Chapter 11

Twining between the trees and shadows, the wolves circle me like a tightening knot. Suddenly there’s no air in my lungs and no spit in my mouth. I’ve walked right into the middle of the werewolf pack.

Well, this was what I was going for. Right? But I can’t say I’m not scared shitless.

The silver wolf, Randall, breaks free from the swirling pack and stands before me. He bares his teeth in what may be a snarl, or a smile.

You killed my brother. You took my life away from me.

I lunge at the silver wolf. Surprise in his eyes, he leaps aside, but my boot connects with his ribs. He yelps. I laugh. Randall flattens his ears and snaps at me, his teeth clicking. I grab a stout stick off the ground and raise it high.

A woman’s voice cuts through the night. “Enough!”

Randall lowers his head and retreats from me. The swirling wolves halt, their ears pricked, paws raised questioningly. A tawny-skinned woman with a long mane of black hair strides into the circle of wolves. She’s wearing ragged jeans and a loose shirt that doesn’t conceal that she’s pregnant. Silver bracelets glint on her arms.

“You found the bloodborn,” says the black-haired woman. It isn’t a question.

Randall dips his shaggy head in a nod.

“I want to talk with you,” says the woman, her gaze still on Randall.

He closes his eyes for a moment, with the slightest of sighs. Then the fur melts from him like candle wax, baring naked skin. His skeleton grinds and clicks as it reshuffles into the shape of a man. The yellow fire in his eyes dies to dark coals. Randall shudders with the final stages of transformation, then stands.

“Winema,” he says, avoiding her stare. “Forgive me. I didn’t plan to—”

“I can see this wasn’t your plan,” says the woman, Winema. She eyes the shotgun rounds scattered at my feet. “What was the bloodborn doing?”

“Me?” My voice sounds hoarse, and I cough. “You gicks killed my brother.”

“You will not use that word here,” Winema says.

Under the force of her stare, my eyes start to sting until I blink and look away. Bitch. Only I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.

Randall glances at me. “He didn’t survive the full moon?”

“Of course not, you goddamn cur,” I say.

Winema snaps her fingers, and the soot-black wolf soars and knocks me to the ground. Air swooshes from my lungs. Huge paws pin my shoulders. I smell blood and meat on the wolf’s breath, and see its teeth glinting very close.

Winema looks down at me. “Show some respect, bloodborn, or you will be punished.”

“My—name—is—Brock.”

She stares at me until I flinch away. The black wolf pants in my face.

“He’s rather… aggressive,” Randall says, his voice soft and level, “though I don’t think he’s made his first transformation yet.”

The black wolf inhales my breath, then snorts. Wolf-snot speckles my face. I wonder if it can smell the fear in my sweat.

“Interesting.” Winema crosses her arms. “It must be that experimental drug.”

The black wolf shifts its weight, squeezing my lungs, and I try to breathe shallowly. I twist my head to the side. A rank of wolves stands silhouetted against the trees, watching me. Same on the other side. A caged jittering builds inside my chest.

“How are we going to take care of him?” Randall asks.

They’re going to kill me. Maybe torture me first.

Winema tilts her head, her face stony. “I haven’t decided yet.”

I’d rather die running.

A bellow roars from my throat, and I fling the wolf off of me. Caught off guard, it twists in midair and thuds on the ground. I lunge to my feet and barrel through the line of wolves as they leap aside and rough fur brushes my ankle but I’m still running I’m going to make it maybe I can outrun them and maybe—

A shotgun blast deafens me. I’m too pumped full of adrenaline to know whether I’ve been hit, and I’m still running, my feet weightless. Paws thunder behind me, thumping closer and closer. An image of Blackjack furiously pursuing a school bus pops into my mind, and I want to laugh a crazy laugh. Wolves like to chase things.

Something slams into me from behind. I’m tumbling, rolling, sprawling on the ground. Teeth sink deep into my calf. I’m shaken, a growl vibrating through my leg bones. I’m still not feeling pain, but I am feeling hot blood soak my socks.

I’m going to be eaten alive. They’re going to rip open my belly and drape my glistening guts across the dirt, chew my bones and crunch my skull and eat my eyes like grapes… oh, man, oh, God, I don’t want to die like this.

I scream, no words, just terror as sound. The black wolf is gnawing my left leg. I claw at its pale eyes with my weak human fingernails, but it squints and squeezes its jaws tighter, its fangs scraping grooves in my bone. I grope frantically and grab a stone and smash it on the wolf’s muzzle. It whines but won’t let go.

If you’re going to kill me, I’m going to take you down with me.

I gouge my thumbs past the black wolf’s eyelids. It yelps and releases my leg. I stand, crumple to one knee. Blood puddles in my shoe, slick between my toes. I tackle the wolf and wrap my arms around its neck, choking it as hard as I can. The wolf whines and scrabbles beneath me, trying to shake me loose, but I’m not going to let go.

“Bloodborn!” Winema’s voice snags my attention.

She’s standing right in front of me, the shotgun in her hands. I bare my teeth at her.

She growls, then raises the shotgun and smashes the butt on the back of my head. My vision flickers—and then I plummet into blackness.