by Lizzy Ford
I turn and start to run but stop about ten yards away, unable to leave him to face the three on his own. Whirling towards the sounds of fighting behind me, I can’t look away. Jason is tearing through the wolves, protecting me from a mess I can’t help but think I might’ve caused.
I’m drooling, salivating at the thought of a fight. Jason claimed aggression to be instinctive, and I have the sudden urge to taste blood, to feel my fangs sink into muscle and bone and rip it apart. A side of me is roaring in approval while another voice is screaming for blood, violence.
Death.
Uneasy with such primal instincts, I don’t run like I should but neither do I approach the fight. I’m stuck fighting with myself again, horrified by the animalistic desires and just as uncertain what to do here. It’s not right to leave him to his fate when he’s in danger because of me. He’s Ben’s brother, and he’s helping me.
Torn and distracted by my own thoughts, I don’t smell the others until they’re upon me. My inner wolf is howling in warning. When my danger registers, I whirl. Three figures, in human form, not wolf, stand behind me. I see them a split second before an opaque sack of some sort is thrown over me. I struggle to shake it off but am slammed onto my side as someone yanks it closed around me and hauls me off the ground. Grunting, writhing and snapping, I can’t break free of the thick canvas or grip it with my teeth. Voices and scents are muffled outside the bag that smells of dirt, and I continue to struggle.
I’m thrown down and go still for a moment, trying to tap into my senses to understand where I am and what’s going on. The were-bitch wants to be in control but I feel like I need to think this through, not react. Through the canvas, I smell … oil. Grease.
I’m in the trunk of a car. The door slams closed, and I struggle to right myself in the sack. I have no hope that this is going to end well and fight against my wolf long enough that I end up panting, collapsed in a heap. Fighting it out isn’t going to save my life.
After a breather, I try to rationalize with her. I need hands to free myself, not fangs, and then we’ll assess what happens from there. But neither of us can do shit if I’m stuck in a damn sack!
She relents at some point, and I contort in agony as I shift back into human form. Lying still, I suck in deep breaths, able to think more clearly again. I claw at the canvas around me and manage to find the side pulled tight. It’s been tied closed, but I wriggle one hand through the opening, then the other, and work on loosening the knot. Naked and confused, I’m not sure why Jenny decided to lash out at me when she’s the one who fucked up. Sure, I told Ben, but who the fuck attacks a Kingmaker, one under the protection of the pack leader? Maybe this is what happens when someone can’t lash out at Ben, when their strict code forbids challenging him.
They need a fucking trial system to determine someone’s fate, not this Stalinesque method of purging.
I focus with effort, senses alert and my wolf pacing in worry. She seems to think she’s better equipped to handle danger than I am. I’m not convinced I’m competent enough as a wolf to handle any other wolf, and I tend to believe reason is called for in this situation, not violence.
Yanking the knots free of the ties, I pull the end of the sack open and shimmy out of it. I quickly search the trunk for anything I can use as a weapon without finding anything. There’s no emergency release lever in the trunk, and I’m not about to shove the backseat down and come face to face with the people who grabbed me. In such a small space, it’d be impossible to run or maneuver.
At a loss what to do, I lay still and listen to my wolf tell me I need to release her to act. She makes a good point. I can run fast and far in wolf form but won’t make it ten feet as a human. If instinct and animal tendencies will keep me alive, then I need to let her run things. Ben told me on my first night to trust my wolf side, because she knows how to survive.
With some reluctance, and a lot of fear, I grit my teeth and agree to let her take over. Agony claims me as I shapeshift, and I lay on my side, spent and panting, after the brutal transformation experience. I’m no surer I can trust my wolf side than I have been this entire werewolf ordeal, but I do think I have a better chance to flee if I’m an animal. If Jenny is blatant enough to attack her alpha’s brother and mate, she’s not going to hold back at all once she has me away from my protectors. I need to move fast – and my wolf is much faster, adept and familiar with the forest than I ever will be.
