by Tamar Sloan
Dawn nods and I’m wondering if they should hug.
I step forward. “A what?”
In a blink, KJ is before me, gripping my upper arms. “We’ll be able to do PCRs.”
I wait for the translation. When KJ gets this excited, the words come all by themselves.
“Polymerase chain reaction is a widely used technique used in molecular biology to exponentially amplify a specific segment of DNA to generate thousands to millions of copies of a particular DNA sequence—”
I grip his arms right back. “English, KJ.”
He grins so big it swallows his whole face. “We can sequence DNA. Heck, we can analyze it and even isolate specific sections if we wanted to. This will take the breeding program to the next level—give these guys a fighting chance.”
His wonder and excitement are contagious. I almost start to feel good about this whole decision. “That sounds pretty cool.”
He spins around and heads back to the crate. There’s a possibility KJ will sleep with that thing tonight. He looks at Dawn, who’s smiling as big as he is. “I’d love to learn.”
She comes over to stand beside him, her hand resting on his arm. “Good news. I was recruiting for a lab assistant.”
This time KJ actually stays still. He stares down at the crate, head nodding slowly. “You won’t regret it.”
I wonder if Dawn realizes the gift she just gave KJ. It feels like his lost soul not only found a direction, but someone willing to show him the path.
So far, it’s the first good thing that’s come of this.
A knocking on the front door has me looking up. Glancing at Dawn I head out to see who it is. Maybe more deliveries Dawn didn’t mention? KJ is still communing with the crate so I head out alone.
Just before I open it, the knocking becomes banging. The impatience almost has the positive mood that was gaining traction losing its footing.
“Alright, alright. Since when was patience dead?”
The light that blasts me the minute I open the door has me putting my arm up in defense. It feels like shafts of pain just speared into my head. “What the—”
“We’re here to speak to the organizer of this killing machine breeding farm.”
“What?” I try to lower my arm but the light is still trying to burn through me.
“You heard me. I’d like to speak to whoever runs a program that has such disregard for human life.”
When I feel someone try to push forward I start to get angry. Head down I step forward and hear a surprised shuffle. Didn’t expect that, huh? I take another step. “You need to move back, sir.”
“I need the person in charge.”
Without whoever it is bearing down on me I find I can drop my arm. It takes a short second for my eyes to adjust, but when I see the asshat who’s making the demands, it drops right to my side. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Alistair Davenport is only a few feet in front of me, holding a microphone as a cameraman stands behind him.
“Turn that thing off.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Alistair straightens, like he’s found the fight he was looking for. “Move out of the way, young man.”
Spacing my feet out, I cross my arms. “I’m in charge.”
The man who’s trying to single-handedly lead wolves into extinction looks at me in surprise. “I’m not someone to be trifled with, boy.”
Alistair is reed thin, his barely-blond hair wisping from its combover. I think I could be taller than him.
“You can leave now, Alistair.”
His nostrils flare. “So, you know who I am. That I lost my father to the very animals you want to breed.”
“Last I heard, your father is still alive.”
That has his water-colored eyes flaring. “He lives as a recluse, petrified of leaving his own house, with the constant threat of another heart attack. That’s no way to live.”
“True.” I glance at the camera. “It’s just that if you’re insinuating he’s dead, it starts to feel a little like you’re touting propaganda.”
Okay, now he’s really angry. “Did you know there have been over 7,600 fatal wolf attacks?”
I tilt my head. “Isn’t that since the thirteenth century? And most of those statistics were in the middle-ages?”
Alistair’s face flushes bright purple. “And victims have largely been women and children? The most vulnerable targets.”
Unfortunately, that part is true, but I’m not having this argument with someone who’s already made up their mind. “How did you even know about this place, Mr. Davenport?”
Alistair’s eyes slide to the side before returning back, a sudden flare in their watery depths. “Don’t want to acknowledge it, huh? Is that because wolves are one of the most dangerous carnivores that exist in the wild?”
“Actually—”
Alistair steps in. “With jaws that can crush a human femur?”
I frown. This guy is starting to piss me off. “I think—”
“Who have killed and terrorized humans for too long?”
The irony of those words, as we stand at the door of a facility trying to save them from extinction after humans have terrorized and killed so efficiently that wolves hang onto survival by a thread, has me moving forward too. My clenched hands feel as hard as rocks and it’s an effort to keep them by my side. I’m glad KJ isn’t here. This isn’t something he needs to see or hear.
It’s people like Alistair who’ve meant I’ve had to make the decisions I have…because I lost my father to the culling laws he campaigned for.
“Leave, Alistair. Now.”
Triumph has Alistair almost smiling. He’s getting the fight he was looking for, but as I take another step forward, a sliver of something else slips across his face. Nervousness. Good, it means he’s not a complete idiot.
“Got something to hide, do you?” He sneers.
His dead body if he doesn’t back off. Just as I go to take one more step that will have me in Alistair’s personal space, communicating quite clearly why it’s in his best interest to get the hell out of here, the door behind me opens.
“Hunter.” Dawn’s voice sounds worried. “Alistair,” then drops like a wad of wet snow.
