WithHerCraving

by Lorie O'Clare

  Katrin kept her sight sharp. Her thoughts were ridiculous. Running without going anywhere wouldn’t take away the obvious. Although if she ran to the States right now she doubted she’d be far enough to put Jarvis out of her head. The facts were simple. She had lived among a pack for a few weeks. It hadn’t worked out. She had left the pack. Therefore, now, her only focus lay on planning out her immediate future.

  It was one reason she remained in her fur. Her more primal, instinctive side prevailed. Katrin didn’t want to deal with her emotional side right now. She rounded the near side of the lake, which curved more than the other side, and forced her attention to the thick patches of trees to the east of her. She’d run from the east and didn’t want to give that direction her attention. The sensible action right now entailed securing shelter and finding food. Looking around her, both tasks seemed feasible.

  After sniffing the air, this time forcing herself to seek out all scents other than her own, Katrin decided a patch of grass under several trees would be the perfect place for temporary lodging. By the time the moon was high in the sky and much smaller than when she’d first arrived at the lake, she’d hauled enough broken branches and decent-sized rocks to raise two sturdy walls. Katrin hurried back and forth, pulling her supplies from around the trees on the east side of the lake.

  All the while she sniffed the air, became one with the different smells around her. The night was peaceful and there were no smells of predators. But the one scent she couldn’t stop searching for never appeared.

  Katrin remained in her fur, pushing herself to build her temporary lodging. She’d run until she dropped if that was what it took to obliterate the heavy weight pushing in around her heart. She would run back and forth, haul all the supplies needed to build the best damn walls ever built. Whatever it took to erase the pain and the fact that she’d destroyed her chance at happiness.

  Katrin dragged branches with her teeth, rolled rocks with her head, then built her walls. She stacked and reinforced with thorough, painstaking efforts, just as any creature did when building the structure where they would live in the wild.

  It crossed her mind that she built such strong walls because her subconscious was fighting for reinforcement to keep the pain out. The walls around her heart weren’t enough, so she created better walls now. Katrin dismissed the thought.

  It might take some time before Jarvis met her here. Making the structure was practical to protect her from the weather and would allow her to sleep without worrying about other predators.

  He never said he would come.

  Katrin dismissed that thought immediately as a natural human fear. Of course he would join her. They were mated. He had howled as much the last time they’d made love.

  The mere thought of them fucking made her swell inside. She ached for him instantly. Her pussy was wet before she could shove images of his muscular, damp body over hers, impaling her repeatedly with his rock-hard cock.

  Katrin felt her fur dampen between her legs and moaned. Thinking like this made her work harder. Taking her first break after hours of hard physical labor, she walked to the lake and drank. The water was cold and refreshing and she lapped, lifting her head occasionally to sniff the air and take in her surroundings. There were only a couple hours until dawn. She’d worked through the night. Suddenly she was stiff, hurt all over and exhausted.

  A cold breeze hit her, rattling the leaves in the trees behind her, and she shivered. It brought with it the smell of the dirt she’d unearthed during her many treks back and forth hauling supplies for her walls. She breathed in the scents from surrounding evergreens and the dense patch of trees. She still smelled her desire for Jarvis. Katrin gave herself a fierce shake, willing her fur between her legs to dry and the need inside her for a male who wasn’t here to go away.

  Taking another look around, making sure she hadn’t missed the smell of any nearby predators, Katrin noticed for the first time since beginning work on her makeshift den that it was incredibly dark. Clouds now covered the sky, hiding the moon. It no longer reflected in the water. Instead, when she looked across the small lake, its inky-black stillness looked as cold and uninviting as the pending hours ahead of her.

  Run, my little Cariboo. Leave here before it’s too late.

  Jarvis’ final words rang through her head. Katrin had done a terrible thing. Not once in her life had she ever challenged the elements.

  Forgotten memories of when she’d been a cub with her littermates, prancing around her as they fought for their sire’s attention, came back to her. Their mother had forbidden their sire to ever use the elements the way Malta werewolves did. She and her littermates had lain in bed listening as their sire and mother had discussed the persecution Malta werewolves had endured since fleeing Malta. Most of the breed had died there when not humans, but other werewolves, had tried killing all of them.

  When her sire had been a cub, the Malta pack leader and his mate had learned how to challenge the elements. Be it earth, fire, wind or water, that pack leader developed a part of his brain and had mastered all four. And he’d sought out every member of his pack and worked with those who also were able to control the elements. Malta werewolves were able to start fires with their minds. They could draw water from a river or lake and force it to flood the ground. They were able to draw upon the wind, cause it to blow hard enough to hurl a werewolf across a meadow. And by focusing on a tree trunk, they could heave it up and send it sprawling to its side.

  Katrin remembered running with her sire and littermates. They were happy memories. Her sire, in his shiny black glory, with his long, straight coat flowing toward the ground, would run back and forth, circling Katrin when her shorter legs made it harder for her to keep up on their run. There had been many runs like that. She was sure of it, when her sire took the three of them, Katrin, Leisa and Magda, for runs into the mountains. Now it was clear he probably ran the cubs and brought them back to their den exhausted in order to give their mother a break. She and her littermates would crash around their fire and sleep with happy, peaceful dreams after spending time with their sire.

