Heart of the Wolf

Calla didn't argue. There was no weakness in having pack watch over you, and so it would not hurt her pride to have Senna there. She wouldn't admit it, but Senna's presence would help her rest peacefully.

And when the night came, the two of them were silent as they stared at the full moon, struck by its power and feeling the wolf claw through their skin. It was as wonderful as it was painful. Hair pushed from every pore like needles, teeth tingled with pain as they sharpened, and the urge to bite and tear grew strong in their jaws. Skin stretched and, at brief intervals, would curl from the body to reveal churning muscle as it formed over a larger body.

Not many bones had to break, they elongated or shrank. The change was most prominent in the muscles and ligaments, except for the back legs, which turned digitigrade, extending at the ankle. Senna had always felt growing the tail was the most antagonizing part, where even breathing felt painful enough to faint. It was like morphine when the wolf came to the forefront.

Wild Thing brought with her a manic energy. She was restless, ready to tear into the night and ensure no one had encroached upon her territory. With her emergence, she had taken Senna's worries about the future. The wolf lived in the present and immediate afterward. It dealt only with what it could control and didn't worry about what may be.

She shook off and chuffed at her sister once the pain had subsided enough that she could stand bipedal and stretch out sore muscles. Sister chuffed back and had already dropped to all fours, waiting only a moment before running off in a smooth, silent lope. After one more glance about, Wild Thing followed.

There was little wind to the air, but Sister habitually rose her nose and searched for any fresh scents. Wild Thing could hear the scurrying of a nearby rodent under the brush and smell the coal of an old campfire. Sister stood to full height and tilted her head from one side to the other, then cast a look at Wild Thing over her shoulder.

Wild Thing was an excellent tracker, not through natural talent, but because she was patient. Sister huffed too much. She was restless and required instant results. For a nose to parse information, the mind had to slow and unravel all that was relayed to it. But even Sister's poor nose would catch that strong whiff of male.

They shared a look between them. It was an old smell, wolf but not in wolfskin. It was familiar, and it rose negative feelings in the most human parts of Wild Thing. By Sister's look, it struck a similar nerve. Even without this recognition, neither would have allowed another wolf to travel their turf. It was theirs, and even with only a pair of wolves, it could feel overcrowded. Werewolves were not inclined toward large packs or bonding with strangers.

Sister dropped again and trotted off to follow the old scent. It had dulled from time and a light autumn rain. Wild Thing did not follow her sister, whose nose might have misled them. When she passed Sister with a brisk, knowing pace, Sister followed.

When Sister stalled to listen, Wild Thing bumped her with a shoulder. Sister pushed back against her and snapped in Wild Thing's face with warning. Wild Thing returned the gesture with a lip twitch and lowered herself, but Sister didn't press. The farther from the den they went, the more Sister's eyes scanned the trees. At times, she would pause to listen in preparation for an ambush that never came.

Wild Thing's nose brought them to the edge of their territory, high into the mountains, where humans didn't travel and where the breeze had picked up. The scent was fresh here, where he had lingered, but it was Sister who saw him first.

He stood bipedal and tall, unabashed by his intrusion, and bold enough to bare teeth at Sister when she snarled at him. He toed the line of their territory, leaving Wild Thing on edge.

Wild Thing rose to her hind legs and stood straighter than was natural. She could not match his height. She was on the small side for a werewolf at only seven-foot bipedal. But Wild Thing had an advantage on him, not only standing at a higher elevation, but backed by her sister. Most disputes began and ended with a few threat displays, because drawing blood meant one party would die. Even if a wolf was confident in their ability to win, few predators wanted to risk injury.

A calmer wolf would have postured to avoid a fight, but Sister had always been quick to violence and action. Her boldness was not born of being part of a pair, it was unadulterated audacity. She crossed the border and struck at his face with her claws. He leapt backward just as her arm cocked back for the strike and she missed him by a mile.

Sister hadn't committed to the attack. She pulled back and retreated before he could retaliate. He didn't follow her. He remained at a distance, looking between them. Sister had proven herself the bigger threat, but she was not at an advantage as Wild Thing was.

