Not this way. Not with Thea watching. Not with my baby trapped beneath me, feeling her mother die on top of her.
Blood soaked through my shirt, warm against Thea’s hands where she tried to hold onto me. The wolf reared back for another strike, jaws wide, and I knew with horrible clarity that I couldn’t take much more. My strength was failing, arms shaking with the effort of staying upright over my daughter.
“Not my baby,” I whispered, the words bubbling through blood. “Please, not my baby.”
A howl cut through the clearing with the force of a physical blow. Deep, commanding, furious beyond description. The kind of sound that reached into your hindbrain and whispered ‘apex predator.’
The wolf froze mid-lunge. Its head snapped toward the sound, and I saw fear bloom in those mad eyes.
More howls erupted around us. Not random, but coordinated, a pack closing in with precision. The rabid wolf backed away from us, foam flying as it snarled at the unseen threat.
The howls grew louder, angrier, promising violence.
The wolf made a decision. It spun and crashed back into the underbrush, fleeing whatever was coming. I didn’t waste time wondering why or sending thank you cards to our mysterious saviors.
“Up,” I gasped to Thea, grabbing her with my good arm. “Run.”
We ran, or I ran carrying her, which was more of a stumbling lurch toward safety. Blood streamed down my back, each step sending lightning through the bite wounds. Behind us, the forest exploded with violence. Snarling that made my bones ache. The sound of bodies colliding. A fight that sounded less like animals, more like monsters from mythology deciding who got to be the bigger nightmare.
I forced myself to keep moving. My vision was tunneling, legs powered by pure adrenaline and maternal instinct. Thea clung to me, her tears soaking into my ruined shirt.
The trees thinned. I could see the shop’s back door, still hanging open from Thea’s escape. Just a little farther. Just a few more steps.
Something screamed in the forest behind us. Not human, not animal, just wrong. The wet sound of flesh tearing followed with finality.
I stumbled through the shop, past Rowan’s shocked face, out the front door. Our house was right there. One block. I could make one block.
“I’m scared, Mama,” Thea sobbed as we ran.
“Almost home,” I managed through gritted teeth. “Almost there.”
The front door appeared before us. I fumbled with keys, hands shaking so badly it took three tries. Behind us, Pine Valleylooked normal. Peaceful. No sign of the war raging in the woods just yards away.
We tumbled inside, and I slammed the door shut, turning every lock, shoving the kitchen chairs under the doorknobs. Windows next. Check every window. Lock everything that could lock. Barricade what couldn’t.
Only when every possible entrance was secured did I allow myself to collapse against the bathroom door.
“Safe,” I panted, pulling both twins against me with my good arm. “We’re safe. We’re safe.”
But even as I said it, howls echoed from the forest, too close for comfort.
The bathroom felt too bright after the darkness of the forest. I peeled off my ruined shirt with shaking hands, trying not to traumatize the twins more than they already were. The bite was worse than I’d thought. Deep puncture wounds leaked steady streams of blood. Torn muscle visible through the gaps. The kind of wound that screamed for a hospital, for stitches, for more than my pathetic first aid kit could provide.
I’d go to the hospital when I could. Right now I had to stop bleeding and calm my babies.
“The big dog hurt you, Mama,” Thea hiccupped, hovering nearby with toilet paper clutched in her little fists.
“Just a scratch,” I lied through clenched teeth, pouring hydrogen peroxide over the wounds. The bathroom tilted sideways for a second. “Mama’s tough, remember?”
Rowan appeared in the doorway, took one look at the blood, and immediately crawled into my lap despite my injuries. His nose wrinkled as he pressed his face against my neck.
“It smells sick,” he whispered.
My four-year-old could smell infection setting in. Great. I managed to bandage the worst of it one-handed, biting back screams that wanted to escape. The twins watched with solemn eyes, occasionally patting my face with gentle hands. When I finished, we sat there on the bathroom floor, a pathetic pile of blood and terror and unanswered questions.
“Why did the dog bite you?” Thea asked in a small voice.
Because it was rabid. Because I was between it and you. Because the world was full of monsters and I’d been pretending otherwise.
