Frostbitten
Page 49
So where was the kid? Was he still alive? I hoped so, and I was sure Joey believed it-or was being led to believe it. But honestly? I doubted it.
I CHANGED BACK for the return trip. The evening was still quiet, but not unnaturally so. There'd been no sign of the beast. No signs of the werewolves. No sign of the wolves.
After three Changes in two days, my energy was flagging and my stomach was growling. I would have been fine waiting to grab something later, but as we passed an open field, Clay stopped me and swiveled his ears, telling me to listen.
The snow was deeper here, and I could hear scratching under it. Clay crouched, hindquarters waggling. He plunged through the snow, then swung back up, head and ruff piled with the white stuff and, in his jaws, a squealing mouse.
He tossed the mouse back to me. I caught it. By the time I'd eaten it, Clay had another. That one he kept, throwing his head back to gulp it down.
I raced forward and joined in. We tore through the clearing, no attempt to stalk and hunt, just plowing through the snow, scooping up mice, giving them one life-ending crunch, then swallowing them whole.
The mice could have run for cover, but most froze in panic, like villagers accustomed to stealthy snipers suddenly beset by rampaging berserkers. That made for easy pickings and we had a blast, seeing who could get the most.
Once I'd eaten my fill, I collapsed where I stood, my stomach gurgling happily. Clay strolled over and plunked down on top of me. I flipped him off and we tussled, but halfheartedly, too full and too tired.
I curled up against him. As I was tucking my frozen nose under my tail, I caught a whiff of werewolf scent on the wind. I stiffened. Travis Tesler's image flashed through my mind and on its heels came a heart-gripping moment of panic before my brain processed the smell. It wasn't one of Tester's pack.
Clay grunted and swung his muzzle to the left. I could see the faint outline of a dark wolf between the trees. I started to rise, but Clay butted my foreleg, telling me to lie back down. Obviously, he'd scented or spotted the werewolf already and decided he was no threat.
The mutt stayed where he was, just watching us, and when I peered at him, seeing the dark red fur and green eyes, I realized it was the one who'd been with the wolves the night before. Clay grunted again, telling me to relax. I curled into a ball against him. Soon the heat of his body and the steady beat of his heart lulled me toward dreamland.
I was drifting off when Clay tensed. Before I could open my eyes, he sprang to his feet, accidentally booting me in my bruised ribs as he scrambled up.
I twisted to see the mutt-barreling toward us, his lips pulled back in a snarl. As he charged, Clay stood his ground, his fur bristling, ears back, growl rippling through the clearing. The mutt kept coming. Then, at the last second, he veered around Clay and ran at me.
I braced myself and growled, but he never heard it. Clay lunged at him, a whirlwind of fur and snapping teeth. The mutt sheared out of Clay's way and took off, snow flying in his wake as he plowed head long across the clearing, cutting a wide circle, only to head right back.
As the mutt ran at me. I braced for the hit. As with Clay, though, he checked himself at the last moment, then he snapped, catching my foreleg in a sharp bite. I dove at him, but he was already tearing off.
Again he started that wide circle, running full out and low to the ground. I glanced at Clay. Did this guy want a fight? Or a game of tag?
Clay lowered his head and snorted. Play was a rule-bound behavior with wolves. In a pack, it says "I trust you enough to let my guard down." Maybe this mutt had seen us playing and was like the lonely kid at the playground, asking to join in. Clay was having none of that. Play was for his Pack brothers, not strangers.
Clay growled, telling the guy he was pissing him off. When he lowered his hindquarters to the ground again, the mutt charged. Clay lunged. The mutt ducked and zoomed out of the way, then came at him again.
With a roar, Clay sprang. When the mutt fell back, Clay kept coming, ready to give him a good trouncing, and clear up any misconceptions. I flew after Clay, grabbed him by the ruff and I yanked him back. He reared up, snarling and bucking to throw me off, but I held on and growled.
Once Clay realized I was serious, he stopped. As the mutt zoomed back and forth in front of us, I let go of Clay and surveyed the woods. He got the message-this guy was trying too hard to get us to chase him.
