BOUND BY FATE
By
Mandy Lou Dawson
Prologue
Snuffling in the undergrowth, the wily she-wolf found the scent of her prey. It probably thought it could get away from her. How wrong it was. She’d been tracking it for hours. When her jaws at last closed on the throat of her prey, and she could feel the warm rush of blood washing over her tongue, she would howl her triumph to the pale crescent of the moon, which was barely peeking out from behind the rolling clouds.
The taste of a storm was in the air, like old pennies, and she needed to be back to her cubs by the time the rain started falling. It had been three long days since she’d last fed sufficiently – three days since she’d had to take her cubs and run – and her small reserve of strength was fast trickling away. Cunning prey in this unfamiliar territory. She’d barely managed to forage enough to keep her milk up, let alone enough to satisfy her own needs, so she went without in order to fill the rumbling tummies of her babies. A mother’s job was ever self-sacrificing.
It thought it had lost her, she realized upon spying her quarry snoozing by a dry stream-bed. On the contrary – she had merely taken the time to rest a while, giving her weary body a respite from the constant game of hide and seek. These past days it seemed she was always seeking or hiding, and she longed for a return of the days where she herself could snooze lazily in the forest. Her forest. Her home. She barely contained the whine that the thought of home brought to her throat. Those days were long gone.
Paws placed with careful precision, positioning herself up-wind of the dozing buck, she allowed herself to wallow in the thoughts of filling her own stomach this night. At last. She was running on empty. The cramps had started assaulting her tender abdomen the day before – the greedy jaws of hunger clamping down on her scrawny belly until the need to hunt outweighed even the need to run. It had been only a single season since she’d given birth to her three cubs, she needed the nourishment this buck would bring to her – if she didn’t eat, there would be no more milk, and that jeopardized the lives of her babies. She couldn’t allow that.
She crept slowly through the freshly fallen leaves and the damp earth, willing the buck to doze a little deeper. Just long enough for her to get a hold of his windpipe and tear through it in one mighty crunch. Normally, she wouldn’t dare attempt to bring down such a creature alone, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
The majestic animal, curled up on his side, stretched his neck as if in invitation, and the she-wolf could hardly contain her eagerness. This was her chance. Perhaps her last chance. If she didn’t feed this night, she would not have the strength left for another hunt. This kill had to be quick, clean and complete.
Something – perhaps an owl shifting on a branch, or a rodent scrambling across the dry leaves – drew her attention for a split second. Containing her territorial growl only through sheer force of will, she leapt at the sleeping buck, latching onto his throat, tearing it out as quickly and easily as she had dared hope.
Yesss!
The hot rush of fresh blood gushed into her mouth, almost drowning her in the flood, and she reveled in the coppery taste of life itself. The life that had belonged to the buck now belonged to her, and her cubs, that they might make it one more day in this harsh world.
The moon beckoned her and she tilted her muzzle to the heavens, emitting a spine-tingling howl of pride, and vicious victory. In turn, the moon seemed to wink at her from the dark skies, tipping its hat to a skilled hunter of the land. If only it knew, she thought sarcastically, before returning her attention to her dinner.
In her preoccupation with the buck and her enthusiastic communication with the moon, she had failed to notice the clean scent of death had been stealthily replaced by the sharp tang of another wolf. A male wolf. A pack wolf. She froze, her haunches vibrating with the fight or flight reflex, but she could not flee; her kill, hers. And yet she did not have the strength for fighting. An impasse, then.
They would not kill her yet. She was sure of it. They would want to know where the cubs were first, at the very least. Perhaps if she pleaded her case diligently enough, they might spare her. She would never be trusted in the pack again, but her cubs would be safe. That was all that mattered. She turned to her pack-mate.
The shimmer came easily to her, despite her malnutrition these past months, her body seeming to melt and reform as if a she-wolf had never crouched over the buck’s body. Instead, the form of a naked woman in her early thirties was revealed by the faint light of the moon, her blond hair hanging limply down her back, a defeated stance on her frame.