Wild Thing took the few precious, tense seconds between all of them to calm herself and assess the situation. He was not in their territory, but he was near enough to it to be taunting. To Wild Thing, it was deserving of admonishment, but not worth fighting over. She would perch and snarl with warning, but she did not consider crossing the invisible line between free land and territory as Sister had done.

Sister feigned a lunge and snapped at the air, but still he did not back away. She exhaled, and her ears twitched. She didn't look back at Wild Thing, but Wild Thing could feel her attention. At Wild Thing's silence, Sister charged forward into the male's space and he dropped to all fours to meet her. Wild Thing crouched and watched keenly as Sister invaded his space.

They shoved and snarled and bit at the air without trading blows. When the male showed no sign of leaving, Sister drew first blood. She left long, thin lines of red on his shoulder, but they healed by the time her claws left his skin. He pressed into her attack and shoved her backward down the slope of the mountain. If ever there was a time to dodge an attack, but Sister liked to block with her face. Wild Thing scooted to the edge of the outcrop and balanced there in preparation.

They matched in their viciousness. Fighting with human brutality. Sister had more experience. She had been a fighter once, before she'd become wolf, but the male was larger than she was and Sister didn't prioritize dodging or blocking. They used their hands to claw, punch, and slap, but neither had managed a grapple to sink their teeth into the other. That was the moment Wild Thing waited for, an opening of any kind that would ensure she didn't get in her sister's way.

When both of them tumbled over jutting stone, the male's size allowed him to come out on top. He held Sister down by the shoulders as his teeth closed around her snout. Bone cracked and the smell of Sister's blood was motivation for Wild Thing to lunge from her perch. He'd released Sister and turned just in time for Wild Thing to hit him with all her weight.

They tumbled down the mountainside, Wild Thing's momentum spinning them until the world became a blur of splotched colors, nausea, and the sting of rock and hard foliage. Wild Thing landed hard on her side, stopped by an outcrop of stone. Fighting him on the ground was a death sentence, but Wild Thing didn't need to retreat. She knew a facial wound wouldn't slow her sister down.

And Sister was there. First the smell of her blood, then the red blur of her fur as she crashed atop both of them. Her claws dug into his shoulders to keep him down and she wasted no time in latching her jaws onto his face as he had hers. She shook her head from side to side and tore away at skin and thin bone.

Wild Thing sunk her teeth into his arm and rolled toward them so she could push herself up, urging Sister to his other side. And together they ripped into him until his snarls went from furious to pained and he rolled his heavy body into Wild Thing, sending both of them over the edge. But this time, he bound over her and down the mountain, into the thick forest beyond.

To help steady her, Sister grabbed Wild Thing by the scruff and wrenched her upward until Wild Thing found her feet. Wild Thing's injuries were superficial, bruising from the fall that would heal in a manner of seconds and minor cuts that didn't register before they were gone.

The blood from Sister's nose had already clotted, but her broken snout had healed wrong and would need to be reset come morning. The male's lower teeth had busted Sister's upper lip and lacerated her jaw, but both were well on their way healed by now.

Sister tossed her head back and howled, as she was prone to doing after any victory, no matter how small. Normally, Wild Thing would ignore her theatrics, but this time, she joined her sister in a call of superiority and community.

When they had calmed, Wild Thing nuzzled under her sister's chin. It was not in her nature to be affectionate, but a rare bout of sentimentality had overtaken her. Sister gave her a quick nudge with her shoulder before she grunted her displeasure at the affection.

For a time, they would lie together, shoulder to shoulder, where Wild Thing had perched at the start of the fight and watched the horizon for signs of his return. Wild Thing left only to bring Sister back a meal. The raw meat would help her heal, but eating it with a busted jaw wouldn't do anything for Sister's mood.

Sister caught Wild Thing watching her and bared her teeth in a sneer. Wild Thing snorted and looked again at the mass of conifers. If only victory had eased her sister's nasty attitude.

And as Wild Thing watched the yellow moon shadowing the trees, contentment washed over her. For she saw that her sister and she were not one without the other and there was no human, or wolf, or godly thing that could ever break their bond.

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