by Tamar Sloan
The wolf’s head raises from where it’s lying, canine eyes watching me approach.
“We need to look after you.” I put out my hand. “Will you let us?”
The wolf glances at Hunter, but I can see they already have a connection, and it’s one built on trust. He looks at me for a long breath, then drops his head, eyes closing. I send my thanks through the connection, sensing his tiredness and capitulation.
Hunter joins me as I kneel down. “You do know it was the sedative, don’t you?”
I grab out the vial. “Of course it played a part. The sedative allows me to get past their innate fear and anger. Those emotions are like a shield that keeps them safe.”
Hunter holds out his hand and I let it drop into his palm. He glances at me ever so briefly. “Good thing I’ll never get stuck with one of these.”
What in the world does that mean?
I pass Hunter the syringe. “You do it.”
He focuses on drawing the clear liquid through the needle. “Queasy?”
I shrug. “Not keen on inflicting pain.”
“Fair enough.”
I keep my surprise hidden. Did Hunter just miss an opportunity to have a dig at my very un-Werelike squeamishness?
He squats and injects the vaccine into the wolf’s thigh. There’s a twitch in the animal’s fur, and I feel his psyche register the nip of pain. I send soft, soothing vibes through our connection and feel him relax again.
Quickly filling up the next syringe, I pass it to Hunter. “We need to inject the globulin at a site away from the vaccine.”
He pauses the downward trajectory he had. “Why?”
“Because otherwise the shock to the immune system is too localized. It will compromise both their effectiveness.”
Hunter nods and looks at the wolf. “We’re going to have to turn him over.”
We move around to the legs, planning on using them like levers to roll him over. Hunter is about to grab the front paws when one jerks back. We both still. When nothing else happens Hunter reaches out again. This time the foot kicks out.
Hunter instantly shifts forward, a barrier between the wolf’s head and myself. “He’s going to need a second shot.”
“No. It’ll take longer to wear off which just makes him more vulnerable to poachers.”
“It’s too risky.”
I wonder if he’d be suggesting this if it were only him out here doing this. Nor do I know whether he’s suggested this because he sees me as a fragile half-human, or if he’s just being protective.
It doesn’t really matter, because this wolf isn’t going to have another shot of tranquilizer. Hunter doesn’t realize how little the wolf was under anyway.
Standing, I move around to the head of the wolf. Hunter opens his mouth but I hold my hand up. “You need to understand something.”
Kneeling, I bring my face close to the wolf’s. His golden eyes open, his gaze slightly unfocused, but also unwavering. Stroking his head, this fur thick and amazingly soft, I whisper, “One more.”
The wolf pulls in a giant breath, and I’m pretty sure Hunter isn’t breathing at all.
Hand sinking into his ruff, I feel our thread grow. “But we need to do it on the other side.”
The wolf groans—a half-growl, half-grumble—before half pushing himself up. It takes some effort on his part, but he tucks in his back legs and pushes his back haunches to the side. The bottom half his body topples to the side, exposing the left thigh for Hunter.
I nod at Hunter, letting him know to hurry up and get it done. There’s the biggest blink I’ve seen so far, but I’m too focused on the wolf to even begin to process it. Surely he’s seen Dawn do something similar with the wolves.
The wolf’s eyes flare when Hunter injects the globulin but I soothe him. It’s hard for an animal to understand that we’re helping them when we’re causing them pain. That’s why trust and respect are so integral. It’s why trust and respect are what the threads are made of.
The moment the needle is out we both retreat. Standing side by side, we watch as the wolf lies there for a few panting breaths. With a blink that’s familiar enough to make me smile, he looks up and around. Registering that we’re no longer beside him, he tucks his legs in and pushes up. It’s a wobbly, slow process, but within seconds, he’s standing.
He looks at us, taking our measure, and I send our thanks through the connection. The wolf raises his head and launches into a great big shake, one that starts at his head and ends with a flick of his tail. He stumbles to the side as he does it, but when he’s finished his white fur has thrown off the dirt and memory of the touches he just endured.
