by RJ Blain
I left without looking back.
I carried my leash in my mouth so I wouldn’t trip over it, following the highway west. I had no idea what state I was in, but the highway was divided by thick grasses, providing me with plenty of places to hide. The cooked meat, while vile, filled me with restless energy. The throb in my paw and the confines of the harness kept me at a walk despite my desire to break into a lope.
Once I was far enough away Idette had no hope of finding me, I’d howl my joy to the star-lit sky. I had no idea how far I could go before I’d have to hunt, so I made the most of the opportunity, pushing as fast as I could. The leather rubbed me raw, but the pain came second to my fear the human woman I loathed would discover my disappearance and hunt for me.
Without her in my life, I could explore the wilds and hunt without worry. Somewhere far away, I would find a place to den, prey on the weak, and eat my fill. I reveled as the ties binding me to the human world crumbled around me.
Idette had held me captive long enough no one would believe I lived.
I was free.
My beasts rejoiced with me, their welcoming calls resounding in my head and driving away the last vestiges of guilt over the few humans I left behind.
They, too, would forget in time.
I followed the highway until sunrise. During the quiet of predawn, I crossed the asphalt, venturing into the grasslands. Red and gray rose up in the distance, and not even the silver and car fumes clinging to the roadway masked the hint of dust in the air.
There was a lot of barren land in the Midwest perfect for a wolf to roam, and my excitement surged at the thought of exploring it all with four legs instead of two. With sharp rocks aplenty, I could rid myself of the silver chains, allowing me to remove the harness and collar. Once I shed the evidence of captivity, I’d be truly free.
I was a wolf with a cheetah’s fleet strength and cunning. The human in me offered nothing but worry over matters too removed to matter.
All that mattered was survival. The rest could wait.
I rolled on pebble-strewn, cracked ground until the silver chains glued to my harness broke and fell away. The metal burned through my fur, and I whined at the stench of fur and flesh searing from the silver’s influence. I didn’t stop until the straps I intended to chew through were covered in nothing more than dust and glue residue.
After so much abuse, the leather was stiff and cracked under my teeth. When the first strap snapped, I wiggled and squirmed until I could chew on the final band securing the harness to me.
By noon, scraps of leather were scattered over the ground. The collar resisted my efforts, but instead of trying to claw or chew on it, I turned it so I could get at the buckle, whining as I had to first scratch away the silver. My pads bled, and my claws blackened, but I didn’t give up until I managed to break through the abused leather.
I shed the last evidence of humanity as the last light of day died, and I howled my victory. A distant cry answered me, and the wavering sound stirred my spirit beasts. The hunger for the hunt burned in me, and my need startled both of them. Turning my ears back, I huffed and warbled my desire.
I wanted to run fast and far. I longed for the chase, and the way my cheetah’s body whipped through the grasses. I growled, frustrated at my small size and impotency.
My wolf’s body was weary, burned, and worn from our captivity. I shook out my fur, snapping my teeth.
I wanted to run with my cheetah as I had so many times before. The feline’s grace and speed called to me, and my skin itched with my need to chase down my prey, raking sharp claws through flesh.
My wolf’s curiosity surged, and I was aware of the two rival predators warbling and mewling to each other as they found common ground and united in their interests.
For all he was a wolf, he, too, longed to discover the thrill of the chase, the race, and the hunt, discovering the world through feline eyes. A shiver coursed through me, and in its wake, my skin shifted over my muscles. The transformation seized my bones and tore through my body. The memory of Idette’s agonized change blazed in my mind, but while my body throbbed, my bones didn’t crack and snap. It hurt, but not so much I couldn’t remain still and quiet through the process.
The moon rose as a pale sliver on the horizon. I lifted my head and chirped, breathing deep. Without the silver hampering my sense of smell, countless scents flooded my nose. With endless wilds surrounding me, I taught my wolf the joy of outrunning the wind.
