The pup finally stilled, baring its neck and breathing hard. Taylor sniffed its chest, licked its ear. One of them was torn at the tip—healed, but messy. He realised then why he recognised the scent.
“Manders’ pup,”he said, looking down at William Manders, the kid of the fuckwit who kept causing trouble for Maman. “Easy,” he said, raising himself up a little to let the kid know that he didn’t mean to keep him trapped.
It was a mistake, because before Taylor could react, William snapped his muzzle forwards and bit Taylor’s cheek. It bled instantly, stung, and Taylor threw his head back to avoid the kid snapping at his eyes.
William twisted free, wriggling beneath Taylor’s legs and back between the trees. He looked over his shoulder, eyes wide as the scent of fear spiked the air. He smacked into a tree, letting out a yelp before high-tailing it out of Taylor’s reach.
Taylor was about to give chase, because there was no way on God’s green earth that William should have been running without his pack at eleven years old, fifteen miles away from his house in High Enfield.
Even if his pack only consisted of his twat-bag of a father and a barely at home mother, he should have been with them.
Taylor’s claws curled in the soil when a high-pitched howl broke through the trees.
Amil.
Taylor bounded round, his body pulling him towards William but his head making him look up in the direction of the howl. When he looked back William was already gone, the sound of twigs snapping somewhere towards the edge of the woods the only evidence that he had ever been there.
Taylor was about to tear after him, but then Amil howled again, the sound strained as it echoed through the trees.
Fuck, he was going to have to check up on William later.
Taylor thundered to the top of the hill, finding the picnic spot Amil had mentioned before tilting his head up and letting out an almighty howl of his own. It was far deeper and louder than Amil’s and it made the leaves quiver and the branches quake. Amil howled again, and Taylor set off at breakneck speed in the direction of the sound.
It didn’t take long for them to find one another, and Taylor let out a soft rumble as he watched Amil’s front paws kicking up dirt in a panicked frenzy. It was a reflexive sound, and Amil stilled before tilting his muzzle towards a deep gulley beneath them.
Taylor’s stomach twisted at the sight of a grey wolf at the foot of the drop. It was sprawled out, head curled in and unmoving. He couldn’t tell if it was breathing, and there were leaves and dirt in its fur.
He stared into the narrow pit, thick tree roots hanging over it and tangling together with clods of earth. There had been rain overnight, and the unsteady ground must have given way.
The sound of scraping caught his attention, and he realised Amil was leaning forwards, tentatively placing his paws on the rocks in an attempt to find a way down. Taylor growled, grabbing Amil by his scruff and plonking him a few metres away from the edge.
“Stay,”he said, and although their bond was weak, he knew Amil understood by the way his head dipped.
Turning, Taylor let his front feet slide down the bank, letting the earth pile up between his toes.
Taylor’s body was big—he could almost reach the bottom and still have his back toes touch the edge of the drop. Bracing hisfront paws on the rocks, he let his back end slide down after him until he landed heavily next to the trapped wolf.
He sniffed its neck—female, a beta—and nuzzled the thinning grey fur. The wolf’s skin was damp, from sweat or rain he couldn’t tell, but above all else she smelled strange. Oddly sweet, like that artificial flavour they put in foam banana sweets.
A flicker of life vibrated beneath his nose, and the wolf let out a breath. It was weak, so fucking weak, but the sound was enough to see Taylor wrapping his jaws around the other wolf’s scruff and hauling her onto his back.
His undercoat was damp by the time he’d dragged them both up the bank, and Amil immediately began licking the old wolf all over. The wolf grunted, her flanks twitching before turning into a violent shiver.
Weak, cold, but alive.
CHAPTER 7
LA FOURCHETTE
Johnny
Johnny wasin the middle of photocopying something for Wendy when the sound of Amil’s voice made him look up. Taylor trailed a few feet behind, looking extremely pleased with himself.
“Do you want a fucking medal or something?” Amil snapped, loosening off his stab vest as he and Taylor walked into the report-writing room.
Johnny had been listening to the updates over the radio, and had waved Isla off as she set out to meet them at the hospital.
“Well, it was pretty heroic,” Taylor said, glancing across at Johnny and sticking out his tongue.
