Summary: Nia is a werewolf, one without a pack. She's lived her life this way and never thought twice about it. Then, when she least expected it, a yautja claimed her as his mate. This is their story, how they overcome the strict social constructs of the yautja, and how Nia navigates a new life fraught with all kinds of predators and discovers a pack unlike any other. And with the universe as her hunting ground, there's no telling where her nose will lead and what she may uncover about herself and the shocking origin of werewolves.
Author's disclaimer: In these pages, an array of expletives, obscenities, and smut awaits your retinas. But the steamy content is merely the teeth of the story. Expect an adventure and the thrill of the hunt. If you're sensitive or prudish, this is not the story for you.
P.S. I will constantly adjust posted chapters as my grammar improves. Writing in this tense is unfamiliar territory, and I'm figuring it out.
Prologue
Blood blooms on my tongue, a wild sweetness that cloys my senses. Muscle fibers, hardened by centuries of the hunt, tense as my teeth pierce and tear bloody channels in their streamlined defense. The yautja's roar of fury elicits an equally ferocious growl from me. Pain sears across my ribs, ripping a cry from my throat and forcing me to relinquish my bite on the hunter's shoulder.
I shift to rebalance and discover no pushback from the earth beneath my left hind paw. Over the moan of the wind, I hear the rumble of rock and ice tumble down the peak's ledge, the screaming echo swallowed by the yawning abyss below. My toe claws rake at the precarious icy scree, desperate for purchase, and the might of my legs carry me on the balls of my feet a few precious inches forward.
A baleful yellow eye peers out of the shattered ruin of its protective mask and catches my gaze. Hate breathes upon the wind, and the predator's desire to kill me hits as solidly as the pelting ice.
Moonlight slivers cut across my periphery as malicious blades arc downward. I spin into the yautja instead of away, throwing my weight against him, tucking one foot behind his, and sending him crashing backward. Billows of white plume up, and a snow shelf slithers beneath my paws, then stiffens. Under our relentless assault, the mountain seethes and grows restless.
I vault away from the gaping maw behind me, a trade-off between certain death and potential. The yautja reacts to my sudden movement and springs up and forward into a crouch. He meets my eyes—the audacity!
I snarl. The snap of my teeth reverberates through the air. A tinny chorus of icy cracks resounds, and the whispering cold gives me an idea.
Survival of the fittest, darling.
Instinct working in tandem with the will of the mountain, I drop to all fours and circle my quarry. He mirrors me and doesn't allow me to get behind him. I bite and mock lunge—Attack me!
A high-pitched whine cuts through the screeching wind.
Yes. Do that.
I lunge forward, claws splayed and teeth bared. My jaws open, and when I smell the ionic burn, I close my eyes and spin away—heat blooms, fur burns, and fire sears flesh; the sound shreds my eardrums. The impact against snow is like being flung into a cinderblock wall. Still, momentum sent me across the snow, and it took me several precious seconds to regain control. But I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Not with the predator so close. The frigid chill burns my eyes, and I blink several clots of white away before I see the hunched figure greyed out by the falling snow. The yautja stood—and a loud crack shook the mountain. Sheets of snow sluff away from me towards the yautja. With a wide hopping gate, I surge forward and up, running, jumping, and swimming through the sliding snowdrifts. The predator roars, and another furious tremor runs through the peaks.
I look back. Submerged waist-deep in the onslaught, the yautja's bulky mass gave him stability, and he seemed to progress forward—until he wasn't. A strange blue glare sears my retinas; I turn away, losing sight of him. Comprehension shot out like a grappling hook—He misfired! I blink away yellow-blue blobs and spy a massive arm waving spastically. His head surfaces for a second, and the predator gives another almighty roar, then disappears over the edge.
Run!
Instinct bellows. Ignoring the lancing pain and the frost-burned bloody wounds along my ribs, I ran. If I couldn't escape the drift, then I would die. If that yautja thought the fall would kill him (one can hope!), then he'd resort to drastic measures to hide his existence and bring down the whole damn mountain with a bomb. And bury me right along with him.
Cold fills my mouth, scratching my throat as I cough and spew it out. Wave after wave crashes into me, making every step a battle and every breath a war. Mother nature's reprisal for my insolence. How dare I underestimate her power and overestimate mine? You'd think after a quatercentennial of hard-won survival would be enough. Yet, here I am, still learning the hard way. Sure, broken bones would heal, and skin would regrow, but the snow is like a torrential ocean, and a werewolf can still drown or, in this case, suffocate.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
Adrenaline battles my fatigue-riddled limbs, fighting to go on—Must survive!
I slam into something brutal and unforgiving; it drives the air from my lungs and—and grabs me! Awareness burns brighter than the pain as the arm encircling my middle constricts with the strength of braided steel. Shit! It's too late. As a werewolf, I am an imposing animal. On my hind legs, I am almost at eye level with the hunter kind, but they are much heavier than me, and even against the onslaught of driving snow, the yautja lifts me and drags me off my feet.
Searing adrenaline has me flailing—Fight!
I kick and feel my toe claws catch his legs. A roar rises above the whooshing din of the sluff. I bare my teeth and throw my head back—Rip his throat out!—silver eyes frosted with moonlight paralyze me. I stare. My heart strikes my ribs in a spastic staccato, hard enough for both of us to hear over the torrent.
