When Quin next opened his eyes, it was not Quin alone who scanned the area. His beast homed in on the pork shoulder that Quin had left out for it—them. They were both Quin and the beast. Separate but the same; together, but not.
Quin trundled over to the meat, settling himself down to gnaw at it. He’d kept it whole, knowing that even with a bitestrong enough to crack bone, it would still take him a while to get through.
He took his time over the meat before lying down on the blankets, getting comfortable. Part of him missed his packmates. Pain throbbed in his chest when he thought about how he’d get to roughhouse with Sage, or race the others through the pack’s lands after deer.
His beast gave a mournful little whine towards the sky. Quin—the rational part of himself—tried to calm his beast. It wasn’t much use. His beast was experiencing something it hadn’t come across: complete and utter loneliness. It had never been just them before.
Stomach full, he forced himself to stay on the blanket. The unfamiliar location didn’t allow for the security of taking a nap, even though he was the only predator in the area. A family of foxes hid about three-quarters of a mile away, having stayed underground since Quin arrived. The rabbits, mice, and squirrels weren’t as smart, drifting closer to him as they scurried along the forest floor, searching for food.
The rabbits would make an ideal midnight snack.
Then he detected a fresh scent in the air. Quin lifted his snout, sniffing. Something else had entered the forest, something that smelled sweetly spicy, like cinnamon. His ears pricked up at the cracking of twigs under soft footsteps. A person, moving on two feet. Quin rose to his full height, turning towards them as they headed further east.
This was prey of a different kind.
An electric current ran through Quin’s body. His fur stood on end. He took a few tentative steps, then paused as the wind turned, sending more of the person’s scent in his direction. This time, he couldn’t help it. He lifted his head, reaching towards the moon. He howled, making his intentions known.
And then he broke into a sprint.
THREE
Kit
It was chasing him.Footsteps thudded through the forest, the sounds of branches breaking and dry leaves crunching getting alarmingly closer.
Whatever it was, it had gained on him. Kit pushed himself to go faster, but he’d reached his limit, his body sore and legs like jelly.
The creature hadhowled. That much was clear in Kit’s frantic brain.
He pushed on, the edge of the tree line his destination. Before he could reach it, however, something in his peripheral vision had him whipping around, claws out and at the ready. He froze when he caught sight of what had been stalking him.
The creature was massive and muscled, and nowhere near as furry as he might have presumed. It looked like a bodybuilder and a wolf had gone through the Telepod fromThe Fly. Fresh blood dotted its muzzle, a little detail not to be ignored.
“Shit,” Kit said.
The werewolf—for that’s what it had to be—also stopped in its tracks. It cocked its head in a dog-like manner, then edged forward on its too-long legs.
Kit took an exaggerated step backwards, hands out in front of him. They trembled—with exhaustion, he told himself.
“Stay back!” he shouted, unsure if the werewolf would understand him. He studied its eyes; blue, intense, and focused on Kit. Intelligence lurked in their depths, but he couldn’t be certain.
The wolf hadn’t moved a muscle since Kit’s warning, except to breathe. It took deep, visible inhales through its parted jaw, tongue lolling out, and Kit saw enough of its teeth that he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of its bite.
Kit risked a glance at the sky. It wouldn’t be dark for much longer. The moon might unite both vampires and werewolves, but Kit was the only one who would burn in the sun. He couldn’t stand here forever.
When he next looked at the werewolf, it had moved closer. The shock of its sudden nearness had him stumbling backwards, letting out an undignified squeak as he tripped over his own feet, tumbling to the ground.
The werewolf took its chance. It darted forward before Kit could right himself, positioning itself on all fours over him. Kit readied himself for an attack. But the werewolf, blood staining its elongated maw, leaned down and huffed over Kit’s face. When nothing else happened, Kit held his claws at bay. Sticking them into the werewolf’s thickly furred neck wouldn’t do him much good, anyway.
Kit turned his head to avoid the werewolf’s next exhale, but frowned when the breath that fanned across his face carried the scent of mint along with the more worrying stench of fresh meat. He cracked one eye open, looking up at the werewolf. It stared down at him, unmoving.
“Hi?” Kit asked. He figured if it hadn’t ripped him to pieces yet, chances were that the werewolf did not, in fact, want to eat him.
The werewolf chuffed. Its version of a greeting, perhaps. Or Kit was anthropomorphising an actual animal.
Even though part of him still doubted his assessment of the creature, his panic abated. Close up, it didn’t seem so threatening—its body not poised for violence.
Kit attempted to inch out from under the werewolf, but it moved in tandem, staying in position over him. “What do you want?” Kit demanded, done with being tentative.