I’m stuck in the trunk for about twenty minutes, each of which feels like an eternity. I hate not knowing where we’re going, what Jenny’s intentions are, whether or not Jason is alive. I hate feeling helpless and wishing Ben was with me. I crave him with inhuman need, and it’s not just my wolf that wants his arms around me.
How can I justify feeling this way for a man who might’ve killed off half his people?
How can I ever be the kind of Kingmaker my Community needs if my emotion is constantly trumping my logic? I shouldn’t be wondering if he’d make a good Community leader. I should be planning his exile.
But I can’t shake the connection we have, the sense there’s an equally gentle side to the pack leader’s violence. I can’t escape the memory of him fucking me as if I’m his world, as if he needs me as much as I do him.
I’ve got to be the worst Kingmaker ever.
I have no time to dwell on just how shitty of a job I’m doing. The car stops, and my wolf is immediately fighting me for control.
Footsteps circle the car. I brace myself to lose control to my inner wolf, who is shifting into a pounce position. I hear the click of a gun’s hammer being cocked into place, and the trunk cracks open. I smell Jenny and someone else, though I can only see one figure behind the car.
I can hear their voices clearly but can’t make out the words. I’m reminded of a Charlie Brown cartoon where the adults speak in nonsense. Is this what dogs hear? Tones and pitches, almost like music, with no distinction between what might be words?
They’re arguing in hushed, heated voices, and I strain, trying to understand before realizing it’s just not how this werewolf thing works. My wolf is pulling at my control. I hesitate to trust her completely.
I trust Ben and his wolf, but they’ve had years to work things out. His insistence a wolf is born with the instinct to survive echoes in my thoughts. I’m scared to lose control, scared to trust the primal side of me when my logic is telling me something else. My intuition has never been particularly strong. In fact, the lack of self-introspection is probably why I’m always knee-deep in trouble before I realize there’s a problem.
Is my wolf the intuition I’ve been missing? Can this be what this trial is supposed to do? Develop my instincts and teach me to trust them? The frustration of figuring out my duty and Ben has been all logic or failed attempts at it. What if the missing piece, the Kingmaker magic, has something to do with instinct? My father said intuition, courage and conviction. Perhaps I’ll learn one of each on every trial.
My wolf is calm now, waiting and watching, considering everything that’s about to happen. I want to cry, but she’s ready.
Okay, bitch. Don’t get us killed. I release the side of me that wants to control my body and instead, surrender to the primal animal and prepare to be swept away. Part of me is holding out hope that Jason or Ben will know where I am, that I won’t have to become a full wolf to escape. The idea of blacking out in the middle of danger terrifies me.
The figure at the back of the car steps away.
The time for thought is over.
The world becomes a blur of sensations, of movement, scents, and sounds. I launch out of the back of the trunk and smash into the person nearest me. Landing on my feet for once, I bolt into the dark forest lining the dirt road.
Shouting comes from behind me, and I cock one ear back. The other remains trained on my path. I smell … bonfires, cheeseburgers, exhaust, alcohol … signs of human habitation. I’m on the other side of the lake, close to the campgrounds and trails.
I t
urn away from the campgrounds and run. Leaves scrape my face and sides, and the air is filled with the movement and scents of nocturnal animals. I’m starting to slide away again, to black out, to become fully wolf. This time, there’s no Ben to guide me, to protect me or the humans from accidental confrontation, to watch over me while I play in the forest.
This isn’t playing. I’m scared, alone, lost.
I run. It’s all I know to do.
Warnings spin through me. My instincts are on fire, and I quicken my pace and begin zigzagging instead of running straight, sensing someone following too closely behind me. A master at avoiding detection, my inner wolf takes me on a ride like no other, trying to shake the wolf that’s quickly gaining on me. Distantly, I recall Ben’s disappointment I’m not a runner. I feel like I’m going fast, but am I slow for a wolf?
I’m stretching with all my strength for the next foothold, my muscles bunching and releasing in rhythm with my heartbeat. I’ve never experienced my body this way, either, never felt one with myself. Panic has heightened my senses to the point I swear I can feel adrenaline move through my veins.
