Tu crois le tenir, il t'évite
Tu crois l'éviter, il te tient -
L'amour!
You try to catch it, it evades you
You try to evade it, it holds you fast -
That's love!
- Carmen, by Bizet
After
Kit stopped for a moment, breathing in crisp, cold air and the scent of dust and fir trees. The nights in the Rocky Mountains were already frosty.
Between the tall, twisting branches above him he could spot a crescent moon. It was almost three weeks until the full moon, so he should be able to pass here safely.
On enemy territory.
As soon as he moved pain shot through his body, radiating out from his back and shoulder. It took increasing effort to continue padding along silently, his whole body acing. Digging his paws into the hard, packed sandstone dust, he forced himself to keep going, panting around the bundle clamped between his jaws.
For over a week now he had been travelling like this - weaker, sicker, and more exhausted with every hour that passed. He had tried licking the wound but it smelled bad, oozing pus and pounding rather than searing now. Every time he changed shape it opened, spilling precious blood and sticking to his clothes.
He could not go on like this much longer.
Being in wolf shape made it easier to endure and think only of what was in front of his paws, but his human heart knew that within a few days he would be dead.
Unless he could make it to a road and a hospital. To humans.
Kit growled, disgusted. Then he quieted, flicking his ears around. Shit. Had he given away his position?
Yesterday he had crossed over from the wilds of the Rockies into the territory of an unknown pack of werewolves. He had hesitated at their scent marking, trying to discern their numbers and strength. At least four young males...but that might just be one patrol.
The last time he did something like this he had been sixteen and it had been a full moon. He'd been alone and new to his wolf form... That time, the pack had swiftly chased him down, beat him within an inch of his life, and tossed him out again. It had been his first, and last, encounter with other werewolves.
But Kit wasn't a pup anymore and if the pack he was trespassing on now found him he would be only so much dead meat.
He was in no condition to fight or even run. But Hell, if he waited around at their border for another patrol he would be dead anyway, from starvation and infection.
I know which way I would rather go out, he thought, treading on.
A breeze picked up, rustling the leaves around him. Kit turned to the west slightly, skirting around a small meadow. Suddenly the wind turned, a gust blowing into his nose from across the open space. Kit's bundle dropped from his jaws, falling to the ground with a thud.
He inhaled, catching the scent again just as two large, dark shapes detached themselves from the shadows on the other side of the meadow.
Shit.
Kit drew back, turning to flee, and a searing pain shot through him. It pulled him up short, drawing a pathetic whimper from his throat. Double shit.
The two dark shapes flowed forward, materialising into wolves. Huge, dark brown wolves with glossy fur and white blazes down their chests, their muscles rippling as they turned towards him.
One of them, slightly smaller than the other, took a step forward and stared at Kit for a full two seconds. Then he lunged.
With four impossible leaps he crossed the space between them, snarling. Just as his fangs were about to close around Kit's neck he was yanked back, thrown to the side to reveal his even bigger pack member.
Kit took the only chance left to him. Ignoring the pain he threw himself to the ground in front of the huge werewolf, rolling to reveal his pale, soft underbelly in a gesture of complete surrender.
He knew he should look away (staring was considered a challenge, right?) but he just couldn't turn his eyes from the figure towering over him.
Would those bare fangs rip through his flesh? Would he die here...like this? There was nothing he could do about it if he was. There was no use crying or begging.
He was alone here and no-one was coming to save him.
Hot breath fanned over his throat. A cold, wet nose skimmed along the soft, light grey fur under his chin. The wolf loomed over him, his musky scent filling his nostrils. Instead of biting down, he pulled back.
When dark amber eyes locked onto his, Kit felt a shock run through him. Not of pain...but of pleasure. He shivered, suddenly feeling very exposed.
What the Hell...
The large wolf standing over Kit looked over at his companion. His stance was dominant but not aggressive and his pack mate seemed wary, but no longer bloodthirsty. After a pause, they relaxed.
Both sniffed Kit and then backed up, giving him space. He exhaled and rolled over onto his side, tucking his paws in under him. The two wolves started trotting away, halting after a few paces to glance back at him. One of them tossed his head.
Right you are, Kit thought, scrambling up with a hiss and grabbing his bundle again. He followed them.
