by Jessica Snow
There was no way he could double back south, either. He’d have to go right through the heart of the Sierra Claritas, and even in his Wolf form he wasn’t strong enough to survive those harsh mountains even in the early summer.
He had one choice, and that was to head north. By staying in the mountains, he could avoid civilization for a while, make his way north fast and furious. The limits of Clan territory were just north of the Oregon state line, and there was a zone there, around Bend, where there was no Clan. The Mac Tire were in Portland and up north into Washington, but they didn’t worry about the Bend area.
He’d been outcast, he was Clan-less… but he had a chance.
He picked up speed, his stomach grumbling as he ran. When the sun came up he knew he was close, but not quite out of Sierra Clarita territory. Still, his stomach was so hungry that he couldn’t focus much longer. Carter knew that he would have to do something he’d never done before, but it was better than the alternative.
The mountains weren’t very high, the Modoc National Forest wasn’t the sort of place that sported the immense peaks that were farther north, but that was fine. He crept through the forest, sniffing as he went, looking for anything he could. Finally, just as he was starting to consider breaking into a Ranger station, he smelled it.
Deer.
There weren’t a lot of deer in the forests, nowhere near as many he wished right now, but the scent was unmistakeable. He followed it, creeping along as best he could and hoping that his bumbling, inept stalking would still get him what he needed.
He saw the deer first, and for a moment considered letting it go. It was a doe, probably barely old enough to not be called a fawn any longer, spindly legged and unwise to the ways of the forest. She was in heat, it was the only reason he could smell her with his untrained nose, and the only reason she wasn’t aware of him as he crept towards her from downwind.
Unfortunately for Carter, the backpack around his neck wasn’t as stealthy as the rest of him, and when it caught on a tree branch and made it crack, the doe was off like a shot. Carter bounded after it, desperation giving his exhausted muscles a bit more energy, his Lycan abilities giving him the edge in speed, and with a snap of his jaws, the doe fell, her neck snapped and her throat torn open.
Carter felt for the first time in his life the rush of the kill, and as he feasted on the doe, he felt both elation and shame. There was no reason he should have had to kill the doe, he should have been able to find better game. He was the product of three generations of Alpha Lycan breeding, for fuck’s sake. He should have been able to track and take down anything in the forest… and instead he had to snuff out the most innocent of lives in the woods.
Still, he was hungry, and it was his first kill. Instincts that he’d long ignored told him that he was right to eat, right to kill, right to seize his fortunes in his own jaws and take what was rightfully his.
He was halfway through his meal when he smelled it on the air, and his head jerked up, sniffing wildly.
Lycans. And from the smell of them…
He left the rest of the doe behind, even though his stomach was only half sated, sprinting north as hard as his legs could carry him. He bounded over fallen trees, ignoring his own safety as he desperately tried to put miles between himself and his pursuers.
As darkness fell, his body was exhausted again. He’d been chased much farther than he thought he’d be, and the doe meat he’d eaten stopped nourishing his body long ago. He was too far north too, passing Bend and running through the Willamette National Forest. If it had been light out, he could have seen Mt. Hood from the tops of the hills, but instead as he plunged through the woods, he focused only on the darkness in front of him, using his long ignored Lycan abilities to try and prevent his death.
Finally, as the moon set and full darkness came on, he sensed that his pursuers gave up. He could understand why, he was far too close to Clan Mac Tire lands. The Mac Tires were strong, and had powerful friends too. Carter was sure that if the Mac Tire found him, he’d be in a lot of trouble. The Sierra Claritas hadn’t supported the combined Lycan forces in the war against the Silver Hunters, and the Mac Tires hadn’t forgotten it.
Carter stopped, the world swimming and his chest heaving as he reached out with all of his senses to determine if he was alone or not. Sniffing the air, he couldn’t smell Lycan, which helped.
But he had other problems. He hadn’t slept since being knocked out, his body was worn down after covering over three hundred miles by the crow flies, and more if he took into account the twists, turns, and more. He’d run most of it hard, and he was beat up.
