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Immediately insulted that he’s implying I’m some kind of wild animal, I bark at him sharply. I haven’t gone feral. I just know the truth now. These mates are mine to defend, and as long as she doesn’t threaten them, I’m no danger to her.
Milo and Landon laugh behind me. “I don’t think she appreciated that comment, man,” Landon says. “She doesn’t feel out of control, but she definitely feels more… wild. Do you feel it?”
“Yeah,” Milo agrees. “There’s more of her wolf there than I’ve felt before. Even at her manifestation.”
“I think Savannah is on the money with this one. Maybe you ought to just step back and let them get at it.”
“But what if she gets hurt?” Jared’s voice is thick with concern, and the human part of me finds it touching.
The wolf part just wants him to get the hell out of my way.
“She’ll be fine. They aren’t going to kill each other. A few nicks are nothing, and she’ll heal by morning.”
Sighing, Jared takes a step forward and meets my gaze. “If this is what it takes, then do it. Just don’t forget who the real enemy is, okay? This is just practice. Savannah is your friend. Don’t lose sight of that.” He reaches out as if to run a hand over my head, but I snap at his fingers and he backs up with a surprised expression.
Now my mates are safely behind me, and the other wolf resumes her aggressive stance.
I crouch low and invite her to make her move.
* * *
Jared
* * *
My heart is beating a mile a minute. It’s taking all the strength I have to sit back and let Layla face down another wolf, a wolf who isn’t one of us. I knew Milo and Landon wouldn’t hurt her, and perhaps that was the problem: she knew it, too.
But here, with another young female, tension is thick in the air like electricity before a storm. Landon is a live wire of nerves beside me, jiggling on his toes, and Milo is the opposite, standing stock still with his arms crossed over his chest.
I’m resisting the urge to throw myself in front of her, so I settle for pacing.
The wolves face each other, a low, steady growl like a hum between them. Layla is snowy white. Unsurprising, since it’s a Harridan trait, but different from her uncle because she is completely white, not a drop of color in any of her fur. The startling green of her eyes as a human is slightly more yellow as a wolf, but even from a hundred yards away she’d be impossible to mistake.
Savannah’s wolf I’ve seen before, although I didn’t know it was her. She’s a light tan, with a darker saddle pattern on her back and dark around the ears. She’s slightly smaller than Layla—the more pure-blooded the wolf, the larger they are—and I can tell she’s very agile.
Savannah bounces around for a few moments, testing, teasing Layla, watching her reactions. Layla tracks her, paws spread and body low, shuffling to keep the brown wolf directly in front of her.
Without warning, Layla bursts forward in a full frontal attack. Of course, this is what Savannah was trying to provoke, and she darts to the side, spinning quickly to return fire.
They’re in it now, grappling and clawing, their bodies clashing together as snarls rip from their canine snouts. Layla is the aggressor, and Savannah seems to be mainly on the defense. I don’t know if that is her usual strategy—she seems to be the aggressive type to me—but I can definitely see that she was correct: this wolf differs greatly from the one we’ve been attempting to teach the last few weeks. She snarls and growls, attacks with teeth and claws, and at one point gets a mouthful of brown fur on Savannah’s shoulder.
It’s been an intense fight, but they’re both obviously petering out on energy. Real wolf fights are abrupt and vicious, only lasting a few minutes. It’s not a game of patience and perseverence, it’s a game of dominance.
Milo clearly sees what I do, stepping off the porch with his hands raised, walking between the two wolves who’ve separated and are circling each other warily. “That was an excellent first battle, but I think it’s time to call it for the night. Why don’t you guys take a couple minutes to recover—you heal faster as a wolf—and then when you’re ready we’ll turn around so you can shift back.”
Layla gives an acknowledging huff, and Savannah drags her paws as she walks further out into the lawn, proving she means no harm, before she collapses on the grass. Her side rises and falls dramatically as she pants, tongue lolling onto the ground.
Layla doesn’t seem to be as winded. There are a few red splotches in her fur, but she’s far less out of breath than Savannah. She settles on the grass, tucking her feet below her, and takes a position between us and the brown wolf with her nose pointed toward her opponent like she’s still on guard.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. “Guys, it’s five to one. You’ve got to shift back now.” As one, Landon, Milo and I turn to face the house, and I cringe, listening to the painful noises the girls make as they shift back into human form. It’s a factor of life, and it never bothered me before, but now any sound my mate makes that isn’t pleasurable lights a flame in my chest. She should only ever feel pleasure.
When the girls are talking happily, we feel confident to turn around, and find them mostly dressed and hugging, going over details of the fight while they’re still barefoot on the lawn.
“Hey crazies, why don’t you come inside and get warm? You’ll get sick standing out there in the cold.” Landon’s tone reminds me so much of my mother I emit a snort.
“What?” he turns on me, defensive. “It’s cold, and they’re in tank tops and cotton pajama pants. You won’t be laughing when Layla comes down with the flu and you’re miserable on her behalf.”
“You don’t get the flu from being outside, dingus,” Milo laughs. “You really need to ease off the mother hen routine.”