“Hello, Dawn. I should’ve known you were behind this vile concept.”
Dawn straightens then smiles. “I’m afraid you’ve come at the wrong time.”
Alistair glances over his shoulder, checking that the camera is still rolling. “And why’s that?” Smugness buoys his voice.
“Well, the wolves aren’t here yet. You’re missing a wonderful opportunity to appreciate what a magnificent animal they are. They’re as essential to this planet as we are.”
“They’re dangerous,” Alistair stabs his finger with each word, “Unpredictable, and deadly animals that threaten our very lives.”
“They aren’t what you should fear, Mr. Davenport.”
Although Dawn says those words with a smile, they’re as hard as ice.
Jeez, doesn’t she realize she’s inflaming him more than I was?
Alistair is spluttering, all he has to do is to make sure the camera is getting all this. “Did you get that? That was a direct threat!”
But Dawn looks at the camera, those Fae eyes of hers, her wise old face, full of nothing but innocence. “Hatred is what you should fear, Alistair. The very same hate that you peddle.” She steps back and opens the door. “That’s what will ultimately destroy humanity.”
Before Alistair can retort, Dawn glances at me. “Shall we go in? We have work to do.”
Feeling proud to be part of this, I follow her through. “Yes, we do. Damned important work.”
Dawn half shuts, half slams the door behind us. We stand on the other side and I don’t know how we’re not panting. It felt like we just ran a marathon.
Dawn is shaking her head. “He’s an idiot.”
“But a potentially dangerous one.”
“Yes. He’s been trying to c
ause trouble for a long time now.”
I glance at the door as I hear a car pull away. “As long as he doesn’t have any ammo, then he’ll continue to be the crazy that everyone ignores.”
She nods, looking deep in thought. “You’re right.” She turns to me, green eyes serious. “It’s time we got some wolves.”
Hunter
18 MONTHS BEFORE
I’m sitting at the desk that was allocated to me when Dawn walks into the office. It’s funny that I’ve been given one considering I never use it. There’s no computer on its flat surface, which is probably a good thing as it would be buried under all the empty takeaway coffee cups. The only stipulation I had was that it faces the monitors. If I can’t be out there with the wolves, I want to be able to see what I can.
She heads to KJ’s desk as he works at his computer. I’ve wondered every now and again what exactly could be taking up so much of his time, but then decided I didn’t want to be bombarded with jargon. Dropping a sheaf of papers in front of KJ, she steps back.
It seems he doesn’t have to go through them to know what’s in there. “Figured it was time to make the call.”
I stay where I am. I don’t need to see what’s printed on those pages either. I know what it is we need to discuss.
Dawn pulls up a chair, sitting across from KJ, but angled to face me too. “The decision at this stage is always tricky. Do we capture pre-breeders, or experienced breeders?”
KJ scans the pages in front of him. “Most of the pre-breeders are too closely related.”
“Exactly. Nor do they have a track record as being successful breeders.”
They look at me. Dawn looks resolute, KJ looks pained. The Fae Elder points to a place on the page. “We’ll start with these two.”
Something dark starts to grow in my gut, and KJ’s expression is only feeding it. “Who?”
KJ swallows and it’s not the most comfortable process I’ve ever seen. “Zephyr and Sakari.”
I shoot up. “No.”
Dawn’s hand comes up in a conciliatory gesture. “Now, Hunter—”
“You’re not capturing them and you’re not containing them. Those wolves have grown up in the wild.”
“Didn’t they have a litter last season?”
I wince. “Yes.”
“Then they’ve successfully bred. They’re also the best match to create the most genetic diversity. It’s their genes we want to spread through the gene pool.”
“There has to be another way.”
I can’t even picture Zephyr and Sakari in one of those pens.
“There isn’t.” Dawn’s voice has a thread of concrete through it. “Do you want another litter to die out there?”
Those words are a punch to the gut, one so violent I find it hard to breathe for a second. I look to my friend for a lifeline, but KJ’s miserable expression tells me I have to face it.
It has to be them.
Dawn takes a step forward. “None of this is for the faint-hearted, Hunter. We’ve all made sacrifices.”
I bite back my retort. I know about sacrifice.
She waits, and I know I’m being weighed and measured.
Capture the two wolves I’ve been following and protecting every night for so long. They thrive on the wildness and isolation of the tundra. And what will that mean for the pack they leave behind? Others will step up in their place, but inbreeding is going to be even more of an issue.
But I’ve already watched one litter die. I’ve seen poachers practice their aim just to hone their skills. I’ve been there as KJ created that ream of paper, tallying numbers that were decreasing year after year.
Straightening despite the weight that’s just compounded exponentially, I lift my chin. “I’ll get them.”
Setting the trap is simpler than it should be. First, find a spot where they’re likely to frequent. Seeing as I’ve spent most nights with these wolves for over two years, I know their movements. I choose the stunted marsh bush that sits along the track they use for their border patrols.
Second, I scrape back the layer of snow, glad at least my hands are numb. I carve out a shallow hole, then hammer in the two metal stakes attached to the trap.
