Page 109 of The Flame Game

Now that I looked for them, there were a disturbing number of lumps under the snow that could easily be dead animals.

What an asshole.

“Oh, yes. You wouldn’t know. That’s simple. The filthy non-humans, with their disgusting habits, interact with even rodents. Those who act like wild animals and feed off wild animals deserve to die like wild animals.”

Marriage to my gorgon-incubus doohickey had taught me when he wanted to, he could beat any mere human to the draw, and in the blink of an eye, Quinn socked the asshole in the nose and dropped him to the road with a single hit. Bright red blood splashed onto the snow.

The wolf recognized prey when he saw it, and before my husband could even kick the downed asshole, the rabid animal lunged for the fallen man, froth flying from his mouth while he bared and snapped his teeth. The first bite missed with an audible clack. The second landed in the tender flesh of Morrison’s throat.

In the prime of health, wolves weighed over eighty pounds, although the rabid animal was more skin and bones than anything else. His scrawny build and poor health did little to hamper his ability to kill his prey.

Several shakes and hard bites later, and Morrison’s body twitched on the ground.

Quinn reached down, picked up the wolf’s bone, secured his hold on the leash, and lured the animal away from the corpse. I galloped over, skidding to a halt and snorting flames.

The wolf accepted Quinn’s praise and offering of the bone, lying down and gnawing on his treat rather than on Morrison’s body.

“Wolf steal kill?” I blurted. “Wolf!”

The wolf continued to chew on his bone, and my husband bent over and scratched the animal behind his ears. “Good boy. Relax, Bailey. Wolves are smart, and he knew we were helping him. That, plus we just fed him. We’re acting like a pack for him, and he’s by himself and hungry.”

“No save you from wolf. Wolf eat you? Give rabies.”

“I can defend myself from a wolf, I’m sure.”

“He could, too.”

My husband regarded Morrison’s body with a frown. “Huh. You’re right. I’m being stupid, aren’t I?”

“Wolf sad and cute, easy to fall prey to. Poor hus-band. We teach wolf no eat us. No lie to help wolf? CDC get mad about wolf killings.”

“Shit. Right. I’ll make sure the wolf isn’t put down for killing him. I was about to, anyway.”

“With what? Fist?”

“No. My gun. At point blank range. I punched him because I wanted to. He pissed me off.”

“Okay.” I approached and sniffed the wolf, who was in a dire need of a bath. “Call. Request tanker. Much napalm. This area? This area bad.”

“I’m not sure how burning it to the ground will help.”

“Much rot, no scav-en-gers. Frozen until spring. More infection.”

My husband retrieved his phone and called someone, explaining how Morrison had somehow located them and had attempted to recruit him. With a smug smile in place, he reported that the local wildlife, quite rabid, had taken offense to Morrison.

“No hurt my puppy,” I warned, flattening my ears.

“My wife, apparently, is very fond of the rabid wolf and wishes to rehabilitate him. I’m not brave enough to tell the cranky and pregnant cindercorn she can’t turn our home into a zoo. Right now, her new pet wolf is chewing on some of Sunny’s bones and behaving himself. Yes, we’re feeding a wild, rabid animal. What? He’s hungry, and I’d rather not get eaten by a hungry, rabid wolf. That he handled a rather bad problem with grace tells me he should be rewarded with more bones. He’s pretty bad off, though. Bailey thinks this whole place needs to be napalmed. The towns are abandoned and there are dead animals everywhere.”

The wolf finished with his bone and stretched out in the snow, resting his muzzle on my husband’s foot.

I worried the wolf was yet another victim of transformatives, as I couldn’t imagine a wild animal behaving in such a way, especially not while rabid.

Either way, we’d find out soon enough.

Quinn kept the sick wolf on a tight leash, and I worried the animal cooperated because my husband kept feeding him. As I expected I would need to help light a massive fire, I remained a cindercorn. Our pets slept in the SUV, which we kept running with a window slightly cracked open so they got fresh air.

“Sleepy puppers, sleepy kitten, Quinn,” I said, lifting a hoof to point at the rental. “Good puppers, good kitten.”