When I came to a stop, my heart was hammering in my chest, and my heaving breaths curling on the air. Lifting my nose to the sky, I closed my eyes, letting the sounds and the scents of the forest surround me. They flowed over and through me as if I were as much a piece of the land as the rocks and trees.
I caught a scent, first as a faint whisper on the breeze, growing stronger as I focused on it. It was the aroma of living flesh, hot blood flowing beneath warm fur, a strong heart beating with vitality. The smell of deer flooded my mouth with saliva, stirring my need to hunt. Hunger burned through me, savage and fierce, clawing at my gut and fueling my muscles into motion.
I moved through the trees, the silent ghost of death, closing in on my prey. By the time the poor beast realized that its death was looming, it was too late.
The weight of my body crashed into the deer, my momentum taking us both down to the frozen ground where it kicked and thrashed in a futile attempt to dislodge me. My jaws snapped shut like a steel trap, closing over the pulsing thump of the deer’s heartbeat in its broad neck. Corded muscles moved against my teeth and tongue, flexing with frantic spasms. The creature’s breath whistled desperately beneath the crushing force of my bite.
The thrill of the deer struggling beneath me was almost orgasmic, my heart pounding faster, harder, until it felt like it might explode in my chest. And then it went still, its legs ceasing their desperate kicks as its heart beat one last time.
Releasing my hold, I stepped back to regard my kill, red mingling with the dirt and snow churned up by the deer’s fearful kicks. Somewhere deep inside, the human part of me lamented the poor animal’s death and admired its majestic beauty. The wolf, however, simply wanted to revel in its victory and sate its hunger.
I tore into the deer with unbridled hunger, hot juices covering my snout, filling my mouth with the taste of hot, fresh meat. I lapped voraciously at the fount of blood, slaking my thirst on the deer’s life force. All thought of my human life was gone as I feasted on hot flesh, gorging myself on all that the deer had to offer. As always, the human part of me was disgusted by the act of devouring a fresh kill, but the wolf reveled in it.
Once my hunger was sated I found a dark hollow beneath a downed tree, its overhang sheltering a nest of leaves from the elements. Crawling into the small space I curled up, tucking my nose underneath my tail, and let the excitement of the hunt fade away. Bone deep weariness crept over me, drawing me down into the darkness of the wolf’s dreamless sleep.
Chapter 7
THE SHADOWS WERE lengthening and fading to blue when I awoke in the hollow of the fallen tree, my nose tucked beneath the end of my tail. Overhead, the birds were settling into the trees to roost for the night, while below, the various warm-bodied rodents of the forest were nestling into their burrows beneath the frozen ground. The memory of the hunt lingered in my limbs, filling them with a heavy weariness that was almost comforting.
I shook off the light layer of snow that had settled on my fur as I emerged from the hollow of the tree, tasting dried blood on my snout when I licked my lips. Moving soundlessly through the trees and undergrowth, I made my way back towards the spot where I had left the remnants of my kill, the wolf craving more of the deer’s flesh before we gave in and returned to civilization.
I didn’t sense anything amiss as I tracked my spicy scent back through the trees, but as I got closer, a sense of wrongness enveloped me, turning the scents of the forest sour. It took a moment for me to notice the absence of sound, the usual constant hum of creatures rustling and scrabbling gone, smothered by silence. Something was off and every instinct in my body told me to turn back. My curiosity urged me forward, but the wolf resisted, wresting control of our limbs from me, dancing away from the clearing where I had left the deer. We would find nothing good there.
Relenting, I turned away, slinking through the gathering shadows to make my way back to the motel. All the while, I tried to ignore the uneasiness lingering in the back of my mind. It was fully dark by the time I neared the motel, the low hum of traffic on Highway 9 drifting to me on the wind.
I could smell Holbrook’s tension and Johnson’s anger before the back of the motel came into view, but their scents were muddled, buried beneath the smells from the hive of activity that our little hideaway had become. The air was layered with the warm rubber stink of hot engines, the electrical sizzle of dozens of bulbs burning away the darkness, the bitter bite of cheap coffee, and the mingled perfumes and colognes of at least a dozen people. Beneath it all, buried almost too deep beneath the overwhelming flood of a hundred different smells, was one I knew all too well—the rich, coppery scent of blood.