Page 3 of A Wolf After My Own Heart
and she was looking and he was he was downwind of her which was good which was perfect and
(oh)
the Stable smelled like berries and blankets, sweet and safe, and it waswonderful,and he didn’t realize he’d followed her out of the ditch until he caught the scent of two more cubs and if they saw if they all saw
(if She saw)
they would be scared and scatter and that would not would not do so he slipped back into the dark and watched and watched and watched and drank in as much of her scent and watched some more.
And followed.
Chapter 2
“Yes. For the third time, I found a wounded bear cub about a quarter of a mile from my house. Well, someone else’s house.”
“What?”
“I’m just renting. And it’s a bargain, or so they keep insisting.”
“A bear cub.” This in a tone that suggested the dispatcher was questioning Lila’s sanity. Which was smart, frankly.
“Fourth time,” Lila pointed out helpfully. “Yes. And don’t forget about the wolf.”
“The wolf.”
“I can’t shake the feeling that you’ve got a criminally short attention span.”
“Can you still see the animal?”
“Which?”
“Do you have eyes on the cub?” the dispatcher asked.
Lila looked down at the animated ball of fuzz taking up her lap (and then some!) while licking honey off her fingers. For a wild creature (was it? maybe it escaped from a zoo? or was someone’s pet?), it was gratifyingly vermin-free, as far as she could tell. It had interesting coloring, too… Most of its fur was a deep black, with a whirl of reddish-orange fur that curled down from its shoulders, forming a rough V-shape down the chest. Its face was broad, with a short snout, tiny ears, and it had cream-colored claws. It—wait.
Lila discreetly checked, then notedshewas a little muddy, andherright foreleg was clearly causing her pain, but that seemed to be the worst of it. She didn’t even smell bad, more like…old cotton? Dusty curtains?
“Ma’am? Do you have eyes on the cub?”
“Yeah, I can—ow!—see her. So anyway, my address is…”
“I’m afraid we don’t deal in cubs. You need to call the IPA.”
“Sorry, what?”
“The IPA. Do you need the number?”
“I need to know what an IPA is. The phone number is secondary.”
“I’ll connect you.”
“Goddamnit! At least tell me what the acronym stands for. Important People Arriving? International Parasailing Accountants? Ow!” To the cub: “If you keep eating my hand, you won’t be hungry for lunch. Get it? Of course not, you’re a bear cub. Great movie, take my word for it.” Meanwhile, the deeply unhelpful person at animal control had made good on her threat to transfer; she could hear phone ringing. “Whatever IPA is, I hope they make house c—nowwhat?”
Lila viewed the front door, on which someone had just knocked, with deep suspicion. She was new in town, and she hadn’t ordered pizza. The kids, maybe? Did they follow her back? The mama bear? No, an aggravated bear wouldn’t have knocked. Was it an election year? She’d honestly rather deal with a frantic mama bear than someone shilling for city council.
The cub, meanwhile, was mewling and butting her with its hard little black head, displeased at the lack of honey on Lila’s fingers. “Sorry, I’m cutting you off. You’ll thank me in the morning.” And, louder: “I’m coming!” She cast about for somewhere to put the cub, who had abruptly stopped being adorable and was now wriggling and scratching and bawling like a calf going through udder withdrawal. Lila could barely hold onto the ball of flailing, furry limbs. “Ow, shit! Okay, just…okay, I’m putting you down now—ow,Jesus, there, so you…uh…”
The cub rolled over and over, shaking its head and bawling and then