My wolf and my cheetah competed, determined to teach the other why he was the superior beast. Some days I would spend as a wolf, hunting as I crossed the plains, learning how best to flush out prey and capture the fleeing mice, rabbits, and other small animals. Without a pack, my wolf avoided larger prey.
My cheetah held no such scruples, and when we hungered for more filling food, he coerced my wolf into allowing me to take his shape so I might hunt for us all. The land broke and fell away to deep gullies and soaring plateaus, and along the nature-forged trails, I stalked deer.
The rugged landscape provided me plenty of places to hide, and the deep chasms with their prairie grasses and flat terrain aided me in the hunt. One deer eased the hunger biting at my stomach, but it took two to fill me. The hardest part was convincing my cheetah to relinquish his form, allowing my wolf to eat the second kill.
It took my wolf some work to explain the concept of pack to my cheetah. I was more like my feline spirit beast; why did we need a pack?
We were fine as we were.
Instead of criticizing either one of them for their interest in the matter, I ignored their murmurs in my head. The days grew colder, and by the time the moon hung full and heavy in the sky, I spent most of my days as a wolf. The challenge of a wolf hunting alone enthused all three of us. When prey grew scarce, I moved on, following the canyons and broken land south to chase the fading warmth. In the distance to the west, mountains rose, and snow covered their peaks.
I settled into a routine, denning through the late afternoon and early evening to hunt the night and dawn for prey unfortunate enough to cross my path. Sunrise lit the grasslands gold. On the cool breeze, I smelled the dust, the crisp undertones of nearby water, and the sharp tang of blood. While faint, it was fresh, and my scavenging wolf hungered. Snuffling, I stalked after the alluring scent, my excitement growing.
Deer fell and broke their legs often in the jagged hills, and my spirit beasts were opportunists. Their need for fresh meat spurred me into a lope.
I found the water first, cutting through the drought-touched land. Once, it had been a proud river, and the ruins of its banks jutted upward. It had died to a trickle, narrow enough I could step across without getting my paws wet. I drank long and deep, one ear cocked to listen for the rustle of predator or prey.
Injured animals often remained silent until their deaths drew too close for them to escape. Then, their shrill cries filled the air until I silenced them forever and took their lives to sustain my own. It was nature’s way, and a way I embraced as readily as my wolf and my cheetah.
The source of the fresh blood was close. The sound of mewling whimpers puzzled me, and I kept quiet in my effort to identify the source of the noise. My curiosity drove me more than my predatory instincts, and I prowled forward, gliding through the grasses, my head ducked low and my ears pinned back.
Instead of an injured deer or rabbit, I found a human crouched by the dying river’s edge, rocking back and forth. One hand dripped blood.
The other held a glinting blade stained crimson. My cheetah’s alarm surged. Part of me recognized the object the human held, although the memory was so faint and disjointed I shoved it out of my mind so I could decide what to do, if anything.
Was the human prey? I cocked my head to the side. My cheetah didn’t seem to think so, and my wolf had no preference.
Meat was meat, and my wolf didn’t care where the meat had come from, as long as it filled our belly and sustained us. My cheetah’s rebuke came sharp and painf
ul, a burning whip across my thoughts.
Not prey, I decided, unwilling to further anger the feline. I sniffed, and a bitter, sour scent singed my nose. It took my wolf’s help to identify the smells as grief and anger. There was another undertone, and neither one of my spirit beasts recognized the cause.
A repressed part of me, the one who understood the human was a younger girl stuck between being a child and a woman, worried.
To kill or be killed for survival happened in the wild; nature and time flowed in a relentless cycle. Death became life, and life became death. Illness and injury culled the weak, and the prey who couldn’t run fast enough fell to the jaws of the hungry.
To inflict injury and turn predator to prey, however, wasn’t the way of the wild, and I recognized the blood came from no hand other than the girl’s own.
