Page 22 of Eclipsed Legacy

“Really. I slipped in the mud and came out smelling like—well, I learned a lot. It was still magical. There’s nothing like it, Michael. Enjoy it, and good luck.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Uncle Carl leaves us to greet other pack members.

I feel my body begin to tense, and I hear Michael’s breaths quicken. “You feel it, too?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Michael says, sounding like he just ran a mile.

“It’s almost time,” I say. “Michael, you’re going to turn!”

He grins at me, but it looks like he is starting to sweat.

“Remember, try to relax and don’t resist. You’ve got this.” I move my gaze along the group until I see Ricky. I wave at him, and he nods back. “Head on over to Ricky,” I tell Michael. “You’re sticking with him tonight.”

He nods before jogging over.

I close my eyes and inhale slowly through my nose. As my senses stretch out, I begin to feel the moonlight on me, something my human form would never be able to do. It’s soothing, calm, like a mother’s whisper. I begin to undress, quickly taking off my boots and slipping out of my jeans. A warmth flows through me, enveloping me, and my body tries to tense, but I force it to relax, to return the moon’s embrace. I wince as my shoulder juts out, feeling almost like someone hit me and dislocated it, but I breathe as the moon guides my body to its freest form.

Before I know it, I am released. My paws center me firmly on the earth, and I let out an elated howl, signaling to the rest of the pack that our run has begun.

Chapter 8

Around me, my pack echoes my declaration, their howls carrying through the trees, overpowering the sounds of the small woodland creatures. I run along our usual trail, the pack trailing behind me. The breeze flows through my black fur like fingers flowing through water on an afternoon boat ride. The shadows of the sassafras are long and contrast with the bright areas illuminated by the moon.

I catch the scent of prey and slow my run as the pack files in behind me. I look back briefly to see a smaller wolf with light brown fur. He pads along the forest floor and stops next to Ricky’s grey wolf. Michael. Pride fills me heart, which is ready to burst. Before I realize what I’m doing, my muzzle is in the air again. I howl, this time to notify the pack of our quarry. I run at full speed as my pack races behind me, hopefully now catching scent of our targets.

Carlie, Lizzy, and a few others split off toward the prey. They often herd our targets, making it easier for our hitters to take down larger game. Ricky, Ray, Norman, and Uncle Evan’s sons, Austin and Ashton, follow a few minutes after. Michael trails behind the main hitters. Today, he will observe and learn how to hunt as a pack. I lead the rest of the pack around to the prey.

The herders have set up a semi perimeter, so the two elderly white-tailed deer have nowhere to run as the hitters tackle at the wolves’ hindquarters. Michael stands on the sidelines as Ricky and Ashton bring down the first buck before Austin finally tears its throat out, and its blood spills out onto the grass. The hitters circle back as the herders block the deer’s path, preventing an escape. This time, Norman and Ray tackle the prey, soon bringing it down before Ricky can bite at its snout.

I howl once again, and the wolves clear from the deer carcasses. As acting-alpha, I eat first. I bite into the open wound on the first buck’s hind, quickly devouring the tender meat. Once I am finished, Uncle Carl eats next. Ricky makes what sounds like a cut-off whimper before pointing with his snout toward Michael. Uncle Carl stops before stepping off. It’s tradition in our pack to let the newly changed eat after the alpha. With his head down, Michael slowly approaches my deer. He pauses before slamming his snout into the deer. His eating is sloppy, and he doesn’t seem to know where the meatiest part of the meal is, but he will learn. Once finished, Michael licks his chops and steps back.

I let off another howl, and chaos soon ensues. The rest of the pack descends upon the deer like a blood-thirsty swarm until I can no longer see anything but the hind-ends of my pack members. With so many of us, it’s unlikely two deer will fill anyone up. I hope they like spaghetti.

Once the pack has finished, we fall back into formation with me on point and Uncle Carl at the rear once more. I lead my pack around the large pond, which marks this end of Uncle Carl’s property. We begin to loop back, this time at a steady trot. The second half of our run always takes longer. We are in less of a hurry; our hunger usually sated, and the remainder of the moonlight provides the kind of repose we don’t find elsewhere.

A soft mist begins to descend, moistening the air and dampening my fur. Gradually, the moisture in the air increases until a heavy rain falls, but the strength of the pack’s run is unabated. The musty scent of the forest’s shower drowns out all other fragrances, further releasing the untamed nature of the wolf. I let my mind go, allowing my body to guide me along the familiar paths. The downpour obscures part of my vision, and I blink against the water. I let my wolf guide me back as I lead my pack through the rain, closer to the dry sanctuary that’ll await us at dawn. Over a mile to the house, each step draws us closer. I hear nothing, but the steady falls of my paws on the earth below, see nothing but the way before me, and smell—

I halt abruptly. I smell someone. Something is off. I lift my nose in the air and breathe it in. A wolf! Before I can let out a warning, we are ambushed with unfamiliar wolves attacking the middle of our line from both sides. Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.

I howl, hoping my pack will know how I expect them to respond. Uncle Carl rushes around toward the middle, just shy of the chaos, guarding the slower and weaker members of our pack. Good. I charge toward one of the enemy, tackling him at his hind, ending his entanglement with Carlie. She quickly responds, tackling him in turn. For a herder, she does fairly well, albeit, a bit slower than I would’ve liked. I nip at the wolf’s back leg as a warning, but he still attempts to fight. A snarl escapes me, and he cringes back. Instinct of the wolf is ready to break free.

I realize I could easily kill this brown wolf. He’s weak, poorly trained, and leaves his neck overly exposed. I bury my teeth into his legs instead. His meat tears away like a hot knife through butter until his bone stymies my advance. I could easily cripple him, show him why no one fucks with my pack. I could tear the flesh from him quickly…but he’s no threat if he can’t run. I don’t need to do more.

Turning my attention to the would-be onslaught, a new vigor consumes me. My pack is winning. I delve into the fray, tackling and biting before swatting other wolves off my pack members. The injured begin to flee, and a few from my pack begin to chase, but I move quickly, stepping in the way of their path. There’s no need to split up or let them separate us.

A weight begins to lift, but not in a good way. I feel as though someone has removed a heavy blanket on a cool, cool night, yet my mind becomes clearer. A few yards ahead of me, one of my pack members, Norman, shifts back to human, only further tearing a wound in his center. I try to call out, but a whimper escapes me. Damn it!

I release a breath and allow my body to take on its other form before running over and dropping to the ground next to Norman. Blood covers his round belly, and he coughs, spewing and spitting on my face.

“It’s okay,” I say, taking his hand. “I’m here, Norman.”

He smiles weakly, chuckling before the blood chokes him again. He mumbles, but I don’t understand what he’s saying. “—t’ make it easier on —evidence.” He begins to shift again.

“Norman, no!” I say before I realize why he’s doing this. “We can get you to a hospital! It’s not too late!” But he’s already a wolf again, and it is too late. Norman’s breathing becomes harsh, labored, and quickens before stopping altogether. I never thought a member of my pack would be in a position where this was necessary. Die in wolf form and that’s all the evidence that remains. If there’s no human body, no one cares.

I sit, my bare ass on the cold dirt, slowly petting the fur on Norman’s front paw, but I don’t have the luxury to wait. Another cough draws my attention. A young man, about my age, sits against a tree. The brown wolf. His leg is mangled where multiple bites have left it resembling a chew toy more than a human leg. It seems that someone else decided to take a few nips at him. I walk over, ensuring my stride is strong as both a way to intimidate and make him even more aware of his injuries.