Born Wild

by Nikki Jefford

  Clutching his shirt, her lower lip gave a slight tremble.

  Wolfrik’s heart rate kicked up the way it did before he pounced on a rabbit. He began to smirk, sure her gaze would land on him at any second, when from out of nowhere, Tabor stepped in front of Kallie, blocking Wolfrik’s view. He growled, but there was no one close enough to hear.

  Damned half-breed. He’d encroached on Kallie like a storm cloud covering the sun, smothering her light. And did he have to stand so damn close to her? Give the female room to breathe! Not everyone liked shifters all up in their faces. Kallie seemed like the type who appreciated her space. She’d bitten Wolfrik for getting too close.

  And holding her down, he reminded himself guiltily.

  He’d never been bitten by a female. He liked it. It had made his blood pump hot and his cock stand to attention. He wanted to nip her back . . . while he was inside her—mark her inside and out.

  It had been so long since he’d been with a female by choice. He wanted to do the choosing for a change, and he wanted to listen to the sweet sounds of a she-wolf moaning his name, grateful to have him between her legs. Kallie looked like just the sort of female who would appreciate his attentions—if they weren’t currently homed in on Tabor.

  Another snarl rose up Wolfrik’s throat. Tabor moved slightly to the side, unblocking Kallie. The sweet smile she offered Tabor raked across Wolfrik’s chest.

  Didn’t Tabor have any male friends he could hang out with? He was always cozying up with the females: Sasha, Elsie, Heidi, Emerson, and now Kallie. Why the hell was he talking to her for so long?

  Finally, he pulled away to join Sasha and Elsie. About time.

  Kallie stood in place, looking lost in thought.

  Wolfrik grumbled to himself, impatient for her to remember why she’d come to the glade, who she’d been looking for. The answer was right there in her hands.

  Wolfrik lowered his arms and strode toward her. No more clinging to the trees like a goddamn shadow. If he waited any longer, some other male might step in the way, and that wasn’t something he was used to at all.

  As Wolfrik charged up to her, Kallie gave a squeak of surprise.

  “What did Tabor want?” The words were out of his mouth like fallen leaves over the lip of the falls, and there was no stopping them once they came rushing out.

  Kallie cocked her head to the side and pressed her lips together. She studied Wolfrik’s face for a moment. The soft expression she’d first entered with was gone, replaced by confusion and something resembling irritation.

  “He wanted to thank me for spending the afternoon with his sister.”

  “The witch?”

  Kallie frowned.

  Wolfrik’s forehead wrinkled. “Be careful around her. She looks and sounds innocent, but she’s got more power and cunning than her big brother. She’s hiding secrets and she’s dangerous.”

  Kallie huffed with amusement. “And you’re not?”

  A smile flickered over Wolfrik’s lips. He closed in on Kallie, pushing his bare chest against her breasts. Damn if they weren’t soft and plump—straining through the wide opening of her dress.

  “Yes, I’m dangerous,” he said. “But with me you know exactly what kind of danger you’re in.” His hooded gaze dipped between her breasts. The bright fabric gaped open, giving him an eyeful. She shivered against him, and his groin tightened and jerked.

  “Wolfrik, Jager wants a word with you.” Palmer stood three feet away, glowering at them.

  Kallie jerked away, eyes blinking rapidly.

  “Here’s your shirt,” she gasped, thrusting it into Wolfrik’s hands. “Thanks.”

  Crushing the fabric in his scarred hands, Wolfrik glared over Kallie’s head at Palmer for interrupting them. Palmer missed the phantom daggers because his eyes were plastered to Kallie.

  As Wolfrik walked away, he heard Palmer demand, “What did Wolfrik want?”

  Why were males waiting in line to badger Kallie about who she talked to? Never mind he was one of them.

  He slowed his steps to listen a little longer. Would Kallie confide in Palmer? Tell him about her late-night run and encounter with the Big Bad Wolf?

  But she only offered Palmer an irritable one-word answer.

  “Nothing.”