God, I want those cheeseburgers, but it’s the scent of my pursuer, the knowledge I’m not a fighter, that drives me further into the forest, leading us away from the people and campground.
I’m straining, pushing my long strides to the max, maneuvering so fast I’m amazed I’m on my feet and credit my wolf for knowing how to balance turning and running.
But my pursuer soon catches me and smashes into me full force. We both tumble to the ground and roll, our limbs entangled. It’s Jenny – I recognize her scent – and she’s snapping at me. It’s all I can do to keep her fangs from reaching me.
Landing in a heap, I spring to my feet and whirl. My wolf knows it’s her turn now. I’m shaking and growling, the inhuman snarls emanating from my throat scaring me as much as Jenny’s snarled response. She lowers herself to pounce.
I can’t do this.
My inner wolf can. The desire for blood, the instinct for survival and self defense, are both hammering into me. Basic, primal need roars through my blood.
Jenny launches towards me, fangs exposed.
I black out.
Chapter Ten
I’m first aware of pain, of the scent of blood and matted fur, of dulled senses and the faint scent of flowers. My head and body throb with distant, warm pain. Opening my eyes, I gaze at the lightening sky. The chill of morning is kept at bay by my thick fur, and I move with gingerness. The night is a blurry memory once I leapt from the car, and I struggle to orient myself. My senses are worse than before I became a werewolf. I can’t smell much of anything, and there’s a distant ringing in my ears.
I can’t see well and swipe at something blocking my right eye with a paw.
Pain radiates through me. The movement makes me whimper. I can smell … blood. Lots of it. Not the happy kind of blood, either. I twist to see down my body. I’m bleeding from several gouges along my side and my back left leg is a bloodied mess, as if Jenny grabbed it with her teeth and swung me around the forest.
I can’t move it. With some alarm, I struggle to my feet and try to recall anything that happened last night. My wolf is oddly silent. Whenever she’s like this, I feel a little lost. I can’t put weight on my back leg without whining, and shifting to my feet tears a wound in my shoulder whose bleeding had stopped when my fur became too caked for blood to seep though.
Staggering, I lean against a tree. My body feels bruised and broken and bloodied.
But it’s not just my blood I smell.
When I can balance on my feet, I face the direction opposite from where I was facing when I woke up. I appear to have dragged myself away, if the trail of blood is any indication. I follow my trail and pause, not quite believing what I see.
I’m a mangled mess. Jenny appears to be in near perfect shape. She’s lying in a pool of blood that soaks the ground all around her. The only wound I can see: the one in her throat, the source of the blood.
I don’t need to approach her to know she’s dead. I can’t hear her heartbeat.
My inner wolf is whispering once more, telling me it was the only way to save me.
I can’t engage any such thought, not when it’s taking what remains of my strength and will to stay on my feet. Slinking back, I can’t bring myself to turn away and can’t bear to look again. I stand and drip blood, frozen by uncertainty and horror.
I catch a whiff of another wolf. My senses are sucking today, and I lift my muzzle towards the sky, trying to identify who and how far the wolf is. I can’t make anything out, not in my current shape. Alarm flutters through me. Jenny drove here with someone else. Is it possible he’s trying to find us? To finish what she started?
It’s then I realize I have a second problem.
The sky above me is blue. It’s morning, and I’m still a wolf.
Turn me back, I order my wolf.
She howls mournfully. I have no idea what her problem is, but I soon understand. My legs are trembling, and I sit. I can barely stand. I’m too weak to turn.
The scent of the other wolf is closer. It’s not Ben or Jason, and I’m not about to find out whether it’s a friend or foe. Forcing myself up, I start to walk then trot. Pain and fatigue buffer me from the world. I feel exposed, blinded by my wounded senses. I won’t know if I’m in danger until it’s in front of me. I black out several times, letting the wolf control me on autopilot, and then come to in order to gauge where we are. We take turns being in control, though I have a feeling neither of us really knows where we’re going. Several times, I’m forced to stop and rest by dizzy spells or the sudden scent of humans or other animals. Every once in a while, I catch a whiff of whoever it is pursuing me and force myself to move faster despite the pain. My left back leg is useless, but I’m finding there’s a definite benefit in having three other legs to support me instead of one.
