by H. D. Gordon
The rules of The Games were simple, two Wolves went into The Ring, and one came out. The victors would continue to be matched up over the course of a week until there were only four Wolves left. Two females, and two males. The final matches were held after a big banquet, where the richest of the Wolves dressed in their finest and placed bets on their favored Dogs.
Out of one hundred competitors, two would remain at the end of the week. One male victor, and one female. Their reward would be twenty-five points added to their Count, which was no insignificant amount.
Outside of the annual Games, each fight in The Ring—like the fight I faced tomorrow night—was worth one point toward the winning Dog’s Count. Reach one hundred points, and a Dog could win his or her freedom.
In five hundred years of history, only two Dogs had ever earned that freedom. And neither of them had been female.
As if reading my mind, Goldie’s sultry voice sounded in my head.
“There’s a first for everything, love,” she said. “If anyone can do this, it’s you. Mind over matter, remember?”
I had never outright told my friend how many times I’d drawn strength from her, but I had a feeling Goldie knew. If the barely-adult young woman standing before me could put mind over matter in the bedrooms above this hellhole night after night, I could do that in The Ring tomorrow night and find a way to beat the Bear.
And for Goldie, there was no Count, no hope for an exit ticket; her sentence was for life.
As if to prove the point, a rather disgusting male with a beer gut, baldhead, and odor that reeked of sweat and onions sauntered up to Goldie. Without ceremony, my friend took the fat Wolf’s hand and led him toward the staircase lining the back of the bar.
Goldie only glanced back once at me over her shoulder, giving me a small, sad smile before disappearing up the stairs, the balding male trailing hungrily behind her.
Night was falling as I finished up my workout in the woods near the edge of Master Benedict’s property. Sweat drenched my shirt, making the cotton fabric cling to me, and my bangs stuck to my forehead.
I felt good, though. Strong and capable and hungry. I was a stickler about keeping my body as honed as possible, more so than most of the other Dogs of the Benedict plantation. As a Wolf that fell on the smaller side physically, doing so had no doubt helped win my current survival.
I had managed to push the image of the Bear sitting all alone in the back of that wagon from my mind as I climbed the high trees of the forest, leapt over rocks and streams, and ran through the acres of Benedict’s land until my muscles were screaming from exhaustion and my lungs begging for air.
But as I stepped out of that mindset I slipped into while working out, the unpleasant thoughts swooped back in like bats to a belfry, and I leaned back against one of the tall oaks, studying the dapples of sunlight peeking through the green canopy above.
My chest heaved as I sucked in the clean oxygen, my skin glowing with moisture as a small breeze rustled through the trees. I closed my eyes and willed my mind to clear.
I was interrupted a moment later when I heard the snapping of branches and crunching of leaves underfoot someone who was moving. Someone who was moving fast.
My senses snapped to high alert and I crouched, maintaining my position behind the tree and peering carefully around it in the direction of the commotion.
The sounds of crushing leaves and twigs grew louder, and I lifted my nose to the wind and tested the air, picking up a young female scent followed by that of three older males. I closed my eyes and tilted my head, concentrating on my powerful hearing as the fleeing Wolf and her three pursuers pulled nearer.
When the Wolf pup from the carriage this morning—the one with those hazel eyes that were so like my own—came crashing through the brush, I didn’t have to question what had happened.
Somehow, the child must have slipped past the handlers, and was on the run.
And once they caught her, they would whip her or put her down. While the habitants of Dogshead stood and watched.
Don’t do it, warned a voice in my head. It’s got nothing to do with you.
I let out a quiet curse as my body disobeyed my mind’s orders.
My muscles were tensed and ready to strike, like a snake assuming a coil. I waited until the perfect moment, just as the pup was passing, and spun around the tree behind which I was crouched, scooping up the pup like a fish in a net.
Shift, I commanded telepathically, and set the pup on her paws. She only stared up at me, ears flat on her head.
I resisted the urge to shout the command again, but sensing that this would only accomplish scaring the child, I kneeled before her and gripped her brown muzzle gently but firmly in my hand, forcing the pup to hold my gaze.
“If you want to live, you’ll have to trust me,” I said. “Now, shift.”
Whether it was because the child had a keen sense of preservation, or because she was too frightened to disobey, finally, she shifted into her human form.
The transformation took precious seconds, faster than that of a full-grown Wolf. Standing before me now was a small girl of no more than five, dirt streaking her face and caked into her brown hair. Hazel eyes stared up at me, terrified, but defiant.
I removed my sweaty shirt and pulled it over the girl’s head. I snatched a handful of muddy earth from the ground and quickly rubbed it over the child and myself in an effort to mask our scents. Once that was done, I scooped the girl into my arms, and slid her around so that she was on my back, her arms keeping purchase around my neck. Her small weight was nothing for my supernatural strength.
“Hold on,” I told her.
Closing in fast, I could still hear the three Hounds crashing through the forest. I bent my knees and leapt up to grip the lowest hanging, sturdy branch of a large oak, pulling the child and myself up into the canopy with ease.