  Wolfrik smiled to himself and continued to the bonfire where Jager sat on a stump near the flames.

  “What do you want?” Wolfrik asked gruffly once he reached him.

  Jager looked from Wolfrik to the log beside him. “Have a seat.”

  “I’m more comfortable standing.”

  “Then I’ll stand, too.” Jager made a pitiful attempt to lift his frail body from the stump, groaning as he did.

  Wolfrik rolled his eyes upward. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t strain yourself. I can sit. I don’t want to be responsible for you throwing out your back or some other shit.”

  Once Wolfrik settled on the log beside Jager, he noticed deep frown lines on the elder’s face.

  “Well, what is it?” Wolfrik asked impatiently. “Does the council want to ban me from the glade as well as the den?”

  Jager’s eyes bore into his. “I think it’s time you rejoined patrol, got back in the swing of things.”

  Wolfrik laughed humorlessly. “Oh, you do, do you? And tell me, old man, which female is brave enough to be my partner?”

  “I don’t plan on partnering you with a female. Aden agreed to patrol with you.”

  Wolfrik snorted. “Always the clever one, Jager. You know that a werewolf is your best chance at keeping me in line.”

  Jager sighed. “I look forward to the day you realize I’m not trying to keep you in line, Wolfrik. I’m trying to bring you back.”

  Wolfrik’s mouth opened, readying for a cutting retort, but as Jager’s words sank in, his jaw clenched and lips pursed. He had no reply, no retort, no snarky comeback about the old man’s battle for his soul.

  Instead, he asked, “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’d like you and Aden to take over the eastern hunting grounds from Justin and Amber. I tasked them with hunting down deer, and so far they’ve failed to deliver.”

  Wolfrik snorted. “Big surprise.” He got to his feet. “If you want someone capable to hunt and kill, you asked the right wolf.”

  “That’s not all I want, but it’s a start.” Jager studied him a moment before returning his attention to the fire as though silently conversing with the flames.

  Early the next morning, hours before the gong summoned shifters to breakfast, Wolfrik and Aden stalked a family of four deer. They moved silently along the brush, following the deer that never stopped for long between bites of leaves and grass. It wasn’t until the deer wandered into a trench bursting with clovers that the animals came to a halt, bending their heads to gorge on the lush, abundant herbs.

  Wolfrik had his eyes on the young buck with the slight limp. The animal had been wounded and would soon be picked off from its herd. In nature, it all came down to survival of the fittest. Wolfrik slunk around the trench to come at the deer from the opposite side while Aden crouched low and waited.

  Hunt. Attack. Kill. His wolf’s thoughts were on repeat, as focused and intent on his prize as the deer on the greens at their feet.

  The assault played out with glorious precision.

  When Wolfrik lunged, the deer scattered, taking off blindly. The injured buck ran straight into the awaiting werewolf while Wolfrik locked his jaws around one of its hind legs.

  The buck kicked and thrashed, narrowly missing Wolfrik’s ribs with its flailing hoof. Aden, who was taller by a couple feet, grabbed the animal by the throat and pulled it to the ground. Wolfrik released the buck’s back leg and joined Aden at the neck, where they bit and ripped until the deer went still.

  They both shifted and stared at their kill from the ground wher
e they were crouched naked.

  Wolfrik stood first, swiping his palms back and forth. “And that’s how it’s done.”

  They took turns carrying the deer to a spot beside the Sakhir River.

  “I’ll get the knives and rope,” Aden said, already striding in the direction of the hollow’s communal cabin with its supplies and other odds and ends.

  Wolfrik stood beside the dead deer while Aden jogged away. He folded his arms and looked around the woods lining the river’s edge, silently daring any creature dumb enough to try and come after their kill. But the forest was calm in the predawn light.

  Wolfrik glanced at the dead deer, who stared from one forlorn glassy eye into the forest. Unlike rabbits or humans, deer didn’t scream or shriek in pain. They struggled and fought for freedom with every last breath, much like Eric had labored to break free from Wolfrik’s deadly hold.

