MOONLIT LOVE

A Delicate Bond II

The sharp sting of pain flared through his side again, forcing him to open his eyes. The human was there, her hands moving carefully over his wounds, trying to treat them. His instinct, the wolf’s instinct, screamed at him to snap, to push her away. She was invading his space, daring to touch him. But something in her persistence held him back.

He could feel the dull ache from the goats’ horns, the deep cuts they had left on his body. The humiliation still burned inside him—the mighty black wolf of the Dark Forest, brought low by a group of goats. It was infuriating, and yet he had been too weak to fight back. His strength had failed him, and now this human woman thought she could help him.

He growled, a low, dangerous sound, trying to intimidate her. He didn’t need her help. He could lick his wounds, as he had done before. His body would heal, given time. He had survived worse injuries in the past. But she didn’t back away. She kept pressing the damp cloth against his wounds, her touch gentle but insistent.

*Stubborn human,* he thought, his golden eyes narrowing as he watched her.

She was fascinated by his fur, he could tell. Her fingers kept brushing through it, almost as if she were...comforting herself. It was strange, but not entirely unpleasant. He didn’t understand why she cared so much, why she was so determined to help him. She was weak, like the other humans, fragile and vulnerable. Yet, she was here, trying to heal him.

He huffed, turning his head away slightly, irritated but too tired to protest further. The pain was making him sluggish, and though he hated to admit it, her care was easing the worst of the burning ache in his side.

*Maybe,* he thought grudgingly, *maybe I will let her help, just this once.*

The woman continued to work, her touch gentle and methodical. Ryker watched her, feeling something strange stir within him. It wasn’t the same as the instinctual bond he felt with other animals. It was more complex, more human—though those thoughts were buried deep beneath his animal mind. There was a faint recognition of something...familiar in her. But what, he couldn’t place.

His thoughts drifted back to the battle with the goats, and his muscles tensed in frustration. He had lost, despite his size and strength. Those creatures had bested him, and he couldn’t forget it. He

Those creatures had bested him, and he couldn’t forget it. Their relentless numbers, their absurd stubbornness, and the sheer force with which they charged—all of it gnawed at him. It was a humiliation unlike anything he had experienced. For a creature like him, powerful and feared, to be overpowered by mere livestock? It was unthinkable. His animal instincts screamed for revenge, his wounded pride demanding retribution.

The memory of the battle replayed in his mind. He had approached them, thinking them nothing more than easy prey—food to be taken without a fight. But the goats had surprised him. They had fought back, ramming into him with their sharp, curved horns, their sheer numbers overwhelming him. The initial strikes had stunned him, their ferocity catching him off guard. For every one he tried to bring down, two more attacked, their horns cutting into his flesh, their hooves driving him back.

The worst part wasn’t the pain; it was the mockery in their bleating as they forced him to retreat. He had tried to rally, to fight back, but his strength had been sapped, his focus scattered. He had been outmatched, not in size or power, but in sheer numbers and persistence.

His muscles tensed as he remembered the final blow—one of the goats driving its horn deep into his side, the sharp pain lancing through him. It had been enough to force him to retreat, his pride wounded even more than his body.

*How could this have happened?*

He was larger, stronger, more dangerous than anything else in these woods. He was the Black Wolf, feared by all who dared enter the Dark Forest. Yet, in that moment, he had been nothing more than prey. The taste of that defeat was bitter, and he wouldn’t forget it. He would find those goats again, track them down, and make them pay for this indignity.

His tail twitched, the thought of revenge sharpening his mind, filling him with renewed resolve. His wounds would heal, and when they did, he would go back to that place. He would stalk them, silently, patiently. He would study their movements, learn their weaknesses, and then strike when they least expected it. This time, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

But for now, he was injured, and he needed rest. The human was tending to his wounds, and though his pride rebelled at the thought of relying on her, he couldn’t deny that her care was easing the pain. His body was slowly starting to relax under her touch, the tension in his muscles unwinding as she worked.

The human’s touch was gentle, almost annoyingly so. He could feel her fingers running through his fur, the sensation strange but not entirely unpleasant. It was...calming, in a way he hadn’t expected. His instincts told him to push her away, to assert dominance, but he was too tired to care. The pain in his side throbbed, and her touch, however unnecessary, seemed to ease it, if only slightly.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, her face focused as she worked. Her hands moved with care, as if she were tending to one of her own. It was strange. He had expected humans to be cruel, to lash out at any creature they didn’t understand. But this one was different. She was soft-hearted, stubborn, and persistent in her strange need to help him.

It was almost...infuriating.

Yet, despite himself, he found that he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. The human was persistent, yes, but she wasn’t foolish. She had survived this long, even in the face of danger, even with the other woman in her care. There was a resilience in her that intrigued him.

But that didn’t change the fact that he had been bested by those wretched goats. The thought made his blood boil, even as the human’s touch calmed him. He would have his revenge. He would track them down, follow their scent, and strike when they least expected it. The humiliation of that defeat still burned in his chest, and he wouldn’t rest until he had repaid them in kind.

The woman’s hand moved through his fur again, and he let out a low huff, more out of frustration than anything else. She was persistent, this one. Always trying to fix things, to heal. He could heal on his own. He didn’t need her help. But for now, he would tolerate it. For now, he would allow her to play her part.

Because when his wounds healed, and when he regained his strength, he would take back what was his.

He would hunt again.

And this time, nothing would stop him.