by Desiree Holt
The waiting chamber both resembled and smelled like an outhouse, the stink of fear and sweat permeating the wooden walls. I could hear the yips and howls of the caged pups behind me, and the bustle of the gathered crowd of observers.
My name was called and the door to the waiting chamber was opened. I crushed out the cigarette I had been using to dull my senses, pushed off the wall, and stepped out into the hot morning sun.
“Our first Dog is Rook the Rabid!” called the announcer, a middle-aged Wolf in suspenders and a white tank top with brown pit stains. He wiped a handkerchief over his sweaty baldhead and tucked it away in his pocket. “Rook is eighteen years old, and this will be her eighteenth fight in The Pit. She weighs in at one-hundred-twenty-five pounds, and stands five-four with a reach of twenty-eight inches.”
I was shoved from behind by a beefy Wolf with a perpetual leer, stumbled to the front of the little wooden stage. Sets of eyes ran over me, taking in my stature, my structure, my potential of survival. I met their stares with trained indifference in my own.
Comments and observations were mumbled, a few gazes lit up Wolf-Gold. Then the announcer called the name of my opponent, and I was able to see whom I’d be facing in a handful of hours.
It was no wonder they called her The Bear. She was indeed larger than any She-Wolf I’d ever seen, and I didn’t need the announcer to call out her stats to know I was outweighed by significant amounts. Whether I needed it or not didn’t matter. Like the rest of us, the announcer had a job to do.
“Her opponent comes all the way from south Texas, and is the reigning southwestern regional champion, as well as the top pick for the overall best this year. Weighing in at just under two-hundred pounds and standing at a cool six feet, she has succeeded in fifty-eight matches in The Pit, and has a reach of thirty-six inches… Betters, feast your eyes upon… The Bear!”
The wooden stage beneath my feet shook with each step The Bear took over the platform. She was corded with muscle, veins pulsing through each one like vines crawling up the trunks of sturdy trees. Her skin was smooth ebony, her eyes darker still, like two black holes. Her head had been shaved and it gleamed in the August sun.
I gave no outward indication, but an undeniable shiver of fear raced through my bloodstream. If I shifted a foot or two to my right, I could stand in The Bear’s shadow and not have to worry about sunburn, could relax in the swath of shade cast by her enormous form.
To the observers, I probably looked like a child set up against a behemoth, and it was obvious on whom the majority of the bets would be placed. There was no doubt who the underdog was. If I lost tonight, my death would earn a lot of Wolves some good money.
The stage floor rumbled again as the two of us were shooed off the platform, making room for the next pair of Dogs to be examined. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Murphy near the edge of the crowd, leaning on a shovel, a grin stretching from ear to ear.
Before I melted back into the area designated for Dogs, the bastard tipped me a wink that made my blood turn cold.
* * *
I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, saw that it was the last in the box, stuck it in the corner of my mouth, and set a flame to it. When the thought that it may very well be one of the last cigarettes I ever smoked came to me, I pushed it away. There was no room for such doubts on the day of a fight. I would win, or I would lose. No point in psyching myself out over it.
I passed through the caging area of the grounds, where the pups were kept. The sun was stifling, and the small metal cages were left out directly under it, the young Wolves inside lying listlessly on the ground, heads on their paws, eyes closed. Most of them were too fresh for The Pit, and would be stored in this manner for most of the time until they were. Isolation was key in the matter of making a Wolf into a Dog.
I liked to think of myself as one tough S.O.B., and likewise enjoyed believing that I’d earned that designation, but I could walk past the pup cages a million times, and it would never be something I was comfortable with.
Flies circled their ears, dirt matted their fur, and this was still better than what was ahead. After all, only half of them would live to see their fifth birthday. The rest would end up buried out in Murphy’s field, or a field that was the equivalent.
I kept walking, because there was nothing I could do for the pups. In truth, the ones that didn’t make it through their first fight were likely better off. Death was a much kinder fate, perhaps the kindest a Dog could hope for.
The territory through which I was passing was where I’d spent most of my existence. We shared this world with the humans, but the town of Peculiar as the humans knew it and the town of Peculiar as the Wolves knew it was entirely separate entities. Magic hid the pockets where dogfights took place. Wolves at the top of the chain owned thousands of acres that humans would see only as fields, when in actuality, entire cities existed just beyond their senses.
To the southwest were what seemed endless rows of apartment buildings and other dwellings, squat structures with older cottages and homes planted in between. To the east was a river and miles of forest that Wolves could get lost in for days, the shift and pull of the wild an incessant tug that wrapped so tightly in your gut it could kill you. Near the edge of these trees was the barracks where the Dogs were given a space little bigger than a hole to sleep in, and a blood stained, makeshift training area was nestled nearby.
To the north, where I was heading, were a couple bars and the betting boxes, where Wolves could wager their money before tossing the remainder of it at a bartender. I didn’t have any money, but one of the lone perks of being a Dog owned by a wealthy master was that the drinks were always free. And my master, Bo Benedict owned the entire town of Peculiar, Missouri, even if the human folk didn’t know it.
