by Naomi Clark
A wolf howled a few streets away and I recognized Glenn’s call. I called back, my voice trembling in the cold air. A few seconds later, he was at my side, nuzzling and licking me. He nosed the air and looked at me, ears pricked curiously. Were we going on or going back?
I felt braver with Glenn next to me, so I set off again, glancing back to see if he followed. He hesitated a second, then ran to join me with a worried yap.
Out of the city we could really run, unhindered by concrete and the trappings of humanity. As I nosed around for the feral’s scent, I felt something wild unfurling inside me, something hot and hungry. My senses buzzed, assailed by the countryside, the sounds of owls hooting and the rustle of leaves as vermin raced away. The scents of mulchy earth and the early-blooming snowdrops, the shifting shadows, the distant sounds of the city muted by the night. It was so heady, so vivid, so now, I felt drunk with it all. For a second I forgot the feral, until I picked up the odor of Silver Kiss again.
That dragged me right back to reality. It was fainter, but still clear—the frost and recent snow dampened the local scents a little, so the trail left by the feral seemed to blaze in comparison. I could almost see the scent in my mind, a nasty shade of purple.
A few minutes later, the feral’s stink was everywhere. He’d scent-marked several trees and bushes, a clear warning we were entering forbidden territory. I hoped I was imagining it, but I thought I could smell Molly too. Maybe she’d come this way last night on her way home.
Glenn growled as he picked up on the scent-marking too and we both slowed down. We were reaching the edges of the marshland and I guiltily remembered my promise to Shannon. The sensible thing, the human thing, to do would be to head home and report to Eddie in the morning. I wasn’t feeling sensible or human and the faint traces of Molly’s musk didn’t help. I was all wolf and the wolf wanted to keep hunting.
I looked to Glenn, wanting it to be a joint decision. If he wanted to, we’d press on. If not, we’d go back. Pack stuck together—hell that was why he’d followed me this far. He dipped his head with a soft bark and nudged me gently. We were going on.
Excitement burned through me as we set off again, slinking through tall grass and rushes. The ground grew damp and marshy underfoot as we approached the long, winding river that was the boundary between open countryside and protected land. The reserve was faintly sinister in the moonless night, tall riverside plants swaying back and forth with hushed rustles, the leafless willow trees like skeletons in the shadows.
The feral’s scent was a stimulant to me, firing all my lupine instincts. It overrode the bitter smell of rotting pondweed and the musty aroma of bird feathers, drawing me in like a fish on a line. Glenn was just as intoxicated, stopping to sniff every rock and patch of slushy mud the feral had marked. He whined and huffed under his breath, tail flopping back and forth. The thrill of the chase had infected us both; I don’t think we could have gone back anymore.
We reached a point at the riverbank where the feral’s musk disappeared and without hesitating, I plunged into the icy water to swim across. Seconds later there was almighty splash as Glenn joined me, yelping as the cold hit him. The river wasn’t very wide and we were across in minutes, shaking ourselves off and sneezing violently. I licked my paws, pulling a few strands of weed from between my claws, then set about picking up the feral’s tracks again.
Glenn caught it first and bounded off down a dirt track, yapping for me to follow. I could definitely smell Molly now and other wolves too. I didn’t recognize any of their scents, but there was a clear difference between urban wolves and ferals and I found both on the track. That set me on edge. Chasing down one feral was a daunting proposition. The idea that we might run into a whole pack of them was just scary.
Once again, my human self reared her head and whispered that it was time to turn back. I stopped, looking back the way we’d come. A sense of dread that was more human than wolf settled over me and I was suddenly shivering with cold and ready to go home. The two of us couldn’t take on a pack, if it came to it. I called Glenn to my side and licked his muzzle with a whine, telling him it was over.
He returned the gesture and we both swung back. My unease lifted as we reached the river again. The human part of me was back in charge and she knew this was the smartest course of action, despite my wolf’s desires. Then Glenn came to an abrupt halt beside me, hackles raised, a savage growl rumbling in his throat. I snapped irritably at him and then I saw what had him snarling.