My cheetah’s worry intensified, and I crept forward. Wolves scared humans. Cheetahs scared humans. I was both, and to the girl, I would be as monstrous as the invisible devils driving her to slice the blade over her trembling palm, cutting closer and closer to her wrist.
When she reached it, she would cease being prey, and her lifeless body would chill despite the sun’s warmth. I turned my ears back at the thought.
Life and death were a part of nature’s way. The imminent death of a human in the wilds shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.
She didn’t notice me until I was beside her, my muzzle in easy striking range of the blade she held. A strangled cry burst out of her, and the metal fell out of her pale hands. She twisted, lost her balance, and fell into the water. Blood trailed in the weak current, and I turned my ears back.
Making a soft, choked sound, the human scurried backwards, and her fear overwhelmed her other scents. I turned my attention to the object she had been slicing herself with, and the human part of me recognized it as a knife of some sort, one with a segmented blade. Careful of its sharp edge, I picked it up in my teeth, carried it out of her reach, and buried it in the dust and loose rocks.
If she wanted it, she’d have to fight me for it, and I would win.
I stalked the girl to the river’s dried, crumbling bank until she cowered against the rocks at her back, her eyes wide, her skin pale, and her breath coming in short bursts. In the wild, wolves hunted in silence, barked in warning, or howled to call for the pack.
Dogs used a different language, and I drew on the tamed part of me, the part who understood something more than physical injury sickened the girl in front of me. I warbled, lifting a paw to bat at the air before dipping into a play bow.
Wolves didn’t wag their tails, not in the enthusiastic way domesticated dogs did. My wolf’s disgust flowed through me, though he didn’t stop me from whipping my hindquarters back and forth in my effort to communicate to the human I wasn’t about to eat her for breakfast.
When she didn’t run away screaming, I slithered forward so I could lick her chin. With Idette, I had been small and easily contained. My time in the wild had sparked my growth. Pleasure radiated from my wolf.
Together, we were strong, and the human girl was no match for us. She was too small to fend for herself, but I would make up for her deficiency—and the deficiency of the human pack who had neglected their young.
But how? I puzzled on it, drawing on my tame, restrained side for guidance. A part of me remembered humans enjoyed a dog’s attention. As long as I behaved like one of the lesser cousins, perhaps she wouldn’t recognize me as the predator I was.
My cheetah wanted to purr to comfort her, and it took all my will to prevent the feline from forcing me to shift to his form. Transforming wouldn’t comfort her.
Humans didn’t know beasts like me existed, nor could they find out. On that, we agreed.
I whined and licked her face again, pawing at her muddied jeans. The fear in the girl’s scent faded, replaced by the pungent odor of her misery. With a sobbed wail, she wrapped her arms around my neck and wept. Her blood and tears matted my fur, but I stood still for her, wondering what I, a wolf with a cheetah’s spirit bound to me, would do with a human girl.
Chapter Eight
Long after the girl cried herself hoarse, she clung to my neck as though afraid I would disappear. I remained quiet, careful to keep my ears pricked forward so she wouldn’t read hostility in my stiff stance.
My wolf tolerated me wagging my tail to reassure the girl. Maybe he didn’t care for human ways, but he understood pack and puppies. To him, she was too young to be on her own. I wasn’t sure of her age, but I was inclined to agree.
Anyone who cut themselves due to their misery was someone who needed help, and her age didn’t matter. She could have been an old woman well past her prime, and I wouldn’t have turned away.
The barren wild was no place for a human with no fur to protect her nor fangs to capture prey. Her two legs wouldn’t carry her far enough nor fast enough to win her survival.
The bitterness of her scent, the misery my wolf and cheetah detected, and the broken way she held me stirred the human part of me I had tried so hard to ignore. Another time and another place, the girl may have been prey, but because we, as one, had decided to shelter and protect her from herself, she was our responsibility and our pack. When we saw her safe to a suitable pack of her own kind, we would relinquish our guardianship.
Until then, she belonged to us.
