Page 55 of The SnowFang Secret


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Demetrius glanced at me, then back at Henri. “I agree.”

“He didn’t need to beat you, Henri, he just needed to put on a good showing,” I said, voice shaking. “He didn’t get run over.”

“No, he didn’t. He’s better than anyone here thought he’d be, but he’s not worth investing another year into. He’s going to give Alan a fight, but he is what he is,” Henri said bluntly.

“It wasn’t arealfight,” I pled. Searle could just be pissed at me for defending Sterling, and he could get the fuck over it. Or not, I didn’t care. “He was off his game.”

Henri’s kind tone salted me into spiritual jerky. “I know you believe in him. But a year comes at a price, and the juice isn’t worth the squeeze.”

“Give him another chance.” I could do another year if it meant Sterling could have another year of training and preparation.

Demetrius stated, “He gets one chance at Alan. There are no second chances.”

“He’s a tough mongrel, I’ll grant him that. Alan’s in for more of a fight than he realizes.” Henri glanced at his bleeding shoulder.

I opened my mouth to argue, but Demetrius and Marcella were already walking away. Searle relaxed his death-grip to a tight squeeze, permitting my knuckles to separate into distinct joints as opposed to a bone lump. “This isn’t for further discussion.”

Now it was time to drink, eat, and (apparently) party, because we hadn’t been doing that before. The pups had been herded off to the front of the house to have their own fun, and the adults turned the lawn into an open-air club, complete with one wolf manifesting their DJ alter-ego.

Because every large pack needs a Party Committee.

“So amoose,” one she-wolf said to me, drawing me over to her little cluster of wolves. Searle tried to follow, but another few wolves were talking to him about something to do with the feed mill and hay field leases.

“A yearling.” I accepted the paper cup I was offered but didn’t drink. “And a small yearling at that.”

“What made you do that?” a male asked.

“A lack of self-preservation and good sense. What are the big hunts here in AmberHowl like? What big game do you hunt around here?” Not that it mattered now. My plan to get involved in hunting to amuse myself for the next year had been dashed as quickly as it had formed.

“Mostly trophy dear and boar,” was the answer. “We only have black bears out here, and they aren’t especially dangerous, and big cats are too rare to take. Feral hogs are what we take on large hunts. Ever hunt swine?”

I shook my head. “No, never had the chance. I’ve heard they’re dangerous.”

“Yep. They’re big, dense, tough, thick hides, some have tusks,nasty, and often in groups. Weigh in at a few hundred pounds of angry meat that refuses to die,” another she-wolf told me. “Not unusual for the screaming to bring other hogs. The harriers have a hell of a job keeping the fangs safe.”

The conversation about the hogs (feral swine were a very serious problem in AmberHowl territory) attracted more people to it, and I was able to slip away through the crowds. Searle had disappeared and left me quite unattended.

I wove my way through the press of wolves. Music pounded and the ocean of wolves moved with its own currents and patterns, and I carefully, casually made my way through the crowd, moving from little cluster to little cluster until I got to a dip in the treeline that was cast in shadows.

I took off my boots and placed them alongside five or six dozen other pairs of boots, sneakers, and shoes lined up along the little shadow pocket. In bare feet, I stepped into the trees, and was instantly wrapped in deep, night shadows. I pushed deeper into the shadows, and once it was so dark I could barely see my hand, I took off my clothes. Panties and bra shoved into the pocket of my jeans. Jeans rolled up tight, flannel wrapped around it, flannel arms crossed and tied to the opposite belt loops to make a backpack. Shouldered it on and shifted into wolf form.

I circled through the shadows, moving in an arc around the side of the hill that would eventually take me to the main drive. I didn’t pick up Sterling’s scent in the brush, but once I got out of the trees, his scent soaked the asphalt drive.

Hah. As inliterally. He’d pissed on someone’s tire. How rude.

Then his scent meandered up the asphalt in a winding pattern before sprinting off into the brush on the other side of the road.

I bounded along the scent trail. It led up the hillside, through dense brush—he’d passed through thickets and brambles, leaving his scent everywhere. It twisted down again into the deep, steep side of the hill that opened up onto acres of dense, dark forest.

His scent grew stronger. I slowed and picked my way through the brush, the dark world washed in many shades of gray, until one of the shades, silvery-blue, moved, and Sterling melted out from behind a rock.

Forest Floor

Ialmost barked, then caught myself and twisted into human form instead. He caught me in his arms as I flung myself at him.

He held me tight, warm and alive and smelling a bit of blood and very much of frustration and violence. “Beautiful wolf, you found me.”

“Of course I found you. Even Jun could have followed the trail you left.”

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