I hadn't considered the possibility that this werewolf was part of Travis's pack. A "not quite right in the head" mutt who fancied himself a wolf, preferring to run with them and leave the hard work to his buddies. But now he'd been called on to do his fair share.
As I paced to sample the night wind, I expected the mutt to distract us so we didn't get a whiff of his pals lying in wait. Instead, he snorted, as if in satisfaction.
My nose picked up the faint smell of musk and I understood. I nudged Clay and pantomimed sniffing north. It took a moment, but he caught the scent, his fur instinctively rising. The beast.
When I passed the mutt, a sigh rippled his flanks, as if to say Finally. He tried to fall in step beside me, but Clay loped up and shouldered him back.
With the mutt at our heels, we headed deeper into the bush, moving south, away from the beast. Then I began circling in its direction.
When the mutt realized what I was doing, he nipped my rear leg. I wheeled and snapped. He growled and flicked his muzzle in the other direction. I grunted, shook my head and continued north.
Clay jostled me, saying, "I know you want to get a closer look, but be careful, okay?" I slowed to reassure him.
That didn't reassure someone else, though. The mutt raced in front of me and spun in my path, snapping and snarling. I stopped and lowered my head, ears back, tail out, fur bristling as I matched him snarl for snarl.
Clay stepped aside to sample the air and peer into the darkness. Then he lunged, at me, knocking me into a tree, his grunted apology cut short as he grabbed the loose ruff around my neck and yanked me the other way.
I hesitated only long enough to get my footing… and to hear the crashing in the undergrowth.
We ran. When the noise behind us stopped and I tried to slow, the mutt nipped my heels. Clay fell behind. Once the mutt realized he'd lost one of his charges, he wheeled.
The moon had passed under cloud cover, leaving the forest as black as it had been the night before, so it seemed to take a moment before the mutt saw Clay's pale form, stopped, nose lifted, ears up. Then, Clay's eyes went wide and he shot forward, plowing into my side. I hit the ground, Clay atop me, as a huge dark shape swung into the spot where I'd been standing.
I CHANGED BACK for the return trip. The evening was still quiet, but not unnaturally so. There'd been no sign of the beast. No signs of the werewolves. No sign of the wolves.
After three Changes in two days, my energy was flagging and my stomach was growling. I would have been fine waiting to grab something later, but as we passed an open field, Clay stopped me and swiveled his ears, telling me to listen.
The snow was deeper here, and I could hear scratching under it. Clay crouched, hindquarters waggling. He plunged through the snow, then swung back up, head and ruff piled with the white stuff and, in his jaws, a squealing mouse.
He tossed the mouse back to me. I caught it. By the time I'd eaten it, Clay had another. That one he kept, throwing his head back to gulp it down.
I raced forward and joined in. We tore through the clearing, no attempt to stalk and hunt, just plowing through the snow, scooping up mice, giving them one life-ending crunch, then swallowing them whole.
The mice could have run for cover, but most froze in panic, like villagers accustomed to stealthy snipers suddenly beset by rampaging berserkers. That made for easy pickings and we had a blast, seeing who could get the most.
Once I'd eaten my fill, I collapsed where I stood, my stomach gurgling happily. Clay strolled over and plunked down on top of me. I flipped him off and we tussled, but halfheartedly, too full and too tired.
I curled up against him. As I was tucking my frozen nose under my tail, I caught a whiff of werewolf scent on the wind. I stiffened. Travis Tesler's image flashed through my mind and on its heels came a heart-gripping moment of panic before my brain processed the smell. It wasn't one of Tester's pack.
Clay grunted and swung his muzzle to the left. I could see the faint outline of a dark wolf between the trees. I started to rise, but Clay butted my foreleg, telling me to lie back down. Obviously, he'd scented or spotted the werewolf already and decided he was no threat.
The mutt stayed where he was, just watching us, and when I peered at him, seeing the dark red fur and green eyes, I realized it was the one who'd been with the wolves the night before. Clay grunted again, telling me to relax. I curled into a ball against him. Soon the heat of his body and the steady beat of his heart lulled me toward dreamland.
