Silver-White (The Great North Woods Pack #1) (24 page)

“My friend bleeds!”

“My friend too!”

“Help them!”

“Abel needs not your help!”

In a flash Erica struck at Evie’s
scruff, ending the argument by pulling a large tuft of hair from her neck. Evie
struck back, and the two young wolves rolled and tumbled through the brush.
Their strikes were heated warnings, not death bites. Neither drew blood until
one of Erica’s fangs dragged over Evie’s white shoulder, tearing through the
hair all the way down to the skin. As Evie yelped a cry of pain, Erica bolted away
after the hunting party.

The silver-white gave her shoulder a
lick as she stood, whining low and nasally. Instinct told her that it was more
of an aggravation wound than a serious one—like a paper cut. Her ears detected
Erica moving away in the distance, and her nose still pinpointed her scent from
the many others lingering in the area.

After a moment she began to follow. She
felt the sharp pain and the heat of the blood with every stride. Her shoulder
refused to work well, and for the next few minutes she could not reach her full
speed. Not even close. Soon, the sounds of the pack behind her were very
distant, as were the sounds of the hunters before her. She stopped once more
and sat back on her haunches to groom her burning shoulder.

Behind her, a dear friend lay wounded terribly.
In her mind, Evie pictured Emmy as she’d last seen her, thrashing in agony,
crying in a tone that broke her heart. Part of her wished to go back and check
on her, but she feared deeply what she would find, what she would see. Another
part of her wished to simply go home, settle, shift, and hide in the
comfortable house until all danger had passed, until her grandfather had
returned. And another part of her still felt compelled forward, to find her
cousin in spite of her aching shoulder, and urge her home.

The silver-white Snow stood again with a
whine in her muzzle.
My pain is nothing
like Emmy’s
, she reminded herself, and started off at a lope, scenting the
ground and brush as she moved. Erica’s scent was there, but it was confused
with the scent of both cat and wolf blood. Still her shoulder ached with every
stride, though she kept reminding herself that it was nothing. She moved on
through the thick woods, following the scents as best as she could for several
minutes, until a stronger scent stopped her in her tracks. Very similar to what
she’d detected before she’d found Dale in the basement, she now smelled human
scent.

Evie dropped her belly to the ground and
held her breath, scanning the dark woods around her
with her ears
pricked. Her eyes caught no movements. Her ears heard faint sounds at her back,
even less from the south before her. Nothing
sounded
close. The human scent was strong, though, and easily
distinguishable from the confusing scents of the bleeding animals she was
following.

After a while she stood nervously.
Taking several light steps, she moved forward, watching for the slightest
movements, listening for the faintest sounds. Dropping her nose to the ground,
she faintly detected Erica and the others. Then, raising her nose high, she
smelled the human strongly on the air moving from the southwest. Between these
two scents she smelled cat. In her nervous state she could not distinguish
whether it was old or new.

Suddenly her mind changed. She knew she had
to get back. The southern woods were no place for her, and she had been foolish
to consider navigating them on her own. With the others behind the Wilson house
she belonged, or on the trail leading home. Here was not a good place, and for
a second she was angry with herself for making such a rash decision.

Evie wheeled around and began loping in
the direction she had come from. Before she could cover much ground, however,
the presence of a cat became alarmingly evident. With the painkiller of fright
driving her, she took off into a run, made several long leaps, and then in a
startled panic pulled herself back in mid-air. She landed awkwardly with a
chill in her spine and every hair on her body standing on end.

From behind, as she’d moved south, a
clever old cat had silently stalked her. Now, before her it slunk low, large
eyes aglow, creeping toward her in the darkness. When it saw that it was
discovered it hissed, “Snow. Lonely white Snow. Where are the rest?”

“Leave,” Evie growled through bared
teeth. Her body was lowered defensively, her paws spread wide, gripping the
earth in preparation for a leap. “One call. One warning. More wolves come.”

“Call,” said the cat, slinking closer.
His tawny coat was striped with fresh scars but not fresh blood. “Lift your
head and cry.”

“You,” Evie snarled. “From last night.”

“Me,” he growled low. “Alone. Too near to
the Snow lands. Easy prey. Leap on me now as you wished to then.”

“Back off!” Evie growled louder,
stamping the ground with her forepaws.

“Smart,” he hissed, still inching
forward. “You know not to leap. Fast learners live long, as the old White has.”

“He will kill you,” Evie warned.

“Will he?” teased the cat. “I have not
seen The White this night. Do the children now fight all battles?”

