Taken In by the Pack: Second Chances (14 page)

I felt vaguely miffed for a moment, until I realized what she meant. Everyone was stripping.
Oh, right. Changing into wolves with clothes on would probably be awkward at best.

I felt my cheeks get hot; I was sure I was blushing brilliantly. This part would take serious getting used to. For now, I just ducked my head, letting my long hair fall forward to screen my face, and turned it to the side, so that all I could really see were Bryson’s feet.

I could hear teasing and laughter and general sounds of excited high spirits. The group was also pressing in closer to the log-bench that Bryson and I were on. I became aware of another sound, then, in addition to the voices and the sounds of clothing being removed. Or maybe it was felt, rather than heard? Regardless, it was like a soft crackling hum, like a barely-heard tone on a radio station with poor reception. It made my head feel itchy.

When I saw paws pacing through my limited field of vision, I realized it must be the pack shifting to wolf form. Huh. I hadn’t noticed that when Bryson had changed, before. Was I becoming more sensitive to them, or was I just so busy being freaked out I hadn’t noticed, before?

“You can look, now,” Bryson murmured to me with a laugh in his voice. I looked up to him with a playful smirk, then took his suggestion and glanced around.

Holy crap.

A few dozen wolves may not sound like much, but when they’re all pressed in close to you, it looks like a LOT. Particularly packed in unnaturally close together, and eerily still. I thought they looked a good bit bigger than normal wolves, too, though maybe that was simply due to their proximity.

I took a moment to admire them. Just as in their human forms, they were varied in every way in their wolf forms. They ranged from pale grey through the whole spectrum to deep black. I couldn’t help thinking that, also as in human form, none of them quite compared to how gorgeous Bryson was.

Bryson looked around the group, as if searching for something in particular, but whatever it was, he must have found it (or not found it?) because he then hopped down off the bench, shucked his pants — I averted my gaze, though I couldn’t help appreciating his butt; it was a very, very lovely butt, much like the rest of him — and began to transform. I closed my eyes at that, not wanting to watch the disconcerting process.

I felt a soft, supportive sort of nudge and pressure against my arm, I assumed from the Madge-wolf. I opened my eyes to look down at her. She was pale, like her grandson, but a cool steely color instead of warm cream, and her face was nearly white from the canine version of grey hair. I hesitated, not wanting to offend, but couldn’t resist; I reached down to pet her head gently. I was no expert at wolf expressions, but she didn’t
seem
to mind.

Once the strange itchy-humming sensation faded again, I looked back where Bryson had been. There was that gorgeous honey-and-cream wolf again. I was quite certain he was larger than regular wild wolves; he stood a full head taller than the next largest in the pack.

❖ ❖ ❖

The big cream colored wolf —
Bryson
, I reminded myself,
it’s Bryson
— padded over to me, and promptly licked my cheek. I laughed and spluttered; it felt like his tongue was almost as wide as my face! From the way his ears pricked forward and his eyes lit up, he seemed to get a kick out of my reaction. He continued to lick several more times, until my sides hurt from laughing so much. It was a bizarre feeling, sitting in the middle of a small sea of wolves, being essentially tickled by one of them. The only one of them really moving, at that.

After a few moments, he looked at me with what I could only describe as a wolfy grin, and lay his big head in my lap, his ears drooping to the side a bit, looking very relaxed.

The way he did that seemed significant somehow; almost ritualistic. Of course, knowing almost nothing about this wolfy culture, I had no idea what that significance might be.

Not knowing what else to do, I stroked his head gently, just as I would have to soothe a dog, running my fingers over the tiny soft hairs on the top of his muzzle, between his eyes, then back over the dome of his skull, repeating the gesture several times. He seemed to enjoy it, his eyes closing halfway, and he gave a sort of low rumbling sound, vaguely reminiscent of a cat’s purr, except much deeper and quieter.

He seemed to be expecting something, but I had no idea what. “Uhm… have fun? Hurry back?” I chuckled faintly, feeling rather silly. I doubt that was what he was waiting for, but he seemed to accept it anyway. He lifted his head from my lap, then tilted it back, and let out one loud yip towards the sky. It startled me so much I nearly fell off the log.

There was a tension in the air, a sort of quivering, like a coil ready to spring. The off-white Bryson-wolf looked over the gathered pack, gave me one last look, then leapt in the direction of the forest. Big as he was, he covered the distance within seconds. With a barrage of yips and little excited whines, the rest of the wolves took off after him, fanning out to go in various directions into the woods. It was a majestic sight, all those wolves moving with such unison of purpose, more like flocking birds than most dog packs I’d seen.

Of course, these were no ordinary wolves, let alone dogs. I wondered idly how much human-level thought and memory they had while in their wolf forms. I’d have to remember to ask Bryson at some point. Obviously, they retained at least some, given his behavior, and their almost eerie coordination.

I noticed that there were a few stragglers, who took much longer than the others to make it into the woods. One was the steely grey wolf that had nudged me earlier, that I had to assume was Madge. Rather than the exultant run that the others had taken, she was trotting along at a much more relaxed pace. Another wolf stayed by her side, a big brindled brown male, though he seemed to be practically vibrating at restricting himself to her pace. I thought maybe it was Elijah, though of course I had nothing of substance to base that guess on. There was another pair further down the meadow that also kept to a sedate pace.

Soon enough, though, I was left alone in the meadow. Suddenly the night seemed very deep, and I got up to add another log to the fire, pushing back the darkness a bit more.

