The Half Mutt Mate

Chapter 15: The fall

Warning: imagined violence.

Thomas's PoV  November 21st:

I closed my eyes, trying to catch that very faint smell yet again. My nose was filled with the smell of the forest, but accompanying it was the familiar smell of the mutt, who's scent was mixed in with that of coffee and mud as well. We had only caught whiffs of the mutt a few times over the six days we had been tracking her, and they were all dead ends. She was evading us well, messing with our senses and being careful enough not to leave enough of a trace behind that we could track her with it. This scent, though, was fresh, meaning that she couldn't be far.

I stretched out my body, reveling in the feeling of power that being in wolf form gave me. My legs were strong beneath me and my senses were more than competent. I was at the height of my physical ability -- the pinnacle -- I was as strong as any Alpha could be. The forest stretched out in front of me, teeming with life. I was faced with a myriad of sights and sounds, a thousand crawling insects and animals scampering across the tress and shrubbery, a thousand different smells carried by on the icy wind. My fur was thick and warm,  protecting me from the true bite of winter.

I called out to my pack mates, summoning them to me. Within minutes all five had reappeared, each from separate directions. Behind me Aaron stood, just a little bit smaller than me, awaiting my command.

Brothers, I said, speaking to them through the mental link I shared with all the wolves in my pack. We are getting close. I can sense it. 

We've been tracking her for nearly a week, said Aaron, we've been going round in circles.

The scent is confusing, yes, but it is there, I replied. The wolves grumbled among themselves. They were bored of mere tracking, they wanted a true hunt. Luckily, that was what I was about to give them.

There is a scent trail here, I told them. Follow it. It's fresh.

They stood still for a second, latching onto the scent before bolting off in the direction it was coming from. I followed after them, quickly over taking the rest of my pack mates in my desire to lead from the front. The wind flew through my fur, my paws thundered along the ground. My eyes were blazing as we ran.

The scent of the girl -- the mutt -- was so strong, it was overwhelming. I felt it fill my mind, intoxicating me. There was nothing but this feeling, this hunt. I was the predator, my lips curled back in a snarl. I was the hunter, and she was the hunted. My fangs glinted in the sunlight, ready to bite and tear and rip.

I ran. Through the forest and past it, past the town we had been circling for days in search of her scent, and out onto the highway. There was nothing there but open road, a few trimmed hedges and the mountains looming ominously in the distance. None of that mattered to me though, I was solely focused. My only aim was the hunt; the only joy for me was the thrill of being the predator -- and the thrill of catching my prey. 

We moved along the highway with speed, our paws silent as we ran in the fading light. A red van was parked in the distance, but there was no one visible. We no longer cared to be seen -- my prey was more important than that. I could smell her! The smell her! That sweet, mutt-like reek of her! There was nothing else for me to follow, nothing else to care about.

From deep within me, Nathan protested. I held him back, relying solely on my instincts so he wouldn't get in the way, but now, with the smell becoming stronger and stronger, he reappeared.

Stop! Turn around! Leave her!

But I couldn't -- in the beginning she was a danger, a mutt, a threat to me and my pack. In that moment, though, she was nothing to me but my prey.

The smell became stronger --coffee and mud and something that was uniquely her own. There were two others with her, as well, all of them blending in together. I could hear the pulsing of her heartbeat as we got closer, my ears listening out for it -- it was the sound of the blood that would soon be gushing from its body as it bled out.

Don't say it! That's Grace!

I silenced my wolf, shoving Nathan back into his little box in my mind.

I sped up, pushing paw over paw until they hit the ground. With a howl, I spotted the camp where it lay -- the mutt, my prey -- asleep next to a burnt out fire and its two little human friends. We ran as fast as we can, but my triumphant howl had alerted her. She stood up in an instant, grabbing her friends. With a start they ran, but they were no match for us. 

The smell was so strong it was dizzying. Still at the front of the pack, I zeroed in on our prey, ready for that decisive bite, for the bite that would end the chase, with its neck snapping between my teeth. It was only seconds away. I opened my mouth with a snarl. The mutt screamed as I bit hard, grabbing it by the foot. 

For as second I could taste the blood, I could feel its foot kicking against me in panic. It's shouts were high pitched and shrill, it was the scream of ... of a child. My grip weakened and it kicked again, freeing itself from my mouth. There was a snarl from behind me, but not from any of my wolves. Before I could react, before I could grab the mutt again, this time for good, a solid mass came leaping towards me, throwing me to the ground. 

Something had shifted. I fought with the wolf on top of me, biting and slashing and clawing at it, but the red fog was lifting from my mind. My prey was gone, and in its place came a conscience. Had I really done that? Had I really hurt the mutt -- the girl -- so much? The fight left me, and I collapsed under the attacking wolf.