It seemed like hours later when they reached two cars parked at the end of an old dirt road. One was a dirty black land rover, the other a blue pick-up truck. Kit's body was shaking uncontrollably - he tried to force it to still, but even his wolf vision was clouding now. Every step sent a fresh wave of pain and throbbing through his body.
The two werewolves shape-shifted in front of their cars. Kit stared as their wolf bodies cracked, and morphed, stretching, bones popping. He had never seen anything like it.
Suddenly two naked men got up off the ground in front of him, brushing themselves off and pulling clothes out of the trunks of their cars.
They were so alike they had to be related. Through his hazy eyes Kit couldn't help but register that they were both tall, muscled, and tan, one leaner and more sinewy, the other buff. They both looked like they might be in their mid twenties, the more muscled one perhaps a bit older. And slightly taller. So he had been the bigger wolf...
'He' was busy buttoning a flannel shirt over his toned chest while his packmate pulled a pair of faded jeans over his shapely buttocks... This was so not the time to be ogling them.
Snap out of it. You're still in danger, he tried to tell himself, before giving in and staring. If dying was unavoidable he might as well get an eyeful first, goddammit.
The tallest werewolf crossed his arms over his chest. Light brown liquid eyes, like dark beer, stared evenly at him, thick, brown hair falling into them.
"Change, pup," he ordered.
Kit started. He had lost track of where he was for a moment. It must have been the fever. Still, changing in front of someone... He didn't want them to see how injured he was.
Backing away, he tucked in behind a nearby bush that somewhat shielded his body. Focusing, he imagined being human, feeling his human limbs. Breathing out, he felt his shape slipping, joints popping, bones sliding over other bones.
It hurt, and more than anything it felt uncontrollable, unstoppable once it had started. Like diving head first into and ocean wave and letting it spin you around, not knowing where or when you might resurface.
He fell forward, gasping and then cursing himself for it. They could hear everything!
Oh God...the pain was so much worse in human form. Barely endurable... He could feel blood and pus trickling down his back. For one minute all he could focus on was breathing through his clenched teeth, trembling on all fours.
Then he squeezed his eyes shut and pushed to his feet. He reached a pale, unsteady hand into the bundle he had been carrying, unwrapping one set of clothes and a beat-up canvas shoulder bag. Both were damp and smelled of mould.
Kit quickly pulled on boxer-briefs, ripped jeans, and a pair of duct-taped Converse, then looked in distaste at the T-shirt. Don't think about it. Just do it.
He pulled it over his head and stars exploded in front of his eyes, making him fall to his knees. Fuck it hurt. And it was so strange to be human again... A pale, weak, defenceless human with a stupid whirring mind and...
Just focus on the situation at hand, Kit.
Slipping the hoodie on, he picked up his patched shoulder bag, stepping out from behind the bush. He looked back at them levelly, ignoring the fact that they had just heard him thrashing around on the ground, gasping and whimpering.
The tallest man no longer had his arms crossed. Instead he looked concerned, showing Kit his empty palms. The other one still looked wary but he smiled carefully at him, the way you smile at a wounded animal. They both sniffed the air.
Kit pulled up the hood of his black, frayed hoodie. It did little against the chilly night air but it hid his face and matted hair. He kept his hands in his pockets, shoulders scrunched up, trying to look like a teenager.
"Hey, kid, you ok?" The giant asked. His voice was soft, deep, and rumbling. Kit liked it instantly.
"We can smell the infection on you," the other wolf added. His eyes narrowed. They were a lighter colour than his companion's - pale amber, almost golden.
"Darren, stop it. I'm Daniel Rivers, and this here is my younger brother, Darren Rivers," the big werewolf continued. "Who are you, little wolf? Did you know you had crossed over into our territory?"
Kit blinked, trying to focus. He cleared his throat. When was the last time he had spoken aloud?
Ok, keep your voice even. No accent. Simple lies.
"I'm..." Shit. Which name should he use? Not his own, and not one he had used before. "My name is...uh, Charlie."
Inwardly, he groaned.
Why, Kit? Why his name, out of all names...
"Erh, Charlie Carr. I'm really sorry for passing over your scent markings but I'm in pretty bad shape... You wouldn't mind dropping me off in front of a free clinic or something? Um...is there one around?"
He wanted to ask where he was, but it sounded too suspicious.
"I would like to...request permission to cross your lands." His vision was spinning now.
"Bring me to your Alpha."