Then I started to climb.
5
It was not a feat a mere human could have easily managed, but I was no mere human.
For helping the child, however, I was certainly a fool.
Through the green canopy below, I could see the Hounds searching. So many Wolves used these woods that I knew it would be difficult to pick out the scent of the child for all the overlying smells—difficult, but not impossible.
The Hounds’ ears, however, would still be as sharp as ever, and one whimper from the child could alert them to our position. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I thought it was a wonder they didn’t hear that.
I had climbed as high as I could go, the floor of the forest forty feet or so below. The wind blew more heavily up here, and the smaller branches surrounding us swayed with its direction. Overhead, the day was dimming by the minute, the skies growing a deeper blue with each passing breath.
The child was utterly still and silent in my arms, her head tucked into my chest as her big hazel eyes stared down through the branches below. The Hounds, still in their human forms, roamed about, their noses testing the air and their heads tilting this way and that in an unmistakable Wolf-like manner.
When the Head Hound from the bar earlier appeared through the surrounding brush, I scarcely dared to breathe. Those blue eyes shifted and scanned, his golden-brown hair stirring slightly in the breeze. His heavy boots hardly made a sound as he moved through the forest.
The Hound prowled nearer and nearer to the tree in which the child and I were hiding, coming within ten feet… eight… three, until he was standing directly below us.
I swallowed hard, my arms tightening in the slightest around the child between them. I’d been a fool, a damn fool for trying to save the child. Even if the Hounds didn’t find us, how would I get her to safety? What could I offer her that was better than her prescribed fate?
Nothing—that was the answer. But as the Head Hound with the blue eyes moved nearer to the trunk of the tree in which we were perched, and bent his head to sniff at the bark I’d scaled only moments ago, I decided I’d save later trouble
s for later.
The world stilled for all of three heartbeats, both the child in my arms and I staring below at the Head Hound sniffing around the trunk of the tree where we were hiding.
Then the moment passed, and the Hound’s head cocked to the side in that Wolf-like manner. His blue eyes lifted to the canopy, and found my gaze waiting there.
I cursed the gods, same as they’d done to me so very long ago.
Think. Don’t panic. Think.
I watched with increasing horror as the cruel Hound from the bar—Mekhi, his name was—appeared a handful of paces to the south, asking if the other Hound had found anything.
I needed to move. We were sitting ducks up here, and this had been the worst idea ever, and the child and I would likely be beaten for this, or worse.
Think, damn it.
Shield us from direct sight, that’s what I needed to do. I spied a branch ten feet or so below and fifteen paces to the left, around the wide trunk that might just be thick enough to screen us from the Hounds’ sight line below.
But if I set my weight in the wrong place, if a branch groaned or a leaf went twirling to the forest floor below, it could draw the eyes of Mekhi the Hound. For whatever reason, the Head Hound named Ryker didn’t seem eager to reveal us, but I had no questions about what a Wolf like Mekhi was capable of.
I fought against the shudder that ran through me as I thought about what Mekhi would do to the little girl in my arms. More often than not, it was the runaways who got made into brutal examples, reminders of why one obeyed.
Sending up a silent prayer, I adjusted the girl in my arms and eased into a crouch, hardly daring to breathe as I did so, all concentration centered on maintaining balance. Below, Mekhi prowled closer to the tree, and for reasons wholly unknown to me, the Head Hound still didn’t alert his inferior to our presence above.
Holding my focus in an iron grip, I was able to edge closer to the thick trunk of the oak, my hand reaching out to use it for balance. On the ground, the two Hounds were having what seemed to be a clipped exchange, and though my powerful ears could hear them easily, I could not devote any mind to the exact words.
I began to edge my way around the trunk, all of my weight and that of the child poised on the balls of my feet.
Somehow, in a handful of seconds that stretched on for an eternity, I maneuvered to the other side of the tree and onto the thick branch there. Moving as smoothly as water through fingers, I brought up my legs and eased onto my back, lying flat on the branch with the child flat on top of me. I rolled my shoulders inward and crossed my legs at the ankles, making myself as small as possible.
I didn’t dare move or look below again until the scents and sounds of both Hounds had long faded on the wind.
Later, after the sun had fallen and the almost-full moon had risen over the Benedict plantation, the child and I crouched within the corn stalks ringing Dogshead, moonlight making our almost-matching hazel eyes appear silver.
As we crouched there, I tried to let my mind catch up with the turn of events. I had a big fight in The Ring tomorrow night, and that was what I should be focused on, certainly not trying to figure out how to save a pup that had been doomed from the start.
The girl shifted beside me, and I turned my head to see big hazel eyes staring up at me, an intelligence behind them that suggested she knew what was passing through my head.
Pushing away the discomfort this incited, I focused on my ears, listening intently to determine when to step out of the cover of the corn stalks. When all was clear, I took the child’s hand and gave a silent command that she remain quiet as the two of us darted across the clearing and toward a row of squat, wooden buildings flanking the main street of Dogshead.