I was drifting off when Clay tensed. Before I could open my eyes, he sprang to his feet, accidentally booting me in my bruised ribs as he scrambled up.
I twisted to see the mutt-barreling toward us, his lips pulled back in a snarl. As he charged, Clay stood his ground, his fur bristling, ears back, growl rippling through the clearing. The mutt kept coming. Then, at the last second, he veered around Clay and ran at me.
I braced myself and growled, but he never heard it. Clay lunged at him, a whirlwind of fur and snapping teeth. The mutt sheared out of Clay's way and took off, snow flying in his wake as he plowed head long across the clearing, cutting a wide circle, only to head right back.
As the mutt ran at me. I braced for the hit. As with Clay, though, he checked himself at the last moment, then he snapped, catching my foreleg in a sharp bite. I dove at him, but he was already tearing off.
Again he started that wide circle, running full out and low to the ground. I glanced at Clay. Did this guy want a fight? Or a game of tag?
Clay lowered his head and snorted. Play was a rule-bound behavior with wolves. In a pack, it says "I trust you enough to let my guard down." Maybe this mutt had seen us playing and was like the lonely kid at the playground, asking to join in. Clay was having none of that. Play was for his Pack brothers, not strangers.
Clay growled, telling the guy he was pissing him off. When he lowered his hindquarters to the ground again, the mutt charged. Clay lunged. The mutt ducked and zoomed out of the way, then came at him again.
With a roar, Clay sprang. When the mutt fell back, Clay kept coming, ready to give him a good trouncing, and clear up any misconceptions. I flew after Clay, grabbed him by the ruff and I yanked him back. He reared up, snarling and bucking to throw me off, but I held on and growled.
Once Clay realized I was serious, he stopped. As the mutt zoomed back and forth in front of us, I let go of Clay and surveyed the woods. He got the message-this guy was trying too hard to get us to chase him.
I hadn't considered the possibility that this werewolf was part of Travis's pack. A "not quite right in the head" mutt who fancied himself a wolf, preferring to run with them and leave the hard work to his buddies. But now he'd been called on to do his fair share.
As I paced to sample the night wind, I expected the mutt to distract us so we didn't get a whiff of his pals lying in wait. Instead, he snorted, as if in satisfaction.
My nose picked up the faint smell of musk and I understood. I nudged Clay and pantomimed sniffing north. It took a moment, but he caught the scent, his fur instinctively rising. The beast.
When I passed the mutt, a sigh rippled his flanks, as if to say Finally. He tried to fall in step beside me, but Clay loped up and shouldered him back.
With the mutt at our heels, we headed deeper into the bush, moving south, away from the beast. Then I began circling in its direction.
When the mutt realized what I was doing, he nipped my rear leg. I wheeled and snapped. He growled and flicked his muzzle in the other direction. I grunted, shook my head and continued north.
Clay jostled me, saying, "I know you want to get a closer look, but be careful, okay?" I slowed to reassure him.
That didn't reassure someone else, though. The mutt raced in front of me and spun in my path, snapping and snarling. I stopped and lowered my head, ears back, tail out, fur bristling as I matched him snarl for snarl.
Clay stepped aside to sample the air and peer into the darkness. Then he lunged, at me, knocking me into a tree, his grunted apology cut short as he grabbed the loose ruff around my neck and yanked me the other way.
I hesitated only long enough to get my footing… and to hear the crashing in the undergrowth.
We ran. When the noise behind us stopped and I tried to slow, the mutt nipped my heels. Clay fell behind. Once the mutt realized he'd lost one of his charges, he wheeled.
The moon had passed under cloud cover, leaving the forest as black as it had been the night before, so it seemed to take a moment before the mutt saw Clay's pale form, stopped, nose lifted, ears up. Then, Clay's eyes went wide and he shot forward, plowing into my side. I hit the ground, Clay atop me, as a huge dark shape swung into the spot where I'd been standing.
