It wasn't the pup's fault they were born half wolf, so why did everyone act like it was such a big deal?
At night, when she'd listen to him howl, she'd nearly want to wail back her disappointment. For it seemed they were not truly welcome anywhere, and her babies could sense it, though her folks doted on them.
Molly, ironically was the only one who treated them normally, and Chessa did like to take her naps with her as Molly purred. But the dogs...
As days passed quickly, she was seeing more and more of that man who had taken Luci, who'd named him The Hellhound, made him kill. She saw him rooting about the shed, saw him looking at her and her pups. She always carried them away up onto the deck, sitting on the edge protectively, keeping an eye on that man.
During a border fight, it happened.
Guider was ripping the life out of the rival pack's favorite daughter. The retribution for that would affect the entire pack. He'd intervened. It had escalated.
It all came down to the fact that Guider was old and he was not.
And he acted his innocent part as the pack stood around in shock, though heaviness dragged his shoulders down. They did not know he'd been the one to do it.
With his alpha the only obstacle to him changing this pack to a safe haven for his family, the one thing he would not do was touch Stryga. He wouldn't need to.
Months later, during a hunt, she was caught underfoot, as he'd seen Annabella been those two times before. Only she could not get out and away in time.
She died of her injuries in the den.
The night was filled with mournful howls, whining from her grown pups. He could not bring himself to join the howling, just looking to her body, muted grief and triumph fighting in him.
For the very next morning, he was regarded as alpha.
The sudden shift in power was different, nearly overwhelming, but there was something in it that spoke to him– freedom. He had freedom at last.
Chessa jumped off her man's lap once the door was opened, and she lead her pups outside, only to stop them, dragging Dante back by his scruff as she saw the man approaching, the one with a sagging face, a long coat, and teeth-scarred hands.
"Pups, get back inside."
Everyone knew what he hung around for.
He wanted her pups. It looked like the dogs were not the only ones who recognized who her babies so much resembled.
Her hackles raised at him as her woman came to stand beside her, greeting the man.
Quinn as peeking out. "Quinn, back," she snapped.
It took a long while, too long, but her folks sent him on his way.
She did not let her pups out to play with Pexa's that day. She kept them inside, and stuck close to them. Her folks watched her with sympathetic eyes; she thought they knew. And they knew she knew, too.
Besides, Pexa always thought her pups played too roughly.
The next day, when she did allow them to go out, she kept close by them, laying down in a sunny spot as she watched them frolic and bite at each other; maybe they did play rough...
She recalled how frightening it had been when Luci and her had first begun to play, but now, she supposed it was a good thing that she was used to it to keep up with her babies, though they grew bigger and bigger every day. Dante was already up to her shoulders, Quinn not far behind. Chessa's one ear did not stand up very straight, and she was smaller, but kept up with them just as well. Dante was the mediator between them.
Listening to the bird song, eyes growing sleepy as she watched her puppies, she soon rested her head and closed her eyes, relying on her sense of smell and her hearing until those, too, faded away as she dozed in the warm sunlight.
She was– Ah, only napping. Thank goodness.
And the pups did not look worried in the slightest as they fought playfully over a stick.
Heart beating fast, he took his chance, not even thinking about it as he stepped out of the tree-line, just watching silently.
They noticed after a moment.
His blond son and his daughter trotted up, unsure, while his darker son began to growl and stood his ground, tailing them as if their self-appointed little body guard.
No words were spoken as his son toddled up to his legs, as they exchanged sniffs, as he shied his blond head away when he moved.
He leaned over to give his daughter a good sniff as well.
Then, slowly, his other son came to investigate as well.
"Wait, I recognize you!" his blond son exclaimed.
As his darker son and daughter sniffed around his back legs, his lighter son asked him point blank, tail straight up, "Who are you anyway? I think Mama knows you."
"I look like him," his darker son said quietly to his sister.
He heard his daughter whisper back, "Wolf."
He swallowed, ducking his head to take in more of their scent– he couldn't get enough– "I'm–"
Sharp and barked and running fast, he heard, "PUPS! COME AWAY!"
They jumped, but ran back over to their mother who stopped, out of breath, eyes wide on him, shoulders hunched as if ready to spring.
He couldn't move, looking into her eyes.
For, yes, there was fear, but there was something else too that was mirrored in him. Her panting was coming much more slowly. He leaned forward, almost taking a step, but–
He heard something slam behind her in the town and it startled him enough to stride away, running back into the woods.
She sat where she was, watching him go, a deadly concoction of it seemed every emotion stewing in her chest.
"Mama, was that–" Chessa began.
She cut her off, telling her, "I'll tell you later," nosing them into action, sending them off towards the house.
She dropped them off with a sleepy Molly while she returned to the edge of the forest, sniffing about, taking in his scent like it was addictive, soft whines escaping her. But he was gone. It should have been a good thing.
For the past few days now after the incident with his pups that he couldn't stop thinking about, he'd been getting pestered by one persistent shewolf. Without another breeding pair, everyone's dynamics were confused. It would make sense since he led most things for him to be a part of that duo. She was attempting to be the other.
And attempting to get him to be affectionate.
He simply stood up and left every time she tried to brush against him. He growled and disciplined her appropriately when she tried to be teasing and get her legs over his shoulders, and she'd always submit too readily, her tail wagging to appease.
But he wanted none of it.
