by R. J. Blain
Then, for a little while, I could escape. All I had to do was outrun the clock, let the hours slip away until Christmas Eve was another bad memory among many. I’d stay gone until the New Year, after the full moon. Frank could protect the Normals and Fenerec-born staying in my home. He would lead the pack hunt, just as we had planned. As always, my little brother was abroad for the week, staying with our parents in whatever-the-hell European country they were currently terrorizing.
I didn’t care enough to find out which one. They had won, claiming my little brother for the holidays, as they had ever since I had taken over the Yellowknife pack.
It was bad enough Desmond’s request ensured I’d spend the holidays, particularly Christmas Eve, away from my familiar woods, where I could breathe in Alex’s scent and the scent of my wolves. I had done it because Desmond had asked me to, but I wanted my den, where I could pace and fret, waiting for Alex to come back home.
I hated Christmas Eve the most. Clenching my fists, I stalked across the house, grabbed my keys, pocketed a credit card and my driver’s license, and left my cell and wallet on the counter to indicate I’d be coming back eventually. I disabled the alarm and set it as I left, careful to be quiet as I got into my car.
My Porsche was properly tuned with a good muffler system. Unless I drove like an idiot, it was a quiet, purring little beast, much like Lisa’s tiny kitten our mate hated so much. It rumbled to life for me, and I eased it out of Desmond’s driveway.
Even if he heard the crunch of gravel, Desmond probably wouldn’t think much of it, not with his mate cuddled beside him and his daughters nearby for him to guard. I kept it slow until I was a mile away from his house before gunning the engine and heading away from Seattle.
My first task was to abandon my Porsche somewhere remote. Hopefully, no one would find it. If they did, I could report it stolen and get a new car. I loved it, but not so much I would let it bind me.
Where I was going, I had no use for keys, cars, or clothes.
The Cascades would have to do. The parks were close, within two hours of Seattle, and offered hundreds of miles of mountains for me to explore. Using a magnetic holder, I stashed the keys under the engine, dumped my clothes and cards in the trunk, and changed.
My wolf was eager. Transforming hurt as always, and I was panting by the time I had shed my human shell for my thick, silver coat. Instead of my usual large size, my wolf had chosen speed and stealth.
I was even smaller than usual, so much so I resembled a fox more than a wolf.
Stretching, I trotted along the road heading deeper into the mountains, where the snow had fallen thick in the past several weeks, perfect for me to stretch my legs, run, and hide. There were wolves in the Cascades, but the lesser cousins would avoid me.
If any Fenerec saw me, they would wonder. Maybe they’d call Desmond or Sanders to inquire if they knew anything about a fox who smelled like a wolf. If I was gone long enough, perhaps my pack would worry.
They were used to me avoiding the lodge from the week before Christmas until the New Year. My first Christmas with them I had spent in a daze, curled around Alex, shivering and growling while they hovered, wondering what to make of me. To them, I had been nothing more than a strange wolf who had killed their Alpha, binding a Normal, human child to the pack in my desperation to protect him.
I shuddered, shook my head to drive away the memories, and left the Porsche and all it represented behind me.
My wolf urged me into a run. We were small, but we were swift, and the trees blurred by as we abandoned all pretenses of being a natural animal.
If someone wanted to hunt me, they would have to be faster and smarter than me.
The melancholy of my wolf infected me. No one would come.
It was the Christmas season, and I spent it alone. I wouldn’t come between my wolves and their families, their mates, and their offspring. I refused to be around to remind them of the pain I had caused them when I had killed their Alpha eighteen years ago.
It had been Christmas Eve, and all my little brother had done was be at the wrong place at the wrong time during the winter season. All my little brother had done was stay with me. I hadn’t realized we had infringed on a Fenerec pack’s territory.
No matter how fast my wolf and I ran, we couldn’t outrun the truth or the memories. We had hurt our pack. I growled, my frustration spiking. I halted, clawing at the hard-packed snow along the road, kicking it up as I worked out my agitation.
Nothing changed. Each and every Christmas Eve, I remembered. Rutting wolves didn’t care about human children; their noses told them Alex had been near a Fenerec, which had been enough to drive them wild, forcing me to fight them off.
I had killed four of them before their Alpha had come. I couldn’t remember the fight as anything more than the crushing fear I would lose my little brother because I had wanted to explore the woods outside of Yellowknife before moving on to the next remote Canadian town.
It had been the first and the last time I had ever attempted to celebrate my birthday.
Wolves and Fenerec weren’t meant to be alone, and the misery of it smothered me. Throwing back my head, I howled.
If there were any wolves near, they didn’t answer.
I ran until I couldn’t run any longer, slowing to a pained, ambling walk. The snow deepened, coming up to my belly, so I had to hop instead of walk. In some places, it was deep enough I sank in to my neck. My thick coat protected me from the worst of the cold, but as the morning gave way to the afternoon, my need to run and escape was replaced by a more basic instinct.
The wildness crept in, and I welcomed it. I was a wolf, but something about my human amused me, so I let him stay. He controlled often enough, but he was weary, so I let him rest.