❖ ❖ ❖

Soon enough, I was glad for the light sweater I’d brought. The log bench I occupied was far enough back from the fire that it wasn’t quite managing to keep me warm, particularly my back. I considered moving up to sit on the ground closer to the fire, but the occasional burst of sparks dissuaded me. It was a remarkably pleasant evening, though, the full moon gilding everything in silver, the dancing flames entrancing.

The night was eerily quiet, for the most part. The scent and sounds of so many predators in the area must have silenced much of the normal nightlife. There were still crickets, and the occasional frog call, but the usual birds and small mammal calls and other such sounds were absent. They were replaced, however, by the occasional yip or even howl from the wolves. In other circumstances, it probably would have been terrifying; as it was, it was rather exhilarating.

Awe inspiring as it had been to see the assembled wolf pack, I still wasn’t sure why Bryson had wanted me here tonight so badly. The small amount of time we’d spent together while waiting for the last folks to show up, pleasant as it had been, had hardly been worth the drive out here. Of course, they would be coming back eventually, too, but I had figured they would all be exhausted and ready to go home and go to bed at that point. So why was I here? What was the point? Just to start getting me familiar with the pack, and they with me? Perhaps just to make me feel welcome, and wanted?

Certainly tonight I had felt welcome, and Bryson and his grandmother, at least, definitely made me feel as though I were wanted here. I had to admit it was a pleasant feeling. My mother had always been a very caring and loving parent, but besides her and Angie, I hadn’t felt much of a sense of belonging in far too many years. My mother kept trying to convince me to try and join a sports team at the college or something like that, since I tended to be so athletic, but I didn’t want the additional time obligation that would entail. Keeping up with my schoolwork was hard enough as it was.

So did I really want to obligate myself to this pack? Surely there was more to it than a romp in the woods one night a month; could I afford the distraction?

Ugh, why didn’t I push Bryson for information while he was here?
I had myriad questions, many of which would have a bearing on the decisions I faced. I wanted, even
needed
answers, and I kept neglecting to get them.

At least Madge seemed intent on getting me properly informed. I got the distinct impression that she was hoping very much that I would accept Bryson’s offer, such as it was. Though, I still wasn’t even sure what exactly it
was
he was offering. Dating? Marriage? Just to get me pregnant, end of story?

Every time I heard one of the howls in the woods, I felt a little answering tug in my chest. Bryson had said that just being around the pack had begun to change me, would change me more, and I could recognize that now. When he first told me what was going on — was it really only yesterday? — I had fluctuated between horrified and terrified. That fear and distaste had faded rapidly, though. Tonight, while I was still uncertain and a little uncomfortable, I was also, for the most part, glad that I was here, even if I didn’t quite understand the reason for it.

At some point as I sat there by the fire, listening to the sounds of the pack, I realized I very much wanted to be
out there
with them; to know what they were doing, to run beside them, to join in the sense of both ultimate freedom and true belonging.

To share this wonder and magic with Bryson, and run at his side.

Chapter Ten

The abnormal quiet of the night was suddenly broken by a burst of noise; barking, baying, yipping, howling, ringing out and shattering the silence. It was disorienting, and it was more than a little frightening, truthfully. Was something wrong? Had someone been hurt? I vividly remembered Bryson mentioning that his father had been killed by another pack; surely if such a thing were a danger now, he would have said something, would have given me some warning?

I stood, staring wide-eyed at the blank black wall of trees, which was all I could see of the forest despite the bright silvery moonlight. The sound of my heartbeat hammering in my ears drowned out much of the sound, as adrenaline spiked through my body. I trembled in apprehension, my breath coming in sharp, deep gasps.

I was completely torn in petrified indecision, my mind racing like crazy, but in useless little circles. What should I do? Should I even do anything?

I could only think of three options: try to go into the forest to find out what was going on — that seemed like a bad idea to say the least; stay here and wait and see if anyone came back or if any danger presented itself — this seemed to be what Bryson had intended, but if something had happened, should I continue to simply wait here if there was danger now? And finally, I could retreat to my car, lock the door, and be prepared to take off if I saw any sign of danger.

The third option seemed like it was probably the wisest; an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure and all that. I would be safe in the car from all but the most extreme situations, and it seemed unlikely to be anything that critical. However, it felt cowardly; would I lose face in the eyes of the brave, strong wolves of the pack? Would Bryson see me as too skittish to be a good partner for him? Of course, that would all be moot if I got killed through inaction.

Over the pounding of blood in my ears, I could hear the tumult of sound growing louder, closer. Whatever was happening, it was heading this way.

Going to try and find out for myself what was happening just wasn’t a viable choice. Part of me wanted to be brave and stay put, but the more cautious part of me kept insisting that it was not cowardly to take simple precautions, and if they thought less of me for it that was their own problem, not mine.

Amid the chaotic noises, I heard a loud, keening yelp that cut off abruptly. Judging from my experience with dogs, it sounded like one of the wolves had been injured. I was rapidly moving from ‘worried’ to ‘panicked’.

I had just finally made up my mind and was starting to turn towards my car, when the first of the wolves broke out of the shadowed darkness of the tree line.

I didn’t immediately recognize the first one, nor the second, or third, but then, I would probably only have been able to recognize two or three of them anyway out of the whole pack — Bryson, Madge, and the big brown-brindle that I thought might be Elijah. These wolves at least didn’t look threatening, anyway; despite not recognizing them as individuals, I was fairly sure they were ‘my’ wolves.