Page 5 of Fat Enemy Mate

It’s not really what Connor wants or has put in place. He’s been tightening up the rota for weeks now after Dina highlighted the gaps in our defensive patrols and made it clear that solo runs weren’t a good idea at the moment. I nodded along the way you do when you’ve heard something but intend to do something completely different. I’ve been out on my solo runs ever since. Connor hasn’t said anything about it. I think he knows I need it. I think he knows I wouldn’t listen right now.

The truth is, I don’t know what to do with myself around town or even my pack. The cabin feels quiet in a way that’s making me restless at night, and when I do go into town for supplies, I can feel people watching me, not unkindly, just confused. It’s like the lottery has them rattled, too, but no one wants to admit it. So, I get up early, make my coffee, and head out into the woods. The woods don’t ask questions I can’t answer. If I run enough before I meet up with the main patrol, I can fake some semblance of being settled.

My wolf has been off, too. Nothing I can’t handle; he’s just as restless as my human side. He doesn’t care the same way about fitting in; he’s always been happy to live on the periphery. He doesn’t care about my dad being a low-down criminal who ripped off half the pack and then left, but something about the lottery seems to have thrown him, too. Like he’s finally feeling the sting of rejection for the first time. In my experience, the cure for a rattled wolf is to give him something to do, so I shift at the edge of the clearing and head west out onto the ridge.

For the first hour, it seems to be working, and he’s quieter than he’s been all night. The ridge curves up through the older pines here and then flattens along the granite spine that gives this area its name. This is my world, the only one I’ve ever really known. I work the line before dipping back down into the pines. Cheslem rogues have been fairly quiet recently, but they’re not gone, and there’s just enough activity this last month to know the small group who took Dina is regrouping. Connor and Dina have tightened the rota, pulling Ethan in from the northern line, and he’s got Bryan finding ways to double up so our patrols overlap more. He’s got the new recruit, Joss, shadowing him—just a kid but so full of enthusiasm it could almost be infectious if it weren’t so annoying.

Everyone is on high alert, but nothing is happening. I almost wish it would, so my wolf could focus on something else.

I’m passing the second of my own security markers when I catch the trail.

It hits me mid-stride, and I pull up suddenly, lowering my muzzle to the ground and taking a deep breath…human and female.

The scent is strangely masked, but my wolf takes the time to breathe the scent in properly. Garlic and herbs, it’s a heady mix, and my wolf recoils from the conflicting scents, but underneath, it’s there, undeniably human. Undeniably female.

She’s clearly trying to mask her scent, and it’s almost working. It’s clever, and whoever it is clearly knows enough about wolves to at least try to move undetected.

I cast around for the line of scent. It moves up the slope, then off to the side, and then doubles back on itself. I find a few random tracks, but again, those have been disguised. The trail seems to go east, loop down the slope, and then appears againfurther up. The freshest part of the trail is recent, maybe within the hour. Whoever it is, is awake and moving. Working a system. I find more prints in a damp patch of soil and notice that one foot appears to be dragging slightly—is she injured?

I decide to follow, but as I move onto the deer track, I detect an entirely different scent.

Wolves.

Three, maybe four, and most importantly, not pack. The smell is all wrong and not something I’ve detected since the last Cheslem attack. It’s a fainter version, not one I recognize individually, but I’ve no doubt they are rogues.

I crouch down again and check the direction.

They seem to have come in from the east, crossing the ridge above me before dropping down and following the woman’s trail. They’re working as a hunting pack, spread out but moving on a defined target, the gap between them closing. They probably keep losing the trail as it’s well disguised, but then pick it up again. She’s slowing them down, but they’re not stopping.

I sit back for a moment, considering my next move.

I should call this in immediately and bring in the team—that’s the protocol. The patrol will be about forty minutes out, but they’d want to be on this, capture or kill. We can’t have rogues out here hunting. But I’m not sure this human female for another forty minutes. Her trail was better concealed in the earlier sections; now she’s clearly dragging her foot and not doing as many maneuvers to disguise her path.

If someone doesn’t intervene, it ends only one way. I can’t see rogues wanting a human female for any good reason.

The odds aren’t in my favor. Four rogues isn’t a fight I’d suggest anyone take on. However, this is my world out here, and they are still spread out, maintaining their formation.

Decision made, I move.

I work the slope, taking the upper slope first, staying fast and low. The wolves are downwind of me, which means they won’t sense me coming, especially if their attention is focused elsewhere. I find the first pair just as I round the bend.

They’re moving along the deer trail about half a mile from where I last detected the human. Their noses are to the ground, neither paying much attention to anything but their hunt. They look small for rogues, lean and undisciplined. I’m about to move into position when something catches my eye. The bigger one has something around his neck that catches the light. I hesitate for a second, knowing how much they love to use magic, but I’m committed now.

I decide to take the smaller one first.

He doesn’t see me coming. There’s a brief moment where his head comes up as if instinctively alarmed, but then I’m on him, his throat in my mouth, and he doesn’t even have a chance to form a coherent thought before he’s dead. The bigger one in front rears back, snarling and coming at me low. He’s big, but I’m bigger, and he’s already losing before he’s even really in the fight. He comes at me from the most obvious angle, but I shoulder past him and sink my teeth into his neck. Putting my full weight into it, I push him down the slope. He fights longer than I expected him to, but still goes down.

I stand over him, panting with his blood in my mouth, and scan the treeline. I picked up the scent of three or four rogues, and they will have no doubt heard this attack, which means they’ll do one of two things. Turn back to fight or run.

I pause, waiting to see which it will be. A minute passes, then two. The forest falls silent. Suddenly, I spot a blur heading straight out onto the ridge. Just one wolf, running at speed. Retreating. Not four wolves in total, just three, and this one is going hard, probably for reinforcements.

I watch him disappear into the distance and shift, picking up the small shiny disc at the wolf's throat. I run my fingers over the symbols but don’t recognize them. The angled lines are clearly a scored sigil, protection maybe? It certainly didn’t do them any good.

But it feels significant. I know Luna’s witch friends will want to see it, so I take the talisman and then go back to get the other one from the smaller rogue's body. The silence in the forest feels absolute, and I listen for signs of the woman we all seem to be tracking, but there’s nothing. If she has any sense, she’ll take this opportunity to get off the mountain. I take a breath, trying to catch her scent, and it tilts uphill, moving faster. She’s picking up pace despite her injury, which is a good sign.

I consider going after her.

My wolf wants to, almost like he feels the pull of the mystery. What is she doing out here? Why were these rogues chasing her? Not that rogues would need a reason to go after a lone female; that’s definitely their MO. But I push down those thoughts and consider the facts in front of me: I’ve got two weird-looking talismans taken off wolves that smell like Cheslem, and at least three wolves came into our territory hunting. That’s a pack matter and more important than any human in the forest—hell, she’s probably one of those city types who thinks hiking is a good idea. Hopefully, she’s had a lucky escape and doesn’t come back.