“Sure, Doc. Just let me put in a call to dispatch. And my wife. She worries…”
Wolf had had a wife, once. A wife, and a pack. Gone now. Everything was gone.
The voices drifted away, then back again. “…strong. And bigger than any wolf I’ve ever seen before. Table registered him at two hundred twenty-seven pounds. I checked it twice to be sure. Had to up the anesthesia. He’s in bad shape. I’ve got to get that bullet out.”
Bullet. Yes. He’d been shot. Though how he’d gotten here…
“…hell of a job getting him loaded…”
The snowmobile…
“Relax, big fella. You’re safe here. Doc’ll take good care of you. Go back to sleep.”
The woman buried her fingers in his fur for a moment, and he wished he could tell her how good her touch felt.
* * *
He was a beauty, the huge silver beast, lean, but fit, densely muscled over a long, powerful frame. A fighter, Zan could tell. A long, dark scar traversed his face, spanning his left eye, nose, and right cheek. It had grown in with pure white fur, but the old wound beneath still shone through in a long black arc. Other, less prominent scars dotted his pelt, adding character more than detracting from his appearance.
She ran her hand over his head, stroking his temples. “Everyone says you’re just a legend, but I knew. I think I’ve always known. Old Alpha, aren’t you? You’re used to fighting, but even you can’t fight a bullet. You’ve got to hang on for me, big guy. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to save you.”
“You really think he’s a…”
“I know what he’s not.” Zan pulled back the wolf’s gums. “Two hundred twenty-seven pounds. And look at those teeth. Ever seen anything like him before?”
Jake shook his head. “If we know what’s good for us -- and him -- we haven’t seen anything more than another wounded arctic timber wolf now, either.”
“Right. I’d rather not lose my medical license.” Time to get to work. Zan shaved the wound site carefully, stretching the skin tight across his ribcage. Seen under the stark light of the surgery, the damage looked even worse than she’d expected. The wound was seeping slightly, sluggishly washing out an ugly green ooze along with the dark blood. The edges of the hole had the same sickeningly green-gray look to them, dark and angry against his pale skin. She sliced the skin back to get a better look at the bullet’s trajectory.
Jake tried to get in closer, then backed off, his nose wrinkling in revulsion. “Smells disgusting. What the hell?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like this before. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the bullet was poisoned. But I don’t think that’s even possible.” She had to make the incision longer, deeper, carefully cutting away the affected tissue. “Whatever it is, it’s worse than a brown recluse bite. It’s eating him alive from the inside out. Everything that’s not pink and healthy has to come out. From what I could see on the fluoroscope the bullet itself missed all the vital organs, but it’s lodged just behind his rib. If we can stop this reaction from spreading he should recover. I just don’t know how extensive the damage is. If it reaches his heart or his lungs…”
As if on cue, the monitor’s beep changed to a shrill screech. “His blood pressure’s dropping. His heart’s stopped. I’m going to have to open him up.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Rinse the affected areas with saline, and suction. Every bit of this green stuff’s got to come out. I’m going to slide the paddles in alongside his heart. Got to find the bullet and get it out. It should have gone --”
“I see it!” There was a heavy clunk as Jake dropped the hemostat, bullet and all, into the basin, next to the mass of putrid flesh.
Zan set the charge on the internal paddles, and slid her fingers in next to the wolf’s heart, massaging gently. “Don’t quit on me now. Don’t make me zap you, big guy.” As if on cue, the muscles beneath her fingertips shivered, and spasmed back to life. “Yes!”
“Zan, you need to get out of there. Now.”
“What?” Jake’s tone of alarm had her jerking her hands back as if they were about to get burned.
“Look.”
She looked where he pointed, and looked again. The tissue she’d cut into had already stopped bleeding. The wound was beginning to heal. “How the hell --”
“There are questions we don’t need to know the answers to. Not unless you want him to end up dissected in a research lab.”
“Right.” She’d made that vow when she’d agreed to take over the sanctuary. “I’ll never let that happen to you, big guy. I’ll keep your secret. It’s enough we know the truth.” None of her wolves would ever be sacrificed to research, no matter what their genetic origins. “Let’s get him closed up, so his body takes over.”
* * *
Two hours later Dr. Suzanne Grier’s patient was locked securely in one of the birthing stalls -- he was too big for any of her cages -- and Zan was examining remnants of torn flesh under the microscope. “This looks more burned than infected,” she muttered, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. “Almost like an acid burn.”
“Zan…”
“Come here, Jake, you’ve got to see this.”
“You’ve got to see this.”
In all the years she’d done volunteer work with the Department of Fish & Game, Zan had never heard anything like fear in Jake Parker’s voice. What she heard now sent shivers down her spine. She pushed away from the lab table, turning to face him. “What’s wrong?”
Using a pair of forceps, Jake held up the bullet he’d recovered. “What does this look like to you?”
Zan looked up, then took off her glasses and looked again. “Fuck.”
“God knows how many they’ll slaughter. These creatures aren’t even supposed to exist. We don’t have any idea how many there are. These fanatics will stop at nothing. We could lose our entire population.”
Zan pinched the bridge of her nose, staring down at the silver bullet. “Maybe it’s time we started hunting them.”
* * *
Wolf awoke, naked and shivering, but aching too bad not to be alive.
Man-things were not built to handle arctic cold.
He didn’t remember shifting. Didn’t remember much of anything at all, past the blinding snow. He raised his head, trying to figure out where he was. Inside. In a building. A barn, maybe. He could hear goats bleating faintly some dis
tance away, and the place smelled of straw and dirt -- and humans.
One of the humans smelled familiar. A woman.
A doctor. He remembered her touch. She’d buried her fingers in his fur, and talked to him as if she knew he could understand. She’d promised to do her best to save him.
He’d been shot.
There’d been a man, too. The man on the snowmobile. The one who’d brought him here. The game warden.
Wolf ran a hand over his ribs, finding them whole and healed, though sore. The woman had kept her word. She’d healed him enough for his own body to do the rest. No doubt saved his life. He owed her.
Owed the game warden, too.
That thought didn’t sit as well. He’d known the moment he smelled the woman, she was his. He didn’t much like the idea of another male hanging around.
Stupid thought. The woman was human. Bad enough he was in her debt. Wolf was not a man used to being indebted to anyone. He’d had no reason to be, for a time too long to remember. Why had they helped him? They might not have known exactly who, or what, he was, but they’d known he was no ordinary wolf.
He hoped like hell the doctor hadn’t tried to give him a rabies shot.
His shivering body demanded he pay attention to the here and now. He lay curled on a pad on the floor, a sort of a bed the woman must have made for him, with something scratchy, a wool blanket, pulled over his shivering form. Lurching inelegantly to his knees, he snatched up the blanket and wrapped it around him for warmth.
Whatever this place was, the floor was heated, at least enough to keep the place above freezing. Small barn stall was his best guess. There was an automatic waterer near the door which appeared to be working. Practically crawling to it, Wolf cupped a handful to his mouth, tasting, then nearly burying his face in the water, trying to quench his ungodly thirst.
Damn, heat or no, he was freezing. He missed his triple thick coat. He’d shift as soon as he’d used his man-fingers to find a way to open the door to this cell. He just needed…
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