by Desiree Holt
Chapter 4
I stood at the edge of the trees, checking the falling position of the sun. My clock was ticking, the sound growing louder with each passing moment. I took a deep breath, letting the scents of the forest drown it out if only for a stolen instant.
Branson stood beside me. His wide shoulders were squared and his eyes glowed Wolf-Gold. Without a word, he took my hand and led me into the shade of the forest. My heart gave another tug as he pulled me forward, and I gritted my teeth against it.
We passed deeper still into the trees, where only dapples of sunlight could touch, and the shadows were cool and smelled of rich greenery. I knew these lands well, as this was my home turf, but I was sure that Branson’s nose told him there was a creek five miles north and a herd of deer grazing directly to our west.
He turned to me, his form dwarfing mine. I wished he weren’t so attractive, because what good was that to a Wolf with a ticking time bomb hanging over her head? I’d seen The Bear, and it was not like I was going to go down without a fight, but I understood probability as well as the next Dog. I’d been set up to lose, and it would take some kind of miracle for me to make it to tomorrow.
So what did it matter that Branson made my stomach tickle, or that his eyes held me the way the night sky holds the stars, captured and immobile? It didn’t matter… It shouldn’t matter.
“Should we shift?” he asked.
I nodded, but when he pulled his shirt off over his head, I realized with a jolt that he meant right here and now, in front of each other. For several embarrassing seconds, I could only watch the way the muscles in his stomach contracted, the way the sunlight peeking through the canopy kissed his golden skin, and the countless scars that marred that skin, but somehow only made him more attractive.
The thought that I was in serious trouble came to me then, and it had nothing to do with my date in The Pit in less than a couple hours.
Seeing my rapt attention, Branson raised a dark brow. With a smirk that disappeared as fast as a ghost in the light, he turned his back toward me, giving me privacy that I wasn’t sure I needed, but appreciated, nonetheless.
I removed my clothes quickly, stealing glimpses of him as he did the same. Then we both shifted, taking on our Wolf forms and acquiring that unique perspective. The pain I had been experiencing lessened greatly. My wounds would heal much faster the longer I stayed in this form.
With the substantial decrease in my discomfort, I was able to appreciate the majesty that was Branson in Wolf form. I’d never seen a creature so big, so intimidating. His fur was jet black and shiny like his hair. His eyes were dark orbs that swirled incrementally with Wolf-Gold. He towered over me, my tail instinctually tucking between my legs as I took in the sight of him.
He approached me slowly, his gaze drinking me in, and when he buried his muzzle into the think fur of my neck, I felt a shiver race down my spine, the fur there standing on end.
“You’re beautiful,” I told him in the way our kind had. When in Wolf form, we could communicate telepathically. The only catch was sometimes your thoughts just slipped out, as had that two-word comment.
The sound of his deep chuckle responded. “You too, little Wolf,” he said. “Now, let’s run. Gather the energy from the earth. We’ll both need it.”
“Won’t that wear us out before the fights?”
His dark eyes met mine, his ears swiveling on his head. “I’ve never lost, darlin’.”
This term of endearment, spoken in his deep bass voice, would likely lure me off a bridge if used to do so. I ran my tongue out over my teeth and lowered my head in compliance.
Branson shot off in the direction of the deer herd, moving faster than I would have thought possible for such a large Wolf. I felt the power coil in my muscles and took off after him.
We raced through the trees, leaping and loping like we hadn’t a care in the world. His agility was impressive, and though I was a much smaller Wolf, and as such, one of the fastest runners I knew, Branson was admittedly difficult to keep up with. Within what seemed a handful of heartbeats, we were on the family of deer.
I really just watched as Branson made the kill. It would be a feat not to. He moved as though he never really touched the ground, his enormous body so swift it was almost otherworldly. The buck never stood a chance. Branson tore its throat out with the ease of tearing open a letter.
