The Taint of Wolves

A good - good day

Chapter Four - A good - good day.

I was starving.

My teeth cut through my gums unbidden, blood flooding my tongue. My stomach knotted and I felt strangely nauseous. Hunting outside the Maze was an entirely different game. I knew the Maze and I knew how to hunt and trap in the darkness but this vast evergreen forest was too big, too choked with sensations and noises.

Some days I managed to find something to nibble on. Bark to attempt to curb my hunger. The still-hot carcass of a deer being devoured by wolves. They were no match for me and I had broken open the rib-cage of that carcass, bloodied and tired from fighting the pack. I kept the bones with me for days, sucking on the bone marrow, wandering aimlessly. Hopelessly lost.

Still, if I died here, it was infinitely better than being stuck in a white cell.

It was only when I caught the scent of smoke and the rippling babble of noise ahead that I had a direction. People. A lot of them. That morning, with the scent of people giving me renewed hope, I washed my face in the cold water of the stream I was following. I didn't look at the face reflected in the crystalline water, but focused my attention on the forest.

A crack sounded ahead of me.

My head whipped to the side and I froze, sinking low. I was a mess of dirty, white clothes and bare, torn feet. From the trees, a young buck limped out. His rump was torn open and the animal was sloppy in his pain. Saliva flooded my mouth. He teetered on the bank of the river, his head raised.

His breath smoked the air in front of him.

I launched forward in a violent burst of energy. Water sloshed around me, but I was too fast and sudden. The buck was turning as I landed on him, claws bursting from my hands. I was too tired to shift fully, but I was a broken and malformed beast, maddened by hunger and the vicious cold. I tore into him as soon as his hot blood began to spill, my mind fogged.

It took strength to pull away from the carcass with a heavy stomach to heave myself over to the water's edge. I caught a glimpse of a blood soaked lower face and wild eyes before I everted my gaze, disgusted. Peach fuzz hair covered my scalp now, it was patchy and gross. "Luck." I whispered as I scrubbed at my face. "You're surviving on luck, s112. Not skill. You're better than this."

Then, voices broke through the trees. I launched to my feet, my breathing hitching. People. People.

"Poor lad," A feminine voice cooed. "He'll be suffering with a wound like that. Whose car did he hit again?"

"Mr. Roberts," A gruff voice sounded closer.

The wind brought the scent of Lycans. Agitated, I hesitated, unwillingly to leave my first good meal in a long time. Two people stepped through the shrubbery, dressed in heavy coats, flannel and jeans. Both carried a gun.

Both stopped at the sight of me.

The woman of the pair gasped, cocking up her gun. My head tilted. I didn't know guns at all. Only shotguns and that was a dismal knowledge at best. Whatever it was, it would pack a punch if it tore into me.

My gaze flickered to the carcass. I couldn't bear to leave all that hot flesh behind. The man, older in years with weathered cheeks and liver-spots on his hands, clucked his tongue. He placed a hand on the barrel of the gun, lowering it gently.

His voice was soft, but rough. "Are you alright, Miss?"

Blood roared in my ears. 'Kill them' an insidious thought whispered. I licked the blood from my lips, pondering that.