Not waiting until he’s completely sedative-free, he lopes away, no doubt off to find his pack.
Feeling satisfied in a way I don’t really understand, I pick up the vet pack. “One down. Three more to go?”
“Yep.” Hunter looks at me curiously. “There were six in total until we caught Sakari and Zephyr.”
It’s my turn to blink. How did I know how many there were?
Hunter glances at the wolf who is now a moving white form in the distance. “Thanks. That went smoother than I expected.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Did Hunter just thank me? But I decide to act like that word wasn’t the first sign of good grace I’ve seen from him. “He trusts you. I don’t think this would have looked the same with someone else.”
Hunter shrugs. “That’s because I’ve spent a lot of time with him. That was Taima, Sakari’s younger brother.”
I follow his gaze. The wolf has made good time and is about to disappear over the horizon. I don’t ask the question because I already know the answer. The sag in Hunter’s shoulders suggests he’s thinking the same thing. The last members of this pack are all related.
I walk over and stand before him, hoping to lift some of the burden. “You’re one of them, Hunter.”
But he looks away. “I was.”
Hunter
18 MONTHS BEFORE
Driving the Ski-Doo through the night, I’m not sure what I want to find. After the first trap with Taima, who I had to tranquilize to release, the last two nights have come up with nothing. I can’t help the sense of relief.
But I know we need to capture Zephyr and Sakari. The future of these wolves depends on it.
So, as I near where I set the trap, I slow. Cutting the engine, I wait for the silence to become absolute. There’s no sound coming from the rocky outcropping, which is a good sign if you don’t want a wolf to be trapped, but less so if you want a captive breeding program to get started.
Walking forward, the icy air swirling around me, I strain for the sounds of movement or frustration.
But there’s nothing.
Which probably means the trap is empty.
But at the next crunch of snow beneath my boot, there’s a yelp. I rush forward, coming around the scrubby, rocky edge to find that a wolf is most definitely trapped in the jaws of the trap. My breath sucks in and icy air stings my lungs.
It’s Sakari.
On seeing me, she jerks, then yelps. She immediately moves forward again, taking any tension off her clamped foot.
And she’s injured.
Leaning forward without putting any weight on the injured limb, she zeroes in on me and growls. Her muzzle serrates and her teeth flash white on white. Everything about her says back the hell up.
I stop, hands coming up as if in surrender. I wish I could.
Her furious eyes don’t leave me, nor does the growling stop, even though I don’t move another muscle. It doesn’t matter that she knows me, that she’s seen me most nights hovering on the horizon. She’s a cornered animal; a hurt, cornered animal.
A wild wolf who’s been trapped is dangerous. An injured one is far more likely to be deadly.
With slow steps I back away, knowing what I need to do. The minute I’ve created a little more distance I jog back to the Ski-Doo. The trailer on the back has everything I need.
Ignoring the big-ass cage on the back that’s about to have a body in it, I tear open the vet pack. I need to be quick. Grabbing what I need, I head back.
Sakari jerks and yelps again when she hears me approach and it makes me wince. I’m the one who set that trap. I’m the one responsible for her injury.
Clicking the syringe into place, I hold up the tranquilizer gun and start moving forward. I need to get close enough to be accurate.
With each step closer, Sakari steps up the growling. It starts as an ominous thunder, but within a few moments it detonates into a violent explosion. Barks and snaps have her jerking forward over and over, no longer paying attention to her injured foot. Sakari looks feral and angry and I don’t blame her.
Heart hammering, I need to get this over and done with as quickly as possible so she doesn’t do herself any more damage. As much I hated it, I’m glad I spent the hours upon hours working on my aim. Dawn had insisted on it.
Waiting for the space between breaths, and without flinching, I pull the trigger.
The pain of the needle slamming into her throat has Sakari leaping so high that her foot, as good as impaled to the ground, jerks her back down. The yelp is all pain—the physical discomfort of whatever torn tissue the trap has inflicted, along with the mental anguish of helpless fury.