When we reached the targeted cabin, I snuck around to the back, where I knew a window waited. Standing on my tiptoes, I peered inside, finding the washroom dark within. Knowing that the latch on the window had been broken for months, I gently pushed on the glass, swinging it open just wide enough to squeeze the child, and then myself, through.
I sent my thoughts out telepathically, and a moment later, Goldie opened the bathroom door and flipped on the light. Her red-gold hair was set high on her head, long curls flowing down to dangle over her bare, dainty shoulders. Makeup that was in need of reapplication smeared her pretty face, and the scent of various Wolves clung to her skin, her breath. I would never stop wanting to murder someone every time I saw my friend in such a condition. But now was not the time for all that.
Goldie’s brow was creased in confusion, and she spoke before she took in the situation. “What are you doing?” she asked.
And then her sapphire eyes drifted down to the child standing behind my back.
Next, Goldie posed what was not at all an unreasonable question.
“Have you lost your gods damned mind?”
I couldn’t exactly confirm or deny this, so I swallowed, and said, “We need your help.”
6
Apparently, the question warranted repeating.
“Have you lost your gods damned mind?” Goldie asked again.
I tried not to cringe at the validity of it. “We need your help,” I repeated.
For Goldie, I knew, there was no decision to make. I had asked for her help, and she would give it, because that was how it was with us.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t grumble about it the whole time.
She did so as she ushered us out of the washroom and into the main room of the cabin. The smell of explicit acts still hung in the air, but a scowl from Goldie had me snapping my mouth shut. Goldie grabbed a small vial of perfume from the dresser against the wall and squirted it around the room. Both the child’s and my strong noses crinkled.
Goldie rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. She gave the child still hiding behind my legs a gentle smile, then looked sharply at me.
“What did you do?” Goldie hissed.
“She ran,” I said, not knowing what else to say but the truth. “They would’ve beaten her… so I… stepped in.”
Goldie gaped. “You ‘stepped in’? Are you out of your gods damned mind?” A little shame crossed Goldie’s pretty face as the child glanced up at her, but she shook her head at me, and switched to communicating telepathically.
“They’ll whip or kill you both for this. What were you hoping to accomplish?”
I couldn’t keep the slight snap from my telepathic tone. “I wasn’t ‘hoping to accomplish’ anything. I just acted. I know it was stupid, but it’s too late to go back now. They’ll put me down quick if they think I’m assisting runaways.”
For a moment, silence hung between us. Goldie stared at me, and I stared back at Goldie.
I cleared my throat, but spoke again silently. “That’s not all,” I said.
“Oh dear gods,” Goldie grumbled aloud. “How can that not be all?”
A chill snaked down my spine, but I didn’t allow myself to shudder beneath it. “That Head Hound from the bar earlier… He saw us.”
Goldie threw her hands up, her arched brows practically kissing her hairline. “What the hell do you mean, ‘he saw you’?”
If the situation weren’t so tense, I might have laughed at all the parroting. Instead, I explained what happened in the woods, and again, silence fell between us.
Goldie’s voice was barely more than a whisper as she glanced down at the child and back at me again. “Rook… Remember what Bernie said about what that Hound did to his own brother?” She paused, as if the words needed to sink in. “What if he wasn’t really letting you go?”
I could feel my face slowly drain of color, and as if in answer to my friend’s question, there came a harsh rap upon the cabin door.
All three of us in the cabin froze like dew on a winter’s morning. Three sets of eyes went to the cabin door, and three hearts skipped beats as that harsh rap sounded again.
“Hide,” snapped Goldie’s voice in my head, and this broke whatever panicked trance had befallen me
. I scooped up the child and slipped back into the washroom, sliding the door shut behind me at the same time as a third knock sounded on the cabin door.
Pressing my back against the washroom wall and holding the child against me as though that might keep her silent, I held my breath.
Beyond the thin wall separating the washroom from the main room of the cabin, my sensitive ears picked up the sound of the cabin door swinging open.
I was cursing myself like a Witch as I sat cradled with the child in my arms, her heartbeat rapid within her small chest. The moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity, and I ran through scenario after scenario, trying to find a best-case candidate.
Nothing I could think of fit the bill. I couldn’t imagine a way that this didn’t end badly.
Assisting runaway Dogs was a crime punishable with death. Not only would they kill me for harboring the child, they would make sure that my execution was made publicly. They would draw it out. My blood would flood the dusty streets, its evidence remaining until the next real rain.
And the child. I shuddered. I couldn’t think about what they might do to the child.
When the door to the washroom opened, I nearly leapt out of my skin, so lost I’d been in my own morbid thoughts. Though my fists rose in a gut reaction to fight, I saw that it was only Goldie standing in the doorway.
“It was just Bernard,” she said. “I got rid of him, but he’ll be back.” She looked between the child and me, unwilling to tell us to go, but terrified of letting us stay.
I realized only then that this move of mine had not been fair to her, and I once again picked the child up, this time to take my leave.
“Thank you,” I told her silently. “I’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.”
I began to pass the child through the washroom window and set her down on the outside, having no idea where we’d go from there.