I bumped my nose against her, shoving my head against her chest with all my strength to force her upright.
“Hey!” The protest in her tone pleased me, as did her quick obedience. I bared my fangs, feigning a lunge at her so she would retreat in the direction of the water. The misery in her scent soured from her fear and worry. “Stop that.”
Driving her across the dried riverbed, I turned her away from her hidden blade, allowing her to choose her path in the hope she would guide me to her pack, although we weren’t willing to return her to them.
I, however, wanted to find out what her pack had done to force so young a puppy to harm herself. A slow burning rage enveloped me and infected my wolf and my cheetah.
They cared nothing for human laws and ways, and it fell to me to restrain them when their desire for the blood of the girl’s pack surged. It didn’t help I wanted blood, too, although I remembered acquiring justice in less violent fashions. My spirit beasts seemed satisfied with my intention to handle human matters according to human customs. I followed at the girl’s heels, and whenever she halted, I growled.
At first, my displeasure at her hesitation drove her on, and she followed a well-beaten trail across the barren landscape. An acrid odor stung my nose, and I turned my ears back as the stench intensified with each and every step. A fence warned me I approached territory controlled by humans.
My human paused at the wood and electrified wire fence and twisted around to stare at me. “You’re too big. I’ll have to open the gate for you.”
If I tried to duck between the gaps, my human was right; I’d either get stuck or electrocuted by the thin wires paralleling the wood boards. My shoulders came up to her hips, which was a vast improvement over when Idette had been able to pick me up by my scruff.
The wilds had been kind to me.
Since I couldn’t go through the fence and digging under it seemed like too much effort, I backed away, eyed the top and its barbed wire, and headed for it at my fastest run. My wolf’s joy at the brief sensation of flight came to an abrupt end when my weight landed on my aching left forepaw. I staggered, yipping at the jolts of pain. Limping to a halt, I glared at my uncooperative paw, sighing my resignation.
“I said I would open the gate! Dumb dog,” my human scolded, waving her finger at me. The dried blood caked to her skin caught my attention. In places, she still bled. The open wounds worried me, as did the way she ignored the injury.
I chose to ignore her insult since I had made the effort to convince her I wasn’t a proud wolf. I bristled at her usage of dumb, however, and considered nipping her in rebuke. My wolf liked the idea, but my che
etah’s disapproval held me back.
Nipping her into obedience could wait until I saw what sort of pack neglected a puppy. Once I dealt with them and tended to my human, I would discipline her. Satisfied with my decision, I followed at her heels, wagging my tail despite my wolf’s disgust.
It amused me I was able to play a dog far better than my wolf could.
Something bothered me about the fields we crossed. Brown-tipped corn was bowed and dried, and the ears were left to rot on the stalks. The girl led me through the rows, picking paths to hide her from those who might be watching over the crops.
My wolf and my cheetah were baffled by my growing concern, leaving me to deal with a situation they didn’t understand. The corn should have been harvested before the ears rotted on the stalks.
A wealth of human food stretched out all around me, and it went to waste; the human side I had tried so hard to suppress came to the forefront. Did the spoiling crops have something to do with the girl’s distress?
The blood caking her hand was the only evidence of her attempt to bleed out her life. As though sensing I watched her, the girl shoved her injured hand into her jeans’ pocket. The stench of her anxiety grew the longer we walked through the corn.
The corn field opened up to a barren yard surrounding a large barn, its red paint sun-bleached and flaking away. A dirt road lead to a farmhouse, bleached gray from years of exposure to the sun and dust. The girl’s attention focused on the driveway ending in front of the porch, and her relief was potent enough I sneezed.
Those responsible for hurting my human lived in the house, but they weren’t home. Whether emboldened by the empty driveway or afraid someone would return, the girl ran for the front door, pulling keys out of her pocket when she reached it. After several checks over her shoulder, she entered, and I followed in her wake without waiting for her permission.