  He could still feel the thick fur of his friend’s neck against his bare arms as he tightened his grasp. The wolf’s rage had turned to panic then fear. Eric had not given up. There’d been no peace at the end, only a bottomless well of grief.

  Tears swarmed Wolfrik’s eyes, and a strangled cry rose to his lips. The ground gave way beneath his feet, and he fell into that damp, dark pit. Out of nowhere, mist surrounded him. No, not mist, but the ghosts of the shifters he’d killed—eight total—wisps of vapor trying to take form. Like the deer, they made no sound. They didn’t have to. Wolfrik’s soul howled loud enough to drown out the world and all its misery. If it didn’t stop soon, he’d go deaf and be left with the haunting memories—a silent hell that would torment him until his last breath and, with his rotten luck, into the afterlife.

  “Wolfrik?” Aden said uncertainly.

  The mist had retreated, leaving him on the ground, arms wrapped around his legs, rocking back and forth. Wolfrik never remembered sitting.

  When Aden said his name a second time, he snapped out of his fog and jumped to his feet with a snarl.

  “What took you so long?”

  Aden shrugged the question off and handed Wolfrik a knife. The rope was wound in a circle that hung from one of the werewolf shifter’s muscular shoulders. He studied Wolfrik’s face and arched a brow.

  “You up for this?”

  Red flashes replaced the white mist. It seared over Wolfrik’s vision. His fingers curled into fists, one of them tightening around the knife’s handle.

  “What did you just ask me?” he challenged.

  Aden jutted his chin at the deer. “It’s been a long time since you skinned an animal. After what you’ve been through, I would understand if you’re not in the mood. That’s why I’m offering to take care of it.”

  “You think I can’t handle blood and guts?” With the pressure in his jaw, Wolfrik’s teeth felt half a clench away from piercing through his gums.

  Aden blinked several times and leaned back. “I know you can, but you might not want to.”

  “Of course I want to,” Wolfrik snapped. “This is what we came out here to do. Hunt, kill, skin, and clean.” In a rush of emotion, he whirled around and threw the knife at a nearby tree, sending the blade spinning wildly, lodging itself into the bark with a satisfying thunk.

  Aden stared at the knife protruding from the tree and scrubbed his jaw. He was bigger, taller, and more muscular than any wolf. Hawk would have wet himself to bag a mammoth-sized shifter like Aden. Not that the asshole would ever come close; Aden would never run off in a blind rage, not even for a few minutes. It must be great to follow the pack and be content with whatever decisions they made. Wolfrik doubted he would ever know.

  Aden turned his attention away from the tree and looked Wolfrik over with consideration. “You don’t have to act tough in front of me. It’s just the two of us out here. I’ve seen what humans are like and have a pretty good idea what you’ve been through.”

  There was no chance in hell Aden knew what Wolfrik had been through, and there was no way he would allow the werewolf to turn this partnership into some sort of touchy-feely healing session.

  “What is this?” Wolfrik demanded. “You think you know me? You think you can get to know me? Repair all the damage that’s been done? Is this why Jager sent us out here together?” He crashed over to the tree and jerked the knife out of the trunk in one grasp. “I am what I am, and no one—not you, not anyone else—is ever going to change that.”

  Aden shrugged, his expression and tone calm. “The only reason Jager sent us out here was to get meat for the pack.”

  “Good, ’cause that’s all we’re doing. Let’s cut this animal up before it spoils.”

  Aden pulled the rope over his head and unwound it carefully, as though it were a snake that might bite if not handled properly. With a huff of impatience, Wolfrik took the rope from Aden and knotted one end around the deer’s hind legs. He turned his back to Aden, hiding the tremor in his hands.

  “Keep steady, you fucking pussy,” he admonished himself. “Look at those legs and hooves. Deer legs, not wolf. No paws. No claws. Not a wolf,” he assured himself again.

  Once he tightened the knot, they strung the deer from a thick branch, head hanging down. Blood dripped from the creature’s torn throat. Aden made another deep cut through the hide from the neck to its belly and stood back.

