Frostbitten
Page 69
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The beast stopped a few steps short of me and curled his lip back in an experimental growl. Like the bear, he was curious yet wary. I met his gaze, neither backing down nor returning the growl, but doing the same as I had with Tesler-standing my ground and keeping eye contact.
The beast paced one way, then the other, his gaze still locked with mine. He lumbered like a bear, but his movements were quicker. His shaggy fur made him look heavier than he was. He still had a good hundred pounds on me, though, and little of it was winter-stored fat. Though I could tell by scent it was the beast Clay attacked, the only signs of injury were a few patches of missing fur and already-healing wounds.
He stopped to get a better look at me. Our paths had crossed often enough that he wasn't confused by the sight of an oversized wolf draped with shredded clothing and reeking of human scents.
He leaned forward and sniffed me. When I didn't attack, he leaned forward some more. I moved and he fell back, but I only turned sideways and let him sniff me, the same way I would with a fellow werewolf. Because that's how I had to treat this. No matter how hard my heart pounded, I couldn't let the fear show.
As he sniffed, I gnawed-as casually as possible-on the rope holding my foreleg aloft.
He sniffed my flank. Then he sniffed my hind quarters. When he spent a little too long back there-and when his nose brushed where I didn't want to be brushed-I was so intent on the rope that I reacted the same way I did when a werewolf got a little too interested in that end of me. I spun, snarling and snapping.
The beast jerked back, grunting as if to say "What'd I do?" I grunted back… then sat. He prodded my hindquarters. I stayed sitting. When he prodded harder, I growled.
He chuffed, his eyes narrowing, head tilting one way, then the other, considering. Another chuff and he turned his back on me and started walking away, grumbling as if thoroughly offended by my lack of interest.
I returned to my rope-gnawing, and the moment I did, I heard the thunder of running paws. Before I could turn, the beast leapt onto my back, hind paws still on the ground, forepaws cinched around me. Male mounting position.
I didn't panic. This wasn't the same as Tesler's rape attempts. To a wolf, this was simply a sexual overture, and had to be answered much the same as any unwelcome attention-with a very quick and firm "not interested."
I pitched forward, out from under him, and twisted around as far as the rope would allow, then threw in a few serious growls for good measure. His eyes lit up like a puppy that's been swatted and thinks it's an invitation to playtime.
He dove at me and nipped my front leg, then pranced back, jaws open in a very canine grin. When I didn't react, he chuffed in disappointment… and tried mounting me again.
I warned him off. He thought it was foreplay. I ignored him. He tried to mount me. I warned him off… and so the cycle went. I suppose I should have been a lot more concerned about this scenario, but he gave no sign of tiring of the game or forcing himself on me. So I kept playing… while sneaking nips at the rope on my foreleg, fraying it strand by strand.
Finally, with a yank, I was free. The beast backed off, but only to get a better look. Then he chuffed, as if pleased with this new development. When I pulled on the leg rope, he leapt in and, with one chomp, snapped it. And, ungrateful bitch that I am, I took off.
That didn't bother him in the least. He simply interpreted this as step two of the canine seduction game. First, she rebuffs you. Next, she runs away. Finally, you catch her. And then? Well, that's when the real fun starts.
So he chased me. I wasn't concerned. He may have had the muscle, but I had the speed. Only I didn't count on one thing. Okay, make that two things.
One, he was a little more invested in winning this chase than he'd been the night before. Two, I was battered and exhausted. I didn't make it far before he caught up and leapt onto my back. I let my legs give way, dropped and rolled, snarling and slashing. He yelped as my teeth sunk into a healing wound on his neck. Then a roar echoed through the night and I turned my head to see another beast-a bigger one-charging straight for me.
I scrambled up, stumbling out of the way, my legs skidding like a day-old fawn's. But the new beast wasn't running at me. He hit the smaller one in the side and knocked him flying.
My first instinct, naturally, was to get the hell out of the way while these two battled it out. When I'd lunged to the side, though, I'd twisted my already-tender, formerly bound foreleg. So when I tried to lope gracefully into the sunset, it gave way and I sprawled into the snow.
As I pushed up, I heard a yelp and looked back, not to see a roiling beast battle, but the smaller one cowering as the larger one cuffed him across the head, growling as if to say "What the hell did you think you were doing?" Like a father swatting his misbehaving kid…
I gawked for another moment. Then the older one looked my way and I realized I was staring when I should have been running like hell. So I took off.
Again, I only made it a few steps before the crunch of paws in the snow sounded behind me, now in stereo as they both gave chase. This time, though, two things let me pull into the lead. One, Junior knew he wasn't going to get any "reward" with his father around, so his heart was no longer in it. Two, with double the muscle pursuing me, I seemed to find a final reserve of strength.
When we'd gone half a mile and neither sped up nor slowed down, the huff of their steady breathing told me they weren't giving it their all, and I realized they were letting me pull ahead.
They were wearing me out, the same way we did with deer, letting that first panicked burst of energy drain them. Behind me, the bigger beast grunted and I looked back to see him stumble a little, as if his paw had caught a root. It didn't trip or slow him down, but it was a reminder of his position-at my left flank. And the young one was at my right. They weren't using the old run-your-prey-to-the-ground trick. They were using the old drive-your-prey-
Oh, shit.
I hit the brakes and made a hard right. I caught the younger one off guard and zoomed past him as he was still executing his own skid and twist maneuver. But the older one was better prepared and stayed right on my heels. From the crashing of bushes behind us I knew I'd narrowly avoided exactly the trap I'd anticipated-a third beast lying in wait ahead.
How many were there? Was it a pack? An extended family? Where did they live? Out here, dangerously close to civilization? How did-?
