It sucked.
She followed Pasquale’s scent to the left, heading into the thick of the Greenwald. At least the cool shelter from the trees would help. The darkened interior of the woods was a balm against her heated flesh, sending shivers down her spine. Her eyes adjusted to the change in light as she sniffed to get information from the world around her.
Rabbits to the left. Deer farther downwind, dead center. Life. Her wolf yipped inside, more comfortable here in this space than in the confines of her home. Even with making it as open as she could, there was nothing like the damp darkness of the forest.
Run?
Giuliana reached for her wolf, happy to give up the muddled thoughts of her human side and give fresh lungs a chance to take over. Her wolf sprang forward, wrapping her in love and care so she could sit back for the ride. Yes, she could see through her wolf, smell the hard earth beneath her paws, but she could also sink into her wolf and let her run wild. She held the picture of Pasquale in her head, those intertwining scents, and her wolf followed them.
A branch snapped and her wolf spun, her flexible spine helping her flip in the air and land on her feet facing the threat. A massive white wolf stepped out of nowhere, and she immediately knew the branch was done on purpose. The wolf was too silent, too composed, for such a mistake. Twice her size, and more powerful by far, the wolf lifted its muzzle to the sky and howled.
It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard.
A call of the wild.
A cry for being home.
Her throat worked for the chance to join, to lift her head and join the song, but she fought against it.
Pasquale.
Pretty.
If you roll over and open your legs from him, I won’t shift for thirty years.
Her wolf sighed, but Giuliana stood her ground. Instead of joining his cry, she balanced her paws wider, lowering her eyes to the side of his head, and snarled.
Unfazed, Pasquale approached her, ears alert and tail high. There was no fear, no hesitation. He was so sure of himself, so controlled.
Hello, pretty girl.
What the fuck? That wasn’t her voice or her wolf’s that just rang in her head.
Pasquale exposed his teeth. I know you can hear me.
Pasquale?
Not exactly.
Her wolf pushed her consciousness aside, brushing past her.
What do you want?
He’s hurting.
So is she.
He didn’t mean it.
Who is she?
Packmate.
Duh. Try again.
The white wolf shook his head, and Giuliana sat back, wide-eyed. She’d never heard of wolves communicating this way.
Pasquale’s wolf sat down on his haunches. Fabiana is … littermate.