As I continued toward the vice I kept my head down, my hands shoved in my pockets. Even so, I attracted the attention of the males lined up along the way, leaning against buildings and skulking in shadows. They hooted and howled, behaving like the Dogs they were. It was nothing I wasn’t used to. Even with a scar separating the left side of my face, I knew I had a certain appeal.
“Hey there, darlin’” called out a Wolf who was old enough to have fathered me. “You lookin’ for a good time?”
I barely glanced his way when I said, “If I was, I wouldn’t be looking at you.”
Some part of me knew it would have been wiser to just keep my mouth shut, but it was overruled by what had to be my nature. The Wolf I’d been talking to obviously didn’t appreciate the retort. He stepped into my path, blocking my way, causing me to pull up short. I grit my teeth and met his gaze.
“I don’t think I heard you right, bitch,” he said. “Care to say that again?”
Again, my nature intervened. “I’ll rephrase,” I said. “Piss. Off.”
Now, I’m obviously not the largest Wolf in the den by any means. Actually, I run on the smaller side even for a female, but what I do have is speed. And the advantage of having been the target of many violent acts for pretty much my whole life, so when the older Dog attempted to snatch me up by my collar, and instead I ducked away and slammed a right hook into his midsection, it wasn’t really the most surprising turn of events.
In the space between heartbeats, I saw that he was going to shift into his Wolf form, and had no choice but to follow suit. I’d started a fight, and now I’d have to finish it. Many a Dog died on the nights before a match, just because there were so many of us in constant vicinity.
My body morphed faster than most, my bones rearranging, thick brown fur bursting through my skin and my hands and feet shifting to paws. The transformation happened quickly, not like you’d see in the movies. One moment we’d appear human, and the next, we were wolves.
Certain colors leaked from the world as I was thrust into an alternate perspective. My head was held low between my shoulders, the fur on my strong back standing on end, my tail tucked close behind me, and my sharp teeth bared.
I let out
a low, rumbling growl, maintaining my position, preparing myself for the attack. My opponent mirrored my position. As a Wolf, he likely doubled me in size.
His lips were pulled back, his eyes glowing gold, a certain killer’s fire present there. It was a sight I’d seen so many times that they blurred together, but never failed to ignite fear in some primitive part of me. When he tilted his head back and howled, I got the urge to run, but saw with a sink in my heart that I would be unable.
The coward had called on his buddies, and four more Wolves appeared like apparitions around me, closing me in, cutting me off.
Now I wished I’d kept my mouth shut and my hands to myself. I was gonna end up just another young Dog who was torn apart in the streets, because the world I lived in was literally dog-eat-dog.
Five against one. My hackles couldn’t be any higher. Those were worse odds than fighting a bear. I tried to keep guard on my hindquarters, but knew it was a moot task. In the charged moment between the attack and the initiation of it, I realized that this was how I would die, and thought that maybe it would be a mercy.
Chapter 3
I was in the center of a Wolf circle. The target in the middle of the board. The energy of the five Wolves around me was practically electric, by far one of the most charged situations I’ve ever found myself in, which, for obvious reasons, is saying something.
They were toying with me. One would snap at my heels and make me spin around, baring my teeth and snapping my jaws. They couldn’t smile in this form, but I could see the primal glee in the glow of their eyes, as evident as a leer.
The older Wolf who’d started this mess stood watching, his head lowered and his eyes bright. The others nipped and growled and circled, nipped and growled and circled.
Overhead, the sun stared down indifferently, the bright glare and blood rushing to my head making my vision uncertain. When one of the Wolves clamped down on my tail, making me yip and jolt forward, the others threw their heads back and shook their ears, laughing.
Fresh fear fell over me, sweeping me up in a wave. It occurred to me that I would be lucky if they just killed me and ate me. I shuttered to think what they would do if they dragged me behind the barracks and kept me alive for a little while. I was certain I preferred death.
So while they were busy laughing, I let the power coil in my muscles and sprang forward, my powerful jaws yawning wide before clamping down on the ear of one of the smaller males. The intoxicating taste of blood filled my mouth, and I jerked my head to the side, taking a sizable chunk of his ear with me.
He yelped and retreated a few steps as scarlet blood rushed out and flowed over into his eyes. I spared him no glance as I turned on the others, head held low, body ready.
They would likely best me, but I would take a few of the bastards with me on my way out.
We danced, watching each other, the four remaining Wolves moving into strategic, coordinated positions around me, taking the threat that was my own jaws more seriously, the smell of their comrade’s blood bringing a particular gleam to their eyes.
It didn’t take long for what happened next. My defeat was inevitable, the odds stacked too high against me. They tore at my legs, ripped through my ears, the thick skin on my back. Before I could really process it all, I was bleeding from innumerable places, the world blinking in and out of focus, the strength slipping out of me like water through loose fingers.
I tried hard to protect my throat, but the task was proving too great. Pain was the only thing I could think of, the opening of death’s arms inviting and warm. I fell. My legs could no longer hold me, and I felt a hot breeze brush over the fur covering my exposed throat. I found myself staring at the blinding sun, its blaze a farewell.