  But on that one particular run when Katrin had been possibly seven or eight, it had been an exceptionally warm day on the mountain. Her sire had chased each of them up the mountain in their fur, snapping and growling fiercely as he nipped at their paws. Katrin had barked with happiness. She would have been laughing until she cried if they had been in their flesh.

  When they reached a small, isolated waterfall, all of them had splashed into it, enjoying the cool water, which would have been as warm as it would have gotten that high in the mountain. Katrin recalled her sire had changed into his flesh first. Of course all three of them had raced to follow suit. Then they’d splashed in the water, taking turns racing into the waterfall until she and her littermates had been content to simply float in the small pool surrounded by rocks with an endless blue sky above them.

  She wasn’t sure why she’d forgotten this particular memory. It was the only time her sire had shown them the true colors of his breed.

  Katrin was pretty sure it had been her oldest littermate who had first whined to their papa for food.

  “I’m hungry,” Magda had complained.

  “Catch a fish.” Sire had been squatting, so the sparkling, frothy water danced around the thick hair on his chest.

  “But there aren’t any fish, sire,” Leisa had whined.

  Leisa had always been the one to moan and howl the loudest over any small thing. Katrin even remembered her mama pointing that out on more than one occasion. Since Leisa had that label, Katrin had always been very careful never to whine. She had always asked politely or had figured out how to take care of herself. Her sire and mama would never growl anything derogatory about her.

  “Aren’t there?” Her sire’s eyes had been closed and his face to the sky. “We’ve chased them all away. Now we’ll starve.” He’d said it in a voice exaggerated so that instantly Katrin and her littermates had laughed. “What
is a sire to do when his three beautiful cubs don’t believe him?”

  “Sire, we’ll never starve,” Magda had explained, always the practical one. “We’re the greatest hunters on the mountain. There is plenty of food.”

  “Ahh, see, problem solved.” He relaxed farther in the water with his eyes closed and face to the sky.

  “The problem isn’t solved,” Magda pressed. “All of us are hungry.”

  Katrin didn’t remember if she had howled her concurrence or not. But almost always as a cub Magda had deemed herself the one to howl for all three of them. Katrin was never excluded when Magda had decided their sire or mama needed to do something for the three of them.

  “Oh yes. Of course. That’s right.” Their sire had lowered his head and opened his eyes, looking at all three of them as if he were ready to play. “So we should eat, yes?”

  “Yes!” All three of them had howled and leapt on their sire.

  “Out of the water. All of you. Go to the bank over there and lie in the sun. Your sire shall do the hunting.”

  Except he hadn’t gotten out of the water with them. He had stood so the water waved at his waist. And her sire had done the most amazing thing.

  Katrin didn’t remember being scared. She hadn’t smelled any fear on her littermates. This was their sire, the most perfect male in the universe, and he could do no wrong. Katrin had loved him with all her heart and trusted him with her life, as any cub would their parents.

  The water they had played in had risen over their heads like a clear puddle in the sky. Cloud-shaped and beautiful, it had floated above them. One of her littermates had gasped.

  “Quick, my little hunters. Grab the fish,” their sire had said, his grin and happy expression making it even more impossible to be scared.

  Katrin, always the one with something to prove to her older littermates, had leaped from the bank into the muddy hole in the ground where all the water had just been. Fish flopped at her feet and were slippery in her hands. Without asking, she had embraced the change, possibly because she had been too excited to prevent it. Also, raw fish tasted so much better in her fur. She had been greedy but her littermates were quick to follow suit and grab their fair share. All three of them had stretched out, stuffed after that, and had listened as their sire howled to them about Malta werewolves.

  Katrin stood, realizing she’d been sitting next to the lake and staring ahead as the memory of being a cub with her sire had played out in her mind. Her sire had made it clear when she’d been a cub, and again later when she had asked, that it wasn’t magic or some strange alteration of the mind. He had assured her that howlings about such things were false and would always smell that way. Malta werewolves had simply focused on using their minds, as well as their physical strength, to bend the world to their needs.

  Their mama had forbidden their sire to teach her cubs how to use the elements. Their sire had called it a gift but their mama had insisted it was a curse. Or at least it would be to Katrin, Leisa and Magda. Their mama had growled fiercely that teaching any of them how to do the things Malta werewolves did would exile them. They would be killed by their own kind. Their mama had howled that each of her cubs would be raised normally, as she put it.

  The breeze turned into a blustery wind and the clouds that had blocked the moon were now darker against a pending sunrise. Katrin turned and inspected her temporary den. She needed a roof—all of her hard work through the night would be pointless if it started to rain. Every loose branch that had been on the ground now stood vertically or intertwined horizontally, making her walls.

  Katrin stared at the trees behind her. The gift, as her sire had called it, had turned out to be the curse her mama had howled it would be. She had run out of the McAllister den when she’d heard Jarvis and McAllister snarling at each other. When McAllister had lunged at Jarvis, his fangs and claws bared, she’d acted on instinct. Katrin didn’t remember even thinking about what she would do. She had protected Jarvis and had thrown both males through the air with her mind.