It's not the same yautja I sent bellowing over the edge. This one, I know. He is the Red Death—a nightmare that exists outside of logic. Horrific as the devil in a Renaissance oil painting, the Goliath-size yautja has skin-hued arterial red and a broad skull wreathed in small black horns. He is solid and broad across the chest and shoulders, firmly planted in his feet—a seasoned hunter with the toll of eons carved into his skin.
We held each other's gaze, neither of us submitting. Even as the deafening roar of the drift ceases and the rush of the wind no longer claws at my fur, we remain unchanged. The marvel lay in subvocal communication. To have an intricate conversation without a single vocalization signified an intimacy deeper than flesh. Despite its astonishment, this fledgling bond is still raw enough to cause a painful fluttering in my gut.
For fifteen months, we played hide-and-seek on a global scale, and Red Death was anything if not relentless in his pursuit: each confrontation, an exchange of blood and pain. Our violent encounters had almost resulted in our deaths multiple times, so it came as no surprise that my wolf identified the predator before acknowledging our mate bond.
Never look away... The warning is fleeting. A kernel of dread lingers in the quiver of my stomach muscles; I tighten them up and hope it goes unseen.
He watches me with the flat, cold precision of a shark. Nothing shows on his face. However, I recognize it as a façade, a method to conceal the immense power and fury. Our mate bond hasn't been easy for him to swallow either, though he's come to terms with it faster than me.
A feral wind kicks up, and it gnaws at my exposed wounds. Without meaning to, I suck in a breath, and it hisses between my teeth. The subtle sound cuts through the battle haze in his eyes, and at last, Red Death blinks. With a slow sweep and retraction of the nictitating membrane, his eyes refocus on me, breaking the tension.
Red Death slowly returns my back paws to the ground without breaking eye contact. I rotate in his grip, and he permits it, so now we face one another. He leans in, smelling of blood and leather and metal. The moon leers over us, a taunting smile as pallid as a corpse. Its madness sharpens the silver of Red Death's eyes to a knife's edge and reflects the bronze rings adorning his tusks, creating flashes of fire. I growl to warn him away.
Laughter, dark and as profound as the night, tickles my skin. His mandibles open, gently parting fur so he can run his teeth along my jugular as he speaks. "Ki wei hulij-bpe." His voice, a rasp of hot coals, stirred through the fire—growing hotter with each syllable to pass his teeth. "Jeh t'rai, ki z'de mo-di h'chak..."
There's a rawness in his voice—a crack in his phlegmatic armor. For Red Death, I am that crack. That weakness that he loathes. If he could kill me, then he would, but alas, he can not.
I roll my eyes in a subtle rebuke of his ire. I'd argue, but the wolf's tongue can't form the words of righteous indignation that I feel.
We were being hunted; what did he expect? That I would sit idle and do nothing? I am a predator, too—a wolf. Shying away from a challenger is not in my nature—he knows this very well.
Red Death senses my opposition to his authority. Not being in control is an unfamiliar sensation, and he hates it. The entire surface of my body tingles in the swelling current of his anger. He could subdue a charging rhino with the glare he spears at me. It sends needles dancing up my spine—a signal broadcasting from deep within the reptile cortex to keep me safe.
I tune it out. I wasn't ignoring the instinct, merely challenging it. A bond of this magnitude requires trust, and Red Death had earned mine. Of course, some of me still feared him; how could I not, given our history? Still, his nasty glare practically begs me to test the strength of said bond by tormenting him further. So I dip my head in false admonishment and let my tongue loll as if to say I'm a good doggie.
If "nonplussed" had a face, it would possess mandibles. Indeed, the poor guy didn't know how to handle a predator with a nastier attitude than his own. Red Death's face split in two, torn between disbelief and indignation.
Excitement burbles out of me in frosty huffs, the little clouds dispersing in the wind. Wanting to up the ante, I nip at one of his mandibles, only for my teeth to click air as a shiver racks my body. Without the warmth of adrenaline, the cold gnaws at my open wounds. Bloody ice packs the lacerations, and moving tore the skin and muscle free. I peek at my left flank, watching the steam rise off the ribbons of blood.
Okay, playtime's over. Shifting shape would speed up the healing process, but to do so would leave me standing naked in thigh-deep snow, and my human parts were much more vulnerable to the hostile temperature. And I had no desire to regrow my nipples should they fall off from frostbite.
Sprays of white powder dust irregular patterns on the fur-lined gear Red Death wore, the long tawny hairs dance lively in the wind. Despite the pelt's promising warmth, he had to be feeling the cold, too. A whimsical desire to see if his nipples have turned to ice chips almost has me laughing. No amount of stoicism would save the dark peaks from the wind's glacial bite... or mine. But the icy gusts temper my impulsivity, and I instead seek refuge beneath the towering mass of muscle in front of me.
Understanding my predicament, Red Death pulls me into the furnace of his chest, sheltering my bleeding ribs from the driving wind. The powdery snow forces us to trek slowly and cautiously down the mountain, but at least it remains stable.
We're about halfway down when the sun's glare spikes off the snow and into our eyes. The trees are too sparse for cover, and a thousand looming perils prickle my spine. Wary, I sniff, but there's nothing else except me, Red Death, and the Colorado spruces for miles.
We're alone, which means... the other yautja, the thei'mar ik'kya, is dead?
No.
Cold certainty has me baring my teeth. He's alive. And next time, he may not be alone. Without the finality of death, time breeds opportunity.
Let them come. I will kill them all...