Page 14 of Wolf's Bane
A twig snapped under his foot. He paused, listening.
This could be an ordinary wolf. Boxon was still two days’ journey away. For this to be the same creature that injured Godwin required it to have considerable territory. Alek disliked that prospect. However, the alternative of it being a different cursed wolf was worse. That meant there was a master wolf creating a pack.
A growl sounded, shifting through the dense foliage.
Alek answered with his own rumbling, “Beast, come out now.” Cursed creatures, especially ones who could not hold their true form, had no patience to stalk their prey.
He did not have to wait long. A heavy weight landed on his back. He rolled and lay prone, one arm holding back the wolf and the other gripping the hammer.
The wolf snapped, teeth yellow and diseased. Hot, fetid breath wafted over him. To call the monstrous creature a wolf was a kindness. It was a half-finished thing, stuck between a transition from wolf and man. Not half of either and not wholly itself. A snarling muzzle distorted a human face, holding far too many teeth.
The body walked on two legs, despite a wolf’s haunches and paws, and defying every law known to nature. Violet-tinged fur coated the body, taller and more massive than a man’s. The hands were distorted into grasping talons. The eyes were the worst, still retaining their human shape but glowing violet. What stared out of those eyes was a brutal beast, inhuman and unfeeling.
Alek recognized his own kind.
This thing had been a person, once.
A second snarl, coming from the left, distracted him. He turned to glimpse a second wolf, large and so pale a lavender it nearly glowed in the dim of the forest.
Pack.
Claws slashed across his stomach. The fire of pain flared and burned. Teeth sank into his arm, piercing the coat. Rich and metallic, the scent of blood, even his own, set Alek craving to bite.
His mouth watered as his teeth descended. He forgot about the second wolf. All he could hear was the wolf’s heart thudding and pounding. It would be nothing to bite just under the jaw and sink his teeth into the beast’s throat. He had not had a hunt in so long, locking himself away during the full moon.
His blood sang. Inside him, an insidious voice whispered that it was not such a huge step to partially shift, to let his claws extend. His strength kept the wolf from seriously injuring him, but he’d be stronger if he was in his other form.
His true form.
The hammer crashed into the wolf’s skull. It squealed and lurched away.
Alek rolled to his knees, ignoring the pain in his gut, and grabbed the wolf’s back leg. It turned, snapping at his hand, but he refused to let go. Clutching tighter, tight enough that his claws extended and dug through the beast’s fur, he brought the hammer down again.
It was not an elegant, efficient maneuver, like the ones he had been taught. The fight was vicious, beast against beast. He shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as he did—as his corrupted, cursed nature rose to the surface—but he did.
The leg cracked with a wet squelch and a whine.
Alek shuffled forward on his knees, one hand holding his stomach, until he loomed over the beast’s head.
Another blow ended the beast. The ethereal glow diminished until it ceased to be altogether.
The wolf’s body seemed to shrink, to dwindle as it lost whatever power it leached from its connection to the nexus, but Alek knew that was an illusion. The wolf would be the same size and weight as it was in life. It would not shift to its human form, as many believed. Whatever strange power that allowed the creature to shift between forms had left and its final form was just that. Final.
He listened for the second wolf. Now would be the ideal opportunity to attack. He was weak with blood loss. The curse that caused a man to change into a beast affected the mind, but a wolf’s instincts would be to attack vulnerable prey.
He waited, aware of his heart pounding in his chest. Every thud affirmed his unnatural existence.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
He did not know for how much longer. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, but he knew he lacked the strength for a second fight.
Birdsong returned. The wolf had left.
He relaxed, even though the wolf’s ability to resist the temptation of wounded prey worried him. The wolf was clever and potentially rational. Was it older? How long had the person been cursed that they had so much control over their beast? He disliked any possible answer. He had lived with his curse for years, and control remained a flimsy thing for him.
Alek attempted to clean the hammer with an unsullied corner of his shirt and did a piss-poor job of it. Soaked through, the violet-hued blood was indistinguishable from his own on the shirt and smeared with the matted bit of fur and brain.
The wounds weren’t deep, but he had lost a considerable amount of blood. Honestly, his hand hurt worse than his stomach. It stung with every motion, not to mention the beast ruined a pair of expensive gloves that Alek could not easily replace.