A pair of amber eyes glowing like hot coals in the shadows ahead of us.
The feral.
TEN
There was no warning this time. One second the feral was crouched in the shadows; the next he was flying at us—at me—with fangs bared and claws ready to rip. There was no time to dodge: he was on me before I could react and we went down in a riot of barks and snapping jaws.
Like I’d known when we first met, the feral was heaver and stronger than me and it wasn’t long before I found myself trapped beneath him, the soft flesh of my throat and belly exposed to him. He raked his claws across my belly and the coppery smell of blood flooded the night. I strained my neck to snap at him and caught his ear more by chance than design. I clamped down and yanked, ripping part of the ear away. He howled and rolled off me, giving me space to get to my feet again.
Glenn darted in then, catching the feral’s tail and biting down hard. At the same time I went for his throat, getting a mouthful of fur for my trouble. The feral whipped back and forth, trying to fend me and Glenn off. We danced around him, taking turns to lunge and snap at him. It wouldn’t work for long. I could feel blood dripping from my stomach wound and the fiery ache was spreading through my limbs, wearing me down second by second. Glenn, light and quick, was unhurt so far, but if I went down, he’d be defenseless against the bigger wolf.
And the feral, wiry and tough, could probably keep up this game a lot longer than either of us
Desperate to end it before I got any weaker, I threw myself at him, hitting his midsection hard and sending us both tumbling towards the riverbank. We crashed into the water, the shock of the cold driving everything from my head. I yelped and thrashed, my wound stinging like a thousand needles had been plunged into the skin. I went under the water, came up blind and disorientated. The feral grabbed my hind leg, pulling me under again.
Ice-cold water filled my lungs and ears and panic gripped me. The feral released me and I was dimly aware of splashing as he swam to the bank, leaving me fighting the rising tide of terror inside me. Beneath the water, in the lightless, airless murk, I was lost and my hot blood was chilling fast.
Stricken, I grasped onto one thought: wolf-shape was no good now.
The change was the most painful and frightening I’d ever endured. In those nerve-shredding seconds it took my body to reform in the dark water, I was utterly helpless. If the feral returned I was dead.
I popped back into my human body with a scream that brought more water burning into my lungs. For a second I was sinking like a stone, limbs numb and leaden, and I knew I was drowning, going down in a tangle of slimy waterweeds.
And then there was a sharp pain in my arm; teeth clamping into my skin and I was dragged to the surface. I broke free of the water with a choked gasp, flailing wildly at my attacker…no, my rescuer! My frozen brain dimly recognized Glenn’s scent and I threw my too-heavy arms around his neck, letting him drag me to the riverbank. I managed to crawl partially out of the icy water, sobbing in pain as pebbles and weeds scraped my wounded stomach. I vomited violently, bringing up a gush of water and chunks of dinner. The sight of the wetly glistening mess made me throw up again.
Glenn bounced out of the water and flopped to the earth, his nose pressed to my cheek, sides heaving. I was still half in the river, too weak to drag my lower body out and I clutched at him with shaking fingers, trying to communicate wordlessly that I still needed him. My arm was bleeding where he’d bitten me, red droplets mixing with river water and spl
ashing onto Glenn’s muzzle. With a sigh, he surged to his feet and gripped my arm again. I cried in pain, then bit my lip and let him drag me all the way out of the river.
We both collapsed, tangled together, wet fur to wet skin. I shivered against him, the feral driven from my mind. The fact that Glenn had saved me told me the feral was gone, for now. If he came back, we’d probably both just roll over and give him our throats. I certainly didn’t have the strength for anything more.
After a few minutes, Glenn shifted back to human and maneuvered me into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around me. “Sweetie, we need to move,” he said, teeth chattering in my ear.
“I don’t think I can,” I moaned. I pressed a hand to my stomach. It came away sticky with blood. A deep wound, probably now crawling with infections from my impromptu bath. I shuddered. “I’m hurt,” I said pathetically.
Glenn gently pushed my hand aside to prod at the wound himself. His touch was light but it still sent spears of agony through me. “It needs cleaning, but it isn’t as bad as it looks.”