“Bradley,” she swallowed, her throat unused to the human language she once took for granted so much. “The cubs–” Her voice deserted her, leaving her silent apart from a faint wheezing sound, and a sharp pain as if someone had punched her in the chest made her flinch. The knife had been thrown with great accuracy, hitting her square in the chest, knocking the breath from her.
Muscles rippling, the giant black wolf she knew as her Alpha strode toward her, seeming to grin through his wolf-face at her. A warm wetness trickled down her tummy, washing her skin in a red so dark it appeared black.
When the second form climbed down from a tree behind Bradley her confusion cleared. His second-in-command, Turosk. He had been the one. The source of the knife that had sped through the air, stealing her breath and her life before she’d ever gotten a chance to plead for it.
“My cubs,” she began, slumping to the ground like the prey she had turned out to be.
“Your cubs!” spat Bradley, filling her vision with his newly shimmered human body. A body she had once lain with, drawn warmth from, worshiped with her own. “They can starve like the mongrels they are!”
As the light faded from her eyes, she wished she could have died a true hunter’s death – by the claws and teeth of her own kind. Instead, they had assassinated her, like a common rogue.
Her babies. Her beautiful babies. But it was too late. She was gone before her Alpha and his second finished their grisly work and shimmered back into wolf-form, trotting away, and leaving her body for the carrion-feeders.
CHAPTER ONE
“Come on!” she growled, her hair swinging wildly as she twisted her head to glare over her shoulder at her pursuer. “Catch me if you can!”
With a mighty surge of her legs she leaped the old stream bed, landing lightly on the balls of her feet, running flat out now, her legs getting into their stride. He’d never keep up, much less catch her. The layout of these woods imprinted on her mind so much she could have ran through it with her eyes closed and not brushed off a single tree.
Laughing, she threw a look behind her and noticed that she was now alone. He’d disappeared. Good. She had no wish to be followed any further in any case. She liked being on her own, rules be damned. A stupid and out-dated concept, making her travel with a Guardian at all times, even on their own land. It was even worse in the confines of the circular village the pack lived in. You didn’t even have to step off your own front porch to see almost every other building in the little pack town. Eyes, everywhere, and most of them fixed on her.
The pack lands were extensive enough that she could lose herself as well as her Guardian if she wished to. This was a wild land, and only the wild survived here. Of course the humans had set up their own villages, towns and cities outside the territories here, but rarely did they encroach on the lands handed down from Alpha to Alpha, further back than anyone could remember.
Giant swathes of land were parceled up and designated to certain packs by the first Were Council centuries ago, in order to bring all the bickering and warring to an end, and since then, this little slice of wilderness belonged to the Loam Floor pack. There were two other packs within traveling distance, the Tall Grass pack – which it so happened had been locked into a bitter blood feud with her own for years – and the Swift Runner pack to the east. Beth couldn’t remember anyone ever seeing a Swift Runner wolf up clo
se and personal – they were so secretive and, well...swift.
She shook her head slightly, her loose blond hair swinging at the small of her back, barely out of breath as she once again thought how silly it was to guard her as if she were a child. If she lived in the human world, she’d be considered a woman grown.
It was even more unbelievable, that while an un-mated female was considered a child, an un-mated male could still find his place in the hierarchy. Take her Guardian, for instance. Mid-twenties, shocking good looks and un-mated, he was still permitted to join the ranks of the Guardians, and trusted enough to be around the juvenile females – though the more she thought about it, the more she realized she’d never seen him acting inappropriately with any of them. Whatever, it was still unfair. She snorted in derision as the trees blurred past. As if he could even keep up with her. She had no idea what had prompted the wolf to volunteer for Beth duty, but it would be a good guess that he’d thought to keep her in line. Ha! Even the grizzly old mated wolves couldn’t do that unless she allowed them to.
Luckily, she’d perfected the art of ditching her escort as soon as they were far enough from the Den House that to go back and alert them to her ploy would only give her a bigger head-start. She would return when she wished to and not a moment sooner.
