Wolf of War

A Patricia Briggs werewolf fanfiction

Chapter Six:

On The Edge

It was cold out this morning, even though the sun was shining and the air was still. Well, relatively still, anyway.

"Are you certain you wish to do this today, Ares?" Bran had asked him that morning. "It isn't too late for you to change your mind, to give this more thought."

"I've been doing nothing but thinking about it," he'd responded. "I'm tired of thinking about it; it's best to get to it, and get through it."

Bran had given him a good looking over for a few moments, and then given him a brief nod. "Very well. You are resolved, and I believe you'll do just as you plan." The Marrok had given him a fatherly pat on the shoulder. "We'll see how you feel about all of this, afterwards."

And that had been an hour ago. Bran had cautioned him against eating anything beforehand; grievous injuries made the body want to regurgitate, and he didn't imagine that that was something Ares was interested in having happen to him. Ares had stuck around long enough to watch Bran gather a number of wolves together, along with the supplies and equipment to deal with what looked like the potential for major surgery. It both surprised him, and yet didn't; it was both a reality check, and yet the thing that gave him the final bit of determination to not only go through with this, not only to survive, but to succeed.

Bran had also informed him, before he went out of the door, that he needed to be ready, and that at some point in the next few hours, he would encounter a wolf, and then he would be Changed. Exactly what the details would be, Bran was silent about; Ares figured that it was down to a need for each prospective wolf's experience to be uniquely his or her own. The only thing he knew for certain was that Garrak wasn't going to be the one to Change him.

That part of things he had been told the previous evening, not too long after he'd broached the subject with the Marrok. Bran had called together his most trusted dominant wolves, his son Sam and his wife Leah among them, and had hashed out something of a plan of attack.

In his case, it actually was something of a plan of attack; he didn't want to be passive and sitting still in a chair while a wolf quickly but gently tore open his arm and savaged the hell out of it; he wanted to have the adrenaline pumping in his veins and to be in a position not brace himself for the pain, but to earn what was coming to him. Trying to be objective about it, it sounded like he was either a closet masochist, or that he was in need of some sort of punishment or penance. He was neither; he just felt that there was something right in what he was doing; not only making the decision to Change when he felt that the time was right to do so, but that taking an active part—rather than simply letting it happen—was the path needed to be a successful wolf, and if that wasn't the right choice for everyone, it seemed at least that it was the right choice for him.

A bit of movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn to spot a wolf, standing just beyond some nearby brush and grasses, staring at him. The wolf was large, larger than he imagined a wolf would be; it looked like the wolf massed nearly as much as he did. The wolf's coat was mainly dark and black, though a lot of its underside and paws was a dingy cream or white color, though Ares had to admit to himself that the thing that caught his attention wasn't its coat, but it's startlingly green eyes, seeming to almost shine in the darkness of the fur around its eyes and along its muzzle. He couldn't recall having seen any of the wolves in their human forms with that eye color, and that intrigued him.

The wolf turned and trotted back into the brush and grasses; it reappeared a few seconds later, and started at him again, this time giving an almost 'come here' gesture with its head, and then turned and disappeared again. Once again, in just a few seconds the wolf appeared again, and it clicked for him that the wolf wanted him to follow. He gave a nod of his own head, and this time when the wolf disappeared into the brush, he began to lightly trot after the wolf.

They trotted for what felt like quite a while, long enough that Ares had to slow down to a stroll at least a couple of times. Each time, it seemed that the wolf seemed to sense when he was tiring, and slow down to give him a break. After what felt like could have been a half-hour or more, the wolf lead him to the edges of a clearing, and then promptly disappeared.

When Leah had heard of his desire to go through the Change, she had volunteered to be the wolf to engage him; he'd politely refused, explaining to Bran that while he was sure that she wasn't by any means frail, he fully intended to fight whoever came after him, and he would feel badly about even attempting to injure her, even if she was more resilient than he was and could heal much faster. That his attempt to avoid unnecessary hard feelings was lost on Leah was apparent when she all but snarled at him and stormed out of the room.