I back away, swallowing hard, chest aching.
I wish I didn’t have to do this alone. I wish someone could carry this with me.
But no one else deserves to have this weight in their chest, this responsibility to carry for the rest of their lives.
Which means I do it alone.
Sakari struggles even harder, and I flinch with each yank on the chain. Please let it work fast.
I’d like to pace, give my anger and frustration some freedom, but I stay still. Sakari has enough to worry about without trying to keep an eye on the one who’s hurt her.
Minutes pass, my breath misting in the cold, and I wonder if it would be better if I shifted. My wolf form is something that Sakari would be less threatened by.
But then she will appear.
And this is not something she needs to see. Selfishly, I wonder what she’d think of me if she saw what I’m doing. I’m certainly not okay with it.
So, I wait, pretending the cracks aren’t starting to show as I hold myself still. It’s not long before Sakari slows, then becomes as motionless as I am. Her gaze holds mine, laden with warning. I don’t move, giving her what space I can.
Two minutes later she drops down, eyes no longer looking quite so sharp. Then she begins to lick her paw, tending the site of her injury. The area is already wet from when she must’ve been doing this earlier.
Not long now and I’ll be able to inspect the damage.
The first long blink has me holding my breath. The second follows just after. The tranquilizer is working. I take the first step forward when her eyes close and stay closed. At the sound of snow compressing, Sakari forces them open again. I freeze, but like they’re weighed down, her lids droop again. Another step and she doesn’t move. A handful more and I’m only a few feet away.
KJ said tranquilizers are all about timing. Too soon and you risk the animal not being sedated. Leave it too long and they may wake up before you’re ready. And that’s all assuming you’ve given them the correct dose.
This isn’t something I ever saw myself doing, so I have no idea whether I’ve got it right. Urgency has me stepping forward again. Sakari doesn’t move. She’s a big mound of regular breaths and little more.
Kneeling down, I keep my eyes on her face. Relaxed, it’s lost its fury, and is the Sakari I know. Regal, gentle, fierce.
The metal of the trap is cold on my fingers. Sakari has mostly trodden and melted the snow around it. My hand creeps up to touch her fur and I pause. Her breathing hitches but nothing else.
Scooting so I can move in closer, I wrap my fingers around her leg. Gently, I feel around and relief washes through me. I can’t feel any broken bones nor is there any significant swelling. From the looks of things, it’s a sprain. Maybe a nasty one considering how much she’s pulled on it, but nothing we can’t treat back at Resolve.
When I move my hand back down the trap, Sakari’s leg jerks. My eyes fly to her face, my body coiled and ready to move away. KJ’s words float through my mind as he’d read over the ins and outs of sedating wild animals. Effectiveness will depend on body size, site of injection, the animal’s health, and the circumstances of the shot. We’d been very careful in our calculations, but he’d pointed out there were a heck of a lot of variables. He’d said that if there was too much adrenalin, a single dose probably wouldn’t cut it.
But Sakari’s eyes stay shut. Maybe it was a reflex or something.
I wait, just in case. Opening the trap always involves noise and movement. If it wasn’t for the injury, I’d do it once I had her in the cage. But there’s no way I’m moving her with those pounds of metal hanging off her foot.
Knowing there’s a clock ticking over us, I feel around for the release mechanism. With a last check to confirm she’s still out of it, I press the lever. There’s a clank and the jaws release. Sakari’s foot falls to the soggy snow.
I’m so relieved I don’t see the snap coming. Razor teeth powered by a powerful jaw flash by my face in an uncoordinated grab. I fall back on my butt, watching as Sakari struggles to her feet—all four now that she’s released from the trap.
Shifting is reflexive; a protective act. As a human I’m vulnerable. As a wolf twice Sakari’s size I stand a chance against her anger and pain. If I’m lucky, I can get away without either of us being hurt.
