Page 30 of Fat Enemy Mate

I get a good twenty minutes in before my wolf finally falls silent, but I immediately realize he’s not giving in; he’s listening. I still the axe as I notice that the birds along the treeline have also fallen silent, the way they do when the forest is holding its breath.

Setting the axe down against the block, I stand and turn slowly, letting my wolf come forward, sharpening my senses, the way I would on patrol. First, I check for scents and immediately sense wolves, and they’re not pack. More than one, but not a full patrol grouping. The wind isn’t helping, and I can’t quite place the direction from scent alone. My eyesight sharpens and scans, picking up movement, low and fast, between the trees about forty yards down the slope, dark shapes splitting apart as they break the treeline. They’re not bunched together; they’re fanning out. One is high on the slope to my left, one is coming straight at me, and one is peeling right toward the cabin’s flank. I glance to my right and notice that the closest ward is flickering, the charge clearly hasn’t held, and they’ve broken through.

There’s no time to reach the door, no time to warn Lara. There’s only time to shift and fight.

My wolf tears through my skin as I take the slope downhill, which, already being outside, is the one advantage I have. Using all the weight and downward momentum I can muster, I move faster than I’ve probably ever moved before. He’s turned and was aiming straight for the man who had been standing there, but instead my wolf charges teeth first into him, and we do down together in a roll of violence. He tries to get out from under me, twisting and lunging for my throat, but allhe does is graze my shoulder, and that’s a trade I’m happy with because it means I can take his throat, clamping my jaw down and driving him into the ground. He’s bleeding out before I even have time to turn and check the others' location.

That’s one down.

I’m up and moving before he’s even dead, but I know it won’t be long, and with his neck ripped out, he’s not going anywhere. I track the others. The one who went high is out of sight, but the other one is almost at the porch. I know it’s all a calculation, deciding which one to take first, and there’s always a cost. Grateful I locked down the cabin before coming outside, I decide to tackle the porch-runner first. He hears me coming and turns, ready to fight. He meets me low, going for my legs, trying to put me down before I can get a blow in. He’s good and gets a decent grip, rolling me to the side, and I feel his teeth on my ribs. I let him think he’s on the right track for a moment before getting my back leg into his belly, kicking him off. He immediately comes back at me, but he miscalculates, leaving his side exposed, and as soon as I take his throat, it’s all over.

Two down, but where is the third?

I glance around quickly, and he’s not on the slope, not in the trees. I try to scent him, but the wind and dead shifters confuse my senses. Three came out of the tree, and two are on the ground. The high one went around.

I hear a scream and the sound of something smashing, and know instantly he must have got through a window at the back.

Barely registering my own movements, I’m crossing the ground before I can think and crashing through the door. The security system is redundant as soon as it’s breached, and I immediately spot Lara in the kitchen behind the counter,brandishing a large knife. The large black wolf is circling, and I can see the talisman around his neck. He’s bleeding from several knife wounds and just seems to be getting back up now. Ready to go again. Lara has a deep cut on her forearm, but she’s not backing down. She’s obviously been taught to fight well, but she’s not going to hold him off for long; most humans wouldn’t have survived the first attack.

He hears me and turns, but hesitates over his prey, probably hoping one of the other rogues will back him up. That is a fatal mistake on his part. The second he takes his eyes off her, she takes us both by surprise and lunges, driving the knife into the rogue's side, causing him to rear up and swing for her. That’s when I hit him, taking him off his feet and crashing through the nearby cabinet in a crash of fury, blood, and snapping jaws. He’s on top of me as I twist to avoid the kind of fatal move I’m trying to land myself. Once I latch onto the soft skin at the side of his neck, he tries desperately to shake me off, but as I tighten my grip, his movements become more random and desperate until I finally feel his strength fading. I wait until his body goes slack and stays slack before I release my grip and throw his dead weight off to the side.

Then I’m up and heading straight for the door, my wolf scanning the horizon for any more movement, any scents. When he’s satisfied there’s nothing, I turn back, shifting and locking the door and resetting the security system before rushing over to Lara, my hands on her, checking her.

“Where are you hurt?” I ask, my voice sounding rougher than ever.

“I’m not…he didn’t,” she says, shaking hard now as the adrenaline probably wears off. The knife is still in her hand, but I’m not sure she even realizes she has a death grip on it. “It’s just my arm. He crashed through a window; it all happened so fast.”

“Let me see,” I tell her.

“I-I’m fine, it’s nothing…” she starts.

“Let me see your arm, Lara,” I say again, lower, firmer.

She finally lets me lift her arm to the light. The gash is long but shallow, with clear lines where his claws glanced her and caught her skin. It needs dressing but not stitches. I turn her wrist over to check the underside, and her hand remains locked around the handle of the knife. I don’t say anything, and I don’t take it off her. She’s earned the right to hold onto it as long as she wants.

“It’s shallow,” I tell her. “Looks worse than it is. Needs cleaning and dressing, but it will be alright.”

I realize I’m saying it to make myself feel better as much as her, and my hands aren’t as steady on her arm as I’d like them to be. I tell myself it’s my own adrenaline working its way out, but there’s something sitting heavily on my chest when I look at her that I don’t want to examine. I don’t get afraid during a fight. Ever. But I felt something dangerously like fear when I saw her cornered and bleeding in the kitchen, and I shove that down as far as I can.

“There are two more outside,” I tell her. “I was sorting them out when he must have come through the back. I’ll report this and get Connor to bring up a patrol to man the ridge tonight; hopefully, the truck will come at first light.”

I half expect the mention of the truck to trigger another argument, but she just looks at me, her eyes huge and shining with unshed tears. After a moment, she reaches over and drops the knife on the counter with a clatter.

“Thank you,” she says, “you saved me.”

“Of course I did,” I tell her.

She looks at me in a way that tells me she didn’t see that as a given at all, and she feels almost strange even saying it. I don’t know how to deal with that, so I just nod and leave it there. I sit her down at the kitchen table, and she watches as I drag the body outside, then call Connor to update him and coordinate the patrol I want for tonight. As expected, the road isn’t quite clear, but they think it will be by nightfall, and they’ll set off before daybreak to pick us up. Then I dress her arm, and she still says nothing, just watches me carefully.

“I’ve got to deal with what’s outside,” I tell her, “I’m not leaving them out there in case they attract others. Won’t take long, maybe twenty minutes, and I’ll keep a clear line to the door at all times.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She replies, “I’ll make some coffee.”

“Ok, thanks,” I tell her, heading toward the door.

I’m about to head out when she stops me. “Wilf,” she says. “The truck, tomorrow, I’ll go.”

I pause by the door, letting the cold air settle around me, knowing I shouldn’t push it, so I simply nod and say. “Alright, good call,” I tell her. “It will be ok.”