As long as it helps me forget about the day, fine by me.
14
8:25 p.m.
I stand buck-ass naked under the light of the full moon.
Three hundred other wolves do the same beside me.
The race is about to start. We’re practically chomping at the bits to get it going.
The children watch, some already in their pup forms. This is much too dangerous a game for them to partake.
Lingering clouds clear the face of the full moon…and the shift begins.
It only takes me a fraction of a second to make the change from human to wolf, a feat I’ve prided myself on since I was a pup. The faster the shift, the more powerful the wolf, as the change was a point of vulnerability. Everything in the world of the wolves was about dominance and power.
Akim’s shift is even faster than mine. The fastest in the pack, actually. Which surely means the next transition of alphas is near.
Dreadful anticipation fills me at the thought.
Once Akim took the alpha position, his authority as such would be questioned if the female positioned to mate with him—ahem, that would be me—denied him.
He’d ask me to make it official, and if I refused, he’d have to take another.
I look over at him, where he stands beside me in his wolf form. His beast is utterly black, and as large as any that has ever lived. My mind flashes back to my apartment, to the image of him kneeling between my legs, to those dark eyes and sinful lips devouring me whole.
I must be giving off a hormonal scent, because wolf-Akim turns to me, and his eyes are glowing gold.
Gods damn them, but mine light up in response.
Akim watches me, ears perked atop his head, tail low, power lacing through every muscle and fiber.
Little Nora, still in her human form, crosses in front of the line of gathered wolves. She turned seven a week ago, and is one of my favorite of the pups in the pack, because she reminds me of myself at her age. Quiet but strong, and mostly sure of herself. A firecracker when she needed to be, but otherwise pretty chill.
Nora raises a red flag over her head, excitement dancing in her brown eyes. Low growls and the rustle of movement vibrate through the pack.
Nora drops the red flag.
Her hair flies back as hundreds of wolves dart by her, including myself.
There are five miles between us and the end, where another red flag waits.
Whoever reaches it first, wins.
Gods, it feels good to be running.
It always does.
I leap and bound through the brush, dodging obstacles and weaving between the tightly packed trees of the forest. I’ve run this route a hundred times, like most of the wolves around me, but that doesn’t make it any less treacherous. This land has been kept wild, and it boasts all the features of such care.
Smaller creatures scatter from the path of the stampede. Wolves fight tooth and claw to take the lead, jostling for first place in a tangle of fangs and fur.
Getting to the red flag at the end of the course is the easy part, and many wolves will not even get there tonight. The battles that will ensue once we reached the flag will be even more brutal.
Akim had been winning the flag for the past few years, every time, without fail. Our current alpha—the only adult wolf that did not compete in the races—had certainly taken notice.
Everyone had taken notice. His victories were only part of the reason he’d been slated to be the next alpha.
Of course, he’d have to make Gavin—our current alpha—submit first. But Gavin was getting older, while Akim was nearing thirty years old—a prime age for a male wolf.
I shove these thoughts from my mind as I pull ahead, darting around a couple wolves who have managed to get in front of me while my dumbass was ruminating. Branches and brambles tug at my fur as I push myself harder, the strong muscles in my legs propelling me onward.
I make the conscious choice to lose myself to the sensations, to yield total control to my wolf. My pace increases even more. My wolf has always been one fast motherfucker.
I find myself closing in on Akim. This happens almost every race, but I can never manage to pull past the bastard at the last moment, when it really counts. And just like everyone else in the pack, I’m sure as shit not going to challenge him once he gets that red flag between his jaws.
Others before had tried, and all had failed.
Sheesh, a bitch sure was thinking a lot about Akim Algernon this evening.
“Hey, little wolf.”
As if my damn mind had summoned him.
I respond in the telepathic manner wolves share. “What’s up?”
“Take the flag tonight.”
My already harsh breathing catches in my throat. Akim has never asked me to do this before. And the way he’d said it had not really been a question.
It had been a command.
He’s never commanded me to do anything before, either.
Now I’m all flustered and confused and shit because normally I rail against being ordered to do something, one of the reasons I have such a hard time with my current employment situation.
But gods help me, when Akim gives his order, my initial instinct is not to rail against it.
My initial, gut instinct is to give in.
As if I’d been commanded to do so by my alpha.
15
9:00 p.m.
To take the flag, or not to take the flag, that is the question.
And I have maybe half a minute to decide.
Any kind of hesitation on my part could cost Akim the flag entirely, as the other wolves were currently chomping at our heels to reach the damn thing first.
What does it mean if I take it?
What does it mean if I don’t?
Acceptance or denial.
Simple as that.
Thirty seconds isn’t nearly enough time to decide such a thing. Then again, I suppose,