He was being honest with her, and with Bran—and he expressed that he didn't want Sam to be the one to Change him, either, and for the same reasons—but with Leah there had been the added reason that she had seemed just a touch too eager to want to Change him, to want to bite him, to want to maul him, and he got the feeling that if she had her way, he might not survive. It wasn't so much an idea that she wanted him dead, but more that she wanted—or perhaps her wolf wanted—to rip and tear and cause hurt and pain a bit more than he was willing to take a chance on her doing.

Garrak was nixed by the Marrok even before his name could be brought up as someone who could try to Change him, and he agreed. He was pretty sure that Garrak would be unnecessarily hurtful if he was allowed to be, and for his part, Ares was sure that if he knew that the wolf mauling him was Garrak, he would be inclined to try even harder to hurt him for his attitude towards Mercy and himself.

He was also certain that while a werewolf was a great deal stronger and more resilient than an average wolf, that they were still vulnerable to being injured, and all it would take would be a bit of luck on his part and there would be a dead wolf on his conscience. He didn't want it to be someone who might be more inclined to harm him than just what it would take to Change him, but he didn't want it to be anyone the Marrok especially cared for, either.

The wolf who had led him to the edges of the clearing wasn't the one who Bran had described as the one he would be confronting; that one would have different markings, based on what little information that the Marrok had given him.

Even as he was thinking it, he realized all of a sudden there was a stillness to the air that hadn't been there a few moments ago; his thoughts and memories informed him that while there hadn't been much in the way of birdsong and sounds of nature before, during the trek to this part of the woods, now there were none. A predator was on the hunt; of that he was suddenly sure.

He stiffened just a bit, before he realized that he needed to be thinking less like a surprised prey, just standing around, looking and waiting for the predator to show up—and likely become dead in the process—and more like a competing hunter, looking for whatever advantage he could find or make for himself. It didn't matter if he was destined to eventually lose, nor did it matter that his competitor was a better predator than he was; he was not going to go down without a fight.

To that end, his first choice was to trot out into the center of the clearing. The grasses were tall enough to just feel the resistance in moving through them, but not so tall that anything larger than a housecat would be able to sneak their way through them. He wanted to be in a position to see anything coming at him, to give him some time to react.

He'd barely had time to get himself settled before a loud growl rumbled from off to his right side, and he spun, knowing in a belated way that if the wolf had wanted him harmed—or dead—he wouldn't have heard anything before pain and darkness collapsed in around him.

The wolf standing there, just a few dozen meters away, gave him another hard, loud growl, and began to very slowly stalk towards him. A frisson of fear snaked its way up his spine, but as soon as he realized it for what it was, he ruthlessly shoved it down. It didn't want to go, but he was determined not to give in to that spike of fear. Instead, a bolt of anger shot though him, and he crouched down and snarled back at the wolf.

If not for the utter seriousness of the situation, he would have laughed at the sudden—yet fleeting—look of surprise cross the wolf's muzzle, before it seemed to realize that he was offering challenge, and it snarled even more loudly back at him.

"I ain't goin' out without a fight," he growled at the wolf, and made gestures for the wolf to come at him.

Almost immediately, the wolf took two more steps, and then almost seemed to launch itself from where it stood. He barely had the presence of mind—and the time!—to spin and duck out of the way, the head and body of the wolf passing through the space his own head had been occupying almost simultaneously; he could just barely feel the brush of the wolf's paws and underbelly as he went sailing past, and then the cold ground and frosty grasses folded him into their embrace.

Despite the brief feeling of disorientation from the sudden stop, he knew that the wolf would not give him 'a moment' to collect himself. Furthermore, the wolf was, as a whole, a superior opponent, and wouldn't need any of the time he did to get back to attacking him and taking him down, and he wasn't about to let the fight end before it had begun.

Staggering back to his feet and turning to look at the wolf immediately told him that he'd have the right of the situation, as the wolf was already about to spring at him again.