Not that she was planning to get up to no good. On the contrary, she just wanted to swim in the icy creek where it widened into a bowl of water, and spend some time with her own thoughts, without the hindrance of a guard watching her every move, perking his ears up at every little sound and generally making her uncomfortable. These recent years were peaceful times; the blood-feud with the neighboring pack had settled into bitter memories and muted ramblings of shoulda, woulda, coulda’s.
It had been two years or more since any blood was spilled, and a full season since anyone had even seen a member of the Tall Grass pack. Stupid name too, she decided, her mood changing to a lighter tone as she picked up the distant sounds of water. A nice little dip in the frigid water, and then an hour or so basking in the autumn sun, gradually warming her clammy skin would do wonders for her normally tempestuous disposition.
A sudden snapping sound, disrupting the solitude and peace of the day made her jump. She froze. Had Gareth found her already? Was he even now creeping up on her, readying himself for the take-down and inevitable bout of cursing and screaming the pack shrew would put him through? He’s such an ass, always trailing me like a snake in the grass. She smiled at the image of a snake with Gareth’s head glaring up at her, telling her she shouldn’t be out here alone.
“What the hell do you want?!” she demanded, turning in the direction of the sound.
A keening arose from the thicket ahead of her, and she paused. What trick was this? Why didn’t he just come out and show himself? She knew he was there. And he knew she knew. Games, she cursed. Always playing games, this pack. And most of them are mind games, damn them! She had long ago been initiated into the power-struggles and constant sniping within the hierarchy of the pack, and wanted nothing to do with any of it. Oh, to go rogue!
Tempting thought, but she could never do that. Her poor, mad mother had gone rogue, getting herself killed and leaving Beth and her two brothers to die of starvation in the deep, dark woods. But it was so long ago, and the woman in question nothing more than a stranger, that there was no deep trauma to awaken and no real pain to endure. She didn’t even know what her mother looked like, being too young to remember her.
Besides, the pack had found her, mewling in a hole in the damp ground, pawing at the remains of her brothers rotting beside her. Sole survivor of her tragic family. Lucky, some said. Ill-fated, others whispered. But mostly, they avoided looking her in the eye, knowing she was not a true member of the pack, and refusing her the very essence of pack-life. The closeness of pack and the assurance of a place in it. She had no place. She was just... lost property.
Screw this, she thought, fed up of Gareth and his games, striding towards the thicket, intending to make him another piece of lost property. Foolish wolf. Did he think she wouldn’t make the connection?
“Aww, poor Gareth,” she whined. “Did you fall, sweetheart?”
Surely the playful tone of voice would tip him off to the fact that he was about to become the prey and she the predator. She might even have a bit of fun with this one before he hauled her home. A fight was exactly what she needed right now.
Gareth had been assigned to her for two days now, and though she’d spent yesterday playing the docile little cub, doing as she was told and venturing no further from their home than the ear could hear, today she’d needed the seclusion that the creek afforded her. He’d been warned, of course, that she liked to pull a disappearing act, but she doubted he was expecting it so soon.
Sometimes a week or two went by without her pulling a Houdini, only fleeing the confines of her guard when she could stand the psychic connection to the pack no longer and needed to be alone in her own head for a while. She’d been to the creek just three days ago, and hadn’t planned on coming back so quickly, but she’d heard them talking yesterday, when they thought nobody was listening.
Elise and Marie. The purebreds. The only two pure-bred she-wolves in this pack, apart from Beth. They’d been discussing her as a bargaining chip, deciding on the merits of offering her to this family, or that. She wasn’t stupid. She knew she’d be bartered to one or other of them at some stage. But so soon!
She was barely past 21 human years. Hardly long enough to learn how to live, let alone actually do some living. If she could just get her emotions under control before facing them, she could perhaps bargain with them herself for more time. Maybe. A twinge in her belly reminded her that whether she liked it or not, she had little time left. She’d been to see the pack’s Healer a week or so ago, complaining of odd cramps in her tummy. The Healer had given her a conspiratorial smile and told her she was on the cusp of her first heat.