She was doing it right now, whining around him, pushing him with her paws.
"Lenca," he growled, "I'm going to tell you this one last time. Enough." He stood, and she instantly rolled and hunkered. He didn't back down yet; she needed to learn. "Don't push me like this again. I have no interest. I will never have interest. And you will leave me be or skies help me–"
She was already licking at his chin submissively, and he'd grown accustomed to it, though it brought him no joy.
This brought him no joy.
He sent her off.
He sat himself back down. This was hell.
He had a pack to lead, and yet his mind was far elsewhere, consumed by the thought of her, his mate, his only, and the growing pups that looked like him. It was like a wildfire that had kept burning, no end in sight, destroying him, yet, keeping him alight. The day that fire smoldered to ash was the day he knew his world around him would crumble. There would be no rebirth from that.
The season was turning colder and crisper, some leaves going orange, though many of these trees remained green.
Her pups were nearly as big as she, though they still looked very much like pups, not hardly fully grown. They were much bigger than Pexa's, that was for sure.
She watched them all romping about in the leaves, Molly laying beside her, telling her the best way to keep claws filed sharp. Dante had found a twig still bearing leaves on it, and carried it around like a trophy until Quinn tackled him and one of Pexa's– Jojo– snatched it from him, prompting him to go chasing after her. His long legs soon caught her and she squeaked as he wrestled it from her, snarling somethin' awful. But he wasn't hurting her. It was just a lot of air. She knew her baby.
She kept her eye on the trees, trying to search for that yellow-green amidst the tall trunks. If he was there, he would not let her see him this time.
It looked like they were headed for an early winter this year, judging from the way the air smelled of humidity, snow.
She couldn't wait to see her puppies playing in the snow, to ask her in their little voices that didn't sound half as little anymore what this white stuff even was.
But before that, the unthinkable came to pass.
One night, as she was just bringing the pups in, waiting on the deck to be let in for the night, from the corner of her eye, she saw the man that stalked them like they were prey.
"Pups, keep behind me," she growled, putting herself between them, beginning to bark.
He'd take them; she knew he'd take them, he had ropes and bags in his hand. He'd put them through what their father had had to endure, and her babies might not be so lucky.
Rage coursing through her as he came closer with a limping step, she took her own steps forward to him, snarling constantly, looking him in the eye.
He didn't seem to care; she supposed he'd seen his share of growling dogs before.
So, not even thinking, she ran off the porch, and lunged for him; he cried out as she buried her teeth into his arm, hanging there, throwing her around until her jaw strength failed her and she was flung against the ground, winded.
He hovered over her.
Why weren't her folks coming out?! Were they not home!?
Once, twice, he kicked her while she was down, and she yelped each time, struggling to get away.
"RUN!" she shrieked to the pups, "THE WOODS! GET TO THE WOODS!"
She stepped between the man and them again as they scrabbled off the deck, dashing out behind the house.
The man hollered something behind him, and, to her horror, a massive, short-furred beast of a dog came barreling her way.
She took a deep breath–
If he was there–
And she howled for all she was worth, head straight back, letting the note swell until she did not have time–
She barely had her hackles raised when the dog slammed into her, snarling wordlessly, his teeth in her skin, shaking her like she was a toy, throwing her a ways, then running to her and scrabbling at her again as their jaws clashed, as she bit at his legs, his paws, whatever she could get at–
Bleeding, she ripped herself away, eyes wide as she turned tail and ran for all she was worth, seeing her pups get to the trees. No, she could not follow them...
She changed course, pelting for a different area on the tree-line, the area that smelled of the pack. Maybe– if they found them in time– they'd go after the bigger offender and she'd be free to run off, tail between her legs.
At least it was away from her pups, her precious babies.
At the tree-line, the dog tackled her once more, brawn overwhelming her considerably as he tossed her over the threshold
But, at no call from his master, he began backing away, as if he could not cross that line, and she remembered with her fuzzy head, her limbs, her body aching, bleeding and bruised: the wolves' scent was laid down here. The irony was nearly enough to laugh at.
He left her there, turning anxiously, leaving, and it was all she could do to keep her head up for the moment, looking behind her, half expecting to see–
Ah... But no one was there. Him or otherwise.
Her pups!
Heaving herself up, limping, breaths heavy and clouding the air, she skirted through the trees with considerable pain, considerable effort, though all she wanted to do was drown here in the earth and let the pain overwhelm her. She could not. She had greater responsibilities.
That howl had him tearing out of the den, disturbing his pack, had him on a mad dash through the trees, over rocks, rises, rivers, to get to the town, heart in his throat, fear of what he might find there burning his lungs, his insides, lending speed to his feet.
A gentle snow fell onto him as he stopped there at the tree-line behind her house.
He smelled blood. But there was no sign of her, nor the pups to be seen.
Skies above, blood was pungent in the air, bringing him back to a time where snow had not dampened the scents trapped in a dirt square. But here it did. He followed the trail on the ground, all the way over to that accursed shed he'd once been trapped in.
He tried to see inside the house.
She was not there.
So that must have been her scent amid the trees. She must have fled. Did she take the pups? He did not see them in there.
But...
He followed the pups' scent all the way back to the trees, stopping, looking up as the snow began to cover the ground, numbing his nose, dulling the scents.
Still, he continued, rubbing his face to the ground, trying to get more of their scent, trying to commit it to memory.