Again he ducked and crouched, but as the wolf sailed at him, seemingly aiming for his body this time, he reached out and grabbed at the wolf—damn, he was a heavy sunuvabitch!—and using the wolf's own momentum, flung the wolf as far across the clearing as he could.

Without looking in the direction he'd shoved the wolf, he took a dozen or so steps in the opposite direction, and then turned around to face the wolf again. By that point, the wolf seemed to have recovered, and was just about to begin running at him. With a snarl of his own—one that was answered by the wolf—he took a couple of running steps towards the wolf, and then tucked himself into something of a ball and rolled forwards. His feet were just about leading him, when he completed the roll, and the wolf was nearly atop of him. Just right, he thought to himself, having hoped that he'd judged the situation right, and kicked out into the chest of the just leaping from the ground wolf.

The expression on the wolf's muzzle and face was one of surprised, stunned as he was by hitting the near equivalent of a brick wall all of a sudden, and dropping like a rock, stumbling backwards from the blow.

For his part, Ares felt like he'd tried to kick in the side of a car, and his entire leg from the knee down hurt and throbbed. He was pretty sure that nothing was broken, but he also knew that he wasn't going to be doing any running in the next few minutes.

The wolf seemed to recover faster than he did, however, and raced up to him from the side and grabbed at his arm, teeth sinking deep into the heavy cloth and down of the jacket he was wearing, and digging into his arm. It hurt, but the pain wasn't what he thought it would be, and taking a chance that the coat was in the way, he quickly shrugged himself out of it.

The wolf tore the coat away from him, and for a moment seemed to get a bit caught up in trying to get past the offensive material, giving him just a moment to barely get to his feet. The coat a discarded item, the wolf lunged at him, and managed to grab at his arm, teeth seemingly sinking in through his shirt and skin like the proverbial hot knife through butter.

And for a second, perhaps even two, it didn't hurt. He was still running with his adrenaline, and he was still running with his anger, and he was pretty sure that he was running with a sudden settling of shock, as time seemed to slow down for just a few moments, and he became aware of the fact that his arm was caught in the powerful, vice-like jaws of this savage and intelligent wolf. And then the pain began to rush in, and spots of blood, quickly spreading into individual blossoms that all too quickly rushed together to soak the arm of his shirt, pulled him out of his shock, and pulled him out of his adrenaline rush. The anger was still there, however, and the sight of the blood, even though he knew intellectually that it was a part of what he had been fighting for, drew even more anger from the more visceral side of him.

He growled, loudly and in a righteous challenge to the wolf, who decided to pull on his arm as if to pull it off. For a moment, he pulled back, resisting the strength of the wolf and feeling those razor sharp teeth pulling even further on his tender flesh, tearing thought muscle, and causing distant heat to bloom along the length of his arm where the wolf pulled and tore, and then he suddenly went with the pull, and launched himself at the wolf.

The wolf was more than surprised when he slammed into it, his mass overpowering that of the wolf even for just a few moments, and the odd pair rolled around on the ground together, with Ares slamming hammer fists into the wolf's side once, twice, before they rolled apart.

He blinked, and realized that he was on the ground, and struggled to get up. Trying to use his injured arm to brace himself and push up from the ground hurt, but he made himself do it. It was agonizing, and it was slow, and he was expecting the wolf to come at him at any moment, but he still struggled to his feet.

He was surprised to see the wolf looking at him when he finally made it, and then it was as if a switch had been thrown, and the anger began to fade away. He also knew that he was beginning to get dizzy and light-headed, and with muddy thoughts realized that he was not going to win. Truthfully, while at no point had that been his objective, a part of him was suddenly just a bit saddened that he wasn't going to "go out without a fight", so to speak.

The dizziness grew, and while he wanted to collapse, he forced himself to stay upright.

The wolf growled at him again, and began slowly stalking at him once more.

"Fuck you," he managed, as he put up his arms to defend himself, and the dizziness gave way to a tunneling effect, as his vision narrowed down to a grey point, and then it was completely dark.