Black Wolf (25 page)

Outside,
there'd be no glass between him and the moon.

He got up,
wrapped a black magesilk blanket around himself like a cloak, and
opened his door quietly. As soundlessly as he could, he made his
way downstairs. It was late April, the air was cool, but he didn't
care; he spread the blanket near the fountain, and sat down on it.
Curiously, he began to explore himself, as one might a new lover,
every touch and every sight new and fascinating. The wind brought
him tantalizing new scents he'd never imagined, couldn't identify,
yet some stirred deep instincts. Earth and wind and moon were one,
and he was one with them, everything around him and inside him had
always been there yet he'd been blind to it.

He laid back,
hands never still; the moon was his lover, the ultimate partner,
this wasn't the quick sexual release he knew, this was loving the
moon and in the doing loving himself, which was another matter
entirely...

The sharper
pleasure of climax, he heard himself cry out. Delicious peace
wrapped around him, and he relaxed utterly into it, nothing in him
prepared to resist.

The only
disruption was the wind and his shivering because of it. The
thought of going inside and getting dressed made him wrinkle his
nose in distaste; he curled up, bare back to the wind, mind busy
with the problem.

A simple
thought made muscles tighten or loosen, changing shape. Surely, in
the magic of the moon, thought could create greater changes? His
instincts told him yes, that was the way, the best solution. All he
had to do was close his eyes and reach deep down inside to the
place where his instincts dwelled, and wish with all his being and
feeling and needing.

Pain shuddered
through him, but pleasure as well, he accepted both joyfully as his
body warped itself into a different form, a form it had never taken
yet which it knew right down to every cell, it was agony and it was
bliss and it was for
this
he'd searched, for the incredible
feeling of being finally truly
whole
...

He writhed
around, got his feet under him, all four of them, and though he
swayed a bit he stood up, shook himself. Much better, the wind
could ruffle his heavy black fur without chilling him. The sounds
and the scents were so dizzyingly strong, calling to him, how could
he ever have not noticed them before?

Walking on
four feet took practice, but he caught on, then tried lengthening
his strides into a run, and discovered another joy: the easy
strength of lupine muscles, tensing and releasing, four feet
hitting the ground in a rhythm that carried him at a speed all out
of proportion to the effort involved. He raced madly all over the
yard, his body zigzagging to avoid obstacles before his mind
consciously registered them; he gathered himself, lunged over a
lawn chair without touching it and caught his stride again on the
other side.

Under a tree,
he picked up a stick, pranced a few yards away to fling it skywards
with a toss of his head, then chased it to repeat the game. After a
number of tries, he grew quick enough to sometimes snatch it right
out of the air. Playfully, he snapped at his own bushy tail, chased
it around and around until he collapsed giddily to the muddy
ground, panting. After a moment, he loped back to the fountain,
jumped up to place his front feet on the rim and lap thirstily at
the cold clean water. Then off he went again.

This time he
investigated scents. One he found over and over his instincts
identified as
alpha wolf
, but he knew too that he had
permission to be in the alpha wolf's territory. Other scents wended
their ways across the yard, ended at trees or holes. By sniffing at
the picnic table, he could pick up so many scents, surely if he
knew them all he'd be able to know everyone who had touched it for
days
.

Following a
trail, he hesitated at the gate. Here in the yard it was safe; out
there, anything could happen.

The moon
wanted him to go, to run far and free, to explore this new world
he'd been given. No walls, he didn't need walls to protect him, or
his leather and denim, or anything else, only himself.

He wavered a
moment longer, turned away from the yard, allowed the enticing
scent to lead him out into the wild woods.

Eventually, he
lost that trail, but that didn't matter. So much lived in the
woods, he'd never dreamed half of it! Scurrying things and flying
things and prowling things, a neighbour's cat he came across dining
on something she'd caught... suddenly everything was alive, and he
belonged here as part of it. He stalked a hare, wriggling on his
belly in the mud, but when he pounced it fled and he couldn't catch
it.

He wandered
blissfully until weariness caught up with him. A little searching
found him a place to curl up, half-under a fallen tree and out of
the wind, and he slept.

* * *

Kevin came
down to the kitchen, found the kettle plugged in and the inner door
open, and no sign of Bane. That was uncommon: though Bane, like
most wolves, had learned to need only a few hours of sleep, he was
also frequently up late enough that Kevin was out of bed before
him. And what was so interesting outside at this hour? He pushed
the screen door open, and stepped onto the porch.

Hanging over
the rail were Bane's robe, worn more for warmth than modesty and
soon to be discarded for the summer, and a black magesilk blanket,
a colour he'd done only for Jess.

Growing
concerned, he sought out his lupine coven-mate mentally, and sent a
query.

*I'll be back
in a minute,* Bane answered; he sounded satisfied over something.
*Nothing's wrong, go have breakfast, I'll be in soon.*

*Jess?*

A silent laugh
echoed in his thoughts. *I do believe the moon was running high in
someone's blood last night.*

Oh? Now that
was interesting! Contrary to popular belief, the full moon was
unrelated to wolf shapechanging. However, if the moon were bright
and a wolf in the right emotional state, it could have a powerful
effect. Some called it moon-madness; wolves called it making love
with the moon, and rarely discussed it in much depth.

Cynthia joined
him while he took cups from the cupboard, no more awake than he had
been until he repeated his brief conversation with Bane.

"He's okay?"
she said excitedly, eyes widening.

"Would seem
so."

True to his
word, not long later Bane came in, naked and mud-splattered, but he
looked pleased as he sat at the table across from Cynthia. Kevin
pushed his usual cup of tea towards him.

