Two against one.
The blond wolf’s ears flatten against his skull, but he doesn’t back down. Doesn’t show any fear of being outnumbered. He just tracks both opponents with those green eyes, head swiveling between them as he works out angles and distances.
The brown wolf moves first, charging in low to go for the legs. It’s a smart move—take out the mobility, then go for the throat while your opponent is down.
The blond one jumps straight up, clearing the attack. His body arcs through the air with surprising grace for something so large, and he comes down with all his weight on the brown wolf’s back.
I hear the snap of bones breaking. The sound is loud and horrible, like stepping on dry branches.
The brown wolf collapses with a whimper that makes my heart clench despite everything. His back legs twitch uselessly,spine clearly broken. He tries to drag himself forward with his front legs, but he’s out of the fight. Finished.
The gray wolf uses the distraction to attack again, this time going high for the throat. He launches himself through the air, jaws wide, aiming for the kill.
The blond wolf sees him coming and meets the attack head-on instead of trying to dodge. They collide mid-air, both wolves snapping and snarling as they grapple. Their bodies twist together, a mass of fur and teeth and claws.
They hit the ground hard, raising another cloud of dust. The gray wolf gets his teeth into the blond one’s shoulder, right where the neck meets the body. Blood immediately darkens the fur, but the blond wolf doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t show any sign that he feels the pain at all.
He just keeps coming, driving forward with relentless force that pushes the gray wolf backward.
The gray wolf digs his claws into the dirt, trying to hold his ground. Trying to use his weight to push back. But it’s like trying to stop a landslide. The blond wolf is bigger, stronger, and completely unstoppable.
They crash into one of the rock formations with enough force to shake loose small stones from above. The gray wolf’s back hits the rock first, and I hear the air whoosh out of his lungs. His grip on the shoulder loosens, and that’s all the opening the blond wolf needs.
He rips himself free and goes straight for the throat.
The gray wolf tries to twist away, but he’s trapped against the rock with nowhere to go. Teeth find flesh and sink deep. The blond wolf’s jaws close like a vice, and he starts to twist, using his entire body to force the gray one’s head to an unnatural angle.
The gray wolf’s eyes go wide with panic. He releases whatever grip he still had and tries desperately to pull away, finally understanding he’s completely outmatched.
Too late.
The blond wolf’s jaws find purchase on the throat and clamp down. Hard.
The gray wolf thrashes, claws raking across his opponent’s sides and belly. I see fur tear away, see more blood spray, see the blond wolf’s body jerk with each impact. But he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t even seem to feel the wounds being opened across his torso.
He just keeps that crushing grip on the gray wolf’s throat, squeezing and shaking like he’s trying to tear it out completely.
The thrashing gets weaker. More desperate. The gray wolf’s movements become sluggish, uncoordinated. Then they stop entirely.
The gray wolf goes limp, body sagging against the rock.
The blond wolf holds on for several more seconds, making absolutely sure his opponent is dead before finally releasing his grip. The gray wolf’s body slides down the rock face and crumples to the ground in a heap.
For a long moment, nothing moves except the blond wolf’s sides as he breathes hard from the exertion. Blood drips from multiple wounds—the shoulder where the gray wolf bit him, the gashes across his ribs and belly, smaller cuts on his legs and face. He’s a mess of blood and dirt and torn fur.
But he’s alive. And he won.
He lifts his head and looks directly at me.
Those green eyes lock onto mine, and something in my chest pulls so tight I can barely breathe. The feeling is overwhelming, like recognition and longing and need all tangled together into something I don’t have words for.
I know him. Somehow, impossibly, I know him.
He takes a step toward me, still in his wolf form. I should be terrified. Should be backing away from a massive predator covered in blood who just killed three wolves in less than five minutes.
Instead, I find myself leaning forward, drawn to him in a way that makes absolutely no sense given the circumstances.
He takes another step, moving slowly now. Carefully. Like he’s afraid of scaring me. His ears are forward, his posture open rather than threatening, despite the blood coating his muzzle.