“They don’t hurt when they close,’ Dawn had reassured me. “They have soft rubber where they shut and they’ve been boiled and coated in wax to make sure they remain sterile.”
Looking at the metal jaws, powered by tightly coiled springs, I hate myself a little more. They may not be hurt physically, but there’s no way this is a stress-free process for anyone.
Next, setting the jaws open wide, I lay the trap in its shallow grave. Now all it takes is to gently push the soil back over and make it look as undisturbed as possible. Finally, I put the garnish on. A handful of twigs Dawn gave me. The moment she’d passed them to me I smelled it—the mark of another wolf. She’d obviously thought of every detail to have these urine-soaked twigs sent from Jacksonville. I knew exactly what they would mean.
The scent of another wolf will mean our wolf will stop to mark their territory. And when they do…snap!
I’ll become their captor instead of their protector.
The dirty work done, it’s time to sit back and wait. Retreating, I set off at a jog. Being as far away as I can whilst still in hearing range for when the moment happens is what I need to do. Even as Dawn suggested we check it in the morning, she knew she was wasting her breath. There’s no way I’m leaving a wolf in that thing any longer than I have to.
Finding a spot on the lonely tundra, I start out standing up, but the wind quickly has me hunkering down. Winter has firmly established itself on the landscape, and it’s looking to do the same with me. The wind slaps the cold in my face, trying to spear into any vulnerability in my layers. Wrapping my arms around myself, I grit my teeth. It’s bloody cold out here, even for a Were. I could build a bit of a windbreak out of snow to protect me.
Or, I could shift…
I don’t do it every night, the promise to my family winning out. The bottom line is it’s dangerous to be a wolf out here. But after a few nights of being solo out here, long hours of playing our last encounter through my mind, and the temptation becomes overpowering.
Not to mention the cold that’s trying to freeze my bones…
It barely takes a conscious thought and I’m a wolf. Straight away my sharpened senses smell the clarity of the snow and the whispers of the wind, but more so, I revel in being surrounded by my very own Gortex coat. My fur means the wind no longer feels like it’s snarling and snapping at my bare skin. Now, my armor is so thick that I uncurl and arch.
Then she’s here, the magical recipe of night and wolf making her appear. The wind rushes over her golden fur as she finds her bearings. Like I’m the center of her compass, she turns and finds me. I think I live for the moment when our eyes connect. It’s like a live-wire has a line straight to my heart. It recharges me. Some days it feels like it resuscitates me.
She’s a balm to my aching soul. What is it about her that has me believing that this will all work out?
I don’t know and I don’t care. All that matters is that with her, I have hope. Wanting to give something back, to show her, I step in a little closer. Those wintergreen eyes of hers widen, then warm.
Moving forward until we’re eye to eye, I pause. Her breath seems to match mine—shallow and excited, a little quick and kinda impatient. Determined to make this something special, I don’t give in to the temptation. This is going to be slow…and memorable.
A small step and my muzzle is parallel to hers. Ever so gently I stroke it against hers. Her fur is velveteen soft and I wish I could stroke it with my hands. Her breath hitches as mine snags. There’s so much warmth, so much emotion. Ducking underneath her jaw, I head to the other side. I want to know every inch of this golden girl.
I breathe in deep, brushing up against her golden coat. It shimmers with depth, seems to tremble with anticipation. Coming around, we’re eye to eye. The heat grows, the
emotion multiplies. Our eyes drift shut as our foreheads come to rest against each other. How can something so laden with feeling not be real?
When I hear the snap, then the yelp, then the clank and shuffle of a struggle, I know it’s happened. I also know it’s cut our time short because this is something my golden wolf shouldn’t see. She’s always had a deep connection with the wolves we’ve spent time with, it’s going to be painful for her to watch what has to happen next. I swallow. It’ll be painful for me, but that doesn’t mean I have to share the pain.
With a last brush of fur on fur, I shift, the decision to shoulder this on my own not one I regret.
She disappears in an instant, reminding me exactly how fragile this whole thing is. Real wolves, connections that can survive in reality, don’t do that. I’m glad I don’t have time to dwell on it, because I know I’m going to do whatever I can to keep seeing her, and I’m not sure what that says about my state of mind.
Jogging over, I find the wolf frantic; panic and rage driving it to yank on the metal holding its paw over and over and over again. The clanking of the metal only fuels its fear. Moving in I smell it’s a male. Now I wish my armor extended to my heart. This is going to be one of the hardest things I’ve done.
As the wolf comes into sight I feel guilty about the relief that floods through me like an avalanche. It’s not Zephyr.
The muscles of my legs feel like they’ve turned into a slushy.
It’s not Zephyr.
Which means I can let him go.
Ava
“That’s our soft release enclosure.” Dawn points to the image of little more than flat earth. The biggest of the enclosures, and the one set up furthest from the building, it allows the wolves to live as independently as possible before being released into the wild.
“You have a lot of cameras set up,” I observe. A total of seven screens line the wall, each rotating through about four or five images. Water troughs, shelters, the odd white wolf, rhythmically flicker over them. The security cameras here are definitely more numerous than the ones back home.