Once that was done, he dragged the dead beast over to me and dropped it at my feet.
“Eat,” he said.
I did what I was told, and watched in amazement as he took down another doe, dragged it back over near me, and plopped down on his haunches. We ate, him watching me and me watching him.
I could feel the strength returning to me, could hear the clock ticking over my head.
“You’re afraid,” he said.
I only looked at him, my eyes swirling gold as I licked deer blood from my muzzle. Of course I was afraid.
“Your opponent is The Bear,” he added. It was not a question, so again, I only looked at him. He continued. “She’s stronger than you, larger than you, and has won many more fights. Plus, you’re injured.”
I swallowed a piece of raw deer and sat back on my own haunches. My head tilted to the left. “If you’re trying to bolster my confidence, keep going. You’re doing an awesome job.”
“You can still win,” he said, and it took me a moment of just staring at him for me to realize he was being serious.
“Really? You’ve got a magic potion under your tail that can turn me into a beast?
Even as a Wolf, I could tell he was giving me a droll look. “You already have that ability, little Wolf.” He paused, his head tilting and ears flicking, looking at me as if he was trying to come to some sort of decision. Then, he said, “We could merge and I could give you some of my power.”
I blinked at him, certain I’d misheard. To suggest merging was outrageous for many reasons. First of all, it would transfer some of his energy to me, leaving him weaker for his own pending fight. Second, it was a something Wolves normally only did for mates, and as a general rule, Dogs did not take on mates. Our lives were too short, our purpose until death singular.
“It would help you heal as well,” he added when words failed me.
“Why?” I asked. It was all I could manage.
He gave the same answer as before. “I don’t know.”
I shook my head once in disbelief. “You go around merging with damsels in distress all the time?”
Now there was no playfulness to his tone. “Never.” A pause. “Is that a no?”
In answer, I shifted into my human form, standing before him as bare as the day I was born.
* * *
Being with Branson was the type of experience you used to divide your life into two parts; before and after. He gave me more of his energy and power than I’d been expecting, filled me with an amount of hope that bordered on catastrophic.
His body was warm, strong, and delightfully unfamiliar. I knew next to nothing about him, so everything seemed a discovery. I’d been with other men before, and I didn’t hold to the social convention that a woman was any less a woman for going about satisfying her needs as long as it was in a safe manner, but this was somehow different, and the fact that we were merging was only the half of it.
I didn’t understand, not before, during, or after the act why he was doing it. Branson was a top tier Dog, a Wolf on the brink of history, a mere fifteen fights between him and freedom. Mingling his Wolf spirit with mine, giving me a piece of him, was a gesture larger than all the gestures I’d ever experienced combined and multiplied by a hundred.
I was eighteen, attractive and strong and owned. I was scarred and battle hardened. I had no friends, no family, no future. So you would think I would be immune to such a thing. In truth, had someone dictated this turn of events to me just yesterday, I would have laughed at the pure absurdness of it all.
I’d known Branson a handful of hours, and I had fallen in love. I
t was almost crueler than the sum of the cruelties in my life, like a sip of water to a dog in the dessert that serves only to prolong the inevitable.
When it was done, things were shifted, nothing was the same. Except for the fact that The Pit awaited us both, and beyond that, there was nothing.
We took our human forms and got dressed, the time to go dreadfully near. Standing there in the privacy of the forest, there seemed to be nothing and everything to say, but none of it would come to me.
Branson pulled his t-shirt over his head, covering the scars and golden skin that had been warmer to the touch than I would’ve thought possible. Then, he approached me. He stood so close that my breath caught and I had to crane my neck back to look up at him.
His presence surrounded me, somehow more familiar than it should be. His large, rough hand came up and cupped my cheek gently, as if he were afraid I might crumble under his touch. The idea that I feared the same slammed into me like a fist.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Healed,” I answered. “Strong.”