I delved deeper into the woods, away from the black trail with its stinking, noisy, and unnatural, moving boxes. The human liked some of them, and I paused long enough to satisfy his curiosity before we left it behind for the hunt.
Then he quieted, leaving me to deal with the more important matters. Our stomach needed to be filled.
To my dismay, the prey liked the trails the humans preferred. I chased the mice and the rabbits to where the untamed growth ended and the blackened, unnaturally smooth trail cut through the forest and mountain. My first rabbit I took on the fringe, and I settled to watch the moving boxes as I ate, mindful of the human’s interest.
He didn’t like the silver-covered boxes. Something about them warned him of trouble. When those came, I pressed flat to the snow, covered my half-eaten rabbit with my paws, and didn’t move.
The humans with their weak eyes didn’t notice me, silver among the blue-white of sun-touched snow.
It became a game. I would hunt the noisy boxes my human so liked, and I would hide from the ones he didn’t. Sometimes, a keen human spotted me, and their rolling boxes made funny noises as they skidded to a halt. They’d point other noisy boxes at me, which would flash and click, and because my human enjoyed their attentions, I humored them. When they were clever enough to see me, I posed, letting them admire my silky fur.
Once, one of them halted after I had caught a rabbit. It was still alive, squealing and kicking its hind legs as I held it in my jaws. I hadn’t even hurt it, capturing it by the back of its neck. Once again, the humans pointed a clicking, flashing box in my direction.
The box the humans rode in didn’t alarm or interest my human. It wasn’t silver or the other paler colors that worried him. It wasn’t sleek like the ones he favored. There were smaller humans riding inside as well, which I recognized as human puppies. The puppies frolicked, pointing at me with their furless hands. The box’s clear panels vanished, and they stuck their heads out to gawk at me.
They looked skinny to me, ill-fed, so I trotted across the black, hard ground, stood on my hind paws, and stretched out my neck so I could shove my rabbit into their box. I was an Alpha, and it was my duty to ensure the puppies were all fed. I’d find another rabbit for my
self. The puppies needed to learn how to hunt, and their humans seemed incapable of it, so I would teach them. Live prey was best. I turned tail and dove back into the safety of the trees, burrowing into the snow until the box left.
The humans wisely kept the rabbit I had gifted to them.
I didn’t find another rabbit until the sun was setting. It bounded out on the black trail the humans used, and I, with my ears pinned back and my fangs bared, chased after it.
The bright lights of one of the moving boxes blinded me. The screeching blare the box made startled me into tripping, and I hit the black ground hard and rolled.
The box smacked me in the hindquarters before rolling to a halt on my tail. I yowled and yipped, clawing for purchase as I struggled to get away. When I tried to stand, my hind legs refused to hold my weight. Panting, I flopped onto my side and paddled at the box’s round torture device pinning me to the ground.
The humans got out of their box, and I warbled my pained complaints, demanding they remove their wretched box from my tail, which relentlessly hurt. One of them approached me, talking as the humans did. In my fury at their aggression, I smothered my human, along with his ability to understand them, and settled for snarls and snaps of my teeth.
I determined by scent the human was male, and he stepped on my neck, pinning my head to the ground. I fought him, but he held me firm. When the human’s fingers secured a hold on my scruff, he settled his weight on my back.
He was too heavy for me to break free from. He said something in his warbling human language. The box moved off of my tail, and I whimpered my relief.
Then the human picked me up. I yipped, and I kept paddling my paws in my effort to free myself from his hold. When I tried to twist my head around to sink my fangs into him, he gave me a shake by my neck. A shudder ran through me and I went limp in his grip, tucking my tail between my legs.
A second human came out of the box. She was shorter and skinnier than her male mate, and for a brief moment, she was intimidated by my snarling and the snapping of my teeth. Cooing at me and making sounds I was pretty sure she thought were soothing but weren’t, she reached behind my ears and scratched me.
My human had stupid opinions about how other humans should touch him. I enjoyed it all, and as soon as she started stroking my fur, I ceased struggling. I heard the other human’s surprise, and it was strong enough for it to change his scent. As the pain in my tail and hindquarters eased and the human female grew bolder in her stroking, my human roused enough to lend me his knowledge of their odd words.
“I can’t believe you hit him,” the female snapped, though her touch on me remained gentle. “Give me the poor thing.”
“It’s a wild animal,” her mate replied, refusing her request by tightening his hold on my neck. “If it can walk, we should let it go.”
“It’s not a wild animal. Just shut up, give me the dog, and get back in the car. You hit him, so you get to find a vet.”
“On Christmas Eve? Are you insane?” he demanded. The male did hand me over to the female, who clucked her tongue. I breathed in her scent, but she lacked the cinnamon wildness I liked and wanted. She didn’t smell of the male, which made me question if she was actually his mate.
My human thought she was, and as I had given him the chance to offer his opinion, he was inclined to agree with the male, disliking the idea of a vet.
A vet meant we were hurt.
I thought my human was being stupid. I knew what pain meant. Pain meant we were hurt, and I didn’t need his input to understand I should never allow one moving boxes to get near me again. However, my human’s belief the vet was useful in certain circumstances intrigued me.
