“You know, it’s kinda cringe, but I could get used to everyone calling me that.”
Roscoe belted out a laugh. “The only one that’s gonna do that is probably Austin. Adam would probably punch you in the face.”
“You’re joking, right? Adam is the puniest half-turn I know.”
“He’s theonlyhalf-turn you know, and he could take you down with how far along he is.”
“I guess he is getting a little beefier.”
A rustle from the trees all around us stifled our conversation. An occasional shadow shot between the trees, but I couldn’t make out what they were.
“They’re here,” Roscoe whispered. “Hopefully they’re friendly.”
“Well, they seemed friendly last time. I think.”
Despite what I said, Roscoe still seemed uneasy.
“What’s wrong? I thought this was what we wanted.”
More branches snapped, and leaves rustled above us as well.
“They ain’t bein’ friendly right now,” Roscoe whispered, holding me closer to him. “Shit.”
“How do you know?”
“I kinda remember this. It’s to rile up their prey before they attack.”
I swallowed hard. “Goddamn it. Why do I let you talk me into shit like this?”
“Let’s just stay calm and stay low. They want us to start runnin’ so they can chase us, and that’s the last thing we want.” Roscoe reached into the box and pulled out a bag of unopened white cheddar popcorn, opening it with a shake. “Peace offering.” As another branch broke, Roscoe wrinkled the bag closed and tossed it in the direction of the commotion.
We both glanced at each other, waiting. Several minutes passed; sweat beaded on my forehead before dripping onto my arms.
A single set of footsteps crunched toward our camp as a large, shadowy figure with glowing red eyes stepped out of the woods. He cautiously knelt to pick up the bag while keeping a suspicious glare trained on us. This one wore the same garb as the one from my first encounter but had a shorter mane and no braids. He also wore a leather harness decorated with raven feathers and bones. A rope-like belt loosely adorned his waist, two small leather sacks on both sides.
I marveled at how different this werewolf looked compared to what I usually saw. He had a slumped posture and longer arms, but he didn’t have pawed feet like the others did. I opened my mouth to greet him, but Roscoe squeezed my arm.
“Don’t say nothin’. Let ‘em come to us and give us a sniff. We don’t wanna make any weird noises or movements. We gotta submit to them when they get close.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you gotta lay on yer back to show ‘em respect.”
The feral werewolf opened the bag, furiously sniffing the contents.
“What if they kill us?”
“Nah. They’d have done that already.”
The werewolf started grunting something incoherent before grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it into his slobbery maw. The other werewolves emerged, another four of them. Two looked older, but it was hard to tell for sure. Older werewolves weren’t just more masculine—there was something in their eyes that always seemed more attentive. As the others stepped into the fire’s light, their strange, paw-like feet became visible.
“Oh, we got their attention now. Lay on yer back. Slowly.”
Both of us carefully stretched out along the ground, me squeezing my eyes shut as one stepped closer. His hot breath pulsed against my face and neck as he knelt next to me, his nose probing my body. The rest made their way over, sniffing both of us while making grunting noises at each other.
After another minute, I felt a tap on my shoulder and snapped my eyes open. Roscoe hovered over me.
“Looks like we’re in,” he said with a relieved smile as I sat up.
