by Terry Spear
Page 3
Stretching again, her lean body began to take the form of the wolf. The painless transformation always occurred quickly and filled her with a sense of urgency — to hunt, to run wild among the other creatures of the forest.
A thick cinnamon-red pelt covered her skin as her nose elongated into a snout, and her teeth grew ready for the hunt. She straightened her back, howled with the change, then dropped to her paws. Her nails extended into sharp claws, itching to dig into the pine needle-cushioned earth.
Though she preferred venison to rabbit, she hunted the latter. Killing deer out of season constituted a crime. If anyone found the leftovers of such a kill, an investigation would follow. Soon word would spread that a wolf was killing deer in the area. A wolf that might next go after ranchers’ sheep or cattle, or household pets, or children. A wolf thought to be extinct in these parts.
Leaping off the porch, her long legs carried her with graceful bounds through the wilderness. She traveled through several hundreds of acres before spying another cabin — quiet, vacated. Since it was winter and no longer hunting season, except for the end of dusky Canadian goose season, she shouldn’t glimpse another human being.
She thought she caught a whiff of something familiar. Pausing, she sniffed the air, and recognized the distinctive smell of lupus garou — red lupus garou.
Loping toward the origin of the scent, she darted past pines and firs, ducked beneath low-hanging branches, jumped a moss-covered log in her path. . . then halted.
A patch of red fur clung to the bark of an oak. Definitely red wolf; and because none existed here, it had to be a red lupus garou‘s.
She contemplated returning to her human form and taking the evidence back to her cabin, but she was miles from there, and as cold as it was, her human counterpart probably wouldn’t make it.
The breeze shifted. She smelled the red’s scent stronger now. He’d just urinated somewhere nearby, marking his territory. She hesitated. If he were looking for a mate, she’d be a prime target; and if he were an alpha male, she wouldn’t be strong enough to fight him if he decided to force a mating.
Leaves rustled. A twig snapped underfoot a short distance away. A chill raced all the way down her spine to the tip of her taut tail. An eerie feeling she was being watched froze her in place.
What if he was the killer? What if he was hunting her now? But what if she could lure him into the open, play his game, and turn him over to whatever pack happened to live in the area? Even if he were a loner, the pack in the territory would condemn him to die. Killing humans put every lupus garou at risk. Keeping their secret hidden was the only way for them to survive.
Then again, he might just be a pack member hunting for fresh meat — enjoying the freedom of the change like she was — who had come across her, a loner lupus garou violating the pack’s territory. Unless. . . unless their reds had a shortage of females like the Colorado grays did, and. . .
Damn, why hadn’t she considered that before now?
She stared into the shadowy woods where bugs cricketed in a raucous chorus and a breeze ruffled the pine needles in a whispered hush. If there was a severe shortage of female lupus garou, was the killer trying to turn a human female in the ancient way? To make her his mate?
Not good.
She dashed to where he’d left his mark. No sign of him. But the urine was fresh. Too fresh. He had to be close by, but if he were stalking her he couldn’t be an alpha male. An alpha male would have already approached her and let her know he wanted her, if he needed a mate. He had to smell how ripe she was and know she was ready, too. Was that why he went after female humans, because they were easier to take than a lupus garou? Maybe he was afraid to advance on a loner who was more feral, warier, more unpredictable.
She caught the scent of another. Also male. Except for twitching her ears back and forth and withdrawing her panting tongue, she listened and sniffed the air but stood in place.
She smelled — water.
Swallowing, she felt parched, and loped toward the sound of Wolf Creek, the water bubbling nearby. At the fringe of the forest she hesitated, not liking the way the stream’s banks were so exposed. For several minutes she stood watching, listening for signs of danger — human danger.
Nothing.
The water beckoned to her. She swallowed again, stared at the rush of the stream, then walked cautiously across the pebble bank.
Unable to shake the feeling that someone watched her, she waited like a rabbit cornered by a wolf, cemented in place.
Ice-cold water from melting snow off the mountains dove over rounded rock. She dipped her tongue into the water and lapped it up; the liquid cooled and soothed her dry throat.
She couldn’t help wishing she were back in Colorado, running with Devlyn like they’d done when they were younger — chasing through the woods, nipping at each other’s hindquarters, feeling the wind ruffle their fur. God, how she wished he’d mated with her.
Water trickled and gurgled at her feet, birds chirped overhead, and sugar-drained oak leaves rustled in the breeze all around her. But then a flash of red fur caught her attention, and she turned.