We had never experienced a vet before. My human seemed offended by the idea I was curious about what a vet was, convinced I wouldn’t like it, and that we wanted nothing to do with it.
I ignored him.
“He’s bleeding,” she said, and I yipped when she put her hand on my rump. The male grabbed the back of my neck before I could warn her away with my teeth.
The female cuddled me close, stroking my head. “He’s obviously someone’s pet. We’re taking him to a vet. He must have slipped his collar.”
I flicked an ear back at the thought of wearing something as humiliating as a collar. Then she started scratching under my chin. If vet meant I could get chin pettings, something both my human and I enjoyed, I was even more interested in finding out what a vet was first hand.
The human was the one who always got to have all of the fun, driving his box, toying with our mate, and going to all of the places wolves weren’t welcomed.
If wolves were welcomed at the vet, I wanted to see it.
My human surrendered to my desire, distracted as he was by the human female stroking our fur.
“Fine. We’ll take him to a vet. I don’t know where we’ll find a vet that’s open, but fine. I’ll find one,” the male agreed, grumbling curses as he got back into the box. I tensed as the female followed and slid inside.
It smelled terrible. It wasn’t like my human’s box, which still had our mate’s scent in it.
Porsche, my human informed me, offended I called it a box. I sighed, considering the human word. Were all boxes his beloved Porsche box?
My human was offended.
I decided my human’s box was special, which placated him enough he left me alone to inspect the box I was in.
Harsh fumes stung my nose, accompanied by something sickly sweet. My human didn’t approve either. The female settled me on her lap, stroking my head and neck, careful not to touch my back. She was wise. If she had, I would have bitten her and put her in her place. When her fingers scratched under my chin, I closed my eyes.
“He’s so soft,” she whispered.
“He does look like someone’s been caring for him,” the male replied with a sigh. “Maybe the vet in Chuckanut is open.”
“Okay,” she said, digging her fingers into my fur. Their box was warm, and the female was gentle. When my human settled, resigned, I stretched out and relaxed, basking in the pleasure of her stroking me.
There was definitely something amiss about the vet. My human grew anxious when the car parked, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t soothe him. He thought we should jump from the female’s lap and make a run for it, right up until I demonstrated why his idea was terrible by attempting to stand.
It hurt.
The human female carried me out of their box, but as soon as we approached the door of the building with the vet, the male took charge of me, grabbing me by the scruff of my neck with one hand. He clamped his other hand over my muzzle.
I tucked my tail and whined, struggling to pull my nose free. The male tightened his grip so much it hurt.
“You’re hurting him,” the female protested, holding open the door.
“Better than someone getting bit,” he replied, stepping into the building. The female submitted to his will, following quietly in his wake.
Like the car, the building had a harsh, unpleasant stench to it. The fear, anxiety, and stress of prey species taunted my nose. Humans with small boxes waited.
There were also two lesser cousins of my lesser cousins. They sat docile with their waiting humans. They barked, announcing their presence to the world, and I longed to snarl and snap at them, to drive them away, and establish my territory.
The male carried me to a box a human was seated behind. “I hit this dog about an hour ago,” he announced, depositing me on the smooth surface.
He dropped me on my hind legs, and I thrashed, struggling to pull free of him.
The human behind the box was a female; she took one look at me and picked up the phone. A male’s gruff voice answered her. “Someone’s brought in something you need to see, Doctor.”
A disembodied male voice told the female he would be out in a moment.
She reached under her desk and pulled on a thick pair of leather gloves. Reaching for me, she grabbed hold my scruff. Like the male, s
he wrapped her fingers around my muzzle. “You can let him go, sir,” the female instructed. “Where did you hit him?”
“I clipped him and ran over his tail,” he replied.
“Did he end up beneath the car?”
“No. He rolled in front to the side.”
She nodded. “Where did this happen?”
“Up in the Cascades. We were heading home from a family gathering,” he explained. “How much is this going to cost me? Can you help find his owners?”
The female made a soft noise, which my human translated to be a sound of disapproval. “He’s an exotic. We can treat him, but I can’t return him to your custody unless you’re licensed.”
The male backed away, holding his hands up. “I ain’t transporting any exotics. He’s just some dog I hit.”
“We have a fund for the treatment of exotic rescues,” the female behind the desk assured the male, pulling me closer to her. I whined, struggling to free my muzzle from her grip.
She held me with a firm hand.
My human seemed to think it was pointless to struggle. His suggestion to act submissive worried me, but the strength of insistence gave me pause, as did his disapproval I hadn’t listened to him. He wanted me to relinquish control to get us out of the vet intact, but I refused him.
While he fought me, my human was still too weak to wrestle control from me, even hurt as we were.
“So that’s it? We leave him here with you?” the male’s mate asked. “It doesn’t cost anything?”
“No, ma’am. It’s free for you. However, we will need your contact information. Were either of you bitten?”
“No, he was mostly asleep in the car and didn’t fight very much. Neither of us were bitten.”
“What was he doing when you hit him?” the female holding me asked.
