Page 6 of Runt of the Pack
She stands frozen in horror, unable to flee the towering beast charging right at her.
“NOOOOO!” The cry tears from my throat in a desperate howl as I lunge after Grisha, but I am too late. Luciana’s scream ends in a sickening crunch beneath his swiping claws. Her broken body flies from view over the cliff’s edge. Agony and fury roar through me. The fire of vengeance burns through my blood—her death shall not go unpunished.
With a savage roar, I throw myself at Grisha’s exposed flank, clamping my jaws tight around his thick neck until I taste blood. He bellows and thrashes but I hold fast, shaking my head violently as we slam against the trees. I will tear out his vile throat if it’s the last thing I do on this earth.
A piercing shriek rumbles from his throat as Grisha rears up and then crashes down, his full weight crushing me to the frozen ground. My grip breaks as he thrashes free. I try to rise, but my left foreleg buckles beneath me, broken. Before I can brace myself, Grisha’s head swings around, massive jaws clamping over my shoulder and back, fangs sinking deep into muscle and sinew. He shakes me violently like prey until my vision spins sickeningly. Then with one final roar, he hurls me away from him. I slam brutally against the trunk of an ancient pine before slumping broken to its roots.
Through the haze of agony, I watch the grizzly turn and flee into the woods, following some unseen trail. Gavriil. He’s still hunting my brother, leaving me to die.
He’s alive... Gavriil is still alive...
I try to drag myself upright, to shift forms and give chase, but my ruined body will no longer obey. My wolf’s limbs lie useless beneath me as my lifeblood stains the innocent snow. All I can do is raise my muzzle skyward and let loose a mournful howl that echoes endlessly through the icy woods.
I have shamed my kin, my bloodline, and the very essence of who I am... a disgrace to my pack.
5
ANYA
The full moon hangs heavy and bright in the jet sky as I step outside into the icy night. I pause on the dacha’s creaking porch, eyes falling shut as I tilt my head back, inhaling the crisp winter air. My breath mists before me in swirling white plumes.
Shedding my coat, I welcome the bite of the frigid wind on my bare skin. I welcome the cold, the freedom it brings. With lithe steps, I descend into the snow-laden yard, leaving behind the confines of walls and ceilings. Out here, I am bound by nothing.
My spine ripples as I lower to all fours. Muscles shift, bones crack and reform. In moments, white fur sprouts over tender flesh and I emerge reborn—a she-wolf with moon-bright eyes.
At last, I spring forward, paws gliding swiftly and surely over the frosted land. The powdery snow muffles the drum of my footfalls. I weave between the ink-black trunks of the sleeping forest, unhindered by branches that bar a human’s way. The cold night enfolds me in its loving embrace.
I reach the cliffs overlooking the frozen lake. The wind’s violent hands cannot touch me here. I prowl along the precipice, wolf and woman both drinking in the sight of moon-kissed ice locked still and silent below. This winter ocean, both beautiful and bleak, fills us with joy and sorrow mingled. Come spring, its shimmering surface will flow free once more. But tonight it gleams, a reminder that all things have their season.
Somewhere in the distance, a lone wolf howls a haunting song to the moon’s opal face. Its cry is laced with a sorrow that pierces my heart. I understand its message all too well—agony. I lift my head to the sky once more, joining my voice to the lonely wolf’s cry.
My she-wolf stirs restlessly, drawn to the untamed melody. With a heavy heart, I turn inland, retracing my path under the cathedral arches of the forest. The cloud-veiled moon lights my way back to the dacha. I pause at the edge of the woods, casting one long look over my snowy domain. A wolf’s realm.
Soon, I will retreat into the shelter of weathered boards and a smoldering stove. The wild white wolf will slip back into the shadows, ceding her place to the girl in her threadbare coat. But we are one and the same. And when the moon rides high again, we will run unfettered once more through the pale blue night.
I turn to leave the forest’s edge when a faint scent catches on the wind—rich and earthy, yet edged with the sharp tang of blood. My wolf’s ears prick, a whimper escaping her throat unbidden. She tries to cast about for the source, but I force her onward with a low growl. Whatever poor creature lies dying out there, we cannot help it.
Let’s get out of here, girl. Now!
Yet as we near the dacha, the compelling fragrance only grows stronger. My wolf whines pitifully, fixated on locating the injured being. She presses insistently against my will, her curiosity overwhelming.
With a frustrated huff, I relent and let her take control, following the bloody scent north across the snowfields.
The smell leads us to the cliffs above the frozen lake. Through the swirling snow, I spot a dark shape crumpled near the precipice. Man, not beast. Fear spikes through me, but my wolf is deaf to my pleas to turn back. She trots ahead heedlessly, the man’s scent enveloping us, thick and cloying.
He lies face down in the snow, one arm flung out limply. Fresh blood stains the ice beneath him a sinister crimson. My thundering pulse drowns out the howling wind as I slowly step nearer. The wolf’s curiosity wars with the woman’s fear within me. I should flee this place, yet I am transfixed. What tragic twist of fate left this soul stranded and dying in this unforgiving wilderness?
The man stirs faintly, unaware of my presence. My sharp eyes trace over his massive frame, clad all in black. Dark hair whips about his face, obscuring his features.
I stand frozen, only paces away, as the first flecks of a new squall begin to swirl down from the clouds. The scent of blood hangs heavy in the air between us. My two selves clash and waver—woman and wolf, fear and fascination. But as the wind rises into a banshee’s scream, drowning out all else, a choice must be made. And on this night, beneath this merciless moon... the wolf wins out.
6
VLAD
Darkness engulfs me. The icy chill of the snow beneath me steals what little warmth remains in my wrecked body. I welcome the numbness, preferring it to the searing agony that wracked me earlier. Perhaps this is how death comes—not in fire and blood, but cradled gently in winter’s black arms.
Time fades into meaningless oblivion. I drift, suspended between consciousness and endless night. No scent or sound penetrates the void. Have I crossed into the shadows, at last, my soul detached fully from mortal burdens? Or does my ruined shell yet cling stubbornly to its tether? I cannot tell. I cannot summon the will to care.