  Could she do it again now if she thought about it? The blood ran through her veins. Katrin couldn’t do anything about being half Malta werewolf. Nor would she ever despise her sire for who he had been. He was the most honorable, dedicated and wonderful male she had ever known.

  I’ll use your gift, sire, she thought, and stared at the trees.

  She wasn’t sure why but it seemed logical to start with a small tree. Focusing on it did nothing. Her eyes began burning from staring and not blinking but the tree didn’t move. Her sire and mother had howled about the Malta pack leader finding something inside. What was inside her brain?

  Katrin lay down, still watching her tree. Maybe determination, or willing it with her thoughts would do it. Frustrated, she leapt to her feet, barking her inabilities to use the part of her that, so far, had only brought her trouble.

  I’m going to make this work. Half of me is not bad. It’s not!

  Looking away from the tree for the first time, she searched her mind. It wasn’t easy trying to separate the part of her that thought about things around her, about everything she smelled, about those she cared for, from a deeper part of her mind. Moving beyond everything that affected her actions and reactions, she dwelt on the basic, most raw part of who she was.

  It took cleansing her mind of her life. Katrin no longer focused on using a gift to help others. She wouldn’t think about how doing this might make life better. Putting all worries, all problems, all matters of her life to the side, she once again opened her eyes.

  Little tree, you will move.

  When its leaves started swaying, as if a wind blew through it, she didn’t leap with excitement. Katrin remained calm. Her mind was clear. The tree leaned away from the others. She jumped when a loud rumble, simultaneous with it uprooting from the ground, made her jump.

  Katrin barked, no longer able to contain her excitement. She leapt up and wagged her tail when the young tree crashed to the ground.

  By the time the sun rested on the horizon, barely bright through clouds that turned hazy with dawn, Katrin had rested branches she’d knocked to the ground with the gift, cut to size with her teeth, then lifted with her mouth over her walls. Every muscle hurt when she walked over to the saddlebags McAllister’s mate had shoved at her when she’d run back into his den. Jarvis’ words, growled at her with such a strong smell of determination, had still been ringing in her ears when Heather had surprised her with supplies to help while on the run.

  Katrin let the change take place. Through the night she’d done all she had been capable of doing to exhaust the pain from her heart. The den was necessary if it would take Jarvis time before he could run from Prince George. No matter how hard she had worked to convince herself there was no reason to worry about whether he’d show up or not, as her body changed her heart constricted.

  Human emotions returned. Her vision paled. Her hearing dimmed. Fur receded on her body and her hide softened until her human flesh flinched against the harsh environment. Katrin barely made it to a standing position before crashing forward, her human body shivering and aching fiercely from incredibly sore muscles.

  It hurt to unzip the first saddlebag. There was a sleeping bag stuffed inside. Katrin unrolled it and wrapped it around her. She was so damn cold.

  “Unzip,” she complained to the sleeping bag, her first word after the change slightly garbled.

  Not that she cared. No one heard her. Her fingers were numb, yet burned when she tugged at the difficult zipper. Her one-word command had been sufficient to make the zipper flow down the teeth until the sleeping bag lay open.

  “Shit,” she whispered and her teeth began chattering.

  Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. There had been plenty of times when she’d been frustrated, pissed as hell even, and things hadn’t obeyed her command simply because she’d willed it. Katrin must have woken some dormant part of herself when she’d witnessed Jarvis and McAllister fighting. Whatever had happ
ened inside her, it wasn’t turning off. She just prayed she’d be able to control her sire’s gift.

  Katrin climbed into the sleeping bag but then pulled out her clothes. She shoved clothes into the bag and almost rolled over pulling on jeans, not bothering with underwear. She found socks, boots, a sweater and coat. Everything went on.

  Finally dressed, she then wrapped the sleeping bag around her shoulders over her coat, and with the saddlebags now holding only Jarvis’ clothes and her underwear, Katrin crawled into her den.

  Her sense of smell wasn’t as strong in her human form but she smelled Jarvis. It brought out fresh pain in her heart. She didn’t care. Katrin dragged his large sweater out of the bag and pulled it over her head, over her coat and tugged it down past her waist. Then climbing back into the sleeping bag, she curled into a ball and tried to relax on the hard ground.

  Sleep came to her but so did the tears. Katrin cried for the mate she’d had for a day. She cried as her reality crashed in around her. Jarvis would be smart to leave her alone and not run to join her. She was half Malta werewolf, the most despised breed on the planet.

  * * * * *

  From the location of the sun, as well as the muddy ground around her roughly built den, Katrin decided she’d slept almost the entire day away, and through a rather heavy rainstorm. At least now there were more small branches and twigs around her on the ground.

  Any other time, Katrin might have laughed and possibly even made fun of McAllister’s human mate for packing sandwiches, fruit and candy bars in the saddlebags. Werewolves didn’t need a picnic lunch packed for them on a run. At the moment, wrapped in her sleeping bag and sitting cross-legged as she stared out of her den, she was incredibly grateful for the food. Not only were her muscles sore and screaming at her for all the abuse she’d put her body through the night before, she just wasn’t in the mood to hunt.