I waited for black that didn’t come. And when I swam back around to consciousness I saw that the Wolves had scattered, their forms having been kicked aside by what was either the largest man I’d ever seen, or an actual grizzly bear that had wandered into town and taken pity on a mostly dead Dog.
There was no way to know, because then the darkness claimed me.
* * *
When my eyes peeled open and I saw that I wasn’t dead, I cursed the heavens. I knew I was alive because my body was lit up with agony, the fresh wounds I’d sustained burning like fire. I was in my human form, which spoke to how close I must have come to death. I had also been dressed by someone, my clothes having fallen off when I’d shifted.
I lifted my head and saw that I was on an actual bed with an actual pillow and sheets, and my throat felt like the dessert sand of some far away land. When a groan escaped me and I tried to sit up, a strong hand fell on my shoulder, holding me down.
My head jerked to the right and my eyes fell on a Wolf with midnight eyes, thick dark hair, and face that made staring an inevitable act. With the hand that was not holding me in place, he retrieved a bottle of water from a nearby table, uncapped it, and held it to my lips.
Defiant as I was, I just accepted the water and continued to stare up at him, hoping I didn’t look as bad as I felt.
He continued to hold the bottle to my mouth as I drank every drop it contained. Once that was done, he retrieved some rare meat from a plate on the same table, and began feeding me that as well.
I ate that without protest, because I was a Dog, after all.
“How do you feel?” he asked, speaking for the first time and revealing a voice that was deep and accented with the slow draw of a Wolf native to southern Missouri.
Alarm shot through me as I realized I didn’t know how much time had passed. “Fine,” I answered, pulling myself up. “What time is it?”
This almost made him smile, but not quite. “We still have two hours before fight time. Well, you have two. I have more like three.”
I released a breath and sat back again on the bed, taking in my surroundings more fully. “Where am I?” I asked. “And who are you?”
He stood and moved over to the single window in the room, and I watched the way the muscles shifted under his shirt as he did so. Seeing how tall and large he was, I remembered the large figure that had come to my rescue, and deduced with an admitted lateness that this must be the Wolf who’d saved me.
Without turning back toward me, he said, “You’re inside the Dog’s Head Hotel, and my name is Branson.”
I shifted, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and grimacing at the pain this caused. I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. “Branson?” I asked.
He nodded, still staring out the window, just his profile visible in the fading glow of the sun.
“Branson,” I repeated. “Like, Branson-Branson. As in the main fight tonight and so close to freedom you can almost taste it. That Branson?”
If not for my Wolf-hearing, I wouldn’t have caught the small sigh that escaped him. “Tonight will make my eighty-ninth fight,” he answered.
I sat where I was, absorbing the fact that I was in the presence of the Wolf who had gotten closer to freedom than any Dog in the history of ever. Everyone knew the name Branson. Every Dog and every master. He was as famous as a Dog could be, and equally coveted. And… I gulped… Apparently as handsome as a damn devil.
I glanced around the room for a mirror. It was utterly ridiculous that it should matter in the slightest what I looked right just then, but somehow, it did.
When I couldn’t locate one, I probed at some of my bandaged injuries while staring at his wide back. “Why did you save me?” I asked, the words bursting forth before I could consider them. It was completely involuntary that there was a tinge of disappointment and even anger underlining the question.
When he turned back to face me, I was struck once more by how handsome he was, and by the way my stomach twisted pleasantly when his dark gaze fell on me.
“I don’t know,” he answered, and though it wasn’t the most romantic response, I sensed it was honest.
I tested my strength by pulling myself to my feet, using the bedframe for balance. “Well, I hope you didn’t break a
ny nails, because I’m probably gonna die in The Pit tonight anyway.” I looked down, surveying my various injuries. As a Werewolf, I’d heal faster than a human, but not fast enough to be in fighting condition in two hours.
“That’s not very optimistic,” Branson said.
I gave him a grin that I hoped was any form of attractive and ran a hand over my unraveling braid. “No, but it rings of truth, doesn’t it?”
“How old are you?” he asked.
I shrugged, heat flooding from somewhere low in my belly all the way up to my cheeks. “Eighteen, I think.” I swallowed. “Why? How old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” he said.
My jaw dropped. I paused in what had been my retreat from the room. “How have you been in The Pit so many times? That’s over four fights a year since you were five.”
His dark gaze held mine. “I never lose,” he answered.
I was pretty sure I heard myself gulp. “When you saved me from those Dogs, did you shift before stepping in?”
He shook his head, once to the left, then to the right. His movements were hypnotizing.
My jaw still hung agape, my eyebrows touching the ceiling. “You took on four Wolves in human form? Well, that was stupid.”
Through his serious, perpetually stormy expression, I thought I saw the hint of a grin. “Says the girl who couldn’t keep her mouth shut to save her life.”
My eyes narrowed because he had a point. I moved toward the door, but he shifted as if to stop me, then relaxed as if reconsidering. “Where are you going?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’ve likely only got two hours left to live, so I thought I’d spend it in the forest. Shift into Wolf form and try to heal a bit more.”
He was silent a moment, pinning me with that dark gaze. Then, he said, “Would you like some company?”
My heart gave a stupid little flip, and my head nodded almost of its own accord.