His body shook and shivered, his fur no longer protecting him from the effects of the night chill or the exhaustion that threatened him as much as any enemy. He knew he had to find shelter, and fast.
Carter looked, and saw something that gave him a ray of hope. In the distance, he could see with his Lycan vision the glow of electrical wires, their high frequency vibrations putting off a distinct glow that he headed towards. Wires meant civilization, and even if he were naked when he shifted back to human form, civilization meant a chance to get some food, some rest, and maybe some clothes.
He followed the lines, which weren’t high tension lines but a simple set of dual lines that he hadn’t seen above ground for years. Mile after mile he followed them, and just as he was about to give up hope, thinking he must have followed them the wrong way, there was another pole, and an offshoot line that snaked into the woods. A dirt driveway led him down a path to a log cabin in the woods, and Carter knew that, no matter what, this was the place that he had to find shelter for the night.
He watched the cabin, staying in the trees as he circled carefully, but the cabin seemed empty. The electrical wire ended at the house, but no lights were on, and he didn’t think that there was anyone home at the time.
On the limits of his strength, Carter shifted back, staggering up the steps to the cabin and knocking on the door. “Hello?” he asked, his voice harsh and raspy in his throat, he hadn’t drunk enough water either. “Hello!”
There was no reply. Leaning against the door, Carter pushed, and after a moment there was a wooden snap on the other side as the lock ripped free of the door frame, and he gained entry.
“Hope there’s no alarm,” he muttered to himself as he walked inside. “Then again, maybe a trip to county might be helpful right now.”
There was no alarm though, and Carter made his way inside, his bare feet quiet on the rough hewn plank floor of the cabin. To call it rustic would be an understatement, he thought as he looked around. Everything looked like it was either hand built or military surplus, and all of it looked like it was sturdy enough to support a tank. “Hello? If anyone’s here, I could really use some help.”
There was nothing, and Carter did his best to close the door behind him before he made his way to the kitchen area. The fridge wasn’t running and was in fact empty, but the cupboards had some canned goods in them, and as Carter ripped open the one pound tin of corned beef hash, he didn’t think he’d ever been hungrier in his life.
Wolfing the hash down in big bites, Carter looked around the rest of the cabin, curious. He didn’t smell a normal human scent, like whoever lived here had a lot of contact with animals, but he couldn’t pin the scent itself. The single bedroom was like the living area, with a hand built bed that looked like it was made with metal piping and two by fours, and was heavy duty enough that it probably weighed a couple hundred pounds. “King sized bed though,” Carter noted, although there was only one pillow in the center of the bed. “Not bad.”
He was tempted to look for some clothes, but for some reason he just didn’t feel right about it. Instead, he went back out to the kitchen dropping the empty can in the sink before drinking enough water to make his stomach slosh. He looked down at his bruised and aching skin, then at the couch. “You look beautiful, darlin’.”
Carter went over to the door and checked, finding a deadbolt and throwi
ng it before staggering over to the couch and lying down. He lay back, and before his head even hit the pillow his eyes closed, and he was asleep.
His dreams were troubled, to put it mildly, but his body was so exhausted that he didn’t move other than whimper in his throat and his head jerked from time to time. He was so deeply asleep that he didn’t hear the truck pull up out front, or the tread on the gravel. He didn’t hear as the door unlocked, or the strangely light but steady tread that crossed the room.
In fact, the first sound that Carter heard was the distinctive click-clack sound of the shotgun being jacked, and his eyes opened to find himself staring into the cavernous hole of the shotgun.
“Who are you, and what are you doing in my cabin, Lycan?” a woman asked, and Carter blinked, confused.
“Who… wha…?”
“The name’s Sana Malloy, and you’re in my cabin. Now, you got five seconds to tell me the same thing… before I blow your damn werewolf head off. One… two… three...”
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Also by Jessica Snow