  Wolfrik’s mind went numb as he watched the deer bleed out—the same calm settling over him that he’d felt after a fight when he was the only one left standing in the pit.

  He’d made it back to Wolf Hollow, but he was still alone. Even his ghosts and demons had left him at the first scent of blood.

  Aden’s presence no longer registered or bothered him. It was as though he wasn’t there at all.

  chapter seven

  Tree after tree after tree shot up, blotting the sky, all around her.

  The forest began to look like an endless sea of green, one Sparrow was slowly drowning in. Even her dark-feathered foe had given up on her, leaving her to stumble and search for signs of intelligent life. At night she listened for the call of wolves, and when none came, loneliness burrowed inside her heart and another piece of her soul shriveled up.

  “I have no idea where I’m going,” Sparrow said conversationally.

  Several days ago she’d taken to talking to herself out loud. Yeah, she was losing it. From pain and grief, to anger and fury, and finally, madness.

  “Madness?” She huffed. “Let’s not be dramatic just yet. I think you’re lonely, maybe a little scared.” She looked over her shoulder as though speaking to someone behind her. “Uh, speak for yourself. I admit I’m a little lonely with only you to talk to, but I’m definitely not scared. I don’t care enough to feel fear.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “Shut up.”

  “What?”

  Groaning, Sparrow spun in place, the forest whirling around her. She came to a stop. It didn’t matter which direction she faced; it all looked the same. She had no sense of direction, especially considering she had no idea where she was going.

  “Wolfrik, where are you?” she asked in a forlorn voice.

  “Better hope you don’t find out. He’ll kill you,” said the taunting voice. “He’ll strangle you the same way he did Eric.”

  “Good. I hope he puts us both out of our misery.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do, and if you don’t stop bothering me, I’ll save him the trouble.”

  No answer came. Unbelievable. There were so many comebacks to that, the most obvious one being that if she hadn’t had the courage to end her life at the compound, why would she now? It would be pointless, for one thing. Way too mundane. She’d had an opportunity to make it memorable. Dying in the woods was too anticlimactic.

  Sparrow cleared her throat. “Fine, I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t do
that—not after all the trouble I took to escape. That would be a tragic waste.”

  The other voice didn’t answer.

  “Hello?” Sparrow called impatiently.

  Nothing.

  Her stomach rumbled, but her hunger would have to wait until midday. Her supply of dried food was running low.

  Speaking of dull ways to die, she would not allow starvation to take her. She had a gun and a hunting knife in her backpack. Hawk had taught her to shoot in her preteen years. They’d practiced in the field with old rusted cans and glass bottles. But it was one thing to shoot a can, another to kill a living creature. Could she do it? Eventually she’d have to.

  Sparrow tamped her hunger down, imagining her belly full of protein. For now, she’d ration.

  Sometime after midday, she came upon a gently flowing river. With a cry of delight, she slipped off her backpack as she jogged the rest of the way to the water’s edge. Sparrow removed her shoes and socks before bounding into the water. She didn’t care that the bottom of her pant legs got wet as she sloshed along the river’s shallows. Her clothing needed a good wash—her entire body did.

  After walking up and down the riverbank, Sparrow selected a spot with a bit of sandy shore and large river rocks. She collected sturdy branches from the forest floor, breaking some off nearby trees, and balanced them between the tall rocks. Once everything was set up, she pulled her clothing out of her backpack and stripped out of the rest.

  Sparrow took each garment, one by one, to the river and submerged the articles, swirling them then plunging them in and out of the water. She took her time with each piece before wringing it out then draping it over a stick to air-dry.

  Once her clothes were washed and drying, she waded to the center of the river and crouched up to her neck, hissing at the water’s cool sting. Her skin began to numb. The sooner she rinsed off, the sooner she could dry off in the sun’s heat. She dipped her head back, wetting the ends, keeping watch on either side of the riverbank. Then she quickly dunked her head and blinked water out of her eyes.