The Wolf Inside Me 2
Published by Cora Adel at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Cora Adel
A cold, wet nose nudged Damon’s shoulder, and his eyes shot open. There, directly in front of his sleepy face, was a humungous grey wolf with bright yellow eyes. It was grinning.
“Get up.” It said, teeth shining. “You’re making the hunting pack late.”
“Aw, shit.” Damon said as he sat up. His head pounded in protest. Last night’s Alpha ritual had begun to take its toll.
“I’ll see you outside.” Kreios growled. He was getting impatient. “Don’t make us wait any longer.”
The great grey wolf lumbered out of Damon’s tent and the flaps closed behind him to seal out the cold winter air.
Damon stood and stretched and silently began his transformation. Thick, auburn colored hair with black streaks budded from his pores. His coat shone in the dim light that peeked through his tent flaps, and he felt his ears and nose elongate into a rugged snout. He opened his mouth, giving his teeth room to transform into sharp fangs and, unable to hold it back, a small amount of saliva escaped his jaws and dripped onto the floor of his hut. Damon leaned forward, settling down on all four paws, and sniffed the cold morning air. He loved the first few moments after transformation, when all of his senses peaked at the same time.
Damon closed his eyes and listened. A small rabbit, he guessed no more than two pounds, jumped through the snow just outside his tent, and Damon’s augmented ears could hear the snow crunch under its feet. He breathed deep and smelled its blood as it pumped through its tiny veins. Satisfied, he opened his eyes and leapt forward, bursting through his tent entrance to convene with the hunting party.
“Nice of you to join us, Alpha.” Bruno snarled. His jet black fur and red eyes were frightening in the low morning light, but Damon ignored his comment.
Bruno was still upset about the ritual, and Damon hoped he would get over it soon. He wanted his friend back. Next to Bruno stood Zell, the pale wolf had been on several of these hunts before, he was a seasoned veteran. He nodded at Damon.
“What are our plans this day, pack leader?” Damon asked. Kreios led the hunt this morning; he would be planning the days… festivities.
“A small pack of Dire’s have been spotted at the northern boundary of our lands.” The great grey wolf began. “They must be reminded to not test us.” His fangs flashed, and saliva dripped down the fur on his huge jaws.
Damon gnashed his teeth and flexed his paws, digging his sharp claws deep into the soft ground beneath him. Just the mention of Dire wolves made his hackles stand up, turning his fur to needle points.
Dire wolves were werewolves, like Damon and his clan, but they had lost any and all humanity they had once possessed. Fallen prey to the bestial side of the gift, they roamed the land mindlessly, slaughtering anything unfortunate enough to cross their path. Damon’s original wolf pack was among the numbers killed, and had Kreios not saved him at the last moment, he would not be here today. He could still hear their screams…
“We will crush them.” Damon snarled. “Guide us, pack leader.”
Kreios turned and sped northward, his muscular legs propelling him forward and throwing puffs of dirt behind. The other three wolves followed in order of ranking: Zell, then Damon, and finally Bruno. They thundered out of camp and disappeared into the surrounding forest.
The hunting party ran on without breaks, save a midmorning meal of rabbit, through the deep forest, over fallen trees and bushes, through dark valleys and down steep mountain ridges. Tongues lolled out of the werewolves’ mouths and fur shone slick with sweat, and finally, when the sun had begun its decent, Kreios stopped and sniffed the air. The other members of the pack strode beside him, each in turn sniffing with him.
“They have been here.” Damon said with a snarl, panting hard after the strenuous run. “Recently. I can smell them on the wind.”