Branson met my gaze, his eyes dark and captivating. “Good,” he said. “Because I would prefer it very much if you didn’t lose tonight, little wolf.”
I nodded, intent on not making a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep, so I gave the most honest answer I could, even though the words were nearly painful to speak. Speaking them made them real, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it.
“I would prefer that, too,” I told him.
Then I thanked him with a kiss that made my chest ache.
Chapter 5
The sun lowered in the sky uncaring of the events its descent would harbor. I stood to the north of the barracks where the Dogs slept, the buzz of the crowd filling my ears, the energy of a fight night racing through my body.
I felt good. I felt strong. Maybe better and stronger than I’d ever felt… and also more afraid.
I’d never had anything to lose in these fights, save for my life, which at many times seemed better off if it came to an end. I wasn’t sure that I’d gained something by what had happened between Branson and I, but I was sure that things were not the same. He’d asked me not to lose, and something about his requests and commands made me want to obey.
Despite being a Dog, obeying was not something that resided in my nature.
The sky had darkened. An unruly crowd now ringed The Pit, which was an empty fifteen-by-twenty foot hole in the earth that stood desolate during the daylight hours. The bleachers and stands were stocked to the brim, those with less money or propriety gathered in the back, standing on tiptoes for a better view.
Money was clutched in their hands, extended over their heads, and spittle flew from their lips as they cheered on the Dog they’d wagered on, shouting insults and curses when their champion failed, and similar sentiments when theirs succeeded.
My fight against The Bear was the fourth on the roster in a lineup of ten. Branson’s would be the last fight, the big finale. It occurred to me that I wanted to be around to see his victory, maybe even to pray for it.
I wasn’t sure what had happened to me, but I was changed, all right.
Mr. Murphy, the sicko gravedigger, sidled up to me and sucked at his teeth, leaning on his well-used shovel. “You look perky, Rookie,” he said, his eyes running the length of me. “You thinkin’ about upsetting me tonight? Think you got a shot at beatin’ the big ole bear?” He laughed, it was a half-choke, half-gurgle that made my stomach turn unpleasantly.
I was a second away from saying to hell with the consequences and grabbing Murphy up by his throat when a shadow fell over the both of us, a layer of darkness adding those of the night.
My eyes wandered up to take in the stoic stare of Branson, his dark gaze fixed on Murphy. “Go away,” he said, his voice so deep that it was little more than a thundery growl in his chest.
There was no argument from the gravedigger, only fear that was instant and reeked off him in waves. His beady eyes flicked from Branson to me and back again, and without another word, he hobbled quickly away.
“That was very attractive,” I said, looking at Branson with an inability to conceal my continued amazement with him. Again, I thought that I really, really didn’t want to lose.
To the north, where The Pit lie fifty paces away, teeming with the heat of the fight, the crowd erupted into cheers, and the high-pitched sound of a Wolf yelping with its last breath cut through the night.
That brought to an end the third fight of the night. The Bear and I would share the fourth.
* * *
When a Dog is just a pup, and being forced into The Pit, a shot of epinephrine is delivered to the bloodstream in order to force a shift. Some of the pups would be defiant, refusing to remain in Wolf form and usually facing the blunt end of a whipping cane as a result of it. Every pup was eventually broken, and once they were, they became an official Dog. They understood and accepted their purpose.
At this stage, I didn’t need the epinephrine to force a shift. I did so willingly. It was good to let the Wolf take over for a bit when preparing to enter a fight to the death. Our inner Wolves are stronger in that sense than our human sides, our wills to survive greater.
I paced the area beside The Pit, separated from the spectators by a dugout-like structure—three wooden walls and a tin roof. My head was tucked low between my shoulders, the fur on my back standing at attention. The roof shook at various intervals as the crowd began chanting, calling out their readiness for the next fight.
My name was called, my ears swiveling toward the sound of it. I wondered stupidly where Branson was, if he would be watching. As I stepped out into the open for all the gathered to see, I reminded myself that it didn’t matter one bit.