Sakari leaps back as a massive white wolf appears before her. I watch the wince as she lands on her injured paw and I wonder how the hell I’m going to stop her from doing any more damage. What’s more, if she gets away like that, she’ll be at risk of poachers picking her off.
Sakari shakes her head and her body wobbles, but she holds her ground. There’s no way of telling how she’s going to react. She’s in pain, the fear of capture was very real for her only a moment ago, and I just shot her.
Relax, girl.
I shift my center of gravity, but that’s enough for Sakaris’ eyes to blaze. Her head drops and the growling becomes a constant rumble.
How do I tell her I’m moving away? That despite it all, I’ve never meant her any harm?
When I feel a presence beside me, it takes everything I have not to leap away. But my heart rate stays the same frenzied speed when I see who it is.
My wolf, golden wolf, looks at me with her soulful wintergreen eyes. She looks over at Sakari, taking in that she’s on the offensive, noticing the open trap by her foot. Sakari steps back, probably aware she’s now outnumbered, and the limp is unmistakable.
Golden wolf looks back at me, and those eyes I know so well are calm and determined. She brushes her nose against my cheek, the softest caress against my fur that always makes my heart warm, before turning back. She takes a step forward.
She’s moving towards Sakari?
I thought she’d figured out what was going on here. There’s no way I’m letting her get near an injured, wild animal. Realizing I have to shift back to human, still this close to Sakari, has my body tightening, but there isn’t a choice. Her safety comes first.
Feeling the compression of muscles that’s the beginning of morphing back to human form, I wish our time could have been longer. She’s so graceful, her movements sure and confident. She loves these wolves as much as I do, but I’m not letting her put herself in danger.
Except Sakari straightens, heck, practically relaxes. Surprise has the change stopping before it really started. Sakari is looking at golden wolf, face probably looking like mine when I first saw her. Shock robbing her of the ability to move, eyes taking in the glory that an animal can look like she does.
Golden wolf approaches like they’re friends from way back, and I’d swear I can feel calming waves rolling off her. Sakari’s teeth are no longe
r visible but I still tense when I see her take a step forward. Except golden wolf isn’t the least bit scared, in fact, I think she welcomes it. Almost expected it.
They meet and Sakari sniffs the air. She must like what she smells because her tongue lolls out, her face lighting up in a canine smile. I feel my ass hit the snow as they greet each other and I’m not even sure why I’m surprised. Of course this glorious wolf could calm a furious animal who’s been backed into a corner.
The moment my wolf is within her personal space Sakari leans forward, her tongue coming out in greeting. With tentative licks of golden wolf’s jaw, she welcomes her. I can’t see my wolf’s smile, but I can feel it. She nudges Sakari with her head, a sign of affection and thanks. Golden wolf moves forward, encouraging Sakari to sit.
She wants her to take some weight off her injured foot.
Sakari glances at me but I haven’t twitched a muscle. Will she be comfortable enough to take such a vulnerable position?
Golden wolf nudges her again and Sakari sits back, no doubt enjoying the relief it provides her injured leg. Golden wolf turns and sits beside her, then drops into the snow. She looks up at Sakari who joins her a moment later. Straight away, Sakari begins licking her injured paw again, impressing me that she’s comfortable enough to do that, but also showing exactly how much it’s bothering her.
Golden wolf looks back at me, and I know now it’s my turn to do what needs to be done. She calmed Sakari, now I need to help her.
I’m glad I have to shift to human to do this because it means she won’t see what I’m about to do. Shame pricks at my conscience because golden wolf probably believes I’m something I’m not. She probably assumes someone else set that trap, that someone else is responsible for Sakari’s pain.
I know I need to do this quick, like a Band-Aid. Shift then shoot. I’m beside the tranquilizer gun before I’m ready so I let myself have one last glance. Golden wolf, the glorious animal that’s my anchor, is curled around Sakari. Sakari has stopped licking, her head now resting back on her new friend. It leaves her throat wide open for my shot.