At some point in the afternoon, I take shelter in the roots of a tree and sleep long enough to take the edge of exhaustion off. The air is cooling, and the sun’s on the far side of the sky. I start to worry I’m stuck as a wolf. Perhaps, with the magic of the moonlight, I can save up enough energy to turn.
Although, if I’m stuck in the forest without shelter, I’m probably better off as a wolf. I’m too tired to argue with myself and instead, listen to my intuition the best I can. My instincts know where to hide, how to find water, even how to stop some of the bleeding by rolling around in a mud puddle. Thick fur prevents the temperature changes from affecting me, and my three good legs remain steady.
I’m certain I’m just wandering until shortly after dusk, when the scent of human food reaches me. I halt at the edge of the forest and gaze into a field. It’s one of the multi-million dollar estates, a secluded cabin that’s been remodeled and expanded to three stories tall and almost as wide as the clearing. Even the barn behind it gleams with fresh paint. A six-car garage is on the opposite side of the clearing.
It’s the bonfire in front of the garage, set in a trendy outdoor kitchen area, that has my attention. Voices drift from the house, where a group of teens are talking on the screened porch.
The uncooked food on the table near the fire is unattended.
I slink forward, too hungry to consider avoiding the people like I probably should. Reaching the table, I manage to balance on one leg long enough to rest my front paws on the top of a chair. I snatch a thick steak off the plate.
The back door of the house slams shut. Yanking my food off the table, I bolt with what speed I can, towards the barn. No one shouts after me. No one pursues. The raw meat is like heaven in my mouth, and I’m drooling everywhere.
The barn is open. After a split second debate, I duck into it. Horses nicker and whinny in complaint as they spot me, but I ignore them, going to the back of the barn where loose hay is piled in front of bales of hay. It’s dark in this half of the barn. The flap of birds and hiss of a cat don’t distract me from the feast in my mouth.
<
br /> I gingerly lie down on my stomach and begin tearing apart the meat and swallowing it, not bothering to chew.
It’s the best meal I’ve ever eaten in my entire life. Ever. The edge of my starvation is gone by the time I’m finished. I’m drowsy, exhausted from my day. Resting on my side, I sigh deeply and breathe in the scents of hay. I pray I’m in my human form when I next wake.
I’m starting to doze when I first notice the scent I didn’t register before. I sit up, alert. Too engrossed in my steak, unable to key in on anything when I’m so weak, I spot the teen boy in the loft above me. How I missed him, I don’t know, but adrenaline does what it can to heighten my senses.
He’s staring down at me, a boy around fifteen.
With some effort, I climb to my feet. I don’t need to run far to reach the forest, but I need to be quick about it.
I just don’t know if I can. I wobble and sit back on my haunches, gathering what strength I can to make a break for it.
He speaks. As before, I can’t make out the words. He sounds scared. And curious. And … something else. I tilt my head, trying to assess if he’s a threat. I can’t take him, but I can scare him, if I have to.
Something white lands near my feet, and I look, drawn to the scent. I stretch and snatch up the marshmallow, swallowing it whole.
He throws another one, and I climb to my feet and eat it, too. They taste differently as a wolf than normally. They’re a lot sweeter for one. This one I chew, kind of creeped out by the texture but determined to eat it. I love sweets, and this tastes so good after my steak.
The boy laughs, and I glance up. I’m imagining watching a dog with peanut butter and swallow the marshmallow.
He throws another and another, speaking gibberish to me in a tone that tells me he’s no longer freaked out. I kind of am, but I’m also infatuated by marshmallows and hungry despite the steak I ate.
How many bags of marshmallows he has, I don’t know, but I eat everything he tosses down. He disappears and seconds later, I see him descending the ladder about ten feet away. I back away, uncertain what to expect.