The glitter of the sun’s fading reflection off a wolf’s amber eyes captured her, held her hostage, but her gaze held him captive, too. But only for a moment. His head whipped to the side. Another flash of fur, and another male appeared. Then, the wave of a wolf’s tail as the lupus garou made a hasty retreat. She should have heeded the instinctual warning. Instead, she gauged the remaining wolf’s posture, the way he turned his attention back to her, closed his mouth, and almost seemed to smile before dashing after his companion.
The crashing through the underbrush couldn’t hide the most dangerous sound known to wildlife — a trigger clicking on a rifle. Nothing could disguise the sound of death.
Immediately her tail stood upright, and the hair on her back and neck stood on end.
A chill hurtled down her spine and she dashed through the creek, her heart thundering. Her ears twisted back and forth, trying to identify where the hunter stood.
The sound of a crack rang across the woods and open area, and a sharp pain stabbed her in the left flank. She stumbled. . . then attempted to dash off again, her leg numbed with paralysis.
The hunter shouted, “He’s still going! I’ve never seen a red wolf that big! Shoot him again!”
Idiots. They couldn’t kill her with normal bullets.
Running for several yards, she reached the edge of the forest, but the guarded relief she felt withered when the men splashed across the creek in hot pursuit of her. She sprinted north toward her cabin, miles away. Except going this way meant she had to cross the river. Then again, she could ford it, while she doubted they could.
“Hurry!” one of the men shouted, his voice rife with enthusiasm, but shadowed with a hint of concern.
She would have clenched her teeth in anger, but she was panting too hard. Her movements slowed. Even her brain fuzzed, and her eyesight blurred. Ripping out their throats came to mind, if they got close enough. The primal instinct for self-preservation voided out the ruling drummed into her that her kind didn’t kill humans; keeping their existence a secret outweighed the importance of the life of any single lupus garou.
“Tag him before he reaches the river! We don’t want him drowning!” the same man shouted.
Another crack. Another stab of pain. This time her right flank. She stumbled when her back legs gave out. What had they shot her with? She panted, her heart racing as she tried to keep her wits.
The men crashed through the brush toward her. Their boots impacting with the earth radiated outward and the tremor centered in her pads. She struggled to run. Her heart rate slowed.
“Man, oh, man, I told you, didn’t I, Thompson? He’s beautiful,” a tall man said, wearing camouflaged gear, his dark hair chopped short, the bill of a camouflaged baseball cap shading his eyes. He approached
her with caution.
She gave him a feral look that meant danger and dragged her back legs. Work, damn you! Work! But no matter how much she willed her legs to push her forward, she couldn’t manage. She sat, panic driving her to run, but unable to oblige as a strange numbness slipped through her body. No longer able to sit up, she rolled over onto her side. And watched the hunters approach with murder in her eyes.
“Damn! He’s the biggest red wolf I’ve ever seen, Joe,” Thompson said as both drew closer. . . cautiously. . . the smell of fear cloaking them. He was dressed like the other, only his blue eyes were wide with excitement.
She lifted her head, snarled, and snapped her teeth, but the futile effort cost her precious energy. Exhausted, she dropped her head back to the forest floor, the bed of pine needles tickling her nose.
Joe crouched at her back, then pulled something from her hip. A dart, not bullets. Damn. Her heart beat so slowly she thought she’d die.
“You sure as hell were right that a red wolf prowled these parts. But they’ve been extinct for years. How in the hell did he get here? I mean, he couldn’t have traveled all the way from the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. ” Joe smelled of sweat and sex and a musky deodorant that wasn’t holding up under the pressure; nor was his flowery cologne hiding the body odor.
Thompson, a blond-haired, bearded man, smelled just as sweaty and virile, but he wore no artificial sweeteners to attract the female variety. She could hear his heart hammering against his ribs when he raised her back leg. unable to lift her head, she snarled, but the sound, muffled in sleep, didn’t have the threat she intended.
“He’s a she. Damn. How’d a female ever grow this big?”
She growled, priding herself in being a red wolf, and small. Sure, for a real wolf she appeared big, but as a lupus garou. . . .
He ran his hand over her hind leg. If she hadn’t seen him do it, she’d never have realized it, as numb as her leg was. “Long legs, best looking red pelt I’ve ever seen on a feral wolf. ” He looked over at the dark-haired man. “She’s in heat, Joe. We’ll have to find her a mate. ”
Mate? Great. If they locked her in a room with a real red wolf. . . ohmigod, they couldn’t be planning on taking her to a zoo?
