The dirt beneath my paws is thick with dried blood; the scent of many wolves in pain and dying tells a story that makes me want to weep. I lift my eyes again and stare into that dark space. What is in there?
I shift my bulk, focusing on that spot, inhaling deeply, trying to catch a scent. I move slowly to the side, not taking my eyes off it.
Who is it? What is it?
The door slides up with a rusting groan. The crowd jeers, suddenly breaking through on my determination to shut them out. This pack of heathens, running fight rings. They are beyond disgraceful.
I catch movement and watch. The blood drains from my head as my heart bursts into a grateful song. I stand up from my defensive crouch.
She leaps out of the cage, turning to snap at the prongs that bite into her flank. She keeps her belly low to the ground, her ears pinned. Her pupils are huge and black, and her teeth are exposed in a furious, savage snarl.
Oh, god, I take an unconscious step towards her.
She looks feral. Her fur is matted; she’s covered in dry blood; even when she sees me, nothing registers, but she’s still Casey. My Casey.
What have they done to her?
The rage I feel expands and blooms in my chest, and it’s all I can do not to run up the walls and rip their throats open.
The bond thrums, feeding my own rage back to me.
Her eyes focus on me, and I realise that she doesn’t know me.
Suddenly, the bloody dirt has a much darker connotation, and the story it tells doesn’t bring sadness but grim satisfaction.
I whine and step towards her, but her body arches away from me, and she snaps her sharp teeth in warning, letting out a deadly snarl that would scare lesser wolves.
“Kill him, Omega!”
The chant goes up so loud, reverberating off the walls and making it unpleasant just to even try to think. I want them all dead.
She lunges for me, and they stop banging, instead drumming their feet and cheering.
I only just manage to evade the deadly snap of her jaws.
“Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.”
Is this what they’ve made her do for six months? Just kill? My heart aches for her. How am I going to reach her?
It took too long. We took too long.
My despair melts into resolve.
I’m not giving up on her. I’m going to get her free of this. Somehow.
She dances in, and I keep warily back, wondering how I’m going to survive this. First things first, I need to remind her of who I am.
She lunges at me, and I slam her head into her ground and lick her muzzle, then I’m off on the other side of the arena, while she stands up, shaking off her shock and rounds on me in absolute fury. The dirt is thick, and my paws sink deep as I jump around, staying just ahead of her.
Her rage grows and grows, but she’s forgotten about the audience; she is entirely focused on me. I lead her around the arena, teasing and taunting her.
Come on, baby, dance with me.
She lunges again, but this time more carefully. I step around her but slide my warm body along hers in a seductive stroke.
She rumbles but seems confused and hesitates to attack. Someone throws something, and she gets hit, yelping. I snarl at the stands, and the person who threw the rock yelps and disappears.
Casey doesn’t charge me; she hesitates with an almost silent, heartbreaking whine, and I take that as a good thing. I approach, bouncing around, trying to play with her.