“Back off!” Evie warned again, making
her closest to a pounce, but reigning herself in at the last moment.

The cat stopped now. His chin appeared
inches from the ground; his eyes flared brightly. “You know now not to charge,”
he growled in a low voice. “But can you evade me? Can you use the trees as I?
Can you outrun me all night with fresh wounds? No, no. The Ludlow hanger is
empty. The White is very far.”

“Abel,” Evie threatened. “He will kill
you.”

“No, no,” sneered the cat. “Abel goes
south for fresh blood. I am afraid you are alone.”

Evie growled her angriest growl. Into it
she poured her pain, her anger over the attack, the injury of Emmy, and the
hatred of her forefathers that raged in her blood. Every muscle in her body
twitched. Every nerve trembled, awaiting the final decision—the signal to
spring into action, to close this cat’s mouth for the last time. She’d never
hated anything more in her life.

“Strike,” growled the cat, pleased that
he had incited her rage. “I am alone. Finish what you began.”

“You first,” Evie snapped. “I move
second.”

A long and strangled hiss issued from
the cat’s mouth; his sides shook and his tail flicked. He was laughing at her.
“Snows were once my greatest fear,” he grumbled. “Now they are soft; the young,
ripe. The old fool has done all we expected.”

Within Evie’s chest her heart beat
strangely—like a double beat, and a sudden explosion of energy spread as
wind-driven wildfire within her. She leapt, snapping her jaws in one direction
as her body twisted in the other. As the cat rose up to meet her, her feet hit
the ground, and she sprang at once from her hind legs to evade his swipe.

“Good,” said the cat when both had
stilled again. But he did not lower himself after his unconnected swipe. Rather
he stood to his full height, nearly eye to eye with the young silver-white, leaving
only a few yards separating them. “I do not fear you,” he jeered, taking a
careful step, “but time runs short. At the least,” he hissed, bearing his teeth
with one clawed paw held from the ground, “I can salvage small victory.”

“Try it,” Evie growled, rolling her
tongue between her gleaming fangs. Every inch of her wolfish body desired to
destroy her enemy. But in her mind the warnings she’d heard of these sly cats
replayed over and again, holding her back. Deep down she understood that she lacked
the skill to handle an experienced cat; the memory of her stricken friend strengthened
this caution. Yet the battle between her body and mind raged every bit as
fiercely as her visible standoff with the cat. By all appearances she was ready
to fight to the death.

Standing straight and long, the cat’s
body suddenly trembled from nose to tail. By this Evie understood that his own intentions
were now settled; his game was over. Every move until then had been in mock—provocations
to stir her rage, and so assess her abilities. But now his mind was made, his
plan of attack settled. Seeing this, sensing it, Evie settled her own mind. She
would not attack; she would only fake the frontal charge the cat hoped for. Her
true intent was to swing around north, spring away and make use of the one strength
she was surest of—her speed.

The old cat hissed, but this time no
words mingled within his sounds. As he stepped forward in confidence, the young
wolf snarled, seemingly poised to make the greatest mistake of her young
life—to rush headlong in her fury, throwing herself into his waiting claws.

***

From his perch high in an unseen tree
stand, a clever old hunter watched silently. Two great animals had wandered
onto his property just south of the center of Ludlow. Being fully absorbed in
their age-old feud, their senses had been distracted, and they had failed to
detect his presence. Now they were staring one another down, warning with
growls, their muscles twitching as they positioned themselves.

Within seconds the hunter knew these
warnings would boil over into battle—one that would probably end in death. He
knew also the elusive speed and toughness of each predator; one shot was all he
would get. Once the roar of his rifle cut the night, injured or not, both animals
would flee. His one shot must count.

Watching down the barrel of his trusty 30-06,
the hunter held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. Like the two
fighters below, his mind was also settled; his sights were fixed steadily. The clean
shoulder shot he’d been watching for had at last presented itself—the cleanest
shot he’d get in such low light. It would not last long.
Only
a second or two more.

Now
, he told
himself.
Now
or
never
.

With a light push of his thumb he
released the safety; his nervous index finger curled around the cold of the untouched
trigger. He squeezed, feeling the immediate kick of the rifle butt against his
shoulder. The barrel tip roared flaming thunder in the dark.

***

Resources
:

For information on Oak Island visit:

www.oakislandtreasure.co.uk

www.unmuseum.org/oakisl.htm

***

Excellent wolf info & documentary:

www.livingwithwolves.org

***

The Great North Woods:

www.visit-newhampshire.com/greatnorthwoods