“What about the feral?” I looked around, half-expecting him to explode from the darkness again and finish us off.
“He ran off after he got out of the river,” Glenn assured me. “So why don’t we get out of here before he comes back with his friends?”
We staggered to our feet, me clinging to Glenn as pins and needles cramped up my legs. It was a relief to have the feeling back, but dammit, it bloody hurt. Keeping one hand pressed to my wound, I sucked in a deep breath and forced myself to walk. I wavered a little at first, but Glenn supported me and we started to make progress.
“God, this is the last time I go anywhere with you, Ayla,” he told me. “I just can’t do the rough stuff, you know?”
“Wuss,” I said, managing a very stiff grin.
“Darling, I can’t afford to have this face ruined by romping with the local hicks.” He brushed a hand over his flawless skin. “My career is built on my looks.”
“Lucky mine’s not.” I huddled closer to him, stealing the meager warmth his body had to offer. Movement and natural werewolf reactions were warming my body up, but slowly. I still felt the chill of the river right down in my bones and I wanted nothing more than to fall to the ground and pass out.
I was too scared to stop though. Fear kept my feet moving while my mind fought to just shut down. The feral could be anywhere. Could be stalking us right now. I scented the air, but his odor was everywhere anyway, spun around us like a spider web, so I was none the wiser.
“He’s gone,” Glenn said, sensing my unease. “Keep walking, sweetie, just keep walking.”
I did. We did. I lost track of time, but eventually the pain in my stomach lessened as my body began to heal and my blood ran hot again. My feet ached and my legs cramped and my head throbbed, but we kept going, Glenn chattering all the while to keep us both distracted.
Dawn was breaking when we reached the road. The sky was a cheery blur of pink and blue as the city came back into view. By then we were both limping and Glenn’s voice had given out. We’d run so much further than I’d realized and I felt stupid and guilty now. Stupid for going after the feral in the first place; guilty for dragging Glenn along with me.
By the time we were back in the city center, my wound had healed up, leaving smears of blood across my torso. My entire body ached and I hoped the feral hadn’t done any internal damage.
“Your place or mine?” Glenn asked hoarsely. “I need a hot bath and some fluffy slippers.”
“Yours,” I rasped. His flat was closer. Once there I could ring Shannon, who’d probably be frantic with worry. It was another thing to feel guilty about.
Glenn lived in a roomy apartment over a glittery clothing boutique on Miller Street, one of the bohemian areas of town. We dragged ourselves up the stairs and practically fell into his living room. I tumbled onto his plush sofa, too exhausted to do more than lie there and look at the mossy green carpeting. Glenn, not quite as worn-out as me, disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later I heard the sound of running water and Glenn’s almost orgasmic cry of appreciation as he climbed into the shower.
I closed my eyes, listening to him splash around like a child. I’d call Shannon in a minute, I promised myself. I just needed a few seconds rest. Just a minute or two to recover myself…
Glenn shook me awake and I snapped to with a muffled yelp. “What time is it?” I asked stupidly, heart racing.
“Six in the morning,” he replied. “You should have a bath, sweetie, it’ll do you a world of good.”
I sat up, running my fingers through my knotted, ratty hair. Glenn was scrubbing his hair dry with a towel; I couldn’t have been asleep that long. “I need to call Shannon,” I said. “She’ll be so worried—”
“Have a bath first,” he said firmly, pulling me to my feet. “A few more minutes won’t hurt.”
“But I promised I’d be home, I told her…” I drifted off again, a sense of helpless frustration filling me. “I promised,” I repeated.
“Bath.” Glenn propelled me to the bathroom and all but threw me into the steaming water. I gasped, a sense-memory of hitting the river crashing over me. Then the scent of citrus shower gel wafted over me and I relaxed again. “Wash your hair,” Glenn instructed me. “I always feel better with freshly-washed hair.”
“You always shove a wig over it too,” I muttered, obediently reaching for his suspiciously pink shampoo.