Her first heat! She’d thought she had more time. Sighing to herself, she tip-toed as close to the undergrowth as she could without entering it and grinned.
Spreading the thicket wide, and scratching her arms all to hell and back in the process, she readied herself to leap upon the wolf and show him her bite before he got the chance to recover. She glared.
It wasn’t Gareth.
“Oh, you poor thing!” Dragging herself into the middle of the thicket, she gasped as the full extent of the badger’s injuries became apparent. Both forelegs locked to the bone in a poacher’s trap, he was trying to chew his way out. “Disgusting things,” she whispered, glowering in distaste at the metal contraption.
Prying the trap apart, she wished there was something she could do for the pitiful creature besides putting it out of its misery, but it was a goner with or without her help. “I am sorry, brother of the forest, while on another day you could have fed the pack, and made us stronger, today you are but the unfortunate victim of the cruel human poachers. Go in peace with the knowledge that this trap shall never again harm another.”
With a quick twist of her hand she put the animal into an eternal sleep, snapping his neck and freeing him from pain.
A lone tear trickled down her cheek as she then set her hands to snapping the jaws of the trap and digging a hole to bury it deep twenty yards from the thicket. Stupid humans, she thought, dispirited. How can they justify such an impersonal kill? At least we kill to feed. No humans eat badgers.
No doubt they had hoped to catch something a little more lucrative. While bears were a rare sight in these parts, largely due to the presence of the wolves, they were not altogether absent. They didn’t bother the wolves, and the wolves didn’t bother them. Simple. The last of the trap buried deep in the earth, she stood up, wiping dirt from her hands, and wondered if the pack knew of the presence of humans in these woods. They would have to be careful. The last thing anyone needed was the knowledge of the wolves becoming mainstream. What a disaster that would be.
Expelling her breath in on
e loud gasp, Beth submerged herself in the icy depths of the creek, and didn’t break the surface again until she’d touched the bottom of the deepest part, right in the middle. The leaves of the surrounding trees danced in the breeze, and the sun shone through in dappled spotlights, making the surface of the rippling creek shine as if lit from the deep.
She sighed. Such was the summation of all her needs. Silence. Peace. Solitude. Cool water on her naked flesh and the sun waiting to warm her on the rocks on the far side. She floated a while, enjoying the serenity of the only place in the whole world she would wish to claim. It was already hers. Sort of. She was the only one who came here. Thank the Mother.
If she was free to choose her own location to build a Den House, it would be here. She could raise some cubs here, with a mate she actually loved, not one who acquired her in a deal, and she would be happy here, content to live the rest of her days by the banks of the creek.
Not going to happen, Beth, she scolded herself. So stop wishing for it, it just makes the longing worse.
“You ever planning on emerging, Little Wolf?” a sardonic voice inquired from the far bank. Her eyes snapped to the rocks, upon which her duped and dumped Guardian awaited, arms crossed, a mocking grin twisting his lips, eyes sparkling with suppressed self-satisfaction.
“Crap.”
“No, Little Wolf. Gareth.” His full mouth quirked, as if he were trying to hold in a laugh, or perhaps a joke at her expense.
“Gareth,” she agreed, dipping her head beneath the surface of the pool once more. Smart one, she admitted. He must be a keen tracker.
He was still sitting exactly where he had been when she once again raised her head from the water, still wearing that same indulgent expression, still evidently waiting for her to climb out. “Care to turn your back?”
“So you can sneak off again?” He snorted, very un-wolf-like. “Not a chance.” He ran a hand through his ink dark hair, as if deciding the pros and cons of letting her have another chance at escape. Sighing, he glared at her, his chocolate eyes promising her swift retribution should she attempt it. “So help me, if you try to leave here without me...” he trailed off, the threat evident by the stern set of his square jaw, which was lightly coated with dark stubble. It was annoyingly attractive.
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