It was time for battle, and in battle, there is no time for diverting thoughts.
“Welcome Rook the Rabid!” called the announcer, and I leapt the ten feet down into the hole in the earth where I would have my turn with death.
Unintelligible things were shouted, whistles and howls ringing out. The high, florescent lights that circled The Pit cast a sickly blue-yellow glow over the area. My eyes searched the crowd, my mind insisting that I was looking for no one in particular.
Faces and bodies flashed by, none that meant anything to me, and I turned my attention back to the task at hand, because that was when they called my opponent’s name, announcing her stats and size to the crowd. This crowing was met with admittedly appropriate awes of appreciation, and a moment later, the Wolf they called The Bear leapt down into the pit with me.
Now that the time was here, a sort of cold indifference settled over me. It was a feeling I knew well, the blood rush that stabilized me in instances of volatility. The Bear stood much taller than me, taking up considerably more space in the pit, making each move I made a venture into her territory.
Without further ceremony, a dog whistle was blown, and the both of us bared our sharp teeth in battle.
Part of me expected her to charge in and use brute strength, but someone must have warned The Bear about my speed, because instead of rushing right in, we circled, calculating.
Growls rumbled up her dark chest, surrounding me and effectively drowning out the sounds of the crowd. My adrenaline blurred out the world until there was no one left but the two of us.
The Bear darted toward me, quicker than I would have expected, and there was no choice and no room to do anything but meet her jaws head on. I heard the click of her teeth as they grazed my ear, the canine ripping through the flesh there and sending warm blood running into my eyes.
Despite this, I kept my head low, protecting my neck, snapping back at her with wild abandon, hoping to latch onto something vital… and unable.
Soon, the scent of iron overrode the other senses, the bloodlust of our inner Wolves taking over, our powerful jaws ripping into any place they could gain purchase. Pain exploded in incredible color throughout me, every tear, bite, and laceration felt in brilliant capacity. I felt myself
weakening, the fatigue setting in, the agony of multiple wounds slowly taking over.
I wasn’t sure how long we were in there, but some distant part of my mind knew that this fight was lasting much longer than any other fight I’d been in. Dogfights could end in a matter of minutes, seconds even, and conversely, they could also go on for an hour. You can guess which fights are the worst to watch, though from the rumbling excitement it generated in the crowd, clearly not everyone shared this opinion.
When The Bear’s jaw snapped dangerously close to my underbelly, an inch or two from the spot where she’d be able to rip out my internal organs, I knew that there was a shift taking place. I’d put up a better and longer fight than anyone had expected, but I was losing. I was slipping away.
A voice filled my head that snapped me out of my weary thoughts. “Focus, little Wolf,” Branson said. “You are doing well. She’s underestimated you.”
Responding to this while just trying to protect myself from a death-dealing bite from The Bear proved to be the task of the century, but somehow, I managed.
“I’m weakening,” I admitted, and then, for a reason I had no knowledge of, I added, “I’m sorry.”
“Move left!” he growled, and without thought, my body obeyed, narrowly missing a snap from my opponent that would have severed an important artery.
I used this surprising evasion to tear at her flank, taking a good chunk of fur and meat away along with me. The Bear let out a little yelp that didn’t sound anything like her namesake, swiveled around swiftly to face me once more, and let out a growl that sounded just like the moniker she’d been designated.
“Keep low to the ground. You have to get under her,” Branson said. His voice was cool and calm, as though commenting on the weather during a stroll by the sea.
I did as he said, gathering my remaining strength around me and focusing on his voice rather than the chaos that was happening around me. Then I made a foolish move.
Darting forward into an opening that closed too quickly, I missed my mark and twisted in a way that left my throat vulnerable. The Bear’s jaws filled my field of vision in the next instant. A shock of terrible pain ripped through my chest as the pressure of her teeth closed around me.