He flashed me a very Glory-esque smile. “See, darling, you feel better already.” He sashayed off, leaving me to lather, rinse and repeat alone.
Fifteen minutes later I was truly warm again and sitting on the sofa wrapped in Glenn’s purple dressing gown. He was in the kitchen making tea and singing songs from Phantom of the Opera to exercise his voice.
I tried to shut that out as I reached for his phone. The need to hear Shannon’s voice was overwhelming now, my wolf needing to touch her mate, make a connection with her family. I dialed and waited for Shannon’s voice to answer.
But she didn’t pick up.
Irrational horror gripped me when the call went through to the answer phone. It’s early, I told myself. She’s asleep. Of course she is.
My wolf didn’t believe me. She wanted her mate and her mate wasn’t there. It drove shards of fear into me and roused my protective instincts. “I have to go,” I told Glenn as he entered the living room with two cups of tea. “Shannon’s not answering the phone.”
“I shouldn’t think she is, at this ungodly hour,” Glenn sniffed. “I haven’t been awake at this time for years, personally.”
I ignored the proffered cup. “Can I borrow some clothes? I can’t stay, Glenn. I’ve got to see her.”
He looked me over. “Darling, you shouldn’t—” He broke off with a sigh. “Oh, you’re mad, Ayla, do you know that? Positively insane.” He led me into his bedroom and began rummaging through his spacious wardrobe. There wasn’t much that I could see except spandex dresses and hot pants, but I was almost desperate enough to snatch those and run anyway. Then he produced a lime green velour tracksuit with a bright smile.
“Should fit perfectly,” he announced, bundling it into my arms. “It’s Juicy Couture,” he added, as if that excused the vile color.
Still, it was better than a pair of hot pink short-shorts. I threw it on, kissed him on the cheek and took off as fast as my tired body would go.
***
My sense of foreboding grew as I entered Foxglove. Call it woman’s intuition. Call it animal instinct. I just knew something was wrong. So I wasn’t entirely surprised when I saw the police car outside our house. My heart constricted and my head pounded and I pushed myself into a run, my mind spinning with dozens of bloody scenarios as I reached the door.
And then I slowed, seeing the graffiti scrawled across the front door. Bright red paint, like fresh blood, gleaming in the early morning sunlight: Die dyke bitches.
Beneath the words was a modified anarchy symbol, Alpha
Humans’ insignia.
“Shit. Oh shit. Fuck.” I fumbled with the door handle, found it locked—of course—and began hammering on the wood. “Shannon! Shannon!”
The door opened and I stumbled inside, barely registering the police officer who’d opened it. I flew into the kitchen. “Shannon! Where are you?”
“Ayla!” She leapt up from the kitchen table, rushing into my arms. “Oh God, where have you been? Are you okay? What happened?” She cupped my face in her trembling hands, staring at me with tear-filled eyes. “Don’t you dare ever scare me like that again! Where the hell were you?” Anger and relief warred on her face.
My throat was dry and I couldn’t speak. So I kissed her instead, hard and fast, before hugging her so tightly she yelped in pain.
“Ms Hammond, I take it?” a dry voice asked behind me.
I didn’t release Shannon, just swiveled round so I could see the officer over her shoulder. He was a middle-aged human, stern face, graying hair. “What’s going on?” I asked him.
“Perhaps if you put Ms Ryan down, we can discuss it,” he suggested.
I didn’t think I could let go of Shannon yet. Her body against mine was the best feeling I’d had in hours and her familiar sandalwood scent was the most comforting thing I could imagine. I buried my face in her sandy hair and inhaled deeply, closing my eyes. I could have died, I realized with a sick lurch. I could have drowned and never seen her again. Never held her again.
The realization hit me hard, a delayed reaction.
All the way back to the city, in Glenn’s apartment, I’d kept the thought at bay, concentrating just on getting back. Now I was home and safe, it was suddenly all I could think about. The feral could have killed me. I released Shannon and sat down at the kitchen table, heart in my throat.
“Ayla?” Shannon sat down next to me, lacing her fingers with mine. Her voice shook. “Are you okay?” she asked again.