"So? Where's
Jess?" Cynthia asked.

"Beats me,"
Bane laughed, reaching for the sugar. "Anywhere in the township, by
now. I was out trying to track him. I know one wolf-cub who had a
hell of a time out in the yard last night—scent trails go
every-which-way so much I can't untangle them. One trail matches a
hare's, he followed it out the north gate, then it doesn't come
back. I tracked him for a good half-mile or more, and it goes
all
over the place."

"He
changed?"

"Yes." That
explained the intense satisfaction. "Jess is out there on four feet
somewhere, I predict thoroughly worn out and asleep by now."

"That's
wonderful! The key part is 'somewhere', though. How are we going to
find him?"

"We
don't."

"Oh, come on,"
Kevin objected. "He doesn't know how to hunt, or anything else,
really. And you want to leave him out there?"

"Yes. He'll be
fine, he can find his way home when he wants to. I'll pass on the
word to friendly wolves to keep an eye out for him, just in case he
does need help, but I doubt it. He's even more of a survivor than
most wolves. Let him go."

Cynthia
sighed. "This must be a wolf thing, because I don't understand. But
all right. You'd know."

"Everything's
all right," Bane assured her. "The moon wanted a lover last night,
and it happened to time itself with Jess being ready to run.
Everything's completely new, there are as many new things to
explore as there are stars in the sky, and he's just been given all
of it. Would you be in a hurry to come back to everyday life?"

Kevin echoed
the sigh. "No, I suppose not. It's just second nature to worry
about Jess these days."

"Don't. He's
probably happier than he's ever been." He looked down at his cup,
and smiled. "I almost envy him. He gets to find everything for the
first time, instead of just growing up knowing it. Ah, well." He
stood up, went to the phone, pressed one of the memory buttons, and
waited. "'Morning, Liam. Is Eva around? I have something important
to tell her. No, I can't tell you to tell her—get her. She'll
forgive you, I promise."

* * *

Twilight.

Jesse woke,
untangled himself from his bed, and stretched lazily before
relieving himself a short distance from his den. He was hungry, he
had to find something to eat, that was of primary importance right
now.

He saw hares,
learned to identify their scent, most often at the edges of the
wooded areas, but he lacked the skill to catch the swift creatures.
There were largish birds that liked to run around on the ground but
they were hard to spot and tended to explode noisily into the air,
disturbing everything in range. He had better success with a few
mice and a squirrel, much to his delight, and devoured each. That
wasn't enough, so he kept searching. He came across a stream,
paused for a long drink, that helped a little.

Where could he
find food?

He had more
sense than to challenge the porcupine he met up with, after it
bristled its quills and turned its tail towards him.

There must be
something he could catch!

He came to the
stream again, and a patch of tender green grass; instinct gave him
a nudge, and he snatched a few bites of that. Tasteless, but it
helped fill his stomach.

He laid down
there in the grass, pondering this dilemma. Food was all around
him, now how could he make use of that? Since he didn't have
experience or a teacher, he'd just have to use his wits.

There was one
highway of note that ran through the township. Maybe he could find
a meal waiting for him?

He wasn't sure
how he oriented himself and found the right direction, but the one
he went in he was certain would take him to it. Deer trails and
people paths let him lope at a more or less steady pace most of the
distance.

He skirted
around houses and farms, finally reached the highway, followed it.
When cars drove by, he flattened himself against the ground in the
shadow of a bush or rock and effectively disappeared, thanks to his
black coat. He ranged some distance, was about to give up when he
smelled something. All was quiet; he darted across the highway to
inspect it. A groundhog, he thought, and not long dead, perhaps
sometime that afternoon. He carried it farther from the highway,
tore into it ravenously, ate everything except a few
noxious-smelling innards and the bones.

There, much
better.

The sun was
creeping over the horizon by the time he finished. On a hilltop he
found a huge flat rock, unshaded by trees, and laid down to lick
away what he could of the mud and bite at the burrs tangled in his
heavy fur. The sun felt good, black absorbed the heat and carried
it to his bones. He finally gave up, rested his head on his paws,
and drowsed away the afternoon in pleasant dreams.

* * *

All right. I'm
not settling for road-kill tonight. I'm going to have real proper
fresh meat.

He'd had to
resort to that again the prior night, after even less success than
he had during his first night completely on his own. It worked, and
his body didn't object, but his pride did. He was a wolf, he
shouldn't have to eat what was already dead!

Determinedly,
he prowled the woods, as stealthily as he could.

Everything had
to drink, right? He oriented on the lake, stayed near the shore
where he could, except where there were houses to avoid.

Aha! A
raccoon, fishing around in the shallow water, and as yet unaware of
his presence.

He circled so
he was downwind, and dropped to his belly, inching his way closer.
That was a respectably large animal, if he could kill it he'd have
an excellent meal. If he could only be careful enough, remember
every detail he'd learned in all his failed attempts for two
nights...

Closer, and
closer, and... pounce at it, grabbing for its neck.

It squealed
and moved; his teeth tore deeply down its side without killing it.
As it ran for the nearest tree, he jumped at it again, the taste of
blood overriding any logic and putting pure instinct in control.
This time he seized it by the back, shook it violently until he
heard bone snap and felt it go limp.

He dropped it,
panting—that was
heavy
. Triumph surged as he nudged the
now-dead raccoon with his nose. He'd killed it! All alone, he'd
hunted and killed and could now enjoy the rewards.

Intensely
pleased with himself, he flipped it over, pinned it with one foot
so he could rip its underside open and give himself access to the
hot innards.