Disclaimer: Still don't own any of Briggs' stuff.
Chapter 2: Charles
It was always a bad thing when Bran called him in the middle of the night, reflected Charles as he scooped up his hysterical cell phone and flipped it open.
"Yeah?"
"Charles, I need you to go to the Appalachians. I think it's a rogue wolf." Okay. Really not good.
"Da? Are there even any wolves in the Appalachians?" Charles asked.
"Apparently." Charles sighed. He glanced over at his mate, who was laying awake, listening.
"All right. When?"
I sighed and settled down. The silver wolf was curled up in the shallow cavern formed by the twisting roots of a hemlock tree, watching me. I sighed again. I'd taken him from the black and brindled wolves, and they'd been hunting us ever since. It had been almost a week. We'd changed back to human only once – long enough for me to discover the awkward fact that the change left you without clothes, and that his name was Blake Somody. He had been attacked the same way I was. And the other wolves had attacked him again and again to try and force him to stay with them when he'd tried to follow another hiker who'd passed through the area.
A twig snapped. The scent of an alien wolf drifted through the woods. I growled, low and threatening. This may not be my home in Virginia, but this strange wolf was too close to my Blake for my liking. Blake was mine. It was my job to protect him. And no one was getting anywhere near him if they meant him harm.
Left, said the part of me that was wolf. Over the past few days, I'd learned to trust the wolf part of me in battle and in matters of scent. It was always right. I faced the oncoming threat in a crouch.
The wolf who emerged from the trees was rust-red, and twice my size. His deep amber eyes glowed in the early morning light. I growled again, warning him to keep his distance. He growled back, then took a step toward where Blake crouched. I attacked.
Charles regarded the slim white she-wolf before him curiously. Her scent was the one he'd found in the camp of the missing hiker, near the site of a werewolf attack – and the site of a later battle between three wolves.
She wants to fight, Brother Wolf observed. Charles agreed; the smaller wolf was indeed preparing herself for a battle. He saw she favored one leg, as though she was still recovering from an injury there. She is dominant. Very dominant. Again, Charles had to agree. He took a step toward her – and she attacked. He reacted instinctively, shouldering her aside. She leapt back, keeping herself in front of him. She lunged again – and this time her fangs sank into his shoulder. He tried to shake her off. She held on. He twisted to seize her foreleg in his jaws and bit down. She let go of his shoulder with a yelp and slashed at his muzzle with her catlike claws. He opened his mouth, and she darted around to nip his flank, then dashed back in front of him again. He decided to try to get around her. She fought to stay between him and…something.
A worried yip distracted her from the fight. Charles noticed her glance over her shoulder. He should take this opportunity, attack, subdue her…but then he scented something out of place.
Submissive? Here? He thought. It didn't fit. Nothing fit. He'd thought it was a rogue werewolf who'd attacked a couple hikers. Instead he found two wolves, one of whom was very dominant and had seen some battle in the less-than-a-week since her Change, and the other who was submissive, and wouldn't attack anything unprovoked. Something didn't fit.
Behind you, Brother Wolf warned. Charles whirled and found two wolves racing toward him: one black and one brindled. As one they slammed into him. He snapped, drove them back. Then the small white she-wolf tore into the black one, who yelped and backed away. Charles swatted aside the brindled one and watched as the white and black wolves fought savagely. Here was the source of the wolf-scent at the place where the second hiker – the female, the one who smelled like this white wolf – had been attacked.
The brindled wolf wriggled out from under the massive russet paw Charles and planted on him to keep him still and lunged for the white wolf – who whipped around and caught him in her jaws, shook him once, and dropped him to meet the black wolf's charge. The sub – delicate silver – crept out, whimpering. The white wolf barked sharply, and the silver backed away. And Charles thought he understood.
The black and brindled wolves fled, but he didn't give chase. Instead, he turned and trotted back to the hiker's camp to fetch the backpack that had been left there. He had a feeling the white wolf would want it very shortly.