I shut off my brain and poured that energy into my legs. As I ran, I caught a whiff of a fourth beast, its scent blowing straight into my face, and I realized they'd boxed me in with a rear guard, too.
The beast paced one way, then the other, his gaze still locked with mine. He lumbered like a bear, but his movements were quicker. His shaggy fur made him look heavier than he was. He still had a good hundred pounds on me, though, and little of it was winter-stored fat. Though I could tell by scent it was the beast Clay attacked, the only signs of injury were a few patches of missing fur and already-healing wounds.
He stopped to get a better look at me. Our paths had crossed often enough that he wasn't confused by the sight of an oversized wolf draped with shredded clothing and reeking of human scents.
He leaned forward and sniffed me. When I didn't attack, he leaned forward some more. I moved and he fell back, but I only turned sideways and let him sniff me, the same way I would with a fellow werewolf. Because that's how I had to treat this. No matter how hard my heart pounded, I couldn't let the fear show.
As he sniffed, I gnawed-as casually as possible-on the rope holding my foreleg aloft.
He sniffed my flank. Then he sniffed my hind quarters. When he spent a little too long back there-and when his nose brushed where I didn't want to be brushed-I was so intent on the rope that I reacted the same way I did when a werewolf got a little too interested in that end of me. I spun, snarling and snapping.
The beast jerked back, grunting as if to say "What'd I do?" I grunted back… then sat. He prodded my hindquarters. I stayed sitting. When he prodded harder, I growled.
He chuffed, his eyes narrowing, head tilting one way, then the other, considering. Another chuff and he turned his back on me and started walking away, grumbling as if thoroughly offended by my lack of interest.
I returned to my rope-gnawing, and the moment I did, I heard the thunder of running paws. Before I could turn, the beast leapt onto my back, hind paws still on the ground, forepaws cinched around me. Male mounting position.
I didn't panic. This wasn't the same as Tesler's rape attempts. To a wolf, this was simply a sexual overture, and had to be answered much the same as any unwelcome attention-with a very quick and firm "not interested."
I pitched forward, out from under him, and twisted around as far as the rope would allow, then threw in a few serious growls for good measure. His eyes lit up like a puppy that's been swatted and thinks it's an invitation to playtime.
He dove at me and nipped my front leg, then pranced back, jaws open in a very canine grin. When I didn't react, he chuffed in disappointment… and tried mounting me again.
I warned him off. He thought it was foreplay. I ignored him. He tried to mount me. I warned him off… and so the cycle went. I suppose I should have been a lot more concerned about this scenario, but he gave no sign of tiring of the game or forcing himself on me. So I kept playing… while sneaking nips at the rope on my foreleg, fraying it strand by strand.
Finally, with a yank, I was free. The beast backed off, but only to get a better look. Then he chuffed, as if pleased with this new development. When I pulled on the leg rope, he leapt in and, with one chomp, snapped it. And, ungrateful bitch that I am, I took off.
That didn't bother him in the least. He simply interpreted this as step two of the canine seduction game. First, she rebuffs you. Next, she runs away. Finally, you catch her. And then? Well, that's when the real fun starts.
So he chased me. I wasn't concerned. He may have had the muscle, but I had the speed. Only I didn't count on one thing. Okay, make that two things.
One, he was a little more invested in winning this chase than he'd been the night before. Two, I was battered and exhausted. I didn't make it far before he caught up and leapt onto my back. I let my legs give way, dropped and rolled, snarling and slashing. He yelped as my teeth sunk into a healing wound on his neck. Then a roar echoed through the night and I turned my head to see another beast-a bigger one-charging straight for me.
I scrambled up, stumbling out of the way, my legs skidding like a day-old fawn's. But the new beast wasn't running at me. He hit the smaller one in the side and knocked him flying.
My first instinct, naturally, was to get the hell out of the way while these two battled it out. When I'd lunged to the side, though, I'd twisted my already-tender, formerly bound foreleg. So when I tried to lope gracefully into the sunset, it gave way and I sprawled into the snow.
As I pushed up, I heard a yelp and looked back, not to see a roiling beast battle, but the smaller one cowering as the larger one cuffed him across the head, growling as if to say "What the hell did you think you were doing?" Like a father swatting his misbehaving kid…
I gawked for another moment. Then the older one looked my way and I realized I was staring when I should have been running like hell. So I took off.
Again, I only made it a few steps before the crunch of paws in the snow sounded behind me, now in stereo as they both gave chase. This time, though, two things let me pull into the lead. One, Junior knew he wasn't going to get any "reward" with his father around, so his heart was no longer in it. Two, with double the muscle pursuing me, I seemed to find a final reserve of strength.
When we'd gone half a mile and neither sped up nor slowed down, the huff of their steady breathing told me they weren't giving it their all, and I realized they were letting me pull ahead.
They were wearing me out, the same way we did with deer, letting that first panicked burst of energy drain them. Behind me, the bigger beast grunted and I looked back to see him stumble a little, as if his paw had caught a root. It didn't trip or slow him down, but it was a reminder of his position-at my left flank. And the young one was at my right. They weren't using the old run-your-prey-to-the-ground trick. They were using the old drive-your-prey-
Oh, shit.
I hit the brakes and made a hard right. I caught the younger one off guard and zoomed past him as he was still executing his own skid and twist maneuver. But the older one was better prepared and stayed right on my heels. From the crashing of bushes behind us I knew I'd narrowly avoided exactly the trap I'd anticipated-a third beast lying in wait ahead.
How many were there? Was it a pack? An extended family? Where did they live? Out here, dangerously close to civilization? How did-?
I shut off my brain and poured that energy into my legs. As I ran, I caught a whiff of a fourth beast, its scent blowing straight into my face, and I realized they'd boxed me in with a rear guard, too.
