Bounds Of Love (BWWM) #Wattys2018

Chapter 12

The first thing I notice is that there's a fierce mumbled discussion going on between a set of adults. When I tune in a little harder I can also hear the heavy breathing of multiple individuals. From my far right, where I assume the treeline is, there is the popping of bones and rustling as someone shifts and dresses.

I focus on the conversation since it's the easiest thing to do whilst getting back autonomy of my limbs. The odd word breaks through my daze, usually said by one of three voices I've never heard before.

One of the voices is definitely feminine, strong but soft. The other two voices are deep, the timbers of fully grown males. Whilst two of the voices are speaking mildly, the third (a male with the voice that's beginning to grate) is arguing passionately. He sounds like he thinks he's too important – an alpha wannabe trying to impose false control. He directs words such as as “forced”, “control”, “deny” and “danger” towards the poor souls who probably just want the grumpy person to shut up.

When there's a lapse in his babble the other two respond with even tones, like trained diplomats. It doesn't take me long to draw parallels between the third person and a child throwing a tantrum, trying to sound grown. Then, the cycle repeats.

They hurt my still sensitive ears, so I block them out again and try to move the rest of my body. I twitch my nose, lip curling slightly over my fangs. Then, I swipe my numb tongue back and forth across the smooth surface of my teeth until the fuzziness in my mouth fully disintegrates.  Eventually, I find the strength to not only move, but support my form on my hind legs.

All noise immediately ceases. There's a scuffle and quiet padding, as if someone is discretely walking away. 

The relief of my wolf is evident as she nudges her presence forward to help me assess the situation. I turn my head from side to side evaluating my climate, the fur on my head tossing back and forth in the brief self made wind. There's a dead rabbit, mostly chewed and only made distinguishable by its intact left leg.

Huh, I guess my wolf did take over for a while. But, if her only victim is an unlucky rabbit or two, I'm okay with that. Maybe I can use it’s leg as a lucky charm. I scrunch up my nose as I suddenly think of rotting carcass. Maybe not.

I'm loosely surrounded by numerous strangers all in human form. A small group is glancing at me nervously, in flimsy scraps of material I think are meant to be swimming costumes. Some of the group are dressed identically. The costumes are probably in different tones but look the same to my wolf - the curse of our reduced colour receptors. There's around seven of them, a mix of girls and boys my age or younger. When they see me looking, they freeze for a moment in fear or shock before whispering conspiratorially amongst one another. I almost snort when I see them slowly backing away back into the pack house. They were probably just nosy kids trying to get in on the commotion.

Then there's a larger group of fifteen people that look older, fiercer. Some of them must be the patrol we gathered on the way in, only wearing loose shorts and the odd tank top for the females. They stand with false relaxation, but their eyes are like daggers they'd like to thrust into my back at any sign of danger. One in particular, who seems slightly more built than the rest, is glaring especially hard.

He could be attractive - insanely so - if he wasn't trying so hard to be scary. He's seriously intimidating, with tattoos covering the majority of his chest, arms and the tops of his thighs peeking out behind the shorts. Muscle coats his entire body, rippling with subtlety beneath the strange artwork on his abdominal as he takes a measured step forwards. His scowling mouth lets out a low, throaty growl. My wolf almost growls back, but I stop her just as our mouth works into a snarl. I don't want to anger someone who clearly has enough dominance to be important to the pack. That won't get me anywhere. Especially since his wolf form would probably overpower mine.

I'm almost shocked at the instinctive revelation. He's stronger than my most savage form? It would be depressing if I didn't know how naturally strong I truly am. Plus, it assures me once and for all I didn't do any damage. The way he's looking at me assures her would've gladly taken me out - and I don't mean on a date - before letting that happen.

As my eyes linger on his toned body I can’t help but wonder who he is. I know he’s a fighter by his stance, like he’s ready to spring into action at any second. And I know he’s an authority of some kind by the ripple of testosterone that his body emits when I accidently look into his brown eyes too long. I’m almost afraid to inhale, scared the aggressive hormone will trigger me to do something I’ll later regret.

Power like this doesn't come from just any wolf: he's trained to defend, to intimidate, to fight and leave the enemy torn limb from limb. Every pack has one of him – a single individual equally as strong as the betas physically with the ability to command an army.

The pack warrior.

And he's glaring right at me.

***
A/N

Sorry it's a tad late. Bad day. I realised I don't have the grades I need to go to a Russel Group University I've been wanting to attend for a while and that my chance to correct that isn't as viable an option as I presumed. *Sigh*

This is why revision is important. Anyway...

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