“We play this game all the time. I think it’s rigged. I should at least get an ally or two.” I wrung water out of my dark green t-shirt. “Hunters don’t go into missions alone, and pitting eighteen wolves against me like this means I’m never going to win a chase session.”
Greyson blinked, but this time I was ready for it, so when his nose veered toward my ear I leaned to the side, dodging him.
He must have been planning for that, because he hip checked me so I fell over, then placed one enormous paw on my chest to keep me pinned in place before he licked my cheek.
“Cheating!” I declared. “This is cheat—mm!” I scrunched my lips shut in self-defense when he licked my nose next.
I tried to express my displeasure by bulging my eyes at him.
My intimidation tactics failed, however, because Greyson just went in for another nose-jab to my ear.
He paused when a chorus of howls kicked up—this one was much closer.
Greyson huffed under his breath, then got off me so I could sit up. He regally sat down on the dry shore as I scrambled to my feet.
Wolves surged out of the forest, their tails wagging wildly. The air was filled with yips and howling barks as they sniffed me, brushed up against one another, and most likely congratulated themselves on another win.
Aeric and Wyatt burst out of the Pack and bounded up to me, their tails wildly wagging. Both whined happily once they reached me and pawed at my feet.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, reading their eager body language in the way they flattened their ears and “smiled” up at me.
Aeric flung himself down, completely ignoring the wet sand, and showed me his belly—his tail thumping the ground with a loud whoomph noise.
I crouched at his side and scratched his belly until Wyatt jabbed his nose under my arm and leaned in. All the wolves in the Pack were well over a hundred pounds, making them bigger, heavier, and stronger than the typical North American Gray Wolf, so when Wyatt sat on me it was the equivalent of a pony attempting to climb onto my legs.
“Wyatt—you are too big. Too! Big!” I laughed as other wolves crowded in around us, looking for scratches and pets.
Even in wolf form, werewolves were aggressively affectionate, but it was a lot more fun to stick your hands in their soft fur than to get a face full of rock-hard chest muscles.
Even Rio—in his wolf form, anyway—was unable to pass up a free shoulder scratch as he and Aspen pushed into me, insisting it was their turn.
Greyson was the only one who didn’t join in. He looked up and down the shores with watchful gold eyes, forever the duty-bound leader. When he wasn’t releasing his stress by torturing/playing with me, that was.
After about five or ten minutes, he decided the Pack had enough fun. He stood up, and blinked his golden eyes, and I abruptly felt the nearly physical pressure of…him.
The wolves stopped playing, barking, and wagging their tails. Bidden by Greyson’s sheer force of presence, they trotted up to him, quiet and intense in their attention.
I could feel the pressure, but after the first few moments where it was hard to see—Greyson was that powerful—I was able to stand up straight without a problem and ignore the call of his presence.
Greyson turned and started trotting up the lakeshore, eventually transitioning into a smooth lope.
Rio, Aspen, Aeric, Wyatt, and all the others, streamed silently behind him, not even giving me a backward glance as they ran off.
Someone—Hector, I think—released a howl, and it set the whole Pack off. They raised their voices, creating one of the most beautiful songs known to the world as their unique calls blended and built.
They stopped so they could properly raise their heads, but I knew better than to stick around.
Greyson was taking them off on a hunting session—they’d ignore my presence now even if I tried to follow them.
I squelched my way up the shore and headed in the opposite direction.
I need to go pick up my stuff at the lodge, but then I can head home.
I’d gotten dumped in way too many lakes for me to risk taking my wallet and phone with me whenever I was subjected to a chase session.
I reached the trees and pushed my way into the forest, shaking my legs when a few leaves stuck to my pants.
A howl rose above all the others.
The call was low and filled with longing, then hitched high with a pain that brought tears to my eyes as all the other howls faded.
This was a song I recognized too well—the whole Pack recognized its soft, mournful tones.
It was Greyson, calling to his missing mate.
He howled it every few weeks—I don’t think he ever meant to. He was far too aware of his role as leader, and he typically had no patience for his mate bond.
But as a wolf, sometimes even Greyson’s instincts could get the best of him, and he’d sing for her in such mournful tones it made me tear up.
Mates were special, sacred things for wolves. Although Greyson and I got along like a wolf and a housecat, even I could sympathize with the pain he felt in having a part of him missing.
I paused and rested my hand against the smooth trunk of a birch tree and listened.
He sounds so…lonely.
Greyson’s howls grew louder and more plaintive. When his tone shifted from high to low my throat pinched with emotion for the maddening Alpha.
I shook my head and made myself slog on.
I’m willing to feel sympathy for Greyson, but only for a few moments, that jerk.
I made my way back to the lodge and was shivering by the time I climbed its front steps. The sky was painted with blazes of orange and swirls of pink as the sun set—blocked by the trees.
Though it was summer, nights were cool this far north in Wisconsin, and slumping around in wet clothes only made it worse.
“Hey Pip.”
The porch light flicked on as Young Jack, Original Jack, Rory, and Olivia stepped out of the lodge.
It was Young Jack who greeted me. He eyed me as he unscrewed the cap of a dubiously colored sports drink. “Played a round of chase with a part of the Pack, I’m guessing?”
I peeled a shirt sleeve up with a wet slurp. “Yep.”
Rory—who was about five—peered at me as he held Original Jack’s hand. “Did you win?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Nope. I lost. Again.”
“Obviously,” Olivia snorted.
“You’ll win some day,” Rory promised me with the confidence of a five-year-old.
“Awww, thank you. But I’m not so sure about that.” I kicked off my shoes and contemplated stripping off my moist socks as well.
Original Jack chuckled, a sandpapery sound that was also soothing. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Pip. To be chased by so many wolves and be a challenge for them says something about your abilities.”
“It was only eighteen of them tonight,” I said.
Young Jack took a swig of his drink. “More went to join the hunt. Mom and Dad ran outta here like crazy once the howling started.”