Picking up a strange smell of mustiness, I followed the circle, weaving my way in and out of the trees. I walked outside to investigate and was just about to head back to the center to wait for Rourke when a low growl rent the air.
No more than thirty paces from me.
It sounded like a wolf, but I couldn’t see what it was.
I lowered myself into a fighting stance and cocked my head, lifting my nose. I still don’t smell anything clearly. Do you? My wolf was at attention, already standing sentinel against the threat. Can you detect any movement? We took a step closer. The growling increased and something rustled to my left. It rose off the ground slowly and shook itself off, and right as it began to move, its scent hit me.
An old, decayed smell almost fully masked its signature, but there was no mistaking who it was.
Hank.
How come we didn’t scent him before? As he shook his coat and paced forward, I realized why.
Hank had lain down to die.
He’d dug himself into the earth and had been covered in mud, pine needles, wet leaves, and moldy dirt.
There was no indication any other wolves were here. My father had told me before I’d left town that he’d dispatched two wolves to track and find Hank. As I inhaled once again, I opened my mouth, tasting the air. There was a very faint scent of death, but it wasn’t in the immediate area. Hank had likely killed them and taken their bodies somewhere days ago. We attack first and catch him off guard. It looks like he hasn’t eaten in a long time. I hoped that meant he was weaker than usual, because Hank was a fighter.
He growled at me, his eyes beginning to spark a deep amber.
My wolf pitched her muzzle in the air and we let out a deafening howl into the night sky, letting Rourke know there was trouble.
Then we sprang.
My claws hit Hank’s flank hard, tumbling us both down to the ground. He snarled, rolling away quickly, adrenaline aiding his fight-or-flight instincts. Hank was a mean wolf, which had always given him an edge, and he was getting his gumption back more quickly than I’d hoped.
He turned and lunged, snarling furiously, saliva leaking from his jaws. I’d just given him the only reason to ever emerge from his grave. To exact revenge. I’d killed his only son and this was his chance—his last chance, and likely one he didn’t think was possible until a few minutes ago—to avenge his son’s death.
I sidestepped him as he came at me, sinking my teeth into his hind leg and biting hard.
He yipped and stumbled forward and I rounded on him quickly. We are not losing this advantage. I want to be done with this … and him. I aimed for his neck, but he surprised me by lashing out and connecting with my head. His jaws were around me before I could blink.
A mew escaped my throat as a ferocious snarl erupted right behind me.
Hank heard it too. He unlatched his hold on me reluctantly and peered around my body. I followed his gaze. Rourke stood behind us. He had shifted again. He’s not taking any chances, I told my wolf. He can kill Hank in seven seconds in that form. The snarl coming out of him was full of menace.
But this was my fight.
It was mine and I wanted it. Hank had made my life a living hell since the day I’d been born. I’d dispatched his son with no regret, and I needed this saga to end on my terms. Wolves fought for status constantly; it’s what we craved. It was our hierarchy. If I beat Hank, it meant I was superior to him in all ways. I wanted that. I deserved it.
I snarled back at my mate, warning him to back off.
His ears shot up. The surprise lacing his features almost made me laugh.
He took a tentative step forward and I snapped my jaws decisively, letting him know I’d keep him posted if I needed him. He cocked his head and sat down with a thump, a small questioning huff escaping his lips. I’m sorry you don’t like it, honey. But that’s the way it’s going to be.
Hank growled. All my wounds had already healed from our little altercation. I took a step back and allowed Hank to regroup. I wanted a fair fight. He glanced from me to Rourke, trying to figure out the dynamic. I barked until Hank brought his attention back to me.
If wolves could sneer, Hank achieved it.
Then, surprising me, he turned tail and ran.
I took off after him. That coward! He’d always been gutless, riling up the younger wolves to threaten and abuse me and do his dirty work for him. I’d had enough. I flew through the air, landing on top of his back, sending us both somersaulting. We separated as we hit the ground. He smashed into the trunk of a massive tree, shaking it to its roots.
Rourke had followed and paced to my right, agitated.
As Hank stood and shook himself off, I yipped and barked, telling him exactly what I thought of him. I can’t believe he ran! No wolf with any self-respect runs from a fight. My wolf agreed and the sounds of our yips echoed around the forest. Can he just give up? He’d chosen to lie down and die instead of coming after me. He was a proud wolf, and finding out his son was a traitor to Pack must have crushed something in him greater than his need to kill me. My father had always trusted him, even though I’d felt he never deserved it. There must’ve been more to their bond as Alpha and wolf than I knew. If I don’t kill him now, my father will have to. His son was a traitor to Pack and there’s no way he didn’t know. He faces a sentence of death either way.
I paced back and forth, trying to figure out how to handle this. I was learning I wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. Hank deserved to die, in more ways than I could adequately count, but if he wasn’t going to fight me, it would be hard for me to finish him off.
Hank seemed to sense my change of heart, as did Rourke, who snarled his objections loudly. Hank’s eyes flared as he opened his mouth in what could only be another grin. He yipped at me once and it held one word: pu**y.
I snarled and splayed my paws on the ground, lowering my head, barking, and urging him to fight.
Instead of lunging, Hank turned parallel to me and lifted his back leg. The pungent smell of his urine hit the air.
He did not just do that. It was a clear challenge. And it was enough for me. I took the bait without regret. This is all you, I told my wolf as I handed the task over to her with relief. She, unlike me, had no qualms about killing him. We dove for his neck in a blur, taking hold and biting deeply. Hank fought back, snarling and lashing out with his hind legs. I was happy he decided to fight; it made it easier. He wiggled at just the right angle and my wolf lost her grip. He had me in the next breath, his jaws embedded deeply in my back.
Rourke sprang forward, bellowing.
My wolf twisted our body and we slipped out of Hank’s grasp. I snapped my teeth at Rourke before he could intervene, a snarl ripping from my throat. He slid to a stop midstride and yowled at me angrily, but I ignored him.